#there usually ARE pretenses at this point in time

[galacticlamps]

Something I wanted to bring up earlier in the re-watch but held onto in the hope that I’d forgotten something that would eventually make it make sense is the Doctor’s motivations or goals in Tomb - because frankly, I’m having trouble finding any.

Does he even know he’s landed on Telos? Is he here to see the tombs? I think it’s pretty clear he wants to go inside, since he’s the one who single-handedly makes that possible at every step of the way (no matter how ridiculous some of those steps are, frankly - nobody else in this archaeological expedition could notice the other doors, without his genius to guide them? seriously? these people aren’t meant to be there by accident like he is) - but he keeps warning everybody else not to go further, again for no apparent reason. Not that contradicting himself is out of character either, but now we’re looking for answers to two motivation questions - why does he want to do this, and why doesn’t he want anyone else to know? And I don’t really feel like the serial offers satisfying reasoning for either.

Even his fears & suspicions (in theory, things that might give us an indication of what he hopes to achieve himself in spite of them) are all over the place - when Haydon’s killed in the weapons testing room, the Doctor is the only one not convinced it was a real live Cyberman, and spends the whole scene defending the sensible explanation - and yet as soon as they leave the room and find out the rocket’s been sabotaged, the Doctor now insists to Captain Hopper (with virtually the same certainty we just saw him use to disprove the existence of an alien menace hunting them) that it may well have been a ‘what’ instead of a ‘who’ that’s responsible for trapping them here. And later, when Kaftan closes the hatch on them in the tombs, Viner - the nervous wreck character who we’re inclined to dismiss as overreacting - is the one to immediately & correctly accuse the people upstairs, while the Doctor’s still on his vague, misdirected ‘it could be someone else’ thing - even though seconds later, he calls everyone’s attention to how unbothered Kleig is. He never seems to receive additional information in these moments when he changes his mind about what he’s suspecting, so it feels less like the Doctor figuring things out and making deductions, and more like lines being shoved in his mouth to lend a vague air of uncertainty and mystery to what’s going on, while also carrying us to whatever needs to happen next in the ‘plot.’

To his credit (I guess?) he is suspicious of the Obviously Suspicious characters too, right from the start - but despite later telling Jamie he needed to find out what Kleig was up to (which is the closest we get to an explanation for any of his actions at any point) absolutely nothing is accomplished by the Doctor being onto them from the start - partially because he himself keeps getting misdirected vacillating between believing there are/are not any other threats present, but also because he outwardly antagonizes them while subtly helping them - flipping the correct switches behind their backs and insulting their intelligence to their faces. He’s play-acting, which is typical of him, but there’s no logic to when, why, or how he chooses to do so, because rather than skate under the radar while observing the villains quietly and forming his own conclusions, he marks himself out as an enemy of theirs before they even get serious about their plan, even though he’s actively helping them put it in action.

There’s even an almost brilliant bit (I want to like it so much! but giving it full credit just feels undeserved) when they first climb down to the tombs and Jamie says “you obviously knew what to expect” to the party re: the anoraks, but he & the others wearing them aren’t in shot - the Doctor is, faring better than any of them in the cloak he brought with him from the Tardis and had awkwardly draped over his shoulder in his first scene outside the tomb doors. You could almost make the argument he’d planned getting this far, all along (and headcanon wise, you still could, if you wanted) - but there’s no getting around the fact that the actual story contained in these episodes does absolutely nothing with that implication, if it’s meant to be there at all.

It’s like a pile of Doctorish behaviors - some posturing and trickery, a bit of dazzlingly advanced scientific knowledge, a couple of clever conclusions and a few jokes sprinkled in among ominous warnings - but it’s all scrambled together with little regard for the picture it paints taken as a whole. And maybe I seem like I’m focusing too hard on it or holding it to a standard it’s not meant for, and that might be true to some extent (although I tend to argue that most of these serials are better than people give them credit for, not worse) but the thing is, in Tomb, all of these actions have a spotlight shone on them - the Doctor’s warnings are the final ominous line in a scene, shot in closeup with a sound effect following it before we cut to a different scene - or he hits the switches that make the hatch open and everyone gives Kleig the credit, so Jamie’s given the line “but Doctor, you--” until the Doctor hushes him, to draw the audience’s attention to both the fact that the Doctor is indeed responsible for Kleig’s success and unwilling to have the rest of the group notice that. The script treats things like this as though they are noteworthy and goes out of its way to make sure we recognize that the Doctor knows more than he says and sometimes means the exact opposite of what he tells other people - only to do nothing with it. Part of me’s inclined to call this an over-use of Red Herrings, but I’m not even sure the term really fits in this case? After all, that would imply there’s a purposeful misdirection happening, someone in- or out-of- universe trying to trick either the audience or other characters into believing one thing before a reveal of the opposite. But these elements are so inconsistent, they really don’t convince us of anything in particular, they just get us from point A to point B and from point B to point C & seem to hope we don’t notice whether the trip from A to C makes sense taken all together. And I think that much can be said of a lot of the serial, honestly, but with the Doctor’s actions specifically it’s not just the narrative/framing device that’s strange, but his in-universe actions as well, making the lack of a clear motivation - some goal that he might, theoretically wish to use Red Herrings to obscure - even more frustrating. In this case it’s not just a matter of how the story’s told, it’s actually what he’s doing and saying to these people, and it’s useless.

I can’t say the Doctor’s the only character the script does this to, but I definitely think he’s the one it’s the biggest problem for. Not only is he the main character, the one the audience knows the best & is used to understanding the goals of the best, this is also a terrible point in the series at which to run into this problem with him. Say what you want about Two, but he’s not made out to be as mysterious & inherently suspicious as a lot of later Doctors are, and without retconning that element of the Doctor’s personality and backdating it completely here, there’s no explanation available to a fan watching this in the 60s as to why he’s doing what he’s doing. And coming right after Evil (of all things!) where the audience always knew what he was trying to accomplish even when the other characters in the serial couldn’t be sure about trusting him, his motivations feel especially weak in Tomb, and they just don’t hold up to the same level of scrutiny or analysis they usually do. Two’s certainly capable of causing chaos, double crossing, manipulating people into doing one thing by ostensibly attempting to get them to do another - but here it just feels like replicating those behaviors directionlessly.

Of course, once the Cybermen show up and become the main threat, this issue pretty much disappears, since it becomes clear he wishes to stop them (no matter how many foolish mistakes are made along the way) - but they don’t finish defrosting until the end of Episode 2, and in a 4-part serial, having the Doctor’s actions be so confused for half of it is a pretty big barrier to enjoying it, especially since that confusion isn’t really part of or acknowledged by the plot.

[narumi-gens]

dreams aventurine x f!reader

18+ minors/blank/ageless blogs dni, 2.1 spoilers, pregnancy/parenthood

aventurine has never thought of himself as a man who dreams of the future, not beyond a certain point. but there's something about you that makes him doubt himself.

because when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, he can't help himself. he thinks about what would happen if he didn't pull out and cum across your ass, your tits, or your stomach, painting your skin in white spurts like he usually does. he thinks about what would happen if he buried himself deep enough for you to feel him in your throat and spilled himself inside of you for once.

what if he didn't climb off of you as soon as he caught his breath. he thinks about what it would be like if he instead stayed there even as he softened, cradled between your thighs, while your arms wrapped around his trembling form to hold him close, your fingers gently running through his sweaty strands, your touch alone doing more to calm his mind than an orgasm ever could.

there are times when he allows himself to imagine beyond even that, but only in his weakest moments when he decides to spend the night, always under the pretense of the late hour, or the bad weather, or how comfortable the bed he bought you is. it's a pretense that you see through, but never challenge him on as you know that doing so would make him leave.

it's only once he's sure that you're deep asleep and he can turn his unguarded gaze to your features in the dark that he dares to let his mind wander beyond the bounds he normally sets. he imagines your stomach swelling as the months pass, of your hand grabbing his to press his palm to your belly to feel the fluttering of new life from within.

he imagines a small bundle pressed to your bare chest, skin-to-skin. you're crying, but so is the newly born infant that you hold so dear. so is he. sometimes, the sunlight shines through the windows of the hospital room, and other times the rain is deafening against the glass.

likewise, sometimes when the baby in your arms opens their eyes to take in the world for the first time, their color mirrors yours. but more often than not, it's his own pink and blue irises looking back at him, promising a life of good luck.

he imagines the feeling of a small palm pressed flat against his own much bigger one, as a young, tiny voice stumbles over the words he tries to guide them through.

he pictures the smile on your face, both adoring and soft, as you watch with tear-filled eyes as he teaches your child the blessing of their people.

as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry.

no matter how many years have passed since he was taken from sigonia in chains, he'll never forget his sister's final words to him. but when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, they feel like more than just a memory.

it feels like she's speaking to him across the years, to him now, trying to guide him towards this single future with you instead of any of the infinite other futures he bets everything on.

maybe, if he chose to listen to her, there could be another avgin for gaiathra to bless. maybe, if he ever chose to give in to his weakness, to your warmth, to your softness, to your love, the avgin wouldn't have to live and die with him.

[teastainedprose]

Too Sweet - Ch. 1 (Cooper Howard x Reader)

A settler selling wares in Filly catches The Ghoul's eye. Inspired by a Tumblr post asking for an angst fic to Hozier's Too Sweet. 1,753 words | [AO3] No warnings yet, only innocent flirting. Banner from @eupheme

The first time he spots you, Cooper thinks nothing of it. Sure, you look a little less worn down compared to the usual rabble roaming Filly. Certainly scrubbed a little cleaner than most but so were the rest of your companions. The lot of you are a curiosity for sure, but he's seen plenty of attractive women over the ages and known a handful carnally. He's not the sort of man to let a pretty face distract him. No, you don't get a second glance from the ghoul as he goes about his business. 

It's not until your laughter catches Cooper by the ear that he starts paying attention. Jerks his head right round at the sunny sound, attention diverting from the bounty board as he watches you engage with a customer. You laugh again, a merry delight that lights your face right up while the elderly woman you're chatting with laughs along. She's made brighter for being so close to you while you've suddenly become the sun in Cooper's eyes. A brightness he has to squint at when he looks over again to drink you in. His long-dead heart decides that it's about time to do a little flip.

That's a sensation he's not keen on feeling. Cooper hums under his breath, frown settling on his worn lips. He tugs the brim of his hat lower, turning away as he tries to focus on the task at hand. No good can come of fancying any sort of infatuation on a smoothie like you. You're not the sort of creature deserving of the trouble he could bring.

Yet Cooper finds he can't quite help himself. Wasteland life is full of little pleasures and looking at you sure counts as a bit of pleasure. Why not indulge?

The rest of the day as he sits waiting for a client to show, his eyes flicker over you. Wherever you're from, it's certainly kinder to you than what most folks in the Wasteland see. You almost look as soft as some fresh-faced Vaultie, but he can see that your hands are well-worn as you exchange produce for caps. A farmer of sorts. Homesteader.

He listens with a keener ear to the gossip swirling about you and those in your group. A little settler band situated out east, closer to the mountains and closer to what manages to grow green. He picks up that your lot wanders in every few weeks with produce to sell, or trade to stock up the settlement the collective group runs. 

Idly, he wonders what horseshit sort of ideology your commune might be sunk into, but if you're looking to spread a new sort of gospel none of your ilk seem keen on sharing it here. You're a welcome addition to the economy of Filly and it's clear that many enjoy the taste of hope this band of settlers bring in with their harvest. Cooper figures that's indoctrination enough from the harsh reality the Wasteland offers up.

Cooper finds himself wandering over to Ma June's place under the pretense of stocking up on supplies. There's suspicion in her eyes as he drops his intended purchases onto the counter but that's not out of the ordinary. There's always suspicion in the looks Ma June gives him, but she'll take his caps all the same.

"Say, now what's with that group of lil' farmers hauling in their produce like that? Can't imagine those soft-lookin' sorts making their way all the way here unmolested," he drawls out. His smile is crooked as Cooper counts through his caps to pay.

"Settlers, but the well-armed sort. No point in trifling with them. Too well-liked here for their fresh food supply they haul in," Ma June pulls the caps towards her, gaze fixed on the ghoul as she mutters. "They'll trade with ya, but keep out of their business. Ya hear?"

A hum escapes Cooper as he considers this, leaning onto the counter while glancing out the dusty window towards where you stand at the stall. He casually stashes his purchases into his saddlebag while going on conversationally.  "Well- Is that so? They a regular sort of fixture here in Filly now?"

"Have been setting up that stall going on half a year now. Surprised you've yet to come across 'em. Best cherry tomatoes you'll find in the Wasteland." Ma June eases back, arms crossing over her chest as a sour look settles in place on her worn face.

Another speculative hum escapes Cooper as he digests this information before he tips his hat to Ma June and goes on his way. Which happens to lead him straight to your stall.

Once there, Cooper casually plucks up potatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and okra. All of it looks as vegetables should, the sort he would have found at the grocery store before everything went to shit. 

"How much for this lot?" He sets the small bounty atop the open space on the stall. Cooper gives you his Hollywood smile that would charm the pants off of any woman in bygone days, except now his face is a leathery wreck and his teeth are yellowed with age. Most people instantly flinch away in disgust.

Not you.

You smile like the morning sun towards him as you step closer while dusting your hands off on your pants. The bit of dirt smeared on your face only seems to enhance your features in Cooper's eyes. The look you give him is almost shy once you meet his gaze, smiling warmly up to him. 

Cooper finds that curious. He's familiar with a scowl or grimace of disgust when anyone looks him in the face, but here you are gracing him with an easy smile. A customer is a customer, he figures, and he'll do well enough. Yet, your friendliness doesn't feel like an act. Even after all these years, Cooper Howard still can clock other actors.

"Fifteen caps for the whole lot, but I'll throw in an extra sweet potato for the smile." You wink. Wink right at him as your smile grows. "They're good for ya, handsome." You add casually, the smile tugging up further into a cheeky grin. Your expression shifts. Playful. Coy. Interested.

Ain't that something? Cooper doesn't falter at the full force of your attention. He's too old and worn for that, but he sure does grin right back with a twinkle in his eye. Even an old ghoul like him can enjoy a pretty thing like you openly flirting with him.

Now that he’s heard it, Cooper decides your voice is sweet as a silver bell. The sort of soothing tone that reminds him of rain softly pelting a windowpane. It's the sort of sound that makes him wish to stay and listen for a while, tucked into the warmth that he suddenly wants you to offer up. He wants to get you talking to hear more. Wonders how he can coax you into a conversation.

That’s a fucking stupid idea. Cooper mentally shakes himself free of the passing fancy, head tilting ever so slightly as he peers down at you from the shadow of his hat. "Mhm. Ain't trying to get me hooked now are you, sweetheart?

"Something like that." 

“Well now, reckon vegetables ain’t the worst sort of vice a man can get lost in.” Cooper still can’t help himself. He lets his eyes wander right down your body before flicking back up to your face, what sort of vice he’s pondering made clear.

That flush on your cheeks blooms all the hotter as you laugh for him, the sound an utter delight when directed his way. You smile, sweet and shy now as you pluck up a hefty sweet potato to set beside the rest of his purchases. 

“Oh, well-” You start, stop with a small shake of your head as you smile all the wider. Utterly disarmed.

Cooper counts out the requested coin with a speculative hum, mirth sparking in his eyes as it seems he’s rendered you speechless. It’s down-right adorable if he’s being honest with himself. You’re a right little temptation he’d like to play with further. A dangerous thought.

Setting the coins onto the counter, he's swift in sweeping up his new bounty and stowing it all away into a pouch within his saddle bag. This close you're too bright and Cooper knows he's in trouble. Best to break away before you pull him into your orbit in full.

“You take care of yourself now, sweetheart,” Cooper drawls. He tips his hat towards you and turns away with spurs clicking. You watch him go, cheeks still flaming.

You know who he is. The Ghoul, the most famous Bounty Hunter the radiated Wastelands has to offer. You've heard all the rumors and truer tales about him all your life but nothing could prepare you for seeing him in the flesh. A dangerous sort of creature. A man who always brings his bounty in. 

You'd been watching him all day, stealing glances as you work. Now that you've seen him up close and personal? You're down-right fascinated. He’s nothing like the monster the stories painted him out to be. At least, he certainly wasn’t monstrous to you. There’s something captivating about him. Charming, even. 

You’ve seen ghouls before, of course. You know their kind as some live on the settlement with you. The majority end up shambling and ungainly, limbs no longer listening as the radiation rot wars with their regeneration abilities. A confusion that makes most of them uncoordinated and awkward in their transformed bodies, but The Ghoul? He’s got a swagger to his step that reminds you of those cowboys you’ve seen on ancient holotapes. 

He’s been lurking at the edge of your awareness all day, your head cocking in his direction to listen to the cadence of his voice as he bartered for bullets and talked business outside of the bar over yonder.

A thrill had jolted through you the moment he started to move towards your stall. The nervous energy thrumming through you had been made all the worse when you met The Ghoul’s gaze for the first time. A woman could find herself lost in such eyes and you’d certainly tripped right into them. Boldly meeting this stranger’s gaze and enjoying every second his attention was on you.

Shame he left so quickly. You sigh, turning back to count out bottlecaps he’d left as you turn your attention back to work. Best not to think about it. You’re unlikely to see that legend ever again.

[hawkinsbnbg]

shooting stars

prompts: backseat, bruise, clothes on | @steddiesmuttyseptember

tags: mutual pining, fwb to lovers, hand job, blow job, come swallowing, soft dom Eddie Munson, good boy Steve Harrington.

word count: 2k4 | rated: E | ao3

Steve didn't know how he ended up having Eddie Munson between his legs in the backseat of his car of all places.

Oh yeah, the spinning bottle had pointed at him and Tommy had dared him to go teach The Freak a lesson.

Steve doubted Tommy would've come up with that if he knew the little game Steve had been playing with Eddie since the beginning of his senior year.

Still, he complied. There was no way he would pass up such an opportunity to go search for Eddie without raising suspicion on them both.

"No, you stay here," he gave Tommy a cocky smile, tuning up his King persona to the ten. "Sending me is already overkill. It'd be a fucking joke if I even need you to take down The Freak."

Steve let the hollers and mocking laughter wash over him, feeling both at home and wrong-footed in the skin he was wearing.

He couldn't wait to get out of there and be as far away from those people as possible, knowing Eddie would make everything right again even just for a night.

