#Also don’t say anything about the design it doesn’t really mean anything I just wanted it to be there

[coverfox-officia]

Make sure to color inside the lines!

[navydoves]

Dragon!Sylus and his strange affectionate habits

❥ you’re his mate, but you’re also human. his habits weird you out!

⭐︎

❥ he licks you! you could be sitting on the couch, minding your own business with a book in hand and sylus would come up right next to you and just start licking your cheek. you’d retract suddenly and look him up and down with a strange look on your face.

“what? i already explained this to you kitten.”

licking is his way of showing affection toward you. it’s supposed to tell you “i’m here to protect you” in a way. he also just loves tasting your skin and becoming more familiar with you since it brings him so much comfort. he’ll even lick your hair if he’s really getting into it!

❥ he feeds you really well. hungry? no you’re not, not with him at least. he’ll feed you until you’re completely and utterly satiated from his meals. when he sees you happy and drowsy from a full stomach it brings him very deep satisfaction.

sometimes he’ll put bags of snacks or containers of food where you frequent in hopes you’ll eat them. if you don’t, he’ll take offense or think he did something wrong and now you’re protesting!

❥ he makes you wear his treasures. part of being a dragon means hoarding pretty and shiny things. dragons are very protective and territorial about their things, but sylus makes an exception for you. he insists that you wear the jewels he’s collected and will drown you in his riches.

he especially loves it when you go out into public with his treasures on because it shows off his wealth via his beautiful mate. he’ll designate certain jewels or items just for you and if you’re even a little bit dissatisfied with them, he’ll throw them out right away.

❥ he builds nests for you. sylus will innocently steal your most precious items or the items that seem to bring you the most comfort and then bring them to an empty corner. it’s here that he piles up your cosmetics, clothes, bedsheets, pillows, stuffies—anything you could think of—and then he waits.

sylus would never force you to do anything, he wants you to come to the nest on your own volition without his input. he won’t even mention it, he’ll just wait until you find the nest and watch from afar what you do. if you finally do decide to nestle in, he’ll jump for joy knowing that you like it. he’ll also never come into your nest unless you ask him to, and if you do, let’s just say he’ll take care of you really well.

❥ he purrs, and really loudly too. you’ll hear him purring when you’re cuddling, when you’re eating, when you’re bathing, during sex, when you’re doing anything, really. dragons only purr when extremely content but sylus makes a habit out of it when he’s around you. the man is just very happy.

the sound of his purrs come from a deep place within his chest, making them loud and deep. even though they may startle you sometimes, the frequency and vibrancy brings you a sense of comfort and peace, and sylus knows this. whenever you’re upset or anxious, he’ll start purring loudly in hopes of calming you down.

❥ he walks around naked. of course, sylus only does this with you, but it never fails to catch you off guard. it’s not so much a sexual thing, per se, but more of a comfort thing. he’s so comfortable with your presence that he doesn’t feel the need to keep his tight, itchy clothes on when he’s alone with you. he’ll let everything hang and jiggle if he so calls for it.

although, there are times where he’ll purposefully walk around naked to seduce you like a peacock would. he thinks flaunting off his assets will make you want to pounce on him and make love to him all night—which is unfortunately true.

❥ he watches you while you sleep. at first it was cute, but when you awoke one night to his vibrant red eyes staring you down in the dark, it started to feel a little creepy. he explains it away by saying he needs to make sure you’re okay, which doesn’t really make much sense to you since you were in his secure territory.

because sylus doesn’t need much sleep, whenever you take your beauty rest, he feels the urge to look after you and your vulnerable form. he also just enjoys watching you do something so silly and human-like sleeping. this was one of your habits that he didn’t understand. he does finally back off a little bit after your complaining, though.

❥ he has a wild tail. sylus has full control over all of his body parts at any give time, so his tail is always indicative of how he’s feeling. he has a rather calm tail when you two are around others, but when alone with you? you have to dodge it sometimes from how erratic it is. he explains that it’s the equivalent of how your leg bounces. something you don’t even think about when it happens, but can have control over once you realize it.

it’s just another way of him saying to you that he’s comfortable enough around you to let loose with his body and do more natural, unconscious mannerisms.

[yanderenightmare]

does bakugos protectiveness mean he won’t get intimate with reader? like does he see them more as like …. a fragile pet/person to look after?

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, immobilization, yandere, captive reader, quirkless reader, grief, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, hypochondriasis adjacet, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Despite all his lingering stares, the way he washes you in the bath and holds you at night, and the bulge you feel press against your ass—he hadn’t taken it further, and you’d started thinking he never would. His worries for your health might be so restricting he believes an act such as sex would be too exhausting and harmful for you. Sometimes, on his more rigid days, he doesn’t even allow you to walk on your own. So you wouldn’t put it beyond him.

But then, one night four months in, it comes. Creeping in slowly. You’re left wondering about it for a moment, lying there in anticipation as his large hands roam more than usual—over the plush of your thighs, up the small of your waist. The bed shifts as he slots himself closer—you think you might feel his heart thunk at your back. His breath comes with wet heat against your ear, his words even more so, drenched in arousal, yet oddly restrained, “Can I… touch you?”

He's so hesitant about it. Something in his voice, something so careful, makes you feel you can take it as an actual question and not one of his usual orders in disguise. Even so, you hesitate in return. But after a minute of contemplation, you decide to take advantage of the offered choice. Whispering back a firm and trying “No.”

You await his reaction warily—the possibility of him ignoring you is still very much plausible despite his caution.

But then… his touches recede to their designated places—to their normal hold, to the one of a simple dragon guarding treasure and nothing more. He releases a pent-up breath, then takes another deep one before settling.

“Okay.”

It seems somewhat anticlimactic. You’re not entirely sure you believe it. But as you wait for him to go against his own word, he doesn’t do anything but hold you like any other night, and then, a while later, you hear him snore.

You suppose it was expected. If your theory is correct and he doesn’t want to put you through the strain, it would only make sense he definitely wouldn’t do it if you were going to fight back on top of it. And as he doesn’t use the sedatives without deeming it utterly necessary, you can’t see him regard his horniness as a need that would justify its means.