The party-goers had been none the wiser when he wandered to the backyard of Tina's house, heading to Eddie's regular dealing corner and told the metalhead to meet him at the quarry where no one would bother them.

One thing led to another, instead of dragging him to the back of the van like usual, Eddie chose his beamer to be their destination of the night.

Given the limited space, their frantic movements slowed down after a while, panting into each other's mouths and melding their tongues together.

And yet, their clothes were still on because they liked to keep up the pretense, liked to deny that they cared.

As if Steve didn't secretly protect Hellfire from the jocks all the time, as if Eddie didn't shush him softly as he cried the other night, shield him from the darkness and call him baby.

It was confusing, the trajectory of their not-friendship; but it was intoxicating, the way they gravitated to each other without fail.

"Why here?" Steve asked, chest heaving up and down as Eddie quickly worked his belt and flies open.

The inside of the beamer's backseat—however spacious it had been before—was now cramped with two grown boys, all muscles and gangly limbs.

And Steve was no cheerleaders, either. He couldn't curl up to make himself as small as those girls. Fortunately, he was flexible enough for Eddie to mold however the metalhead liked, forcing his legs apart with pure teenage brawn.

"Wanna see what's the fuss over the famous Harrington Backseat about," Eddie murmured, licking a stripe on his hand before shoving it down Steve's briefs, stroking him right away without any lube.

Steve hissed at the burning stimulation and the raw friction of those chunky rings, but he was already dripping too much precum to feel uncomfortable with them. If anything, he quite enjoyed it whenever Eddie was a little rough and mean to him.

"Yeah?" Steve bit his lip, aware of those dark eyes following his movements like trackers, sending shivers down his spine. "And what's your opinion so far?"

To be honest, Steve never understood the appeal of having sex in the backseat. The space was never enough for two people to move freely.

He simply did it because it was more convenient that way; less risk of falling off the roofs and windowsills, less time of cleaning up, no need to worry about which ways were better for sneaking out once the deed was done.

Then again, with Eddie looming above him and those calloused fingers enclosed his cock like heated brands, he supposed he finally got it.

"Not as bad as I expected," Eddie mouthed at the column of Steve's throat when he threw his head back in a strangled moan. "Maybe it's because of a certain pretty thing here."

Steve whined and bucked his hips, wanting to fuck into the tight circle of Eddie's palm, but he was pinned in place by Eddie's weight—solid and warm and heavy. It messed with his tipsy brain, making him feel small and helpless, knowing he was entirely at the older boy's mercy.

"So wet already," Eddie kissed his jaw, thumb rubbing Steve's sensitive tip meanly, prompting another breathless moan from him. "Just needing someone to take care of you, hm, little prince?"

Cheeks flaming red, Steve felt his breath hitched, felt his inside loosened up and turned into molasses.

He knew it was just an act to set the mood, but Eddie's honeyed words did weird things to him, causing his heart to stutter and soar higher and higher, reminding him too much of love that it was a little bit scary.

Although Steve couldn't physically melt into the leather seats, he felt like he already did as Eddie played with his cock, pulling embarrassing noises out of him effortlessly, feeding him sweet filths between fervent kisses, gnawing his lips until they swelled up, until they were red and shiny like cherries.

Those sharp teeth trailed down his neck, sinking into the tender flesh and carving their marks on the bronzed skin, leaving bloody bruises behind.

The pain made it real, made Steve feel owned, possessed.

As if he was good enough to be kept, as if he was worth more than a pretty face and a quick fuck.

Steve knew he wasn't thinking rationally, he should be realistic and stop expecting Eddie to reciprocate his hopeless feelings.

He longed for it still, yearned to be touched, to be held by those arms every night, unable to keep himself from daydreaming about the what-ifs.

"Tell me," Eddie wrapped a hand around his throat, never too tight but always enough to turn Steve's head fuzzy. "Who do you belong to?"

The question came out of nowhere, shocking Steve to the core. Because whatever they had between them wasn't like that, was it?

Steve was The King and Eddie was The Freak. Two parallel lines that would never meet.

And yet, they crossed paths. Innumerable times. Rushing into each other like moths to the flame, knowing they would burn and explode, knowing they would ignite and crash like shooting stars.

Transient.

Beautiful.

But Steve refused to let them be a tragedy as long as he could help it. Refused to hide behind the forsaken fortress he had built up for years.

Because Eddie deserved better, and all Steve could offer was himself.

"Y– Yours," he mumbled, eyes half-lidded as if he was drunk. "'M yours, D– Daddy."

Eddie's gaze was dark and heavy on him, bottomless and ravenous as they drank in his debauched state; disheveled hair, flushed skin, teary eyes, swollen red lips, redder cock drooling over the white cotton and thick denim.

For a second, Steve was afraid he had ruined it, had exposed himself too much with that slipup, but Eddie didn't even pause, he just grinned wildly, looking unhinged as he made his demand.

"Again."

"'M yours, Daddy," Steve babbled, losing his mind over the encroaching orgasm, curling his toes and arching his back off the seat as he reached the peak. "Yours."

Without preamble, Eddie spat into his gaping mouth and Steve's eyes just rolled back as he shot off, dirtying his jeans and shirt as well as Eddie's hand.

Eddie kissed him—for no other reason than to eat his whimpers right from his mouth—humming and moaning as if tasting ambrosia, not just saliva and the lingering sweetness of cocktails Steve had religiously knocked back during the party.

What came next was the belt's clacking noises. It sounded distant to him, like his brain couldn't catch up with his surroundings anymore.

But Steve was a man of habit. So it was no surprise when moments later, he blinked back to reality and found himself sucking the head of Eddie's cock, tonguing the slit and tasting bitter musk as Eddie groaned and gave a few quick strokes before coming into his mouth.

Greedily, Steve swallowed everything, licking and drinking until Eddie grabbed his hair harshly to stop him.

He was still quite dazed as Eddie cleaned him up, as Eddie redressed him, as Eddie guided him to the van and bundled him in a soft quilt that smelled like weed and smoke and drugstore soap.

The quilt was his comfort blanket, which Eddie never questioned him about, just always happened to have it around whenever Steve needed it.

And somehow, that was the first reason Steve fell for him.

Shaking his head to the joint Eddie offered, Steve leaned on the metal wall of the van and sipped slowly from the bottle of water he had been handed, basking in the peaceful silence that he rarely had for himself these days.

Then, he shifted his gaze to Eddie, meeting those intense eyes, and set the bottle down beside him.

"Thank you."

"What for?" Eddie tilted his head, as if curious, as if wanting to observe him more clearly.

"Everything," Steve shrugged and toyed with the hem of the quilt, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I mean, I was and still am an ass to you. But you always treat me with kindness, and well, make me feel like a real person, not just some– some puppets mindlessly dancing to the music. And I'm glad that I had accepted your offer that day."

"Don't sell yourself so short, Harrington," Eddie snorted, turning his face away briefly to blow out the smoke before looking back at him. "I get it. You have more things to lose than I do so 'course you gotta put on some acts to ward off your nosy subjects. Besides, it's not like I don't benefit from our transaction, or I'm a Saint, either. But it doesn't matter, does it? You and I, we both got something out of this. And that's enough for me."

Steve felt his stomach drop. So that was just a moment of heat, then. He was the idiot to believe it had been real.

And Eddie had said all of that so bluntly, leaving him no delusions to think there was something more between them.

"Okay," he said dully, pulling the quilt tighter around himself to keep the sudden coldness away.

"Fuck," Eddie cursed under his breath and snuffed out the joint in the ashtray nearby before moving closer to him. "Stevie, sweetheart, please look at me."

He had half a mind to ignore the older boy, but his gaze could never not be drawn to Eddie. It was as easy as breathing, a natural thing that had been written into his DNA.

"What?" He looked up, allowing some irritation to seep into his voice.

"I'm not good at this, Jesus Christ," Eddie muttered, fingers carding through frizzy hair and pulling a curl to chew on it anxiously, big brown eyes honed on him. "I'm gonna be honest with you here, Stevie. I never thought I'd have a chance with you, let alone kiss or touch you. But then I did and that's already crazy, you know? 'Cause we're not even friends who greet each other in the hallways like real people. We're just what? Strangers with benefits? Fuck-acquaintances? And don't forget that you had to lie to your friends to sneak out to see me. That they're still thinking you're beating me up right now."

Which was sadly true.

Steve could see why Eddie was so reluctant to get close to him. There were too many problems between them, and they were complicated enough to give Steve a headache.

Then again, he still wanted to try. Because Eddie was the only one who really looked beneath all of those layers to see him. Which was already much more than what other people (including his parents) had done for Steve.

As if reading his mind, Eddie chuckled wryly.

"And you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"That no matter how hard I tried, I still can't get you out of my mind."

Steve inhaled sharply.

"Yeah," Eddie smiled self-deprecatingly, one hand coming up to brush the bruises on the side of Steve's neck. "And the thing is I don't like to share. I'm a possessive motherfucker, sweetheart. Once I'm obsessed with something, I'm gonna keep it and take good care of it."

Eddie sounded insane even to Steve's muddled brain, and that was saying something. Still, he only found himself enraptured by it, deaf to the siren blaring in his head.

"But you're too pretty to be hidden away, sunshine," long fingers moved up to tuck a hair behind Steve's ear, sliding down the curve of it to trace the line of his jaw and his cheekbones, drawing constellations on his skin. "You should be put on the altar, put on the display to show people how gorgeous you are. Let them covet, let them beg for a glimpse of your beauty."

Steve's eyes fluttered shut as those fingers enveloped his throat again, squeezing just right to make his head go silent.

"And I'd be there," Eddie murmured in his ear, making the heat travel down his navel. "Befoul you with my devotion, and brand you with my name. And they'd be so jealous of me, 'cause the angel they worship is already mine."

Steve groaned, growing hard again at the vision Eddie conjured up in his mind. He felt dizzy, floaty, and tender. He wanted to live in this precious moment forever.

"Still wanna be my boy, sweet thing?" Eddie nuzzled his cheek. "When you know how crazy I am?"

"Keep me," Steve whispered, swaying into the only source of warmth that he knew of. "Don't let me go."

When I've got you, baby was pressed on his lips, when those arms caught him and tugged him close, embraced him with promises of love and protection; Steve knew he was finally home.

If the following day, he pissed Tommy and probably most of the jocks off by sticking up to The Freak, then well, Hellfire was ready to extend an olive branch to the former king of Hawkins High.

Because who was they to not welcome their DM's beloved prince?

And some years down the road, when Steve became a primary teacher and Eddie opened up a garage, when they bought a house and settled down together, they would tell their children that they used to be high school sweethearts.

And it wouldn't be a lie.

[crushribbons]

𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖊, 𝖕𝖙. 𝖎𝖛

summary: Sebastian Sallow might be more stubborn than he is curious. (series masterlist)

cw: 3.6k words, light fluff, very suggestive content (18+ ONLY), brief male masturbation, alcohol ment, soooort of dubcon but quickly-established consent, god when will this thing end, probably never, fem reader/oc. requests.

a/n: y'all ever heard of this word, pentalogy? hmm xx laney

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, babbling under her breath like a madman as she yanked a brush through her hair and stared at her tired and bloodshot reflection in the mirror. “Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t do anything.” In desperation, she replaced the hairbrush with her wand and pointed it at her head. Nothing happened. She wasn’t sure she had expected anything to.

You know whose hair looked wild, as well? mused a very unwelcome voice inside her head. Sebastian’s, in that dream you had. She considered keeping the wand pointed at her head and igniting it if the voice kept up.

With a groan, she gave up on her appearance altogether and looked over toward her dormitory door. Dread clawed up her throat and her heart beat unnaturally fast as she considered the prospect of going to Hogsmeade with Sebastian, as he’d asked her that morning.

“Come on, I haven’t been in ages.”

“You were there on Tuesday.”

“Not with you,” he crooned, and any pretense of annoyance slipped away from her. “Come on, beautiful day for a stroll.” She felt like a weak little lamb that Sebastian had grabbed ahold of with his wolfish teeth. 

She dangled, pathetic and miserable, from his mouth the entire walk to Hogsmeade. He was still none the wiser to her distress (or he was choosing to ignore it), chatting ad nauseam about the skirmish that had broken out in the Slytherin common room that morning. She didn’t catch a single word. Her hair was still frizzing out at her temples and getting caught in her lips as she walked, and she thought she might explode with frustration if she had to be around him for one more minute.

Dreams were usually a very viscous liquid, draining through her memory the second she woke up and tried to recall any details. So why was this particular one, this particularly Sallow-centric dream, etched so deep into her psyche? In the three days since her subconscious had betrayed her and showed her what a potential animal Sebastian could be in bed, her thoughts had been consumed by little else. She was sure all of her dreams from this point on would feature his naked and sweaty form again, so she was careful to sleep in short, awful bursts that did nothing to rejuvenate her for the following day. Maybe she was just losing her mind.

The slightest motion on his part was sending her into a tizzy. In the library yesterday, a huge waft of dust had hit him in the face when he pulled it off a shelf, and he had sneezed three times in rapid succession and yelled, “GOD!” Madam Scribner had been upon him in an instant with a swift whack to his unkempt head, but all his poor classmate could do was clutch the bottom of her skirt and whimper that she needed to step out for a moment. Everything was like this; a tap on her shoulder to get her attention at dinner, a wistful sigh as he gazed out the window and fantasized about never writing another essay ever again, everything was affecting her body more than it ever had. Her silly crush on Sebastian had snowballed, no, avalanched into something unholy that had her completely at the mercy of its icy grip. 

And she was fairly certain he knew it, too.

Their flirtations and awkward exchanges since the now infamous “towel incident” (Imelda, after overhearing Sebastian and Ominis whispering on the topic, had taken it upon herself to disseminate the rumor among their class that the towel had actually fallen to the ground) had felt harmless until recently. Now, she could swear that he was torturing her on purpose. He pouted when she spent time with anyone other than him and kept saving a plate of dessert for her every day at dinner. Last night, he’d even muttered, “If this makes you any sweeter, I'll start losing my teeth,” in her ear while he passed her a piece of chocolate cake. She’d been so goddamned wet by the time she’d managed to choke down enough to satisfy him that she was done, it was humiliating. 

Sebastian’s pinky brushed against hers, and she jumped out of her skin. “What?!” she shouted, jostled out of her sordid imagination by the very man she was imagining. His eyebrows rose.

“I said, let me hold your hand, it’s cold today,” he ordered, and without waiting for her to acquiesce, he laced his fingers between hers and she thought that might be the end of her. His warm hand dwarfed hers completely, long fingers that she could picture all-too-vividly twisting in and out of her cunt trapping her to his side. It was mid-April, and the sun was beating down on them. Desperate, she searched for anything normal to say.

“Does that line work often, Sallow?” she said, but there was none of the usual fight in her voice. It was deflated, a leaky balloon holding on for dear life to its last bit of air. 

He grinned, his shining canines exposed. “It works when I need it to.” Her stomach flipped. The pent-up energy inside her was making her hands shake, and she prayed he didn’t notice.

They walked, hand-in-hand, the rest of the way to Hogsmeade while Sebastian continued rattling off the professional Quidditch teams he was confident he could coach better than their current managers and she stared at the ground. Every so often, they would come across a piece of moonstone, and she would absently cast at it with her wand. He never dropped her hand. 

Part of her wondered, Why are we doing this dance? Why aren’t we talking about any of this? Why are we bothering? He wants me, I want him! End this! 

The other part of her was as stubborn as Sebastian was.

She was so sick of this. Sick of feeling so stupid and lovelorn and driven to the breaking point by a boy whom, until about a month ago, she’d never thought of in any romantic capacity. No sleep, no peace from her own mind, it was really making her sick.

Something in her spine clicked and made her suddenly stand up straighter. Enough of this. If he was so keen to torture her senseless instead of just admitting that something was happening between them, then maybe she would be, too.

“Ugh, this walk is so long,” she sighed the next time there was a lull in the conversation. Sebastian hummed. “Can’t you just pick me up and fly me there, birdie?”

Ooh, but she’d seen less damage taken when someone got hit in the chest with depulso during dueling club. A delighted little thrill charged through her as she watched him twitch and stammer and squeeze her hand nervously. It was like he knew that she’d moaned the nickname out in the throes of subconscious passion. When he wasn’t able to form any sort of retort, she pressed on, starting to feel giddy.

“Come on, you’ve got these big, strong wings.” She dropped his hand and moved to stand behind him. Sebastian tripped over his own feet, and she placed her hands on his back and slid them up to his shoulders, then down the length of his arms. He was stiff, frozen solid in the middle of the dirt road. A patch of daffodils honked softly to their left. God, she was supposed to be taking back the power in this battle of the sexes, so why were her knees turning to goo as she ran her hands over his arms and lifted them from his sides in a little flapping motion? He was so fucking warm and tall. He’d left his robes back at the castle, so the only thing hiding his frame was his school uniform, the green plaid wrapping around every inch and she wanted nothing more than to tear it away. The unbidden image of him in the towel smirked at her, and she dropped his arms back down. “Let’s just pick up the pace a little,” she said meekly.

Sebastian said something unintelligible and nodded, and they walked the rest of the way to Hogsmeade in complete silence, both of their hands firmly inside their pockets. As they crossed the bridge into the hamlet, the smells and sounds floating towards them made their moods rise quite a bit, and Sebastian was his usual smiling self in no time. A fellow seventh-year waved at them as they passed and informed them that Honeydukes was putting on its end-of-term sale. They tried hard to keep their pace as they made their way to the candy store at a light jog. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian groaned five minutes later around a mouthful of fudge, and she screwed up her face in disgust picking daintily at the small bun she’d opted for. Her stomach hadn’t stopped feeling strange. Especially due to the fact that her friend’s mouth was smeared with white chocolate and peanut butter and she still wanted to kiss it more than she could verbalize. 

As much as she was loath to admit it, the day was wonderful. A bright and clear Saturday afternoon with a boy who seemed determined to keep a smile on her face at all times. They ran through the village, stopping at every store to ogle the window displays and point out what they would get if they had a million galleons. Sebastian would get the newest model of broom that Albie Weekes had just stocked (a surprise to no one), and she decided she would buy every last wand that the old and wizened Mr. Ollivander had to offer. 

Sebastian laughed as she handed him the cloud of pink candy floss they were taking turns tearing chunks off of. “Wands?! Why the hell would you buy a bunch of wands?” She scooted closer to him on the bench they sat on so their legs were touching. 