Which can only then mean he wouldn’t touch you like that without consent. Perhaps the only saving grace in it all.

Or at least that was what you thought…

You’re both in the tub. You’d since allowed his thorough bath rituals without fighting back. Those times you’d bothered in the beginning, he’d used a sedative each time and left you as limp as a puppet. And even though you didn’t enjoy having any part of it, going through with it consciously was better than the alternative. And so you sit there, letting him lather and rub—trying to ignore the fact that his callused hands are twice your size and that he’s entirely naked, paired with the occasional feeling of his cock bumping into your lower back.

“There’s a lot’a health benefits to it…”

There he goes again. Health this, health that—constantly. He’ll most likely never let up on convincing you, no matter how much you declare you don’t need any of this inane insanity he calls protection.

“Sex, I mean…”

Your ears draw back at that. What… what did he just say? Your skin tightens around you, crawling with shivers even in the hot water. Health benefits… Sex…

You don’t like the sound of that. You thought he’d decided the means outweighed the need—his need, which is, in fact, not a need at all but a selfish desire. Similar to your desire to drink coffee or eat cake—both things you’re no longer allowed to do since it’s not compatible with your health regimen. Sex, as was decided, is also not compatible with your health regimen.

“It improves the immune system, lowers the risk of heart disease, decreases depression, makes you sleep better…” he mutters behind you. “Also… it’ll help you settle.”

“What are you talking abou—” Your outcry is cut off by the needle deep in your arm. The liquid enters you quickly and taints your bloodstream shortly thereafter. You watch him pull it out and place it gently on the neatly folded stack of towels beside the tub. Your breath is forcibly subdued before it has the chance to flare with the panic rioting your chest. The only protest leaving is a wasted “No…”

“I’m sorry…” he apologizes, wrapping his thick arms around your softened body before it could collapse forward, pulling you close while pressing his forehead between your slumped shoulder blades. “But this is for your own good.”

You don’t know whether he’s trying to convince you or himself. When he subjects you to all his other methods, he does so with impenetrable justification—as though religiously, sanctioned, with a rigid belief of what he’s doing. But now he seems more torn—as if he’s sullying himself with dubious intent, not entirely able to hide from his own ulterior motives.

He carries your limp body out of the bath in a fluffy towel. Your eyes are half-mast and blurry at times, but still, you can see it, written plainly on his face—guilt. No, not of the tiny needle hole he’d made in your arm—that shame is more fleeting, more of a grit-teethed all’s fair in love and war. This look on his face was different from that—weighted with a burden he still isn’t sure if’s worth it.

He lays you down softly on the bed, then takes a step back, swallowing thickly.

His shoulders look braced from what you can tell when looking down at where he stands at the foot end—overall uncomfortable in his stance, looking as though he doesn’t want to be there, as though he shouldn’t be there. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe the guilt has fostered regret? Maybe he won’t go through with it after all?

The bed sinks to accommodate his weight. You feel it swallow you from beneath as if you’re drowning in the sheets. You feel heavy enough for it to be true—heavy like lead, unmovable. And yet, Bakugou moves you all too easily. Parting your thighs as if they didn’t have any gravity to them whatsoever, placing them atop his own as he shuffles in close.

You want to scream, but you can only cry silently. You feel so betrayed—that’s what gets you most. Familiarity in what you’d always known about how to live had been stripped away, leaving you to Bakugou’s rules and regulations—which weren’t much to find comfort in. Still, you had felt you could in the least trust in them, in his mania, in this unshakable need of his to keep you safe and healthy. But now he was breaking that trust.

“You aren’t comfortable with me yet. That’s the issue,” he says—insists on it. And it’s very clear now—he doesn’t even have himself assured. You can see it on his face, behind his eyes, racking his brain, grasping at straws.

Your skin ignites with goosebumps as he trails up both your thighs—his red stare rimmed with unease, brows cinched, looking at the place between you. His mouth hangs slightly open—you hear the shallow breaths seeping in and out, thicker and thicker with heat.

“We need this.”

That’s different. We have never been a part of it before. It’s always been you first and foremost and then him as an afterthought. Your chest churns again with the same sensation of back-stabbing—this isn’t right—he’s breaking all the rules! He said he wouldn’t—he promised he wouldn’t!

You squeeze your eyes shut with all the might the drug allows you when you feel his gritty finger filter through your slit. His warmth tells you he’s leaning down close, then the sensation of his mouth wrapping your nipple, soaking it in spit, even hotter than the steaming tub from earlier.

“I want to make you feel good—I need you to be happy,” he moans around the nub, sucking it into a pretty pebble before doing the same with the other—leaving them both glossy. “To smile. And laugh. You aren’t healthy if you don’t want to live.”

You can feel the bed shake beneath you, and you can tell from the tremor in his voice it’s from jerking himself—teasing your entrance with the other hand. You wince when his fingers enter you. The bathwater makes it easier—one digit first, testing you out, then quickly followed by the sting of another. It’s a stretch—after all, you haven’t done it in the many months since arriving here, and even before then, you’d been busy with work. You don’t remember how long it’s been, but it’s far long enough to make it feel both a little painful but also way overdue.

It's embarrassing how quickly you come undone. Two fingers barely doing anything but fill you out, and you’re already throttling them and cumming—wetting them with slickness of your own.

He pulls them out shortly. You don’t want to open your eyes, but the stillness that befalls the bed tells you everything of how he’s inspecting them with that god-awful doctoral leer in his eyes.

You think you hear the sounds of suction a second later—yes, definitely slurping.

You want to crawl in on yourself and die.

The hand returns, settling flatly upon your pelvis—a fat thumb nuzzling your pearled clit. And then something grazes the puffy lips below it—softly and slowly, ever-gently. Something hard. Something big. Something bulbous.

“This will hurt a little. But then you’ll feel good,” he cares to explain as if you’ve never done this before. It’s awful how soft and sweet he makes his tone, masking the brute—but the room is too quiet to hide behind, and you hear it anyway. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar liar liar!