“More wands means more power, right?” She mimicked casting with several different wands at the same time. “I’d be unstoppable. Ranrok wouldn’t have even come near the witch with six-hundred and fifty wands.” He cackled, his face red when he finally came back up for air. His laugh made him so beautiful.

“God, I love the way your mind works! Oh, to sneak in there for just a day.” You’ve actually made permanent residence there, she thought as she watched him examine the enormous haul he’d bought from Honeydukes. 

Stupid, God, you fucking idiot! “Oh, to sneak in there…” Do you want to just give yourself up?! Shut up, Sallow, and maybe you won’t completely bugger this to hell. 

She wished she could read minds. The Hogsmeade square, which had been bustling during the day, was gradually emptying as the sun began to set. She ran her gaze over the shops and homes that were closing their shutters for the evening. Only the Three Broomsticks seemed to really hop after sundown, witches and wizards pouring in to have a butterbeer poured out after a long day of working. Sebastian was a chatty drunk, even more talkative than he was on the average day. He’d tell any stranger his darkest secrets with little to no hesitation. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

“Fancy a drink before we head back?”

They went butterbeer for butterbeer, shot of firewhiskey for shot of firewhiskey, until she realized with a sudden jolt that she was teetering on the edge of very drunk, and that she wouldn’t be any good at extracting an admission of longing from him if she couldn’t form a coherent thought. When he raised his next shot glass to his mouth and tilted his head back, she tossed the contents of hers onto the ground and vanished it with a whisper, her wand poking out discreetly from her lap. Sebastian slammed the glass back down on the table and winced, rolling his neck on his shoulders. “Felt that one here,” he said with a slight slur, and pointed at his back molars. 

“Ick, yeah,” she agreed. Time to deploy the not-so-secret weapon. “So, my little birdie,” she began, bumping his leg under the table with her foot. His pretty nose went bright red. Wonderful. She leaned across the table with her arms crossed. Sebastian’s eyes were shamelessly raking across her chest, as if he was hoping to remove the collared shirt covering it with some psychic power. It was sad, really, how easy this was going to be.

The light din from the other patrons in the bar seemed to soften as they stared into each other’s eyes. Firelight shadows cast from the hearth were casting his clear, greeny hazel gaze golden, and she pressed her thighs together, in spite of herself. “Y-yeah?” he asked. She almost felt bad, with how helpless and devoted to her he looked right now. Almost.

“Tell me. Have you made any…romantic conquests lately? Surely, the great and delicious Sebastian Sallow does not intend to graduate without the company of a fair maiden to look forward to.”

Ohfuckohfuckohfuck, she knows. But how on earth would she–Christ, I’m drunk–how could she know, I was so careful, well, not really, but–fuck, she’s still talking. Look at her face, her face, you idiot, not her tits. I don’t care if she undoes twenty more buttons, just look at her face. Shit, her face is just as fucking perfect.

“You’re squirming, baby bird! You are after someone–who is it?” She couldn’t have kept the grin off her face if she had tried to. “Come now, tell me!” Sebastian looked like he might vomit. He dug his hands into his hair and whimpered, and she knew she had won. She pulled her stool around the table until their legs were pressed together once more. His head was in his hands, elbows on the table, and he was pressing his lips together like something dangerous would slip out if he didn’t. His usual smug, self-assured demeanor a distant memory, she found herself pressing herself against the chair and circling her hips lightly, desperate for this tension to just end.

“I think I know who it is.” She let her lips brush against his ear while she whispered it, her hand resting on his back as she leaned into him. He went rigid under her touch again.

“M’sorry,” he moaned, still hiding his face from her. 

“Oh, why are you sorry, baby?” she cooed. All posturing was gone. She was practically in his lap as she circled a lock of his chestnut hair in her fingers with absent-minded dexterity. It felt just as it had in the dream, just as soft and tuggable. His hands, not of his own accord, had begun sliding up her thighs. Her cunt practically begged for him, responsive to every one of his touches. He finally managed to look at her, and the mixture of pure lust and shame on his face made her want to push him down and take him right there, in front of all of the Three Broomsticks and God. The alcohol was searing courage into her entire being.

The two friends, although no one who observed them would have used that word to describe the two people groping at each other in a secluded corner of a bar, continued sizing each other up as they considered their next moves. Sebastian grasped at words. “I-I–I did something bad,” he eventually choked out, and she hummed in appreciation. “Awful.”

“And what did you do that was so horrible?” she murmured, fingers still tangled in his hair. He was going to admit it, admit that he’d been just as fucked up by the sight of her half-naked as she had been by him. That the visions and dreams and fantasies hadn’t stopped for even a second since, and that he was desperate to end this teasing and screw her stupid. Hell, she’d even respond in kind if she could just get him to say it first…

“I…” He bit his lip, and she almost came at the sight. She was sure that he could notice her grinding, both on the stool and as much of his leg as she could reasonably position herself against. Maybe courage wasn’t the only thing the alcohol was setting off inside her. But she would have made more of an effort to pull herself together if Sebastian hadn’t been fisting the lap of his trousers for the past twenty minutes, wrestling with an erection that seemed to be striking him dumb. Her hand slid down from his hair and palmed him over his pants, and his mouth dropped into a sweet, little “o” after a silky, “Shit, oh, shit,” leaked from it. 

“Are you too drunk?” she muttered, and he shook his head emphatically and walked his fingers across the table in a straight line with a dazed expression, making her snort. He asked in a hoarse croak if she was, and she shook her head also. His cock was so hard in her hand that she mewled a little as she stroked it, friction from the rough fabric making Seb pant and grit his teeth. She could tell he was big; in fact, he felt just as thick and long as he had when she’d dreamt of him railing her just a few nights ago. The firewhiskey still dancing around her tongue asked her if she shouldn’t tell Sebastian about the dream, right now. He’d probably cum in his pants if he ever knew, she thought with a happy and tipsy little giggle. She stopped giggling when he dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder and whined into it,

“I just, fuck, I want y–”

“Sorry, folks. It’s about that time for last call. Gonna be closing up soon.” Sirona Ryan’s voice carried over to them, and they sprang apart from each other. Their stools rocked backward with the sudden jumps, and they quickly rose to their feet, brushing off their laps like they’d just shared a very average dinner. They did not look at each other as they swept past the bar. With two feeble mumbles of thanks to Sirona, they were back on the street. 

She had done something horrible, she decided, something truly abhorrent in a past life to deserve this brand of torture in this one. Sebastian turned to face her, looking as strung out as she felt. “Look,” he began. Patrons were filing out the pub’s door behind them, paying no attention to the two students standing beside the door. The air had a sharp chill to it now that the sun had set, and she sheepishly wished that he would offer to take her hand now. Sober clarity was wiping the sweet fog of butterbeer away in her mind. It seemed Sebastian was experiencing the same.

“Let me just say this while I can still blame it on being drunk,” he said, although the slur was gone from his voice. He sounded like his old self. Like good, old, sweet, messy, rambling, whip-smart Sebastian Sallow. She watched him lean back against the wall and wondered if she loved him. He looked up at the sky, glittering diamond stars studding the velvet black. “I’ve been, sort of…I guess…I’ve had, well–um…”

“Seb,” she whispered, closing the distance between them until their hands were interlocked and their noses were centimeters apart. They looked in each other’s eyes, then at each other’s lips, then back to the eyes. Time had stopped, and he was going to kiss her, and then they were going to sprint back to the castle and rip each other’s clothes off. His nose bumped hers and he used it to knock her head back, just a bit, so their mouths slotted together and she shut her eyes. It wasn’t kissing, not yet, but it was something soft that fucked with her head just that little bit more. “Just…say it,” she ordered quietly. 

But a level-headed Sebastian wasn’t just less suggestible; a level-headed Sebastian would move heaven and earth to play the devil’s advocate.

She felt his mouth crease into a frown and opened her eyes to see that his brow was low. For a moment, she thought he had no idea what she was talking about and that she’d just made a gigantic fool of herself, but she ought to have given the ever-perverse Slytherin some more credit. “You say it,” he suddenly balked, and pulled his neck away so their lips weren’t touching. 

Indignation had her spluttering in disbelief. “What? No, you say it!”

“I won’t.”

“Sebastian!” She smacked him in the chest with both hands. He didn’t even sway. “Say it! Admit it!” She was so tightly wound, so desperate to have him finally, that her body seemed to be melting in the cool night breeze. “Admit what?” He adopted an air of total nonchalance, putting his hands in his pockets and began to meander up the path that led towards the Hogsmeade entrance as if he had all the time in the world. She watched him walk away for a few leisurely paces before she was following after him. She’d been so fucking close, too close to winning! Damn his tipsiness wearing off and being replaced by the mischievousness he loved to torture her with. 

She snatched the back of his vest to try and force him to look at her, but he kept strolling. “Admit you want me! Just say it!”

“Haven’t the foggiest what you’re referring to, but if you do ever feel like admitting to me that you desire me carnally, I’ll be at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the next month, should you need to look me up,” he yawned. 

Sallow, you bull-headed twat. Grab that woman and tell her what an angel she is and take her to bed right this instant!

In my own time, he responded to himself, then he took one last look at the angel in question, who was panting with eyes ablaze. Fuck, he wanted to toy with her like this for the rest of his life. With a crack, the stubborn bastard disapparated.

pt. 5

masterlist

[hoshifighting]

minghao as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar baby x sugar mommy relationship, smut, penetrative sex, wax play, hao is a bit reluctant at first. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

you met minghao at an art gallery, of all places. the kind of place where the air feels thick with pretension, and every other person is silently judging the brushstrokes on canvases they pretend to understand. you weren’t there for the art, though. you were scouting—looking for something that would catch your eye, something different. that’s when you saw him. he was standing in front of a massive abstract piece, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted like he was trying to decipher a secret code hidden in the swirls of paint.

“what do you think?” you asked, walking up beside him. you weren’t talking about the art, though.

he glanced at you, surprised at first, but then his lips curved into a small, almost amused smile. “i think it’s a mess,” he said, eyes flicking back to the canvas. “but sometimes, messes can be beautiful.”

you smirked, recognizing the double entendre, and that was it. you knew you had to have him.

he was reserved, his words carefully chosen, and his gaze, while intense, held a certain distance. but there was something about him that intrigued you, something you couldn’t quite place.

the relationship started slowly. minghao was cautious, almost wary, as if he didn’t want to get too close too quickly. you showered him with gifts—designer clothes that suited his lean frame, tickets to exclusive art exhibits, and, eventually, those pearly white veneers that made his smile even more captivating. at first, he accepted these things with a polite nod, a quiet “thank you,” but you could tell he was holding back.

the first time you took him to an exclusive gallery opening in paris, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than most people’s yearly salaries, you saw something shift in his eyes. minghao loved the attention, loved the way people looked at him when he was with you. from that point on, he became more than just your sugar baby—he was your partner in crime, the one who could match your energy, your hunger for more.

and then there was the sex. minghao was a fast learner, eager to explore every kink and fantasy you threw at him. you remember the first time you introduced him to wax play. the way he flinched when the first drop of hot wax hit his chest, but then he bit his lip and looked up at you with that mischievous smile, his pearly white veneers catching the low light of the room.

he tried to stay composed, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you saw the way his body responded, the subtle arch of his back, the way his hands gripped the sheets.

“you can let go, you know,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing as you ran your fingers over the hardened wax. “i want to hear you.”

minghao’s jaw tightened, his eyes locking onto yours. for a moment, you thought he’d resist, but then he let out a soft moan, his control slipping. the sound making you clench around his cock, and you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you’d broken through his carefully constructed walls.

from then on, the dynamic shifted. minghao still maintained that cool exterior in public, but behind closed doors, he was different. there was a rawness to him, a desperation that surfaced when you were alone together. he kissed you with a hunger that surprised even him, his hands rough as they tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.

you remember that night in the french hotel vividly. you’d been louder than usual, the combination of minghao’s skilled hands and the intense pleasure he brought you pushing you over the edge. he’d tried to stay quiet at first, but as your moans grew louder, he couldn’t hold back anymore. he kissed you, hard, swallowing your cries as he thrust into you, his own moans vibrating against your lips.

“fuck, you’re so—” he didn’t finish the sentence, too lost in the sensation to find the words. his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you down onto him as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

you knew you had him hooked when he started buying things for you—little trinkets from his travels, rare pieces of art that he thought you’d like, things that showed he was thinking of you even when you weren’t around. it wasn’t the price tag that mattered, but the thought behind it. minghao had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, and that was something no amount of money could buy.

together, you became a force of nature, tearing through life with a passion that few could understand. you were the power couple everyone envied, the ones who seemed to have it all, and for the most part, you did. but it wasn’t just about the material things—the luxury cars, the designer clothes, the extravagant vacations. it was about the connection you shared, the way you brought out the best and worst in each other, pushing each other to new heights, both in and out of the bedroom.

and as you lay there, watching minghao sleep, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of someone who’s truly at peace, you couldn’t help but smile.

[koolades-world]

Moments under the mistletoe

Lucifer

you got him while he was at his desk, working on some last minute paperwork. you could tell he was getting worn out and anticipating his well deserved day off

after creeping up behind him with the mistletoe hidden behind you, you hug him from behind and cover his eyes

he sighs knowingly and plays your little game since he needs this break

instead of your usual antics, you surprise him by dangling the mistletoe over the both of your heads and sneaking a kiss on his cheek

before you could pull away, he catches the back of your head and presses a kiss to your lips, telling you he'll be out in five minutes

Mammon

he got you while you were making a quick late night meal for the two of you after you got back from a night out

he wasn't really hiding, more so just hanging next to you and handing you things you needed

since the kitchen wasn't exactly small he vanished for a moment after you asked him to pass you something

you assumed he was just looking for that thing but instead he gave you a shy smooch and only after you realized that he had mistletoe afterwards

you giggled and called him cute, to which he protested and actually passed you what you needed

Levi

you got him in one of the few rare moments he happened to be outside his room, making you plan much easier to execute

he was on the couch in the living room, playing a game on his DDD

you grab the mistletoe and jump onto the couch beside him

he doesn't look up which is all according to plan. while he's distracted, you hold the mistletoe over his head and kiss his temple

after that you vanish, making you kiss and run plan a success. he was left a blushing puddle

Satan

you got him while the two of you were cuddling. he was reading a book and you were just enjoy his embrace while petting his hair

the surprise wasn't planning but since he had it sitting nearby you couldn't help but pass up the opportunity

after reaching just over his shoulder, you let it swing over your heads

he quickly realized what you were up to as soon as you moved and let you give him as many kisses as you want as long as he was allowed to give the same amount back

the mistletoe was soon forgotten <3

Asmo

he got you in the most creative way possible, at least that's what you thought

he had actually attached the mistletoe to a headband with some wire to keep it between your heads

he chased you around for a while with that headband on while you playfully ran away, but eventually you caved since he was so persistent

when you asked why he made it, he said it was so he wouldn't need to use a hand to hold it up when that hand could be doing something more important

he also said it kept his brothers away from him, and by default, you

Beel

you got him while the two of you were out on a date

you were hanging off his arm, pointing at various window displays while simultaneously snuggling close to him since it was cold

one of the displays had mistletoe hanging over them, likely to get couples like the two of you on purpose

you guided him over to it on the pretense of checking out what was inside

you asked him to lean down, which he did without question, so you could give him kiss. he was pleasantly surprised and asked for another one

Belphie

he got you with this weird pocket dimension-esque mistletoe he always seemed to have

he got you so many times and made the mistletoe vanish afterwards

the one time you tried to catch him, he was just quicker. he whipped it out, kissed your forehead

as you reached up to grab it, he held it just out of your reach, brushed it against your fingertips, then pockets it

he laughed as you then stuck your hands into your pockets but found nothing. he saw this as an opportunity to kiss you more while you were occupied, but you couldn't object

[moamidzyism]

yours. (h.kk)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 1300 smut ౨ৎ minors DNI ˚⁺。˚ ୨୧ kai x fem!reader, established relationship, jealous and possessive reader, unprotected sex, simp!kai, kai who just loves his gf <3 [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

kai knows how it goes every time.

the two of you are at a party that you brought him to, but instead of socializing with your friends like you usually do, you are standing in a corner in the kitchen, sulking as your boyfriend laughs at whatever story they are sharing with him.

you were fine when the two of you walked into the doors but then all of a sudden, something ticked you off and now your arms are folded close to your chest, opening up only so you can sip from the can of hard seltzer that you hold.

it always starts out this way.

phase two commences when he slips away to meet you. he teases you. he playfully asks why you’re in the corner by yourself. he takes your drink out of your hand and places it on the counter behind you. he cups your face to give you a peck on your forehead. you roll your eyes and you reluctantly give him your hands when he flashes you his unbearably charming smile. and he knows that you can’t say no to him when he drags you back to meet your friends.

next, he wants to reassure you and make sure that you’re okay so he’s all over you when the two of you rejoin the circle. you’re enveloped by his large frame, the smell of his cologne lingers around you, and every so often, his lips gently find their home around your face — on your forehead, on your cheeks, on the bridge of your nose, on your glossy lips.

then something happens — and this part is really important.

someone always makes a comment about the two of you. and it always happens to be the same person. ugh, you guys are so cute. they quip. i wish i had a relationship like that. you’re not sure why, but everytime they do this, it always bothers you. maybe it’s their tone, or the way they cock their head to the side at the end of the sentence, that bothers you so much. maybe it’s the smile they give you after that is laced with so much venom that no one else seems to notice. or maybe it’s the fact that apparently no one knows how they weaseled their way into your friend group but since they made their appearance, they have made it a point to make you feel so uncomfortable every time you see them.

regardless, kai always looks forward to this part of the evening, especially when you sigh, give your fakest smile, and say thank you, dragging out the last vowel. you caress his arm and kiss his cheek, snuggling closer to him for the next ten minutes. and once your mental timer goes off, you let out the most practiced and performed yawn. i think we’re going to call it a night, you announce to your friends.

you say your goodbyes and you walk out hand in hand with your boyfriend. he opens the door for you when you get to the car, and now you can drop the pretense.

he can tell that you’re upset. not with him though, you’re never upset with him.

you don’t talk for the entire car ride home. the only sounds are the gentle hum of the car engine and the low indie music that graces the radio.

when you get home, however, the flip switches.

they make me so mad, baby, you don’t even understand. you begin, kicking off your shoes at the door. kai trails behind you, picking up your shoes, rubbing your back, trying to soothe you.

and the way they look at you, you groan at the thought. you turn around to look at your boyfriend. you’re mine, you lean up to kiss him. he hums into the kiss but you pull away.

i need you to say it to me— you’re mine. you repeat again and he repeats after you, almost like you have trained him to follow your every command.

this is the moment he was waiting for all night — when you decide to take your anger out on him.

he drops all the things in his hands and you drag him upstairs to your bedroom. somewhere along the way he rids himself of his clothes so when you push him onto the bed, he is just in his boxers. you kiss him more passionately, with more force. his eyes roll back in pleasure as you kiss down to this chest, leaving bite marks along the way.

you so badly want to be mean to him, tease him, maybe even force him to cum in his underwear. kai loves how selfish you get when it comes to your pleasure. you grind against him only thinking about getting yourself off. but when you sit up to look at him, you remember that you’re not mad at him. you could never be mad at him, not when he gives himself up to you so readily.

you especially love how dazed and pretty he looks when you ride him. your hips roll against his so perfectly and he feels like he’s floating. he needs to dig his nails into your skin to ground himself, to remind himself that this is real — that you are real and that you are his and that he is yours.

you lean down to kiss him, softly cupping his face. he relaxes his hands, sliding them around your waist and pulling you closer to him. the soft kiss deepens when he starts desperately sucking on your tongue. he is so messy as he moans into your mouth. his lips trail away from your mouth, peppering open mouthed kisses around the lower part of your face, sucking along your jawline.

you try to change angles and bounce harder, but he pulls you back down despite your groans as you push yourself up. he’s quick to apologize though: i’m sorry, i’m sorry i-i just he breathes out. i love you. he repeats like a prayer and he grinds up against you.

but just as he is desperate for you, so are you for him. you fervently roll your hips into his. you hide your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on his collarbone as you edge yourself.

as if it is possible for the two of you to be any closer, when your hips begin to stutter, kai holds you closer to his body. it’s okay, i got you. he assures you as he digs his nails into your skin. he thrusts up sloppily and his moans fill the room.

please, please let me cum. let me make a mess out of you. you can’t say no to his pleas but the feeling of euphoria fills your body as you inch closer to your orgasm. the only thing you can do is choke out a weak, yes, please.

his eyes cloud over and your eyes flutter close when you feel his hips stutter just as a string of curses escapes his lips. he pumps his load deep inside you, spurts of cum coat your throbbing pussy, feeling especially warm against your sweaty skin.

he gives you both a moment to calm down before rolling you onto your back. you lean over to him to leave tender kisses all over his face, whispering i love you’s.

he pulls away to meet a pout on your face. where are you going? you ask him.

i wanna clean you up. he proceeds to stand up no, no, no, you protest, pulling him back down to the bed to lay next to you. forget about that; just stay here for a moment. you hold him close to you and you end the night telling him how good he is to you.

taglist: @dearlyjun @atinyniki @boba-beom @wolfytae-exe @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinyelfperson @wccycc @ryunjin0 @thejadeazalea @wayvisyummy @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @snghoonluv @itzzz-yerin @ujisworld

fill out this form to join my taglist! author's note :: i've been wanting to write for kai for so long omg, this is finally it. please go easy on me this is one of the first things i've written in a while so i'm not super proud of it.

[tojifm]

- consequences (m.) -> g. satoru

*𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: gojo/reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖"words": 1k ‧₊˚contains: orgasms, public humiliation, vibrators, not enough plot. ‧₊˚

i.* | ii.

He was a tease. He always had been. It didn't slip his attention how much that seemed to turn you on.

His chest was pressed against your back, warmth permeating through his white buttoned shirt, chin resting on the top of your head with a half hearted pout. To anyone else, it seemed an innocent position but you were all too aware of the outline pressed against your ass to consider it that.

His breath was hot and damp when he leaned down - watching you from the reflection that the train's window cast - and whispered in your ear, "Are you wet?"

The train was packed, bodies shuffling to make place for a newcomer at every stop. "Gojo!" you hissed, looking around to make sure nobody else heard. "Shut up."

"Are you?" His fingers wandered down from your waist and traced the band of your skirt. "Can I check?"

You were mortified. Half because you knew he truly meant it, he'd shove his finger down your underwear at any given chance, and half because you felt the slick trickle down the insides of your thigh. "No, you dumbass!"

"I won't do anything," he promised, "just wanna check."

You squirmed. It didn't escape his notice. His blue irises darkened. "Please."

"What if someone sees?" They're bound to, right? The place was packed, the smell of sweat heavy in the air.

"I'll kill them," his hips move, pressing harder against your flesh. You protested, remembering the last time you had cum over his fingers when he had pulled you aside in an alleyway under similar pretenses.

You rolled your eyes. "No."

His hand retreated to its original position in defeat, wrapping around your rib cage. He was insistent. "What underwear are you wearing?"

A frown etched itself between your eyebrows, face tilting to look at him instead of through the glass. "The one you got me yesterday." It hadn't been a surprise. Gojo had the tendency of dressing you in things only for him to rip it to shreds. Sure, it was lacier and heavier than the usual garments but you figured it was due to the metallic clasps around the string that rested on your hipbones.

His expression brightened at your reply. "Really?"

You nodded, a little confused. "Yeah, why?"

He didn't reply staring at your crotch in the window. "No reason."

You started scrolling on your phone occasionally showing him things you found interesting and thought he'd find cool, he's attentive, occasionally humming in agreement. "You'd look good in that," he said pointing out a slim black dress, simple and low cut.

You open your mouth to disagree when suddenly there's buzz against your core.

It shocks you so much you jolt against your boyfriend, head bumping against his chin, and drop your phone. People give you odd looks as you apologize, bending down to grab the device, his long fingers tightening around the jut of your hip so you didn't fall over. "You good?" He asked when you straightened into your original position against him.

"Yeah," you whispered breathily, the sensation lingering in your legs, struggling to compose yourself.

What had it been?

The train went into a tunnel, the lights dimmed, and in the reflection of the window, Gojo's eyes glowed cerulean and he grinned maliciously, flashing his white teeth. Right as it dawned on you, you felt another jolt. This time you would've been on the floor had it not been for the arm that suddenly wrapped around your abdomen. Gojo tsked in your ear. "I would've been nicer if you had let me check."

Vibrating panties. You bit down your lip and clenched your eyes shut. "Y-you asshole."

He bit the edge of your ear, teasingly, evoking a shuddering breath out of your mouth. "Are you really in a position to be so mean to me?"

No. But did it stop you? NO.

The buzz continued, a low hum vibrating against your pulsing clit. Your legs trembled, struggling to balance your body. "Gojo, fah-fuck. I-i'll kill you."

He had the audacity to lean down closer. His solid chest pressing in the back of your shoulder blades. "Hm? You say something?"

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.

To your horror, a gasp slipped past your lips catching attention. Gojo was quick to evade it, pressing his hand over your stomach, rubbing soothing circles. "Aw, is it a cramp, baby? It's okay, I'll help."

What they didn't know was the heat that had pooled in the very spot Gojo kept pressing. You press a glare on the side of his jaw. "I'll ruin you."

"I'd like to see you try." That was your only warning before the speed jumped and your head was over his shoulder, body curving outwards. Faintly you made out the few words he was saying. "Ooh a bad one, huh? Cramps suck."

Your legs shook and he was absolutely delighted, the evidence of it growing by every second against your ass. "Are you gonna cum?" he whispered.

"Shut up," you whined uselessly, squeezing your legs together. At this point, you were fully using his body as support, no longer able to hold yourself up.

He laughed. "Just turn it down, please," you requested.

"Should've let me touch you-"

"Please!" Your knuckles were white from how tight you were gripping the edges of your skirt. The smug man simply shook his head with a smirk.

To some miracle, at the moment you absolutely felt you'd drown in ecstasy and embarrass yourself in front of exhausted strangers, the mechanical doors opened up to a platform that wasn't yours. But you didn't care.

Clumsily, managing to escape the hold of your boyfriend, you jumped out in the humid summer that had settled on to the station. You completely ignored his call as you made it your sole purpose to locate a bathroom. The buzzing sharpened and you fell to your knees with a yelp, bone thudding against the polished floor.

Humiliation burned against the backs of your eyes. There was no way this was happening. Horror warmed your veins but it was the crave of the impending orgasm that really drove you to your wits end.

"…you okay? Miss- miss-"

Someone was speaking to you. "Are you okay?" A train conductor.

You wet your lips and managed a nod, the buzzing was stronger kneeling down, pressed directly against the bundle of nerves. He looked concerned. "Are you alone?"

You were about to shake your head when familiar hands dig into your armpits and drag you up. "There you are."

You didn't see his face but you felt his silent kind of fury. He didn't like it when you ran away. The conductor casts a quick gaze at you and at your nod of confirmation before shrugging and walking away.

"Where did you think you were going?"

The next few moments pass in a haze where you find yourself against a lidded toilet inside a family restroom. The man himself had crouched down on his feet, fingers pressing the underwear harder against your pussy, delighting himself with the reactions your body gave him. There was an obscenely wet patch forming against the lace, the pink darkening into a deeper shade. "You know why I got this color?" He doesn't wait for your response, ever so entitled.

"It reminded me of your cunt. So pretty and pink. I just had to see it on you."

You cried out when you came, face wet with tears and mouth leaking with drool. The buzzing stopped and you wanted to curse him for putting you through such torment but all you could manage was a shudder of relief.

You failed to notice how absolutely bewitched Gojo was by what he was seeing. Your release gushed out of the thin material that covered you, white streaks running down your thigh. He gulped, not realizing it'd be his turn next.

"You're absolutely ruined," he whispers before his hand patted your cunt, a squelching sound, so vulgar, and so, so, dirty echoed in the empty room.

"G-gojo, what- nngh-" You felt the buzzing before you heard the click of the remote control. Your body jerked up in reaction, his fingers still tracing the edges of the material, softly. You were starting to feel numb from overstimulation - oversensitive from his ministrations but then you felt his breath on the inside of your thigh, followed by a kittenish lick. You make a move to close your legs but his hands are there holding you sturdy and apart. He hummed to himself. "Fuckkkkk, always taste so good."

Your face flushed, whining at his compliment, eyes fluttering shut. Gojo watched from between your legs, licks became desperate and sucking hard enough to leave behind bruises. That, paired with the vibrator, and the tremble of your legs, was enough to tell Gojo exactly where you were.

It was enough to send you careening over the edge, squirting in your underwear at an unknown train station with an impatient Gojo buried in your cunt.

might make part two but who knows he kinda deserves it

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 1 || KTH

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @/sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: vampire hunting and killing, blood and gore in vampire attacks, language

WC: 5.7k

Maggie’s mother always told her nothing good happens after midnight. Maggie disagreed. Lots of good things happened after midnight. Usually in bars with loud music, her friends’ laughter ringing in her ears and a little too much alcohol singing in her bloodstream. 

That was the case tonight - and the night had been wonderful. She and Farrah had still been going strong at midnight, throwing back shots in tandem. The DJ had been stellar and they’d danced until their feet hurt. And, the piece de resistance, they’d run into that guy from their Econ class - the one with the dark eyes and killer smile. He’d stayed with them the whole tail end of the night - even offered to walk them home, back to their apartment building. 

He’d stayed with them, but his eyes had been on Maggie. And when, on the walk home, Farrah skipped ahead of them, buzzed and happy, he’d tugged on her hand and kissed her sweetly, right there on the sidewalk.

Nothing good happens after midnight, who? 

And then, something weird happened. The stretch of sidewalk seemed suddenly darker, as if there was something between them and the flickering streetlight - like netting, or mist. It seemed, suddenly, that the lack of light was an entity - alive, all around them, shifting and changing and wanting. 

“Farrah,” Maggie called, the hairs on her arms starting to stand. She’d only been a bit ahead of them, but somehow Maggie was having a hard time seeing her friend. Econ Guy put his arm around Maggie’s shoulders protectively, glancing around them.

But there was nothing to see except darkness that felt darker.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, and then two things happened so quickly that to Maggie’s human eyes, it seemed to be at once: a bit of darkness moved much too fast just in front of her, and Farrah’s body slumped to the ground.

“Farrah!” Maggie screamed, her breath caught in her throat. She started towards her friend’s motionless body, but she was tugged back. Econ Guy was pointing at Farrah’s body, his mouth moving like he was trying to make a word, but couldn’t. Maggie looked again, closer. 

The darkness that had moved was bent over Farrah’s body, obscuring their view of her shoulder and face. Maggie’s heart beat so hard in her chest that it hurt, and a tingling she associated with panic started in her fingertips as her body pleaded with her to run.

“What is it?” Maggie whispered in horror. Beside her, Econ Guy made a choked sound and took a step backwards, his arm falling away from her, all pretenses of toughness vanishing. 

At the sound of her hushed question, it looked at them, head snapping up, the motion sharp and jerky. Then, it clambered to its feet, stepping over Farrah’s body and staggering towards them. As it approached, Maggie could see it - him - for the first time.

He was undeniably beautiful - or would have been, if it weren’t for the blood, black like ink in this light, running in rivulets from his mouth down to his chin. Could have been, if not for the inhuman growls and snarls that rippled from his chest like the start of an antique lawn mower, if not for the way his eyes were glossy black, no pupils or irises visible at all. Could have been, if not for the inhumanly long incisors ending below his curled upper lip.

“Infracti,” Maggie said hollowly. 

Beside her, Econ Guy found his voice again. “Hey,” he said sternly. “You can’t hunt here. It’s against the law.”

The Infracti stalked closer, unblinking, then stopped a few feet before them. Its upper lip was curled in what looked like disgust, displaying its most fearsome weapons clearly. Maggie’s entire body shook and she dropped to the ground, her legs refusing to hold her up - let alone to run. 

Not that she could outrun an Infracti. 

The beast looked at them evenly, then stuck out its tongue and languidly - as if putting on a show - licked its lips, sucking a few more drops of Farrah’s blood into its mouth. Maggie didn’t see the monster move, but suddenly Econ Guy was screaming, arms flailing as he tried and failed to shove the Infracti away from his body. The Infracti’s long fingers gripped his upper arms tightly, holding Econ Guy in place, its frightening face buried in the crook of his neck. 

The scream fizzled to a sob. The Infracti opened its hands - fingers splayed purposefully as it emptied them - and its victim’s body hit the pavement. The sound - a round, weighty thud - echoed through Maggie’s head as the Infracti turned to face her. Its all-black eyes seemed calculating, in their own way. Still on the ground, Maggie was almost face to face with Econ Guy’s corpse. His eyes were still wide and frightened, though unseeing. 

The Infracti stepped closer to her, gently, carefully, and then it crouched down, swirling black eyes meeting hers. The growls subsided, and Maggie thought wildly that it looked almost thoughtful. Her heart wasn’t beating anymore as much as vibrating. Her breaths were so shallow they barely counted, and the night swam around her. 

When Maggie was seven, her grandmother was mugged while they were walking together. In the moment, her grandmother had tossed her purse into the street, and grabbed Maggie’s hand to run when the thief lunged for the bag. When Maggie asked about it later, in that way that kids do, her grandmother had explained to her, “He wasn’t interested in you or me. He was interested in my money. I gave him what he wanted, so he left me alone.”

Now, eye to eye with a beast straight out of her nightmares, Maggie saw her grandmother’s face, heard her sweet voice. I gave him what he wanted, so he left me alone. Tentatively, she held out her wrist, veins up. The beast moved like liquid again, a shifting of darkness, until he was closer to her, her wrist clutched tight in his cool grasp. Then, gently, as if he were a gentleman kissing the back of her hand in greeting, he brought her wrist to his lips and let his fangs pierce the flesh.

Taehyung wakes to a shout; he becomes aware of the pain before anything else. His head throbs, his throat feels like there’s glass in it, his shoulders and back ache like he’s carried marble slabs all night. 

It’s a uniquely human curse to question, and Taehyung isn’t human, but he immediately tries to figure out why he hurts from head to toe. Especially since he hasn’t hurt in several centuries. 

He shoots a quick glance around to see what he can figure out without moving. Right away it’s clear that he is not in bed. He is on the floor, the stone cool beneath his palms. A servant is crouched near him, repeating his name but smart enough not to touch him.

He can tell, as his blurry vision clears bit by bit, that he’s definitely in the palace proper, though not in a wing he frequents. The floor beneath him is just stone - no marble, no thick carpeting - which indicates he’s not in a living-quarters wing. The walls, however, hang with vibrant tapestries and oil portraits, gilded sconces lighting the way every few feet. Most definitely still the palace.

“Why am I here?” he manages to croak.

The servant turns over his shoulder and shouts to someone, “Alert the King!”

This is the first moment that Taehyung feels alarm atop the pain. He struggles to sit up, takes stock of his surroundings. The same servant still hovers near, face pinched with something akin to fear. 

How did I end up on the floor? 

Not only that - he isn’t even entirely sure where in the sprawling palace he is.

When he hears approaching footsteps and recognizes the sharp, staccato clicks and clacks, he almost sags back to the floor in relief. Instead, he pushes himself to standing, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him and then ebbing just in time for him to incline his head and intone, “Mother.”

Despite the centuries that have passed since Taehyung was small, something affectionate and maternal remains in the Queen. She presses cool palms to Taehyung’s cheeks and looks him up and down. She winces at something she sees. “Darling,” she says, the word lilting in the strange accent she has, one that belongs to a language long-dead. “What were you thinking?”

It takes Taehyung a moment to articulate a response. He’s frightened - something quite new to him - and he isn’t sure the correct move to make in this situation. The fear toys with logic, makes the answer slippery, hard to grasp.

He settles on the truth. “I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I mean - I can’t remember. I don’t know how I got here.”

He doesn’t ask, did something happen. It’s obvious that something did. 

He hears his father, Sunjae of Rune, King of Infracticus, long before he enters the room, his authoritative voice barking questions and orders.

“How far has word spread?”

“There was only one witness. She’s in custody.”

“Handle her and send her back,” the King snaps. “As quickly as possible. Where is my son?”

This last question is roared as he finally enters the high-ceilinged corridor where his wife and son stand.

“I’m here,” Taehyung says, needlessly. 

The King sizes him up, eyes narrowed, chest puffed. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he spits finally. 

Taehyung clears his throat and then ventures, “For starters… I’d really like to know what happened.”