He nudges against your entrance to find purchase, a request soon granted—though it requires much more than what his digits did. A cry cracks from your chest and his movements halt. But that’s somehow worse—the slow burn is all but torture—you wish he’d rather do it quickly, in one full motion, like ripping off the band-aid. But no, he eases in, and the tear feels everlasting until it nudges right and tight against your womb.

“Fuck.” His whole body labors with his breaths, trying hard to restrain himself—and you suppose that’s something to be thankful for. “Fuck, that’s so nice…”

He, as well, hasn’t had a fuck in ages. Since before he met you.

He’d been too much of a wreck after the funeral when the realization had finally settled. Unfit in every sense of the word. Put on mandatory sick leave.

He had a month of binging. Too many hookups in poor taste and even shittier circumstances—sloshed at exclusive clubs, taking home the first person he could play pretend with. It was easiest with his fans—they remind him of him—how they fawn over him so wholeheartedly, cute nerds all too eager to let him use them.

Kirishima had beaten him half to death at some point, fed up with his bullshit—told him he was tainting his memory. His words hit harder than his fists. Set him straight. He’d sobered up, and then he’d gone back to work as the new number-one hero.

He had touched neither bottle nor another human being since. It had been all business.

And then he met you.

He hunkers down—his lips and nose brush along your neck in small kisses. “I love you,” he confesses under his breath, circling your clit under his thumb while his other hand dwarfs your hip tenderly. It’s the first time he says it out loud like that. It doesn’t mean much to you, or no, it means you want to twist away—but to him, it’s as if he’d said so under the climax of a romance, or maybe an even more dire intimacy than that, like the last breath he’d take before death, coated head to toe in blood, knowing he’d never be able to see you again.

All previous reservations are thrown as he pulls back and starts rocking forth slowly.

“Ah fuck—” he hisses. “I love you.”

The patterns drawn on your clit get messier—so do his kisses—sloppy and getting needier. The hand on your hips has to grip the mattress instead, supporting him while his breaths turn gruffer.

“I love you,” he keeps repeating, and you keep your eyes closed.

The bed rocks softly beneath you like you’re lying on a saucer swing—making you a little nauseous, and yet you feel it coming anew—the sweet tingling from below, simmering beneath Bakugou’s thumb.

Then his lulling picks up, veering on thrusting—just hard enough to make your skin softly clap upon meeting. It’s just enough friction to make you jerk again, seizing up and shivering on his cock. It jitters shortly, stutters, and then stills—and you feel it fill you—swarm you—hot and wet and spreading.

His chest rests on you—heavy and plump with brawn coated in sweat mixed with bathwater. It’s suffocating, yet you breathe fine, albeit in shambles, recovering from the toll.

“I love you,” he says a final time, breathless.

And you don’t know… something about the entire thing feels as though he’s talking to someone else.

♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[milkingtonthethird]

BATBOYS’ reaction to you asking to paint their nails

WARNINGS: fluff, gn!reader, but you wear nail polish

NOTE: DUKE IS HERE. EVERYONE SAY HI DUKE

Bruce Wayne:

- You’re doing your own nails when he walks in.

- Clearly you’re bored, or something, because he can easily pay to get them done professionally.

- He approaches you, gently lifting your hand to inspect.

- “Pretty,” he murmurs, followed by a kiss to your knuckle.

- You grin. “Can I do yours?”

- He considers, even though there’s already a denial on the tip of his tongue. But, it doesn’t come out, because you look really excited at the thought.

- He agrees. And it’s lame.

- A clear top coat. That’s all he’ll let you do.

- Bruce Wayne can’t be seen with sparkles on his hands, even if he doesn’t care what the media thinks.

- He believes it’s too feminine for him.

- They’d probably be chipped immediately given how handsy his nighttime life is, anyway.

- Still, it’s something—you’ll take what you can get.

- He actually comes to you every few days so he’s able to keep it on.

- He does try on black at some point. It looks odd on his large, calloused hands. That’s just him, though.

- The top coat is too unnoticeable for anyone to comment, but his kids are smart, observant.

- “Why are your nails shiny?”

- “Because it makes them happy.”

Dick Grayson:

- He really likes watching you do your nails and is very satisfied when you do a color he recommends.

- Said color most of the time is blue.

- You’re waiting for the polish to dry when you ask, “You want me to do yours?”

- Grayson is open-minded, but he’s also utterly in love with you, so obviously he agrees.

- You’d both have black on your thumbs and pinkies, with that iconic vivid blue on the rest.

- Unfortunately, colliding his fist into jaws and his training does get in the way of keeping them nice.

- Which means he gets spoiled with your attention even more as you fix them. Yay!

- He’s lowkey cocky when he takes down criminals with it on.

- “LOL I just kicked your ass with nail polish my partner put on” ahh mf.

- He’s incredibly defensive if anyone teases him.

- They’re basically insulting you, too.

- They eventually stop because he’s dead serious.

Jason Todd:

- “You look better with it,” he would say upon the offer.

- But he’s equally bored. He’ll agree.

- Black. Pure black. Black hole black.

- He’d make an edgy comment about how it’s his “soul” or whatever.

- He actually kind of likes it. It fits his aesthetic.

- Beats people a little harder if they happen to chip it.

- He’ll let you add a small, red matching heart on a finger.

- Preferably middle. It’s his favorite one.

- He would make snide comments when he’s fighting.

- “They did my nails so pretty, don’t you think?” (Morseo his “fingerless gloves” era.)

- Not that they’d notice. His knuckles are being too personal with their face.

- He’d be like Dick. Why is simple nail polish just so fuckin’ funny?

Tim Drake:

- He won’t necessarily be interested in polish, but rather small designs.

- Like a little flower, or a heart.

- Super simplistic stuff that has him smile when he looks at it.

- You did, as cheesy as it is, a Red Robin one time.

- May or may not have taken forever.

- He’s genuinely sad if they get ruined. You worked hard on them.

- He’d probably apologize because clearly it’s his fault—heavy sarcasm, by the way.