The King’s face slides from fury to something befuddled, his hands sinking to his sides like sails in the absence of wind.

–

Taehyung’s father leads them back to their private wing and closes them into a dimly lit room that houses floor to ceiling bookshelves full of tomes so old they’d crumble to dust if you dared to touch them. A fire roars in the hearth for aesthetics only - Taehyung’s kind can’t feel cold. 

He locks the door and turns to face them. Taehyung’s mother has sunk delicately onto a fainting couch, and she watches her son sharply. 

Taehyung feels itchy under her gaze. She’s the smartest of the three of them, and Taehyung knows it even if his father doesn’t.

“You’re telling me,” the King growls, low, “that you don’t remember any of it?”

“I was in my wing,” Taehyung promises. “Sometime near midnight. That’s the last thing I remember, until I woke up on the floor in a random hallway -”

The King and Queen exchange a look, an entire conversation in just a glance. Then, the King heaves a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

Then, the Queen ventures, “The Elders should see him.”

The King grumbles something under his breath.

She tries again. “He could be ill. He could be going mad. We need to know!”

“Will someone please tell me what’s happened?” Taehyung bursts out, finally unable to take it - the anxiety, the questions, the conversation about him but not involving him, all of it.

“You went rogue,” the King says dryly, his eyes on the dancing fire instead of his son.

Taehyung feels his stomach drop. “Meaning?”

“Exactly what he said,” the Queen says, something steely in her tone. “You went above, alone, and… hunted.”

Taehyung feels his legs turn to stone. His stomach twists and a wave of nausea rocks him. “I what?” he asks, but it comes out like a gasp. The sides of the room are starting to go black and he breathes slowly, one hand gripping the back of the couch.

Silence expands, filling the room. Taehyung’s stomach lurches, and he closes his eyes.

“Did… did I -?”

“You took two humans and left a third alive. We have teams cleaning up, up there, and we’ve got the spare here -”

Took two humans.

The spare.

Taehyung’s stomach twists again. The black creeping at the edge of his vision draws closer to the center. Taehyung loses sight of his father’s face in the encroaching darkness. 

“Darling, we’ve covered up incidents like this countless times. No one will know. We’ll make sure.” The Queen’s voice is soothing, bringing to Taehyung’s mind all the times when he was a child when she would hurry to calm him.

Taehyung shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

“You didn’t know you were doing it,” the King muses - his next problem to solve, not a placation to reassure his guilt-stricken son. “We must uncover the cause.”

“The Elders,” the Queen says again, insistently. “At least let them give him a medical once-over.”

The King sighs in defeat. “I suppose we have no choice. Wait in your rooms, Taehyung. I’ll summon the Elders at once. The sooner we find out what came over you, the better.”

—

Taehyung is in his wing when Jimin comes – uncalled, unbidden, simply as if he sensed his best friend’s distress. And perhaps he had – the Infracti have shown stranger powers before.

“I heard you had a bit of an adventure,” he says carelessly, flopping sideways along Taehyung’s favorite leather couch, feet propped on the armrest, as he has millions of times over hundreds of years.

“News travels fast,” Taehyung says bitterly.

Jimin smiles indulgently, used to his moody friend. “Not so. But they called on Seokjin to help wipe the memory of the girl who survived before they sent her back.”

Taehyung blanches. “That’s illegal.”

Jimin gives him a dirty look and a scoff to accompany it. “Please,” he says dismissively. “You can’t be that naïve, not in your position.”

The Queen’s words run back through Taehyung’s mind. We’ve covered up incidents like this countless times.

He sulks. “They shouldn’t be breaking treaty laws over me,” he grumbles.

Jimin lets out a sigh. “If rules can be bent for anyone, shouldn’t they be for you? Besides…” He sits up, looks at Taehyung more seriously. “It’s not like one of us went up there willingly, like… on purpose. If someone decided to just fuck the protection laws and go hunting, I’d obviously object to a cover-up. But that isn’t the case here. Something happened to you. They’re not covering up a crime, they’re recovering from an accident.”

An accident. He’d killed two innocent people. Nearly killed a third.

Taehyung drops onto a chair near Jimin’s feet, covering his face with his hands. “Truly,” he says hollowly, the words muffled by his palms, “I have never in over six hundred years felt this deeply guilty about something. Jimin, I killed people. Me. I did that.”

It’s an understatement. There aren’t words – not in any language, dead or alive – to describe the deep, crawling self-hatred Taehyung feels. There’s no phrase for the twist and ache in his stomach when he pictures the scene above-ground – bodies limp on the ground, the echo of screams from the survivor floating away into the uncaring night, blood thick and metallic on his tongue, a wild flash in his eyes.

Jimin shakes his head, lips protruding in a pronounced pout. “It wasn’t you. We all know that.”

“Those people are dead and the fault is only my own,” Taehyung says firmly.

“You weren’t yourself,” Jimin insists. “What did the Elders say?”

The Elders are terrifying, is Taehyung’s take-away. His own father is thousands of years old, and looks like a child in comparison. Infracti are not immortal; rather, under the right circumstances - and often with the help of the magic they can control - they can live for tens of thousands of years. The oldest Infracti that Taehyung knows - not counting the Elders, as he doesn’t know them - is around thirty thousand years old, and weaker every day. The Elders, whose ages Taehyung doesn’t actually know, seem so fragile they might be made of dust, particles held together by magic and force of will. He’d showered three times after leaving them just to get the icky shudders to stop.

“That I’m not ill and I’m not mad,” Taehyung recites dryly, finally removing his hands from his face.

“Which leaves what possibilities?” Jimin asks with a frown.

Taehyung shrugs. “They’re meeting about it right now. I’ve been told to stay in my own wing.”

Jimin squawks. “For how long?”

“Until they’re sure it won’t happen again, I suppose,” Taehyung guesses with a small shrug. “Or until they’ve come up with an answer.”

“Lovely,” Jimin quips sarcastically, and moves to rise. “Well, I’ll check in on you later this evening. I’m sure you’ll be bored, cooped up in here.”

“I’d rather be bored than -”

“I know.” Something new creeps into Jimin’s voice – some kindness, some understanding. “It wasn’t your fault, Taehyung. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Taehyung gives him a nod and sees him out, his stomach twisting and roiling. Only one of those things, he knows, is true.

Sunlight and fresh air assault you as you make your way slowly down the city block, the messenger bag around your body laden with thick books and hastily scribbled notes. The ache in your shoulder from carrying it has been part of your existence for so long that you barely notice it anymore.

You pass a bank and glance at the screen displaying today’s date and temperature, followed by the time. It indicates that you’ve somehow ended up here between buses. You’ll have to wait a bit for the next one.

At least it’s nice out, you think, and settle onto a bench just across from your bus stop. It backs up to a park, and you watch as people bustle by, most of them glued to their phone screens or carrying on conversations into their earpods. In the park, a group of kids is playing loudly, shouts and shrieks rising towards the cloudless blue sky.

“Songie’s team, you’re the Runes!” someone shouts, and it grabs your attention. You smile, watching them gather and form groups.

“It’s not Runes,” someone corrects snottily. “It’s Ruins.”

Actually, you think, hiding a little smile, the proper pronunciation of the powerful Infraci family falls somewhere between the two words. 

The ancient language of Infracticus has phonics that most modern people struggle with. As a result, there tends to be two schools of thought regarding pronunciation. Commonly, the families are called the Runes, the Cleaves, and the Scores. At the university that you’d attended, at which you now work, they’d taught you Ruins, Leaves, and Scorns.

But it’s all the same, really.

You watch the game for some time. It’s a lot like freeze tag, and you remember playing it in the schoolyard as a kid. Teams – one Runes and one Scores – try to cross a field past each other without getting tagged and frozen. Teams had elected members called Cleaves, who were the only players who could unfreeze another.

It’s funny, you’ve always thought, how the actual history of the three Infracti families translated into the rules of the children’s game. To be historically accurate, it should have been three teams – Cleaves wouldn’t be members of Runes or Scores but their own faction altogether.

However, you do wonder if their ability to unfreeze players is derived from the Cleaves’ ability to heal, something the other two bloodlines have never possessed.

And is it coincidence that the game became the Runes versus the Scores, when those two families had a particularly ugly blood feud, millennia ago? 

All three families have vied for power at one point or another – most known history of the Infacti includes this never-ending power struggle. But the Runes have managed to hold court since the time the protection laws were passed, the ones that both protect humans from being hunted and bans those same humans from doing the hunting. The ones that decree quarterly blood donations from every adult human to ensure there’s never a shortage that could lead to hunting. The ones that declare the monarchy follows only the Runes’ royal bloodline.

Hunting - both of and by Infracti - still happens, of course. There’s no such thing as utopia. But at least now there are consequences when an Infracti attacks a human, and consequences when humans turn to violence to drive Infracti out of their communities.

Questions like this, constant curiosity about the Infracti culture and history, had carried you through dual degrees studying the history and sociology of the Infracti. Now, after nearly a decade of your adult years spent in academics, you tote multiple degrees, including extensive experience with both curses and counter-curses.

Your family hates it - never understood it. Your mother has called it an obsession time and time again. But neither she nor your father can argue with the career opportunities in academia that you’ve been afforded, now that you’re full-time staff at the university.

And they don’t even know about the other opportunities that keep falling at your feet: more and more curse-breaking cases as the years pass. The more your reputation and success rate grow, the more your name seems to be passed around. You think your mother would faint on the spot if she knew that only two months ago your team had flown into deep Brazilian jungle and helped them to cast the counter-curse that freed an entire village from unending rain. 

When the bus finally pulls in, bringing with it a warm breeze and the smell of gasoline, you rise, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder and searching for a seat. It’s about twenty minutes to campus unless you catch an Express – and you have no such luck today.

Your phone rings in your pocket as you sit, and you shift in your seat until you can slide it free. Your boss’s name floats across the top of the screen and you answer it quickly. 

“Are you on campus yet?” he asks in lieu of hello. Dr. Kim - the department head at the university where you teach - is nearing seventy, but he’s the leading curse-breaker on the eastern coast and you find it unlikely that he’ll slow down anytime soon. He was one of your first professors when you showed up here as a bright-eyed undergrad, years ago.

“Twenty minutes out,” you report. “I’m on the bus.”

“Come directly to my office,” he requests, but you can hear the urgency dancing in his tone. You know what this means: he’s been contacted about a curse. 

“I have a class at ten thirty,” you warn him. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

“It won’t take long,” he promises, and you agree to stop by before ending the call and turning your attention back to the bus window. 

It’s somehow chillier when the bus drops you on campus, cloud cover removing the warmth of the sun as you hustle down one of the paved walkways towards the academic buildings, dodging students standing in groups talking, others riding bicycles and the rare electric scooter. 

You hurry into the building that houses most of the staff offices, bypassing the corridors the students frequent and taking the narrow back staircase that leads to Dr. Kim’s office.

He’s waiting for you, door open, a spread of papers on his desk. 

You greet him with a smile, dropping your heavy bag by his door as you have hundreds of times in your professional history. Dr. Kim was one of your first undergrad professors, years ago, and you’ve worked closely with him in all the years since: first, as a TA for his tougher classes, then co-teaching when the university took you on, and finally joining his team of curse-breakers, rapidly bypassing several team members who had more seniority but less knack. 

“We got a call?” you guess, drawing closer to the papers and peering at them for clues. That’s when you notice the young man already seated in one of the two chairs across from Dr. Kim’s desk. Embarrassed, you hurry to nod hello to him, murmuring an apology. He has dark hair, sculpted cheekbones, razor-sharp eyes, and - you notice when he smiles in greeting - a deep dimple on each side.

The expression on Dr. Kim’s face is a little strange - almost like he’s nervous to give you the news. You can’t imagine what might be giving him pause, considering your last meeting like this had landed you both in a literal rainforest. Could he have gotten a request for the team to go somewhere even more remote than that?

“We did,” he allows with a tight little nod. “It’s… a bit unorthodox, though. I’d like you to consider the situation carefully.”

You feel yourself frown. “What is it?”

He sighs, then nods towards his door. “Will you close that, please?”

You reach behind you and gently press the wooden door shut, feeling flutters of uncertainty for the first time in your career. The stranger shifts in his chair uneasily.

“Perhaps you should sit,” Dr. Kim suggests, holding a hand towards the empty chair opposite his desk. 

This isn’t how these meetings go. You’ve done this a dozen times or more - usually as soon as Dr. Kim can see your face he starts chattering excitedly about the details: who’s been cursed, what the effects are, the specifics of the location, the bits of travel itinerary he’s already worked out. 

You sit hesitantly, hands gripping the arms of the chair nervously. You try hard not to glance sideways at the man you don’t know. 

“Well?” you prompt, when Dr. Kim still doesn’t speak.

“This is Namjoon,” Dr. Kim says, belatedly realizing he hasn’t introduced you. “His degrees all focus on curses. A comparable background to yours, academically.”

“That’s not true,” Namjoon says, holding up a hand. “I didn’t study Infracticus. My magical knowledge is focused solely on curses and curse-breaking.”

Dr. Kim makes a noise like he doesn’t quite agree with this. “Anyway,” he says to you, “I personally asked Namjoon to make the trip and hear the request. I think he’ll be invaluable in picking this one apart.”

“Okay,” you agree easily. You trust Dr. Kim with your life - literally - and if he thinks someone will be an asset to the team, you’d never argue with that. You turn sideways just a bit and murmur an it’s nice to meet you before turning your attention back to your (normally) fearless leader. “So what are we in for?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face, almost as if he’s unsure if he should tell you or not. “You need to know right from the start how very dangerous this could be,” he says, looking back and forth between the two of you, his voice more grave than you’ve ever heard it. 

“Because of the magic involved?” you ask. Curse-breaking is always dangerous, that’s the very nature of it. You always run the risk of making a fatal mistake; you could turn the curse back on yourself, or strengthen it, or simply end up creating side-effects you hadn’t intended. He’s never given you this warning before.

He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Not more so than any other. It’s… well, my dear, it will involve a stay in Infracticus.”

You’re shocked into silence. You can’t help but meet Namjoon’s eyes, sideways, and find him looking just as surprised as you. You utter, quietly, “What?” even though you heard and understood him perfectly well. It’s more than you need help processing, facing the reality of the words. “An Infracti has been cursed?”

He shakes his head, though the answer isn’t no. “Not just any Infracti,” he corrects. “The Prince of Ruin.”

Your jaw literally drops. “Someone cursed the crown prince?” you gasp in disbelief. “Who would dare?”

“The Scorns, I imagine,” Namjoon murmurs, almost to himself.

Dr. Kim gives you two a wan smile. “Luckily, we aren’t tasked with solving that. Just finding and casting the counter-curse.”

You sit back in your chair in a daze, blinking slowly, cogs in your mind whirring fast. “Okay,” you say finally. “We’d be protected, though, right? They’re inviting the team, so they’d make sure we were safe?”

Dr. Kim seems to look far-away for a moment, contemplating his answer. You shift nervously, glancing sideways at Namjoon. You would have been reassured by a quick answer - the fact that he needs to formulate a response does nothing to quell your unease. 

“I trust we are being invited there for the reasons they say,” he allows. “And so, I do believe the royal family will want us to be safe, yes. But the fact still remains that we will be humans walking around Infracticus. I’m sure we will be given guards - the question becomes, can we trust those guards completely? I fear I cannot say for sure.”

“It’s like walking into the lions’ den,” Namjoon murmurs beside you.

“Quite,” Dr. Kim agrees, nodding. 

“Except there’s an injured lion and only we can fix it,” you point out. 

“We can’t rely on that to ensure our safety,” Dr. Kim says, frowning more deeply. “It’s a delicate situation. The royal family cannot let it get out that the prince’s well-being has been… compromised.”

Namjoon frowns in confusion. “Why not?”

You think you understand. You venture, “To admit weakness, to admit to having been successfully attacked, to admit that the crown prince is cursed - it would be an open invitation for rebellion.”

“Yes,” Dr. Kim confirms, inclining his head, his white tufts of hair moving breezily. “The Infracti respect the laws that are currently in place, but the crown prince is the last member of the Ruin bloodline. If he were to die, or to be unfit to lead…”

“There’s nothing in the laws about who would rule next,” you finish for him, eyes wide. “It would be…”

“A war for the throne, I imagine.”

You sit in silence for a moment under the weight of this. Then, Namjoon says carefully, “I’m sorry, but can we circle back? The prince’s curse has to be secret, I got that - but how does that affect the safety of our team?”

“We’ll be hosted in the palace as honored guests,” Dr. Kim tells you both. “But no one beyond the royal family will know why. They don’t know that if they slipped up and harmed us, it would harm the prince, too. We can’t assume our purpose will serve as protection. Any Infracti beyond the royal family should be considered a threat.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, turning to face Namjoon. He looks just as bamboozled as you feel, validating your reaction. 

“This is wild,” you utter, mostly to yourself. “This is absolutely bonkers.”

“This is why I said you need to consider carefully,” Dr. Kim insists. “There is much at stake. You’re in danger every moment you’re down there, even with the promised protection. The curse itself must be complicated, or they’d have solved it themselves. If your reason for being there is uncovered due to a fault of our own, we’ll be facing the wrath of the royal family. And I… I’m afraid I won't be able to join you.”

“What? No - you have to,” you blurt, panicked. “I can’t do it without you - you’ve decades of experience over me - I’ve never led a case before!”

“They don’t want me,” he tries to explain. “They don’t want any possibility that someone will figure out who I am and put the pieces together. A simple inquiry of my name blows the whole thing - the first thing they’d find is curse-breaker. As I said - the secrecy of the prince’s condition is vital.”

You scoff. “So they want me because I’m nobody.”

He looks at you kindly, used to your moods. “They want you because you have a high success rate. Your ability to stay… lowkey, as the kids say -”

Namjoon makes a choked sound like he’s fighting a laugh.

“- you should see it as an asset.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” you say, because it’s true. Because it feels safer to have someone older, wiser, with more experience. Because it feels like less responsibility to not be the person in charge. Because it’s what you’re used to, and you cling to the familiar. 

He shakes his head sadly. “The royal family will not allow it. I’m sorry.”

You lapse into silence again. 

Namjoon speaks slowly, as if a new thought is dawning on him, and he doesn’t like it. “If they suspect the Scorns…” 

Your stomach sinks. 

Dr. Kim nods. “I imagine you may see the beginnings of some political unrest if an accusation is made.”

“Forget the accusation,” Namjoon says hollowly. “If we uncover that it was a Scorn attack… we’ll be walking into Infracti civil war.”

“Will it be that bad?” you ask, frowning, pulse quickening. 

Namjoon shrugs. “The Ruins and the Scorns would each love a reason to point the finger at the other. If we do happen across the cause of the curse as we try to break it… it’s likely there will be political ramifications.”

“God,” you mutter. 

“As I said,” Dr. Kim repeats. “I won’t accept an answer today. I want you both to sleep on it. Discuss with your families.” (You snort at this. As if you ever would.) “Talk to me tomorrow about how you’re feeling.”

He dismisses you then, shepherding you both towards his door, leaving it open now that you’re done discussing the equivalent of vampire state secrets. 

Halfway down the stairs, Namjoon calls your name. Ahead of him, you pause, turn, and let him catch up to you. 

“Can we exchange information?” he asks, digging in his wallet. He finally hands you a business card, and you do the same, hoping you have one tucked behind a credit card or something. 

“I’d like to talk to you about this, later, if you have time,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “I’m… not feeling very sure about it.”

“Okay,” you say easily, glancing at the time - you’ve got seven minutes to get across campus to teach your first class. “Do you want to grab a bite later? Your number’s on here?” You wiggle the business card, and he nods. “I’ll text you,” you promise, and start down the steps again, mind racing.

Next ->

thank you for reading! i hope you liked this first installment! chapter 2 will go up next friday!!! <3

[sailforvalinor]

I’m always fascinated by vengeance arcs in fiction because of their potential to create conflict within the audience—it’s an extremely natural, human thing to desire justice, and seeing someone get their comeuppance is extremely satisfying, and fulfills almost a spiritual need within everyone, I think. But there’s a fine line between justice and vengeance—where is it? How far is too far? I’m not here to answer these questions here other than to say that there is a line, but how a piece of fiction decides to indicate that line and where it’s been crossed is utterly fascinating to me. It’s the ability to have your audience response go from “YES! YEEESSSS!! WOOHOOOOO” to “…wait…no, this isn’t…oh no” on a dime.

The Time Lord Victorious in Doctor Who is still my favorite example of this (the shift is just so subtle!), but FMAB is getting some MAJOR points from me for how it handled Roy’s pursuit of vengeance over Hughes’ death. It isn’t subtle by any means—the dude is terrifying, Ed and Scar are actively commenting on how far he’ll go, Riza is obviously terrified for him—but it’s still extremely effective. I think part of what makes it so good is how well it parallels his encounter with Lust—she was also a homunculus, he also torched her to death protecting Riza, it even happened in the same exact place—but while that situation felt karmically satisfying and necessary to defend someone else (though, admittedly, it was still a bit disturbing), his encounter with Envy, while it starts out hyping you up for what promises to be a long-awaited delivery of justice, quickly begins to feel utterly wrong. Roy’s face is contorted, he doesn’t possess his usual control of his emotions, and he’s cruel. Envy is actively fleeing from him, and Roy isn’t even running to keep up with him, he’s just walking, and it’s terrifying. But where any pretense of justice completely vanishes is where Envy reverts to his tiny, weak, reptilian form, and Roy is still just as willing to murder him. And of course, the final nail in the coffin is Riza pointing her gun at his head—fulfilling the promise set up in earlier episodes that she would kill him if he ever deviated from his path. It’s just *chef’s kiss* perfection.

[cheesus-doodles]

Star-Crossed by Choice: Chapter 3

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

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<< Chapter 1 | 2

Masterlist

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apologies for the sudden hiatus yall ;-; i've been pulling midnight days almost every day for the past month for work on top of dealing with quite a severe writer block - things has been calming down somewhat so I look forward to ramping up my writing again! thank you for your patience :3

“You ungrateful little whore,” Raihan all but snarled out, the whites of his gritted teeth glinting in the dim street light as he stared you down.

Your body instantly reacted, attempting to stumble back and away despite having collapsed on the ground, your trembling gaze all but locked on Raihan’s icy teals, unable to turn away. If looks could kill, you wouldn’t be dead, no - the fate that awaited you was so much worse than the kind embrace of death. Your Cinderace let out an uncertain trill as it looked back at you, quickly followed by an annoyed one as it shifted to block your view of the gym leader. The astute Pokemon you had the honor to call your partner was more than well aware of the situation, though its efforts did little to stop the shivers that wrecked your body as you tried and failed to force yourself to get up and move.

Raihan was hardly deterred. “After all I’ve done for you, after all you’ve put me through-” The taller man took a step forward, his towering shadow falling over you, eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark and he stared you down. “This is how you repay my love?” 

It was as if your Cinderace barely existed between the two of you, those narrowed eyes piercing straight past the Pokemon and into your soul, a shot from a harpoon that hooked into your flesh and froze you in place. There was no right answer to his question, even if you could muster the words to reply, because there wasn’t supposed to be one; you were never right. Only wrong. 

The town of Cortando was predictably quiet at this time of the night, with residents and student visitors having long retreated into their beds to prepare for the coming day. You envied them - and you always had - having the freedom that the new dawn would bring to look forward to. And even though you treasured every day you could roam the rolling hills of Paldea, free from the shackled throne you were forced to sit upon in Galar, it wasn’t without needing to constantly look over your back for the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

And now, the freedom you had so carefully constructed for yourself was threatening to shatter before your eyes. 

You gulped, pleading eyes sliding to glance at Nemona, who was still staring blankly at the whole ongoing shitshow. What now? Could you simply give all this up? Go back to the safety of what you knew? You had to, your mind screamed at you. Concede now, surrender and return peacefully before it’s too late, and you could maybe still enjoy some semblance of the miniscule comfort you had before your abrupt escape.

But it was your heart and the sinking feeling in the base of your gut that told you the truth. That it was already too late for you: you had forced the Hammerlocke gym leader into giving up all pretense of playing the persona he was so loved for, and like an awakened dragon, the man you faced was now one usually reserved only for you and your transgressions against him. Allowing others to lay eyes on such a private side of him would hardly be kind to you if Raihan got his way.

“Hey! Eyes here while I’m talking to you,” the man snapped, and your gaze immediately jumped back to meet his, the hair on the back of your neck standing as you realized that you had been too obvious in allowing your attention to waver away from Raihan. If Cinderace hadn’t been between the two of you, you were sure around your neck was exactly where the other’s hands would be at this precise point in time. “Do I mean so little to you now, princess? Just trash to be cast aside, huh?”

What now? What else?

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Yet that was hardly the whole sum of your issues at the moment. Allowing your eyes to slide away from Raihan once more as the man continued to vent and rant to himself, and there in the dim yellow light waited another patient pair, Leon looking deceptively relaxed from where he was leaned against an unassuming lamppost lazily scanning his surroundings, just a stone’s throw behind the hoodie-touting gym leader. And as if he could feel your wide-eyed stare, the ex-Champion looked up, catching your eyes lingering on him. Smirking as he dropped whatever it was that he had been tossing from one hand to the other, the purple-haired man leisurely strolled over, clapping one hand over an unusually agitated Raihan’s shoulder. “Calm, Raihan,” Leon smirked, golden eyes having never left yours. “She’s still here.”

Raihan let out an annoyed tsk, shaking Leon off of him, though the gym leader did take a deep breath and calmed down. 

I’m still here, you repeated mentally. So close where they could almost grasp you, your eyes flickering between the two as their shadow only seemed to grow longer and longer, swallowing you up and dragging you further from the light, yet so far away. Your chances to get away were only getting slimmer with every passing minute. Having to shake Raihan off was one thing, with the blue-eyed man’s seemingly dragon-like senses and his ability to read you like an open book, but adding Leon into the equation was a whole different ball game.

But you had to try. Giving up and returning to that life that awaited you, it simply wasn’t an option, if not for you, then for your beloved Pokemon friends. You’ve already beaten them once, you tried to reassure yourself. All that time ago, when you had become Galar Champion, and then again and again every Championship. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, you shifted your hand, dipping into your pocket to pull out a small clicker, all the while wrecking your brains to come up with a plan. You just had to beat them again this time. Give up, those nagging voices at the back of your mind urged again.

Far from the rage that Raihan had worked himself into, Leon was still calm and collected, the tanned man with a mob of purple hair reaching out towards you, offering one ungloved hand as if an olive branch. “It’s time to come home, love,” he reassured. “It’s not too late. Everything’ll go back to normal, same way it always was, if you come home with us now. I promise.”

A lie. You know better to fall for those honeyed words - that hadn’t been a question but an order. You closed your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. It was all too much for you.

Those amber eyes moved to lock onto your Cinderace. “And you. Return to your Pokeball.”

Your partner pokemon bristled, letting out a warning growl.

‎

Leon had always frightened you, more than Raihan ever did. The Dragon gym leader had always been very obvious, very deliberate with his actions, never bothering to hide his intentions, to the extent of making it public to his leagues of fans the moment you were in his grasp. But you hadn’t even noticed the once-undefeated Champion’s claws wrapping around you until he already had you trapped.

The glimpse of purple hair you kept catching from the corner of your eye had you momentarily thinking of Hop, your oldest and dearest friend that you had left behind in Galar. You wondered how he was doing, whether he still thought of you like you did of him. Whether he had already achieved his goal of researching rare pokemon. Whether he still looked up to his older brother after what Leon had done to him the day you toppled Goliath and became reigning Champion.

You thought about writing to him from time to time, especially during those lonely nights when you camped out in the far corner of some field, stoking a crackling fire under the twinkling stars with your Pokemon fast asleep around you. You remembered when Hop would join you to feast on curry when the two of you were kids, when neither had any worries beyond homework and whether the channels would have the latest episode of your favorite show. But you had always decided against it at the end of the day, worried about being tracked down should Leon get a hold of one - and you could only offer simple wishes up to whatever deity was listening that Hop was doing well. 

Fat load of good that did you.

Your hand moved fast, tapping away on the converted morse paddle key hidden to the side of your body: non-verbal instructions to your Cinderace. Not only was it a system that both you and your Pokemon were well accustomed with, having practiced it again and again throughout the course of the Galar Championships and beyond, but it also took advantage of Pokemon’s natural heightened senses and your two self-established “guardians” inability to understand. And you knew your partner heard you loud and clear, the bunny Pokemon’s ear twitching in acknowledgement despite keeping its back turned to you.

Though despite your best attempts, your unspoken communication didn’t go unnoticed. Leon’s face darkened, in step with Raihan snarling. “Not going to use your words?” “What did I say about clicking?”

Fortunately, right on cue, Cinderace took a quick swipe at them, forcing the two men back a few paces to avoid the tip of its feet before your partner retreated back to stand guard in front of you. 

The breeze had picked up once more, carrying with it the calls of Hoothoot and the rustle of grass from outside of town, the fields alive with nocturnal Pokemon. You shivered in the warm wind, your mind racing. One step down, countless more to go. Could you pull it off?

‎

‎

It was far too obvious that you weren’t giving up the fight just yet, Raihan mused, sharp eyes lasering in on you as you kept your gaze downturned and focused on the ground, his grin only seeming to lengthen with the shadows that danced in the night. Sure, you had always been on the timid, shy side, even to the point of being a selective mute, but he could tell this was one of those rare times where your instinct to struggle against the current bubbled to the surface. You had always been a crafty little thing when you needed to.

Yet the scales were still tipped in his favor.

“Fiery,” the Hammerlocke gym leader all but purred out, pulling your attention out from your thoughts. “You sure you wanna do that though?” He reached into his pocket, and you flinched on instinct. Good.

 Pulling out an all-too familiar Pokeball, the orb was clutched in one tanned hand held halfway out, just enough for the light to catch its top. 

You turned pale, staggering to your feet immediately, your eyes locked on that ball. No doubt you would easily recognise the Pokeball he now held as your own: the once-glossy red surface painstakingly decorated with cute little details that he imagined you carving with the tip of a knife in the light of a campfire once upon a time, far out in the Wild Area and away from prying eyes. “You know who this is, don’t you, lil champ?”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, tears beginning to well in the corner of your already swollen eyes as you tried to shake your head, attempting to plead silently to spare you the pain. 

Ah that helpless, what a sight for sore eyes indeed. If only you could voice that plea.

And with a quick toss, it was clear to the hooded trainer that he had only confirmed your worst nightmares, Lapras bursting forth and manifesting before Cinderace with a cry. Back when he had let his guard down and allowed you to escape from his grasp back in Galar, you had managed to slip away with just six of your Pokemon - your prized Pokemon to say the least, given those six formed the core of your Championship team. But, Raihan smirked, casually sliding both hands into the pockets of his hoodie, it was no secret you cared deeply for all your Pokemon, and those you left behind were still in his and Leon’s possession. 

Even your Cinderace seemed uncertain of the evolving situation, breaking its fighting stance to glance between you and its former ally. 

Now, what were you going to do next?

‎

‎

Your world felt like it was on the brink of imploding, the very air just a wrong touch away from collapsing around you. That wretched thick black collar that hung from Lapras’ neck, one you were all too familiar with - you could barely bite back the whimper that you felt threatening to escape from your throat. Whatever you did, one wrong move and you would once again be the sole cause of the world of suffering Lapras would be put through.

You shaking met Lapras’ eyes, to which the Pokemon let out a mournful sigh, and Cinderace returned a sad trill. It wasn’t the first time both had found the other on opposing sides since you had your living arrangement forcibly updated at the end of the Galar Championship, but neither liked the outcome. Maybe Leon and Raihan were right. Maybe you should just give in and end the pain. 

“Just leave her alone already!” A sudden interruption that sliced through the silence of the night like a hot knife through butter, and Nemona came stomping over from behind him, an uncharacteristically furious expression painted across the usually cheery girl. “She doesn’t want to go with you!” With a distinct lack of fear in her eyes and a lack of care for who your two pursuers were on the world stage, your friend marched past them without a second glance, putting herself squarely on your side and in your corner.

The Champion-ranked trainer turned to you. “Don’t get me wrong, I most definitely want to have a battle with you once all this blows over,” she declared, pausing for a moment before continuing on. “And I want to know everything. But I’m on your side. Got it?”

You simply nodded.

There was little question that Raihan and Leon would be angry, and you didn’t need to look to know just how downright pissed they were. Instead opting to turn your gaze to Nemona then to the ground, it was as if your mind had connected the dots faster than you could have realized, and you had to take a second look at the uniform-clad girl. Right before it hit you like a charging Rhyhorn, the sudden realization instantly shaking your entire perspective and turning your world upside down. 

You were no longer in Galar. 

Yes, there was no doubt that Raihan and Leon were still Master Class trainers that have conquered the World Coronation Championships, and were most definitely famous even here in Paldea as the famous Dragon Gym Leader of Hammerlocke and the former Galar Champion. But missing were the leagues of women who would throw their weeks away to comb every inch of grass for signs of you on Raihan’s command. And gone were the nosy trainers who would be more than happy to turn over information on your location just for a word of praise from Leon, or the crowds of your self-declared fans who could recognize you turned inside out from a yard away.

They were as good as nobodies here, and so were you.

‎

And now all the wheels began to turn. The modified morse paddle key that served as your clicker went into overdrive as you tried to get your thoughts out to Cinderace as fast as your fingers could go.

You could get away. There was still a way out for you.

Raihan seemed to have caught on to the sudden hope that surged in your veins, the toothy grin on his face dropping as he narrowed his eyes. “Lapras, Hydro Pump,” he ordered.

Lapras resisted, letting out a defiant cry as it rebelled against his orders. Your countdown has started.

Two clicks, and your Cinderace leapt forward, foot extended to land a Double Kick.

You didn’t look to see if the attack landed, attempting to turn out all external sounds from your buzzing ears; the butterflies in your chest already made it hard enough to keep breathing. Instead, you cleared your throat, your mouth moving as you tried to force a word, a sound, anything from your vocal chords. “S-St-” You exhaled, shuddering, your efforts going unnoticed amidst the chaos of the moment.

The Dragon Gym Leader had withdrawn a small remote, a promise, not a threat. “Lapras, use Hydro Pump,” he ordered again.

It wasn’t enough. A full word. All you needed was a single full word. If not for yourself, then for the hell that your Pokemon had been through - there was no other choice. You had to do it.

Nemona’s eyebrows were furrowed as she watched the battle go down, the other three trainers paying little attention to you as you carefully tiptoed over to retrieve your backpack off the ground, the clock in your head ticking down slowly but surely. Tick tock, the nagging voices in your head whispered to you. Tick tock.

There was little time to decide what the right move was, whether you did the right thing; you simply rationalized that you should pick whoever you wouldn’t mind being stuck with again should you have to return to Galar. Raihan did treat you like royalty whenever he wasn't angry at some unspoken rule that you unknowingly broke, and would only increase should you pick him, with the downside being the numerous eyes and constant spotlight that followed the popular trainer around. While no doubt that Leon’s treatment of you would improve greatly if you picked him, the man had always been very demanding, holding you to an impossible standard.

Reaching into your backpack right for your Pokemon as Cinderace dodged the jet of water aimed at him, everything that happened next took but a blink of an eye.

‎

All you could muster the strength to mutter was a single word, yet it was enough. A broken whisper of a single syllabus, mumbled by a hoarse voice that didn’t seem to see much use. “Raihan-”

Both men instantly startled, amber and aqua eyes snapping straight to yours as their jaws dropped. But it was all the distraction you needed.

Click. Your Vileplume manifested, instantly using Stun Spore, with both Vileplume Cinderace being recalled to their respective balls before the yellow dust even touched the ground.

You grabbed Nemona’s arm, yanking her backwards with surprising strength as you clutched your backpack tight to your chest. Another shrill song as Gardevoir manifested, the Psychic pokemon lightly touching its green sleeve-like arms to you, using Teleport.

And in under a minute, your little group was gone, vanishing without a trace from Cortondo.

‎

‎

“She-she said my name,” Raihan mumbled again and again, sounding very much star-struck. “My name. M-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Leon snapped back, annoyed.

Being left sprawled on the ground waiting for the effects of the paralysis to fade didn’t help much with the former Galar Champion’s mood, even less so when you had been just an arm’s length away. One grab away from going back to how life had been with you. And now, Leon had to live with the fact that after years and years of patience, waiting eagerly for a chance to hear your elusive voice. Soft and gentle, like the trickle of a river, your voice had been everything he ever imagined and more - and it was his rival’s name that left your lips first. 