- You remind him that it gives you an opportunity to do more.

- He probably would ignore whomever made comments that weren’t compliments until they apologize.

- He hasn’t talked to Jason in a while.

Damian Wayne:

- “Don’t you have your own nails?”

- You’ll offer to bathe Titus for the rest of the year, and suddenly he’s sitting on your floor while you put a tacky hot pink on him.

- He lets you do whatever, because he doesn’t keep it long. He’s just not into it.

- But if he isn’t doing anything, he won’t take it off until he has to.

- Him texting Jon about how stupid he is with cunty ass nails.

- No one finds out. It’s his little secret.

- And then Bruce forgets to knock one time during a session.

- “Father,” he greets flatly, not looking up.

- You’ve never seen the Batman so…confused.

Duke Thomas:

- He’d be in the same boat as Tim—simple designs.

- Ones that make something with both of your nails together. Like a heart.

- He let you do acrylics one time for shits and giggles.

- “How do people…do things?”

- He’s been trying to open a can of soda for the past ten minutes.

- He keeps the designs absolutely pristine, somehow.

- He’d avoid doing certain things, but he also has crazy luck.

- He’ll bring you new ideas.

- He wears it with pride in public.

- If anyone brings it up in a mocking manner, he’d say, “I think you’re mad because you’re single and I’m not.”

- The time Jason did it, he’d sulk, because Duke’s right. He is mad.

doing their makeup

[innerempire]

Peter starts calling Tony “daddy” as a goof. He means nothing by it (at first) because as Tony gets older, his concern towards the boy doubles (triples?). Checks in on Peter regularly during his first year in college and there’s this one time where Peter thinks he must have sounded so painfully homesick that Tony makes the trip down.

It’s sweet, even if Tony spends half the time bitching about the boy’s living conditions (really, it’s not that bad, Tony. You’re just bougie as hell). A week later, he comes back to his dorm to a couple of packages. There’s a bunch of fancy-sounding shit Peter can’t pronounce even if he wants to. Like, why the hell would he need a shaver that costs $500???? Or a complete set of toiletries that costs more than his Molecular Biophysics textbook? Or bedsheets that are so ridiculously soft and cool to the touch that it makes waking up for his 8am classes somewhat impossible?

There’s also a box that’s basically just snacks. Lots of it. Because Peter had complained about how the vending machine was always spoilt and the options meager.

So yeah, he thinks Tony’s got quite the soft spot for him even if he hides it behind his “yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Pete”.

He doesn’t think much of it when he sends the text: lol, a bit overboard, but thank you daddy 😉

Again, Peter had meant it as a goof because he knows Tony can get a little dramatic about his age.

Tony: What are they teaching you in college

Peter: What? I’m just expressing my thanks to an older man whom has posed to be quite the paternal figure in my life.

Peter: But yeah, seriously, thank you. The snacks are godsent. So is the new puffer jacket. But like, winter break isn’t for a couple of months yet?? And I don’t really need like, new pillows, but they’re really, really nice.

Tony: Daddy aims to please.

Peter laughs at the message, glad that the older male was playing along at least. He keeps it up for the next couple of months, Tony doesn’t tell him to stop.

Tony: What do you think about cornice ceiling designs?

Peter: what?? what’s a cornice

Tony: you know what, it’s probably a no for you.

Peter: okay. just googled it. why are you looking at ceiling designs?

Peter: are you renovating stark tower? again?

Peter: it’s rude not to reply because I can see that you’re online.

Tony: daddy’s in a meeting, baby. hush and I’ll text you later.

And Peter is…

floored.

Because baby? BABY? Was Tony confusing him for someone else? He rereads the message again, ignoring the tiny spark of heat at the endearment. He wonders if this is Tony’s way of fucking with him after all these months. He wouldn’t be surprised actually.

Peter: ok, no to the cornice btw.

He comes home for winter break and maybe he has missed Tony more than usual. It feels like they’re closer than usual, and if the rest of the Avengers notice that they’re chummier than usual, or how Tony is always in a visibly better mood whenever the boy’s around, no one’s saying anything (yet).

It’s chaotic when the team gets together and Peter’s trying to excitedly talk over Tony about something, cutting the older male off. Tony just clamps a hand over Peter’s mouth, and chides him playfully,

“Okay, baby, don’t interrupt when the adults are talking. Daddy taught you better than that.”

Peter’s words comes out muffled as he protests, not realizing that Steve and Scott are straight up gawking at them. Natasha doesn’t even seem fazed, holding her right palm up towards Clint and mouthing, “pay up, loser.”

Bucky basically goes, “Oh shit, so it’s like that, huh?”

“Well, considering the age gap and how they’ve always interacted, is it really that surprising?” Bruce muses out loud.

Peter peels Tony’s fingers away from his mouth, “Guys, what, no - we’re not-“ He glances at Tony for some help.

“Aw, cute. He’s looking at his daddy for help.” Natasha teases.

“So we’ve upgraded from “kid” to “baby”, huh?”

[cusimmrbrightside]

I have always liked the idea of the school for mutants being very literally a school, and I know yes it is but I mean in the sense of if you want to be an X-men, you have to be a teacher. They have exams at the end of years, they have Ofsted checks (for those who don’t know what they are, it’s essentially people coming to check that the school is good at being a school) and they have teachers for every subject, which brings me to my next point;

“I’m Right You’re Wrong, Here’s What The X-Men (‘97 specifically) Would Teach As Subjects”.

(Also this is based off of UK school system but I use American terms like “seniors” and “AP” and “Midterms”)

Maths Teacher Gambit is surprising, for a guy most assume to not being entirely smart, an idiot goof off who’s the comedic relief. But you need to know numbers to gamble, and that he does with being very well versed in mathematics way past an AP level. He’s made the promise for every senior class that he will teach them to play blackjack on the final day, and has only ever lost once. Which is when the rule of “no betting real money” came into place.