It must be her, the purple-haired man fumed, a soft glow of red as an equally paralyzed Lapras was recalled to its ball by a giddy, giggling Raihan. That stupid Champion-ranked girl with the green highlighted hair. All his time and effort, taming and training you into his love - and she had broken his perfect you the moment his back was turned. All his work for nothing, gone like sand art at high tide.

Letting out a groan as Leon finally felt control of his body return, he could only slam the back of his head into the dust once in frustration before standing. 

Raihan had won this fight, but Leon sure as hell was going to make sure he wins the war.

[dirtyvulture]

Super J - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Superpowered!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: The adventures of Jacob the super corgi continue. 

Word count: 3253

AN: Reader has a penis, no pronouns used. Short smut scene at the end. :)

Thank you for all the support on Part 1 (read here)! And special shoutout to the 🍬 anon for brainstorming this one with me.

You had never had a dog of your own before, so you are constantly showering Jacob with affection and treats to the point that Natasha worries she’s being left out of your relationship. You take Jacob with you on your daily run, surprised at how well the stubby-legged corgi can keep up with (at one point even surging ahead after a cat and managing to drag you down three blocks).

Jacob attracts a lot of attention, even more than you do, and many people stop to ask if they can pet him or take a picture of him. One time, Natasha joins you two, but becomes infuriated when girls stop under the pretense of meeting Jacob, only to then turn and flirt with you instead. But you only have eyes for your girlfriend, with enough love to spare for your corgi too, and your life moves on without hiccup.

Kate and Yelena refuse to watch Jacob after the so-called incident on his first night at the Tower, so on the days that you can’t care for him, you usually ask Thor, Steve, or Clint to help. But eventually, Kate cannot resist the charms of your adorable little corgi and begins to warm up to him again. 

She plays ball with him in the garden, laughing at the way Jacob turns into a furious black blur when he chases after the tennis ball she stabbed one of her arrows through. This allows her to launch the tennis ball at greater speeds than even you can throw and to a distance where she’s certain the corgi will become tired after two or three rounds, but he seems to have limitless energy.

Jacob comes tearing out of the bushes, the shaft of the arrow gripped in his mouth, when Kate’s cellphone begins to vibrate. She slings her bow over her shoulder to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Kate, it’s Agent Hill. Are you at the Tower?”

“Yeah, I’m in the back playing with Jacob.”

“Are you free for a mission? We’ll need you to be ready at the Quinjet in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, yes, of course. What’s up?”

Meanwhile, Jacob drops the arrow at Kate’s feet, sitting down and looking up at her expectantly, waiting for her to shoot it out for him to chase again. But Kate is completely ignoring him now, turning away and grabbing her quiver of arrows off the grass. Jacob watches as she starts running back towards the Tower, leaving him alone in the garden.

He looks at his tennis ball pierced by Kate’s arrow and picks it back up with a frustrated sigh, then trots into the Tower after her.

***********************************************************************

“Where are my Widow Bites?” Natasha groans, throwing underwear and socks across the room.

“Right here,” you respond, pointing to them sitting on her nightstand.

“Thank you,” she says, snatching them up and slipping them onto her wrists. “Are you ready?”

“Almost.” You grunt as you shove your foot into your boot, lacing it on sloppily but not having enough time to care. Maria had called while you two were busy in an intimate act, but the details of the emergency mission were enough to cause you both to untangle yourselves and dress up immediately.

“Where’s Jacob?” Natasha asks.

“I think Kate took him outside.”

“Isn’t she coming with us?”

“I’ll text Clint to watch him while we’re gone. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

You grab Natasha’s hand and teleport the both of you to the roof, still barely making it on time. Kate is already there, standing outside the ramp of the Quinjet with a full quiver of arrows slung across her shoulder.

“Hi, Kate,” you greet.

“Let’s go!” Natasha snaps, having no patience for formalities. You and Kate hurry after her onto the plane, finding your places as Natasha punches in the coordinates and within seconds has the Quinjet in the air. “We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Get ready to handle business as soon as we land, we don’t have any time to waste.”

“Yes, Agent Romanoff,” Kate says, while you want to swoon at the way Natasha sounds so authoritative and demanding. But now is not the time nor the place, so you have to keep it in your pants until the mission is over. 

As the three of you settle in for the flight, mentally preparing yourselves for the battlefield you’ll be depositing yourselves on, a rustling noise from the back of the Quinjet catches Kate’s attention. At first she dismisses it, thinking it is an unsecured object sliding around, but then she hears a familiar clang and gets up to investigate.

She pokes her head into the back corner of the Quinjet, seemingly finding nothing, but when she returns to her seat, she sees two brown eyes staring at her from under the row of seats in the back.

“AHHHH!” Kate screams, falling to the floor and you and Natasha turn to look at her.

Jacob the corgi bounds out of his hiding spot, dragging the arrow with the tennis ball. His stumpy tail wags happily and when he spots you and Natasha in the front, he drops his toy and runs over.

“Jacob? What are you doing here?” you ask as Jacob tries to jump into your lap.

“Kate…” Natasha growls.

“I left him in the garden!” Kate says.

“You left him?”

“No, I mean…Agent Hill called me when I was outside playing with him, so I just came back inside and…didn’t really pay attention to where he was,” Kate explains lamely. 

“He must have snuck on before any of us got here,” you say, stroking the corgi behind his ears. “Maybe because he knew where we were all gonna be–”

“The dog does not understand English,” Natasha interrupts. “And now what are we supposed to do with him?”

“I’ll teleport him back to the Tower!” you say, standing and tucking Jacob under your arm like a football. He barks unhappily at the position. 

“No, no, wait!” both Kate and Natasha say at the same time.

“Have you ever teleported with an animal before?” Kate asks.

“You don’t know what that could do to Jacob,” Natasha adds.

“Oh. I guess that’s true.” You look down at Jacob, who you swear is frowning at you with disappointment at the idea of threatening his life. You put him on the floor and he runs back to grab his tennis-ball-arrow-thing and bring it over. “But it’s too late for us to turn around now.”

“Kate, you’ll have to stay with him,” Natasha finally says.

“Stay? But you need me for the mission!” Kate protests.

“It’s your fault he’s here,” Natasha says. “So you’re responsible for him now.”

“But he’s your dog!”

“This is not up for discussion.”

“Fine.” Kate grumbles as she sits down in her seat. She’s already thinking of a way out of this, refusing to be left behind on a Class 1 emergency mission because of a stowaway corgi. Jacob seems to sense that he’s caused some kind of disruption, because he wiggles out of your grip and pads over to Kate, butting her leg with his nose and smiling up at her. Nobody can stay mad at that face for long, and Kate grudgingly pets him for the rest of the journey.

Natasha lands the Quinjet in an open, snowy field. 

“Stay here,” she says to Kate and Jacob.

“We’ll be back soon,” you add, waiting for the ramp to lower.

“Are you sure I can’t come–”

“Yes,” both of you say in unison before disappearing out of the jet. 

“Goddamn it,” Kate mutters, flopping in her seat and glaring at Jacob, who is now chewing a hole in his tennis ball. She watches him for a few minutes, torn between leaving him in the Quinjet herself and joining you two, but then her mind flashes back to her first encounter with Jacob when he grew to ten times his size and almost crushed her, Yelena, and Fanny to death. Nothing similar had happened since, and you and Natasha still didn’t believe that your dog had superpowers, but now sitting here in an enclosed space with a corgi who could activate like the Hulk, Kate realizes she might be in more danger than you and Natasha.

But she’s so busy considering all the scenarios that she doesn’t notice Jacob abandon his tennis ball, moseying over to the front of the Quinjet and pushing at the buttons on the dashboard with his nose. Suddenly, the ramp lower itself again and before Kate can figure out what’s going on, a black blur darts by her feet and leaps into the snow.

“Jacob! Get back here!” Kate shouts, running out of the plane after him. 

Jacob is so short that all Kate can see of him are the black tips of his ears, but he appears and disappears in the snow, hopping around like a deer. 

“Jacob!” Kate calls again, but either he can’t hear her or simply refuses to respond, bounding further and further away every second. Kate has no choice but to follow him, even more afraid of what Natasha will do to her if she finds out that she not only let her dog out in enemy territory, but left him to completely fend for himself.

Despite her longer legs, Kate is clumsy and unfamiliar with the terrain, nearly twisting her ankle multiple times as she runs after Jacob. She hears shouting and gunshots in the distance, her stomach twisting when she realizes how close you and Natasha must be, and she can’t imagine what would happen if Jacob ran into the middle of a battlefield. She does her best to keep the corgi in sight, but eventually he outpaces her and Kate doesn’t know where he is anymore.

Her heart beating in her throat, she finally considers calling you, but then she hears your voices nearby and starts running towards them until her legs are on fire.

***********************************************************************

It was an ambush. 

The second you and Natasha broke out through a grouping of trees, gunfire rained down on you and the two of you took shelter behind a large rock. 

“They wasted no time,” you comment, inserting a fresh magazine into your handgun and racking the slide. 

“They were expecting us,” Natasha responds, peeking out and firing off a few shots of her own.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have left Bishop on the Quinjet. We could probably use her long distance help right about now,” you say, speaking as casually as if the two of you were on a dinner date and not being gunned down by dozens of trained soldiers.

“We can’t let them close in,” Natasha says. “I’ll create a distraction and you try to gain some ground on them.”

“Wait, Nat–” You try to stop her, not wanting her to put herself in danger, but it’s too late. She sprints across the clearing, taking the attention of gunfire with her. “NAT!” you shout, although she can’t hear you. Shaking your head, you steel your nerves and leave your spot of cover, shooting at every soldier whose helmet you see poking out from behind trees or around bushes. There seems to be a never-ending supply of them and you don’t even know if you’ll have enough bullets for all of them.

Natasha throws herself onto the ground, rolling behind a log as gunfire spits up rocks and twigs that cut her face and hands. She cusses to herself while checking her magazine. The pressure on her is relentless, and she doesn’t even think she’ll have a moment to fire back.

But just as she has that thought, the drumming of bullets halts and she pops up, firing away. She hears the first bang of return fire before she feels the heat lance across her side, causing her to double over, gasping for air. Instinctively, she reaches for her ribs, pulling her hand away sticky with blood.

“Nat!” you scream.

Natasha’s legs buckle under her and she falls to the ground, although luckily behind the cover of the log. You race towards her with no regard for your safety anymore.

“Nat! Nat!” you continue to yell. 

“GRRRRRRRR!” 

The ground shakes with a tremendous roar that causes you to drop to your stomach and curl up. From behind you, something gigantic leaps into the clearing. It’s a enormous black animal, with familiar pointed ears and white paws–

“Jacob?” You gape in absolute shock as your corgi, who is now the size of a house, attacks the soldiers with frightening intensity. Seconds later, Kate Bishop in her purple uniform, huffing and puffing with her quiver rattling on her back, arrives. “Is that Jacob?” you scream at her and she only nods, trying to catch her breath.

You turn back and crawl towards Natasha, throwing your body over hers as Jacob goes crazy, tearing the soldiers apart and kicking up sandstorms of dirt. Natasha clutches onto your shoulders tightly, hiding her face in your neck from the dust clouds. Kate finally summons the strength to help, her arrows flying around to take out the remaining soldiers with an efficiency that would make Clint proud. You stay over Natasha until the noise has died down and Kate runs over to you two.

“Are you guys okay?” she asks.

“Nat?” You shift off your girlfriend, who only groans in response, clutching her bleeding side.

“We need to get back to the Quinjet,” you say, your only concern now to get Natasha to safety. 

“We’re kind of far…” Kate says unhelpfully.

“Where’s Jacob?” You’re not even phased that your corgi seems to have a superpower like yourself. Either that, or he swallowed a Pym Particle when no one was looking. 

“Uh…” 

Jacob barks, much deeper than you’ve heard before, and the ground shakes as he bounds over. If you were standing, you don’t think you would’ve even come up to his shoulder.

“We can…probably ride him back to the Quinjet,” Kate offers, which is probably the most sensible thing you’ve heard all day. 

“Is that a bear?” Natasha says out of nowhere, sitting up and wincing as she holds her side.

“No, that’s Jacob,” Kate answers.

Natasha squints at you. “Did you change his kibble?”

“What? No.”

“Yelena and I told you on day one that he could grow like this!” Kate says, almost stamping her foot in frustration at both of your poor memories. “Now do you believe us?”

“I just got shot,” Natasha says, closing her eyes and laying back down. “This could all be a dream as far as I’m concerned.”

“Natasha!”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” You scoop up your girlfriend and carry her over to Jacob, who flattens himself against the ground so you and Kate can climb on. He trots back to the Quinjet without being prompted and shrinks back to his original size when he arrives.

“That’s a good boy,” you tell him with a pat on the head before you carry Natasha onto the Quinjet.

***********************************************************************

It turns out, Natasha was merely grazed by the bullet, so she didn’t need to stay overnight in the medical bay. Kate offers to let Jacob stay in her room that night, which surprises you, but you can sense that her and the corgi have bonded after the day’s events, so you don’t object. You tell Jacob good night and promise to cook him the biggest steak you can find tomorrow, and he licks your hand, trotting down the hall with Kate. 

You go with Natasha back to your room.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” you ask. 

“Will you join me?” she asks.

“Of course.”

You walk into the master bathroom, plugging the tub and running the water at a warm but not hot temperature. You’re still sweaty and grimy yourself from the mission and you think Natasha will appreciate the non-scalding temperature of the water. You grab the soap and shampoo from the shower and put it on the edge of the tub, then call Natasha in.

The two of you undress each other carefully. Natasha has a waterproof bandage covering her side and a few other scratches and bruises from the mission. You have some of your own, but they’re nowhere near the same severity as hers. You can tell she’s tired from how slow she moves and you kiss her head before you help her into the tub. You slip in behind her, the water the perfect temperature against your skin and you lean back against the edge, Natasha sitting between your legs. 

“This is nice,” she mumbles, resting against you and closing her eyes.

You soak a washcloth in the water and lather it up with soap, gently brushing it across Natasha’s shoulders and down her arms. She turns around so you can wash her front, and then she takes the cloth from you and washes you with it. You love spending time with her like this, sharing such a simple but intimate activity together. After you wash your hairs and drain the tub of all the soap and shampoo, you move to get out, but Natasha grabs onto your hand and asks you to stay for a little longer. You fill the tub again with fresh water and sit back down, facing her this time. 

Her hands rests on your thighs under the water and you feel her squeeze them before trailing up to cup between your legs. 

“Nat?” you ask, but she leans forward to silence you with a kiss. 

“Is this okay?” she asks, stroking you softly.

“Yes,” you respond with a shuddering breath, tilting your head back against the edge of the tub. Natasha knows her way around your body better than you do at this point; she knows how to get you worked up in minutes, or how to draw out the pleasure until you’re literally putty in her hands.  

“Good. Just relax for me, baby.”

“I can do that.” You close your eyes as Natasha touches you, moaning when her hands slide up and down your shaft with the perfect amount of pressure. She trails kisses down your jaw, pausing to suck on your neck as she builds you up to release. 

It doesn’t take long until you’re throbbing in her hands. “Fuck, Nat. I…I’m close,” you pant. She squeezes just under your head, effectively stopping you from blowing and you open your eyes again, just in time to see her lifting herself onto your cock, slipping you into her and the combination from the water and the warmth of her walls makes you moan in satisfaction.  

Natasha holds onto your shoulders as she moves her hips and water splashes out of the tub in waves. You cup her bottom, tilting your head up to silently ask for a kiss that she obliges to, sealing her lips with yours while she rides you. You love this woman so much, you feel like you’ll never be able to show her or put it in words. But when she rests her forehead against yours, you know that she knows. 

Your body goes still when you finally cum, your abs flexing into a washboard and Natasha purposely tilts her hips up so she can rub her clit against them, reaching her own high seconds after yours. She rests her head against your chest and you wrap your strong arms tightly around her, a silent reminder of how much you love her and how you’ll never let anything happen to her.

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

AN: Aww, I love Super J. :) And Nat and R’s relationship.

Please like, comment, and reblog! Follow for more content.

[mtkay13]

Gonna post TWO hoboxus today because I CAN! (still desperately trying to catch up with my twitter posts LOL help I'm terrible at this)

From a meme based on art by KOTTERI, the author of Veil (among amazing other things). Find them on twitter @_K0TTERl_!

More musing below, as per usual! (Be ready it's a LONG one again)

I really hesitated with how I wanted to do this. The original had this gorgeous red poster that seemed like a perfect fit for WKX:

(@_K0TTERl_)

Either I went for the imagery of ZZS wistfully gazing upon the mysterious and eccentric WKX, which would definitely have been more aesthetic and undeniably fitting, or I went the semi-humorous route of channelling the "WKX fell for that ugly hobo and his gorgeous shoulder blades" meme-ified side of their dynamic.

Well, clearly that's where I ended up going, but I feel like explaining a bit.

For me, this picture was three-folds:

First part is the meme; it's kind of funny, kind of ridiculous, and sets the tone of what TYK starts off as; rather absurd, with its reasonable dose of dark humor, and the (at first seemingly improbable) meeting and love story between a silly dying hobo and a strange, suspicious, hedonistic gentleman. It felt thematically appropriate for TYK to twist the original image and put the obviously uglier one on the poster since TYK relies heavily on genre subversion to begin with.

Secondly, there is WKX. So, controversial opinion (/jk) but I don't think WKX was necessarily convinced or even really thought that ZZS was "a beauty" underneath his alleged mask. It was probably a mix of various feelings and teasing/provoking which lead to this joke. First, everything he expresses throughout the book and in extra 4; the fascination for this man who seemed too hide great strength and was of no known identity--who was probably more than what he seemed.

(I'm gonna push it just a little bit ((but isn't that the fun of literary interpretation)), but the "beauty under the mask" is not only physical. It could be a way to say, I think that beneath your raunchy, ridiculous attitude, beneath your gross appearance, beneath the pretense that you're a nobody, that you're a peasant, you're probably someone of great importance and great accomplishments, someone much stronger than you pretend to be--someone like me, perhaps, even. The shoulder blades references are, besides of course WKX *actually* noticing them, the observation of how ZZS moves, of how agile his body is, etc...)

Anyway-- the entire point of this intro is to say that to me, this isn't actually referring to that whole side of their dynamic (or not entirely), but rather to that passage that I am STILL OBSESSED WITH where Wen Kexing recognizes ZZS just from the way he's sitting in a restaurant, and that makes him feel things not entirely positive:

Zhou Zishu stepped into an inn alone. He chose a seat by a window, ordered a few side dishes and a jug of mulled rice wine, and drank it slowly while soaking in the sunshine. As soon as Wen Kexing walked in, he saw Zhou Zishu from behind. He didn’t know why, but he thought that this view was quite special—he could always pick it out of a crowd. Zhou Zishu did not sit with his back straight. Most of the time, he lounged indolently at an angle that looked exceptionally comfortable. Wen Kexing thought that it seemed as though nothing weighed on him; seeing him was enough to ease the heart. Wen Kexing unconsciously halted his steps. He stared at Zhou Zishu’s relaxed silhouette for a while, with no trace of an expression in his face or eyes. His heart swelled with some strange feeling—strange, in that it was no feeling at all. He felt as though this man was mocking him with this wordless posture; he who rushed around for one thing or another, who was burdened with so many cares, yet obstinately put on a devil-may-care persona. Zhou Xu—as carefree as duckweed, he thought, with a body like willow catkins. In all the world, with its boundless perspectives, where could you find someone who walked their path alone and never allowed anything to trouble them? Yet he was not apathetic—he had his joy, his anger, his sorrow—and they came in a flash as quickly as they went. Within the blink of an eye, he had forgotten it already.

(Tian Ya Ke, chapter 18, TL by Lianzi) (have I quoted this already??? If not I should have I love this passage so much)

AND THEN QUOTING ANOTHER PASSAGE (LOL), TL by me this time:

From the moment he'd noticed his shoulderblades, felt this rush of excitement, to when he'd started liking who Zhou Zishu was, when he'd thought——so this is the Commander of Tian Chuang. Suddenly, he'd felt as if he'd met his other self. Both of them, lone wolves caught in a hunter's trap, struggling for freedom to no avail, until they had resolved to coldly gnawing off their own legs in the end. He'd felt compelled to follow him around, watched him, until he suddenly realised—if Zhou Zishu could live like this, then surely, so could he?

(Full passage in this other post LOL)

So yes, THIS. Those two things. That's it. Need I say more? HAH OF COURSE I DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO (help)

More seriously--the way WKX is captivated by ZZS' apparent carefreeness and freedom, all the different feelings (or absence thereof, as he puts it, which I interpret as so distant from what he's used to feel that it almost feels like nothing at all) is what I was going for here.... By not showing his face at all LMAO

The envy, the frustration--the impression of being mocked, but also the longing, how it inspired him to follow along and try to be free like he was.

-cough- yes, so that was point 2 out of 3.

Now lastly, about ZZS himself and my representation of him as hoboxu. I think (?) I've written enough about him that I think I can keep this succint. I love how priest often makes a point of expliciting, in the book, how he's so often smiling, and how he's always incredibly energetic in the morning, as if the night of pain had never happened. I like to think that hoboxu is both a carricature of a ridiculous character that ZZS has fun embodying---but also a liberated expression of his deeper self.

WKX feels like he's mocking him, but ZZS is also mocking himself relentlessly, when he feels like the outside resembles the inside finally, when he feels ridiculous in these new robes, when he allows himself the most outrageous behavior---and then there's mocking life itself, mocking jianghu, mocking everything that he nonetheless deeply cherishes. It's almost... gently mocking, affectionate mocking of everything because his own life has become a joke yet he's still going to enjoy it to the fullest--drinking to his heart's content, rolling in the mud and visiting touristy sites (or so he intended).

In the end... the world is still in his own hands. He chose everything, chose the way he lived, the way he (would have) died and still has the power to dissappear at will--but he stays. Stays and endures what he pretends annoys him, because he can't help himself, because he's ridiculous and is aware of it and may as well have some fun while being so.

I can't seem to ever have enough of this, of this vibe. I wanted to have him laugh at and with WKX, at and with the people seeing him, at and with himself, at and with the narrative.

SO YEAH HAH THATS HUM THAT'S IT. You know what they say, it's only a fun meme if there's an essay behind it (noone says that help 😭😭😭😭)

I hope you had fun reading it and have a nice weeked 🤪

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 80)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this has narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

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A/N: Full prose ahead. 2.7k words. Contains angst. Advance apology cause I don't know how to write angst, and Gojo fans, don't hate on me lol

You weren’t going to delay matters anymore. There was no point in doing so. The result will be the same at the end of the day, no matter how things play out. Because that’s just what you’re going to make certain of. You’re going to hurt Gojo Satoru, and you were going to make it so he won’t find it himself to seek you afterwards. Things needed to end between the two of you for his own good, be that at the cost of your own heartbreak.

He has noticed it, the way you’ve gone quiet while you two were walking around the village. You were pretty much acting detached from everything even though you were truly enjoying your time together, lamenting the impending thought that it wasn’t going to last, fleeting as the cherry blossoms that lined their driveway. At lunch, you were both pretty much on your phones since every conversation ended abruptly with your one-liners, and your heart clenched so painfully every time he would just smile, most likely downplaying it to you just not being in the mood like you always were. 

It was unfair. You’ve always been appreciative of Satoru because he never ever showed you anything negative. He brought you to beautiful places, always tried to make you smile, comforted you, and acted like a perfect friend you never thought you needed. However, all you’ve ever shown him was coldness, pretty bad mood swings brought about by the baggage you carried because of your father, and you were pretty much dishing attitude at every turn. And just when you thought you could forget about the pretenses and just open up to him, how you usually acted around him became necessary. It has to be done. Looking back, Suguru did tell you about giving Satoru too much to hold on to. You weren’t going to do that anymore.

And as if the skies were trying to reflect your misery over the whole matter, it started raining. Large droplets of water pelted your skin, cold to the touch. The air around you seemed too thick to breathe in as the heat from the ground rose. But at the same time, you felt numb to everything, merely standing there even as you watched the few people on the same path in the village disappear one by one to seek shelter.

Just then, you felt a large hand grab onto yours, pulling you into a sprint, so quick you thought you would throw up at the sudden feeling of being dragged towards another direction. The cobblestone beneath your feet turned into wooden planks as Satoru ran through the rain with you, your world filling with water, the cold feeling seeming to impact your lungs as you held your breath. Suddenly, your momentary numbness was gone, all feeling returning to your body, radiating from where he held you. 

You already knew you were going to feel miserable about it. It was expected. You weren’t angry. Just surprised. Surprised that the thought of parting with Satoru was so painful, it was debilitating. Surprised that despite that, you still had the mind to keep your thoughts straight enough to execute the final act in your little romantic play. 

The moment your head cleared, you found yourself under the eaves of an old tea house. Satoru stood next to you, chuckling, his hair and lashes glimmering with water droplets while you drowned in his icy blue eyes. You always wondered at how carefree he was and did everything, be it serious or fun, as if it was the last time, always to the fullest, alive, happy. Gojo Satoru was indeed a sight to behold, a balm to all the ugliness in the world, easy to find comfort in...easy to love. 

“I didn’t expect it to rain,” he said. He was smiling as he looked at the greenery being blurred out by the continuous torrents of water and the rising fog, but it fell when he glanced at you and noticed how you were just standing there, blankly staring at the ground. 

“Y/N, you’re shivering,” he commented, making his way towards you. You didn’t even realize you were cold until you felt him come closer to you. He groaned then, looking towards the road. “The car’s at the entrance of the village, too.”

You shook your head, about to tell him it didn’t matter, when he suddenly stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close against his chest as he rested his chin on top of your head. He started slowly rubbing your arms, trapping you in the warmth he was creating while you just held your breath, feeling tears stinging your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, willing yourself to think straight as you dug your nails into your palms.

“Warm enough?” he asked, playfully tightening his arms around you.

It starts now.

“Smothering is more like it.” You threw the words out as coldly as you could, concealing the way you were breaking on the inside, laying it on thick by harshly removing one of his arms from you, but Satoru turned you around, caged you in his arms while he kept you within reach, your faces just inches from one another. 

“You seem distant,” he murmured. 

You scoffed, shaking your head as you glared at him as if he did something wrong. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I can feel it,” he told you, the laughter dying in his throat as he tenderly looked at you, a ghost of an expectant smile playing at the corners of his lips. You knew how they felt against yours, and you found yourself unable to breathe again as you looked into each other’s eyes, you being devoured by the depths of his aquamarine orbs as he searched yours, seemingly looking for answers to unspoken questions. 

Satoru briefly looked around the two of you, particularly at the direction of the path. The two of you were practically hidden from everyone where you were at the edge of the block, and with that in mind, he drew closer, his hand sliding lower down the small of your back.

“What –” You raised a hand to push him away, but he maneuvered your arm so it was wrapped around his shoulder as he closed the distance and claimed your lips with his. You were shocked, more for the fact that you responded to him on contact than the fact that he was actually kissing you at that moment. It felt natural, like breathing, as if you were meant to be doing just that with him. But that’s not what’s supposed to be happening. You weren’t supposed to allow him to get even closer.

His lips were plush and soft, and he tasted like candy floss and mint, rendering you sugar-high with his expert ministrations. His hands roamed the expanse of your exposed skin, making you feel hot even while you were wet from the rain. You were expecting everything around you to melt and boil over with how he was making you feel, just kissing you and not really doing anything much.

You pulled away, but he took that as an opportunity to start kissing down your neck as he made you lean against one of the large wooden posts that supported the eaves, both his hands keeping you in place as he kissed you with profound desperation as if he sensed just what you were about to do, the frustration seeping out through every pore of his skin. He pushed his body against yours, and it wasn’t long before you were melting into his touch.

We can’t be together. You suddenly realized that, and despite having no wish to detach yourself from him, you mustered all your will to do just that. Blood boiled under your skin, but it wasn’t because of the feelings his touches elicited but the thought that you didn’t deserve him. Again, you pushed him away, breathing heavily at the effort it took you to do so when neither of you wanted to pull away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dazed. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, feeling the heat behind your eyes as you glowered at him.

“We’ve crossed that line a long time ago, don’t you think?”

“I should not have allowed that.” You glanced at him, something akin to hurt briefly crossing his features. “Hell, I shouldn’t even be here.” 

“What? Why not?” he challenged, all playfulness gone. 

“Because I don’t want to be one of your conquests.” You knew you wounded him with your words just as you heard your heart crack in your chest. That was the last thing in his mind where you were concerned. You knew that, felt it with everything that you are in the past week you’ve been together. Probably even before that. And yet you were using it as a weapon against him. “I don’t want to be one of your playthings.”

“Playthings?” he repeated with inflection. “Y/N, I don’t –”

“It’s clear where this whole thing is going,” you cut him short, keeping your emotions at bay as you spoke calmly without giving away a hint of the roiling you felt inside you as a result of his kisses and every emotion you felt for him. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“I want out of this…this…” You took a deep breath. “Let’s end this.”

Satoru looked torn between confusion and hurt, pupils constricting as he looked at you in disdain and utter perplexity. “So suddenly? Why?” he demanded, his usually cheerful tone gone, now speaking with a cold bite.

You looked away, shrugging. “I just don’t want to do it anymore. Besides, our contract says we can get out of this arrangement without questions asked.”

He shook his head, his expressions contorting into different emotions – anger, sadness, loss – and then he looked at you with more resolve. “I refuse.”

You chuckled derisively at that. “You’re not exactly listening to me, but then again, when did anybody else’s opinions matter to you?” You just looked at him coldly. “If you value our friendship at all, you will stop trying to go there with me.”

He scoffed, scorn shining in his orbs as he bared his teeth in a harsh smile. “Okay, Y/N. I see how it is.” 

“Do you really?” 

“Believe it or not, I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, and I understand enough to see exactly what your opinions are about me regardless of how much you’ve reduced me to just this...this...” He breathed out heavily, shaking his head slightly as he let out a humorless laugh. “It’s crazy how you talk about our friendship while being that condescending.”

You wanted to retract what you said, take it back upon seeing how you were affecting him, but a bigger part of you, that side that thought this was right, refused to. You could almost laugh at how your feelings were mocking you, proving just how badly you’ve caught feelings for him, growing every time he showered you with attention and physical affection. It proved just how selfish you could be by wanting more – more of him, more than just a physical connection and the friendship you spoke of. You wanted him, all of him, to yourself, but you can’t have him. It’s the only way you can protect him. You will not have a hand in ruining his future just because of your feelings. 

Ah, Y/N, you are royally fucked! 

“Isn’t it true, though?” you stated, feigning boredom. “I’m not being disparaging on purpose, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrected, but you ignored it.

“I just want you to know my honest thoughts about whatever is going on between us.” 

“What exactly is that?”

“As of now, nothing. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s better that way.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he hissed under his breath.

“Then yes.” Liar! “It’s what I want.”

“I-I…” He inhaled rather deeply, shakily releasing air from his lungs, eyes watering. “No… I can’t give you that.”

“It’s not a question of whether you can give it to me or not. You don’t get a say in this. We have an agreement.” 

You pushed past him, meaning to just walk away when he pulled you back, making you face him again. His grip on your arm was tight, refusing to let go. He was shaking, seemingly disoriented and unable to make sense of what was happening, eyes probing yours, for any glimmer of hope that you were not saying what he thought you were. “Y-you don’t mean that, sweet cheeks.” He chuckled, cupping your face as he shook his head. “No…”

You tear his hand off you. “Enough –”

“Then fucking look me in the eye and tell me it’s just a contract!” he demanded, voice rising. His placid blue eyes were now storm-ridden seas, making chills run up your spine. You just realized you didn’t want to ever see this side of him; that he even had this side to begin with. But this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You deserved to carry the consequent agony of seeing it, committing it to your memory to remind yourself of what you did to him and why.

Go ahead. Hate me.

And just when you thought it was excruciating seeing him like that, his tears fell and you felt the sky burst open in your veins, bleeding pain, his and yours combined. “You know, you’ve always made me feel like I’m nothing.” He wiped his tears with his hand, a misplaced smile drawing itself across his mouth. “And I thought that was okay ’cause at least I get some pieces of you in whatever way I can.”

Hate me.

“You always made me feel like that’s all I can ever get and all that I deserve because I’m just this fucking shallow douchebag who’s spoiled rotten and used to getting whatever I wanted. That I’m just this player who’s incapable of being serious, so it doesn’t make any difference if you say shit like that to me, right?” He let out a pained laugh. “But believe it or not, that was never true when it came to you.”

I know that. I’m sorry.

Deciding to drive the knife even deeper, you said, “Why? Because you caught feelings for me?” You sneered at him. “We’re both just a passing phase. You know that. You can’t hold me responsible for your feelings.”

“Please –” He reached out for you, but you took a step back, avoiding him as if you found him repulsive. “Please don’t do this.”

You turned around, unable to keep up with your act anymore upon seeing his face, begging you. The Gojo Satoru was begging. You couldn’t watch, not anymore. You’ve stated your piece, and that was enough. He won’t forgive you for sure. He’ll hate you now. And even if that was the goal, you felt your knees buckling at the thought that you wounded him so.

“Y/N…”

Don’t look back.

You walked into the rain, taking heavy yet deliberate steps. 

“I love you.”

You paused. Despite his distress, he still managed to say it with the utmost tenderness, sincerity, and resolve. That’s just how he is – good, honest, unafraid. Everything you’re not. And maybe that’s why you don’t deserve him at all, even if the circumstances didn’t call for you to leave him. Eventually, you would let him go, and you would reason that it’s because it’s for his own good, but really, you’re just too much of a coward to love like he does.

You were about to take another step when he said it again, this time with more conviction. “I love you, Y/N.”

I love you, too, Satoru.

“I’m in love with you.”

“I love you.” He said it over and over again, and you took a step away with every single utterance of those words. Until all you could hear was the pouring rain. Until all you felt all the feeling ebbing away again, replaced by something cold. Until all that consumed you was the raw ache of knowing you’ll never feel Satoru’s warmth again.

A/N: Leaving you guys with this. I'll be uploading more over the next days. Just been hella busy.

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© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20240217]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[eggyrocks]

anyways here’s the yn’s from my fic as alcoholic drinks

on repeat: she’s a bottle of strawberry soju. she chugs half of it all at once and then slows down & starts sipping but then the bottle starts to get lukewarm and she doesn’t finish it. lightweight. kageyama takes her makeup off for her once she falls asleep on the couch.

calloused hands: an entire 6-pack of pbr. she drank the whole thing and isn’t even tipsy. kuroo’s completely shitfaced and he fell asleep on her shoulder while she was playing her guitar. seemingly drinks beer like it’s water but somehow no one had ever seen her drunk. except that one time.

syrup: an espresso martini. and then another espresso martini. and then another espresso martini. she’s going drink for drink with oikawa and they’re both obliterated. they lean on each other the whole way home and sing songs and iwa hates them. she thinks she’s not a lightweight bc she doesn’t get drunk at first but they catch up to her fast.

inked: sour ipa. she’s pretentious about it when explaining ipas to lev but then when kiyoko asks she gets embarrassed. has a pretty good tolerance but skips the tipsy phase and just immediately gets drunk. makes it to four before she’s a goner. drunken tells kiyoko how pretty she is.

bruised: jack and coke. never learned how to order alcohol properly so she always just orders a jack and coke bc it’s simple. sometimes alisa will order her something fruity and she downs it. very low alcohol tolerance since she never really drinks due to being like. an olympic athlete. sometimes forgets how to stand properly so by the end of the night iwa’s just holding her up by the waist.

35mm: aperol spritz. feels fancy when she orders it even if she lwky hates the way it tastes. at a certain point in the she abandons all pretenses and just starts drinking the prosecco until akaashi just starts putting soda water in her glass.

static: weed. every once in a while she’ll try a beer and hate it. usually just takes a few tequila shots if everyone else is drinking but prefers smoking. will be stoned out of her mind on the kitchen floor with noya’s head in her lap (he’s dead after his fourth shot of vodka)

count your losses: red wine. drinks almost a whole bottle and causes arguments. waves that glass around like it’s a talking point and atsumu just watches in awe.

get back: dark & stormy. feels like a lighthouse keeper when she drinks it. exteme lightweight. she has one and she’s staring at hinata’s contact in her phone.

maneater: vodka redbull. of course. forgets that you can have redbull without the vodka. if she’s drinking a vodka redbull it’s a crazy ass night at the club. iwa makes fun of her for mixing them together (“it’s not good for your heart that shits gonna kill you”) and she calls him a loser virgin.