English teacher Jean reminds me of the kind of teacher who would let the social outcasts into her class for their lunch breaks. The kids more likely to be bullied and she will fight tooth and nail to make sure those kids bullies don’t come into that classroom. they’re loud and shout and shouldn’t really be in there but no one has to know and she certainly won’t be telling them to leave any time soon.

Physics teacher Magneto is very specific to my highschool experience I’ll be honest. I had a physics teacher who was an actual Dr with a PHD and he hated being there. His classroom has (well, had since the building was knocked down about 5 years ago now) this one cabinet that was never fully shut, it was always open just about an inch or two, and he’d stand with his foot hovering just above it and then slam down on it whenever we got too loud so the noise would shut us up. That’s very magneto coded. Erik Lehnsherr would purposefully make the cabinet always a little open so he can do that.

Biology teacher morph is just a funny concept, a person whose physical form and change and morph into just about anything. They are considered one of the “fun” teachers, you could easily convince them to let you watch a movie all class as long as it was biology centred, but with classics like Osmosis Jones, you’re not stuck watching a documentary about animals giving birth.

Chemistry teacher Storm does not fuck about with children’s education. She is not strict by any means whatsoever, she just will not bend to someone saying they want to watch a film or should do a practical instead of theory. She has a set curriculum. She knows what she will be doing by the first week of the summer holidays and already has the room set up all pretty and organised.

Geography teacher Scott has the unfortunate job of telling his students that, they just won’t be looking at memorising country flags and politics. But hey!! Rocks are cool!! Beach shores are cool! Lake formations are cool! He’s the vice principal and designated nerd teacher. He once beat the elite four for a student on their copy of Pokémon Red because the student promised they’d do well in their midterms. Yes, he was in his 30s when the game came out, he doesn’t care.

History teacher Logan is a walking fun facts book. He’s exhausted, goes on smoke breaks on every gap of time he has, dislikes his job and will randomly get passionate about one specific topic, and will then dedicate his next 4 classes to that topic. Having been through a lot of modern history with personal experiences, he’s able to bring a lot of souvenirs to show his classes. Bullets, helmets, clothes he once wore hundreds of years ago, his personal memories of basic inventions like the vaccine.

PE (physical education) teacher Rogue is full of fun sports games, you can join any kind of sports team you can imagine and if you ask nicely enough, she’ll put Just Dance on a projector in the sports hall so you can just play that instead of actually play an actual sport. As long as you leave her class exhausted and without time to have a shower before your next class then she’s succeeded in making whoever your next teacher is absolutely miserable (bonus points if it’s Logan with his enhanced sense of smell).

Art teacher jubilee does believe that there is a right way to critique art. And she can be a little in your face about it. She does think you can have wrong opinions especially when it comes to your own art. If she overhears you saying you didn’t something wrong, she’ll scream into a megaphone “adapt, improvise, overcome!”. There are no mistakes! She’s eccentric, bubbly, creative and brilliant, the only one suited for the job.

It wouldn’t be a school without budget cuts. That’s why Nightcrawler is both the languages and religions teacher and he’s beloved at both. He comes up with roleplay scenarios the students can play to help learn their chosen languages, he has varied religious texts in his room and when he says to the students “I’ll pray for toy during exam season” he’s not actually joking.

(I forgot about Hank I’m actually going to cry he’s one of my favourites and I forgot about him. He’ll be in pt two or smth.)

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Let’s Call It Even

Where Y/N is an interviewer who pushes Harry Styles too far.

Word count: 2.5k

The hotel suite is dimly lit, the kind of warm lighting designed to make people feel at ease. It’s supposed to create intimacy, lower defenses.

Y/N doesn’t buy into it.

She sits across from Harry Styles, her recorder already running, her notepad resting on her lap. He’s leaned back in his chair, the picture of effortless ease—legs spread slightly, fingers tapping a light rhythm against his knee. He’s been in interviews all day. She can tell by the slight shift in his posture, the polite but rehearsed smile.

He thinks this will be just another round of the same.

He’s wrong.

She clicks her pen. “Let’s talk about Jack.”

Harry nods slightly, shifting forward in his seat. “Let’s.”

She studies him for a second before speaking again. “Do you think Jack sees himself as the villain, or does he believe he’s the hero of his own story?”

The smile on his lips falters just a fraction, but it’s there. He takes a moment, pretending to really think about it, but Y/N knows that’s just part of the act.

“I think Jack believes he’s doing what’s right,” he says finally. His voice is smooth, unhurried. “That’s what makes him dangerous, isn’t it? He thinks he’s protecting something. Love, security, order. But he’s also selfish. Blind to how much control he really has over Alice.”

It’s a good answer. Polished. Almost too perfect.

Y/N doesn’t even blink.

“But isn’t that just a way to excuse him?” she presses. “Saying he thinks he’s doing the right thing doesn’t change the fact that he actively chooses to manipulate Alice. It’s not a gray area—it’s deliberate harm. Doesn’t that say more about how men like Jack justify their actions?”

There. The shift.

His jaw tightens slightly. His fingers stop their rhythmic tapping.

For the first time, she has his full attention.

“I think you’re trying to make it black and white when it isn’t,” Harry counters, voice still calm but firmer now. “Jack is a product of his environment. The whole world he exists in is built to make him believe he’s right.”

“But that doesn’t make him any less responsible.”

Silence. Thick. Charged.

She watches as he exhales through his nose, the muscles in his jaw working as he measures his next words.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that you came into this interview already deciding what you wanted to hear from me.”

A flicker of something in his eyes—challenge, annoyance, something deeper beneath the surface.

And just like that, the easy rhythm of the interview is gone.

Y/N doesn’t flinch at Harry’s words. If anything, she leans in slightly, her grip on her pen tightening just a fraction.

“I think,” she says, mirroring his tone, “that you came into this interview already deciding how much you wanted to say.”

Harry’s lips twitch, something between amusement and irritation flashing across his face. “That’s what interviews are, aren’t they? You ask, I answer. Isn’t that the game?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she counters. “Unless you’re just playing it safe.”

His expression shifts—still composed, still carrying that air of practiced charm, but his body language betrays him. The way his fingers flex against his knee. The way his jaw tenses, like he’s biting back something sharper.

“I don’t think wanting to be thoughtful with my words means I’m playing it safe.” His voice is controlled, deliberate. “It means I’m not interested in giving you some soundbite you can twist into a headline.”

Y/N tilts her head slightly, studying him. “I don’t need to twist anything, Harry. Your answers do that on their own.”

His brows lift, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

The tension stretches between them, thick and unspoken. There’s something electric about it—not just frustration, but something deeper. An unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

She watches as he inhales through his nose, running his tongue along his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“I think Jack is complicated,” he says finally, voice lower now, more measured. “I think he’s someone who believes his love is enough to justify everything he does. And I think that kind of love—the kind that demands control—is the most dangerous kind there is.”

Now that is an answer.

Y/N doesn’t say anything for a beat, just lets the weight of his words settle between them. Then, slowly, she nods.

“I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve said today.”

His smirk is barely there, but it lingers, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“And I think,” he murmurs, “you like getting under people’s skin more than you like the answers themselves.”

She smirks right back.

“Only when they need to be pushed.”

The interview continues, but the air between them has shifted. Every exchange is laced with something unspoken, something simmering just beneath the surface.

The interview wraps. The cameras stop rolling. The crew starts moving around, packing up lights and cables, but Y/N barely notices.

She can feel him watching her.

She keeps her focus on gathering her notes, her movements precise, calculated. She’s expecting him to leave—to shake hands, flash one last easy grin, and walk out like he does in every other interview.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, she hears the quiet shuffle of his boots against the carpet. The shift of fabric as he moves closer.

Then, his voice. Low. Sharp.

“Was that the goal?”

Y/N exhales, fingers tightening around her pen before she finally looks up at him. He’s closer than before, standing just at the edge of the table, his expression unreadable.

“Excuse me?”

Harry tilts his head slightly, eyes flickering over her face. His jaw is still tight, like he’s holding something back.

“You wanted me to get mad, didn’t you?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it, something simmering. “Push me hard enough so the clip goes viral. ‘Harry Styles loses his cool.’ That the angle you were going for?”

Y/N lets out a short breath, shaking her head. “That’s insulting.”

“Is it?” he challenges, stepping just a fraction closer.

Her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t move back. If he’s trying to intimidate her, he’s wasting his time.

“I wasn’t trying to make you mad,” she says evenly. “I was trying to make you think. There’s a difference.”

His lips press together, and she can tell he’s fighting the urge to snap back. She’s seen this before—the way frustration sits behind his ribs, the way he wrestles with it instead of letting it spill over.

But this time, it’s personal.

“You think I wasn’t thinking?” His voice drops, quieter now. “Or do you just not like it when people don’t give you the answers you want?”

Y/N exhales through her nose, tilting her chin up slightly. “I think you’re used to people letting you get away with easy answers. And I think, for once, someone actually made you sit in the uncomfortable part of it.”

A flicker of something—anger, intrigue, something tangled in between.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, then lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You are a real piece of work, you know that?”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

For a second, he just looks at her. The air between them feels thick, charged with something unsaid.

Then, he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before turning toward the door.

But just before he steps out, he pauses.

“You know what the worst part is?” he says, glancing over his shoulder. His voice is lower now, almost too quiet. “You’re right. And I fucking hate that.”

And then, he’s gone.

It happens at a party.

She’s not surprised. The industry is small, the circles even smaller. She knew, deep down, that their paths would cross again.

But she didn’t expect it to be like this.

The venue is dimly lit, golden light casting long shadows across the room. Low chatter hums beneath the pulse of bass-heavy music. It’s one of those exclusive events—where artists, directors, and industry names sip expensive drinks and pretend they’re not watching each other.

Y/N isn’t here to play the game. She’s here because she was dragged by a friend, because she needed a break, because—

Because she told herself she wouldn’t think about him.

And then, she feels it.

That familiar prickle at the back of her neck. The unshakable sense of being watched.

She turns, and there he is.

Harry, leaning against the bar, a whiskey glass in hand, watching her like she’s something he can’t quite figure out. His suit is tailored but effortless, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he stopped caring the second he walked in.

But it’s his eyes that catch her—the way they flicker under the low lights, dark and unreadable.

She should look away.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she lifts her chin slightly, a silent challenge, before turning toward the balcony.

She doesn’t need to check if he follows. She already knows he will.

The air outside is cooler, quieter, a stark contrast to the warmth of the party. The city stretches out below, glittering and endless.

She leans against the railing, exhaling slowly.

“Didn’t think you were the type to sulk in the corner at these things.”

His voice comes from behind her, smooth but laced with something heavier.

She doesn’t turn around. “Didn’t think you were the type to hold grudges.”

There’s a low chuckle, and then she hears his footsteps—slow, unhurried.

“You made quite an impression, love,” he murmurs, coming to stand beside her.

She finally glances at him. “I do that.”

His lips twitch, but there’s something else in his gaze. Something he hasn’t decided if he resents or respects.

“I meant what I said,” he continues, taking a sip of his drink. “You like pushing people. You like watching them squirm.”

She shrugs, turning back to the skyline. “Only when they need to be pushed.”

“And you decided I needed it?”

“I didn’t decide anything,” she says, then glances at him. “You showed me you did.”

That does something to him. She can tell by the way his jaw clenches, by the way he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to temper whatever is simmering beneath his skin.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he mutters, more to himself than to her.

Y/N tilts her head, studying him. “I think you hate that I might.”

Silence. The air between them shifts, tightening.

She expects him to snap back, to smirk, to find some way to deflect like he always does.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he sets his glass down, leaning in just enough that she can feel the warmth of him, the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“Tell me, then,” he murmurs. “What do you think you know?”

Her pulse jumps, but she doesn’t let it show.

She meets his stare, unflinching.

“I think you like control.” The words are deliberate, measured. “You like being the one asking the questions. You like being the one who sets the pace, who decides how much people see.”

His throat bobs as he swallows.

She steps closer—not much, just enough to test the space between them.

“And I think,” she continues, voice softer now, “you hate that I see past it.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. His fingers flex against the railing.

For a second, she thinks he’s going to walk away again.

But then—

“And what if I don’t hate it?”

The words hang between them, heavy, raw.

Her breath catches, just for a moment.

She should say something sharp, something cutting.

Instead, she whispers—

“Then that’s a whole different problem, isn’t it?”

And for the first time since they met, he doesn’t have an answer.

The weight of his words lingers between them.

Harry doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink. He just stands there, watching her, like he’s trying to decide whether to close the space between them or run before it’s too late.

Y/N holds his gaze, waiting. Daring.

For once, he doesn’t have a smooth response, a rehearsed quip to throw back at her. And she sees it—the crack in the armor, the flicker of something raw beneath all the charm.

“This is a problem, then?” he murmurs, voice low, dangerously soft.

Y/N exhales slowly, feeling the cool night air against her skin, the contrast of the heat rolling off him. “It is if you make it one.”

His jaw clenches. His hands flex against the railing.

Then—

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t look away. “Funny. I was just about to say the same thing.”

His breath hitches—just slightly, just enough for her to notice.

And then it happens.

He moves.

Not fast, not reckless, but with a sharp, deliberate intent that makes her heart lurch.

One second, they’re standing there, balancing on the edge of something unspoken.

The next, he’s close. Closer than before.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing over the column of her throat, tracing the line of her jaw. Not quite touching, not fully closing the distance, but there—a silent question, a warning, a threat.

Her pulse pounds beneath his fingertips.

She knows this is a mistake. She knows they should stop, pull back before it spirals into something they can’t control.

But when his thumb drags lightly across her skin, when his lips part like he’s about to say something and then doesn’t—

She doesn’t care.

“Say it,” he murmurs.

Her breath catches.

“Say what?”

His fingers slide to the back of her neck, his touch just firm enough to make her head spin.

“Say you don’t want this.”

Her throat tightens.

Because she should. She should say it. She should tell him that this is just leftover tension from their interview, just a fleeting moment of frustration, just—

But then his nose brushes hers, his breath warm against her lips, and all rational thought crumbles.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

The second the words leave her mouth, everything snaps.

His lips crash against hers, and it’s nothing like she expected. It’s not slow, not tentative—it’s urgent, desperate, messy in a way that betrays just how long they’ve both been holding this back.

His hands tighten against her waist, pulling her flush against him. She fists his shirt, grounding herself, anchoring herself to something before she completely loses her mind.

He tastes like whiskey and something she can’t name, something sharp and intoxicating and so fucking infuriatingly him.

The kiss is a battle. A push and pull.

He bites her lower lip, and she gasps. He smirks against her mouth, but she drags her nails down his back, making him groan, and suddenly the tables turn.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be even.”

He presses her back against the railing, one hand gripping her waist, the other tilting her chin up, deepening the kiss like he’s trying to prove something.

Like he’s trying to win.

When they finally break apart, their breaths are ragged, lips swollen, pupils blown wide.

Harry drags his thumb over her bottom lip, watching her like he’s waiting for her to take it back.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she smirks.

“That wasn’t very professional of you, Styles.”

His answering chuckle is dark, breathless.

“You started it.”

She arches a brow. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

He leans in again, lips ghosting over her jaw. “No?”

Her grip tightens in his shirt.

“No,” she murmurs, voice softer now.

He hums, his nose trailing along the curve of her neck.

“Then let’s call it even.”

Y/N exhales a shaky breath, tilting her head slightly.

[lovelybucky1]

1.The Interview

main masterlist

go greek masterlist

“So you’re interested in being our frat sweetheart?” Joaquin asks, a comically confused look on his face. He holds your resume in his hand but hasn’t read a single word on it.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” you say, now matching his confusion. “The position is open, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s open. I guess I’m just confused about why you’d want it. I mean…” he looks down at your resume and begins reading. “Secretary of the Environmental Action Club, Co-Editor of the newspaper, English Honors Society, Treasurer of the Feminism Collective. This is all very impressive, but I gotta say, you’re not the usual frat sweetheart type.”

“Well, involvement in Greek Life looks good on resumes and I’m not interested in joining a sorority, so I thought this was the next best thing,” you explain.

Joaquin nods in understanding. “Got it. I’m gonna be completely honest here, I’m not really sure how an interview for this kind of thing is supposed to go. Usually, sweethearts are just one of the guy’s girlfriends, but we’re all single. All the other frats have someone to design cool posters and take pictures and stuff, and we need to look appealing to the PNMs.”

“I do have experience doing social media for the Environmental Club, and I did photography for the Theater department last semester. I’m pretty crafty so I’m sure I can make some party decorations and stuff like that.

Joaquin leans back in the wooden chair that’s likely older than him. He crosses his arms over his chest and the muscles in his arms bulge against his shirt sleeves. “You are definitely way overqualified for us. I just have one more question,” he says. “Do you party?”

You pause. You knew your personal social life would come into question eventually. It’s not like you don’t have friends, you have a great network of people you love to spend time with. You just happen to spend that time doing things other than blacking out and vomiting on a basketball player’s shoes in a sweaty basement.

“Is that a requirement of the job?” you counter.

“Being the sweetheart is more than just a job. Like, yeah, you’ll have responsibilities, but you’ll also be a member of the frat. We strongly encourage all the guys to attend the parties. It’s the whole brotherhood part of it. You wouldn’t have to go to all of them if you don’t want to, but making an appearance at least a couple times a month would be best.”

You suppose a couple of parties a month wouldn’t hurt. You have been meaning to get out more anyway.

“I think I can manage that,” you smile.

“Perfect! Do you have any questions?” You shake your head. “Then I think we have just found the newest member of SAE.”

He grins cheerfully and extends his hand for you to shake. His grasp is firm and warm, and it lingers a touch too long. Before he could say anything else, two men walk through the front door.

You turn around and find Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the President and Treasurer. You recognize them from the sports articles you’ve read in the paper. Print certainly doesn’t do the pair justice, because you had no idea that guys this attractive even went to your college.

“Buck, Steve, I want you to meet our sweetheart!” he says.

You can’t help but feel a bit shy in front of them, but you smile and introduce yourself as normally as possible. Steve gives you a charming, classic Hollywood smile and you almost swoon. Bucky is just as handsome but in a rougher way that screams trouble.

They’re both sweaty and flushed, fresh from practice. They’re holding lacrosse sticks and wearing matching team backpacks like you’ve seen all the student-athletes have. Steve is in a red Stark University tee and Bucky is in a black crewneck sweatshirt with the same logo.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Steve says. “I know being a sweetheart has a certain reputation, but I promise you that nothing like that is expected of you.” You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but you could take a pretty good guess. One woman in a house full of frat guys… It doesn’t take a genius.

“That’s reassuring, thank you,” you smile. It feels weird to be thanking him for not wanting to sleep with you, but you weren’t sure what else to say.

“Are you free tomorrow at 4? We have a chapter meeting and I’d love for you to meet the guys,” Steve asks.

“Yes, I’m free,” you say. “Are meetings every Sunday?”

“More or less. It really depends on how hungover everyone is,” he jokes. That smile is blinding. “But none of the teams have practice that late on Sundays and everyone is usually free, so that’s when we try to do them. We’d really like it if you came to as many events as possible to take pictures and stuff, but also because you’re a member too.”

“Sounds good to me,” you say.

Bucky is still standing next to Steve but lets him do all of the talking. He seems more focused on trailing his eyes over every inch of your body. You dare a glance, and the smirk that forms on his lips when your eyes meet is nothing short of devilish.

“We don’t wanna take up any more of your time, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than let Steve talk your ear off” Bucky chimes in, nudging his friend with his elbow.

“I do have some work I need to catch up on,” you say, then immediately regret it. Why did you have to pick the lamest thing to say? Bucky and Joaquin share a look, both with a small smirk on their lips.

“Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Steve asks.

“Take a load off, Steve. I can do it,” Bucky offers.

“Really, guys, you just came back from practice. I can walk her back,” Joaquin chimes in.

You look between the three of them, wide-eyed. You’ve never had this much attention from guys who looked this good before.

“It’s okay!” You speak up. “I can walk by myself, it’s not a problem.”

The three are unfazed by the rejection. “Okay, but you’re part of the family now. We’ve all got your back,” Steve says.

You nod in understanding and wish them a good evening before hurrying out the door, not wanting to make a bigger fool of yourself. You’re not sure how it turned from a professional interview, something you’ve done a thousand times, to you becoming a flustered mess.

As you walk down the sidewalk back to your building, you shake your head. This is just another club you’ve joined. It can’t be different than running the newspaper or the painting club. And those guys were just being friendly, there’s no reason to look into it any deeper than that.

[suzukiblu]

. . . so like, no PROMISES for doing the whole month, buuuuut . . . day one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, should I? In all the spare space I’ve got in here?” Tim asks, still sounding wry. 

“Buy a bigger boat, babe, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bernard says reasonably. “How’re we gonna keep a kept boy without a bigger boat, huh? You want a big pet around, you gotta have a big space for him. Let him really stretch his legs, you know? Or spread ‘em, whichever.’ 

Kon buries another laugh in his arms and Tim rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. Jokes aside, they really are crammed in pretty tight on the bed–it is just not that big a bed to be fitting three people in–but Kon minds literally nothing about that. Not even a little bit does he mind that, in fact.

He likes it, more like. Likes being all up in someone else’s space even without anyone actually fucking each other or even making out or like–just, anything, he guesses. He doesn’t get to do that often enough, it always feels like. Everybody’s always–busy, or moving, or . . . 

He just wants to, like . . . get to do this kind of thing more often, he guesses. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s Tim whose space he’s currently all up in, either. Like–he has definitely not gotten to be all up in Tim’s space too many times that weren’t directly related to one of them saving each other’s ass in a crisis situation. Or, like, occasionally being transportation to a crisis situation; that has also been a thing more than once. 

. . . actually, fuck, thinking too much about being Tim’s usual designated transportation or just being all shoved up in each other’s space while the world was trying to end while he’s gay is not something he’s gonna be able to be normal about, huh. 

Like . . . wow, yeah. Not even a little bit normal. 

Jesus. 

“Oh, I see, so this is just another excuse to try and get me to trade in my perfectly sound and perfectly outfitted boat,” Tim says, which sort of distracts Kon from his own personal Chernobyl: Horny Edition. Like, kind of, anyway. “Is there literally anything that we have not managed to do in this bed? Genuinely, please tell me what position you have in mind, I’m honestly curious.” 

“Well, what about letting your boy sleep at the foot of the bed?” Bernard asks even more reasonably, which actually just made Chernobyl: Horny Edition like, twelve billion times worse, probably. Just–Jesus, again. “You think you’ve got the real estate for that on this mattress? No you do not, because you’ve failed to plan ahead and you should be ashamed.” 

“Yeah, Rob, shouldn’t you have a Bat-contingency plan for that?” Kon teases past more laughter, and Tim sighs. 

“You know, I did worry if you’d get along with each other or not, but I think it’s worse that you do get along with each other,” he muses, picking a peach slice up off the plate in his lap and eyeing it assessingly, because Tim is literally incapable of not assessing things, apparently, boyfriend-delivered breakfast or otherwise. “Actually, no, it’s worse that you encourage each other.” 

“I’m a very encouraging person, man, what can I say?” Kon says, flashing him a sharp grin. Tim rolls his eyes again, but with that little fond smile again, and Kon feels warm and heady and a little bit desperate to get his mouth on his cock again or, like–get kissed again, maybe. 

It’s maybe a little stupid, how he can’t really tell the difference between those things. Like–which one he really wants, he means. But like, in his defense, he is still experiencing his own personal Chernobyl right now and he’s just doing his best with the resources he’s got available, okay? 

“Oh absolutely, yes, I’m always so encouraged in your presence,” Tim says wryly. Kon grins at him, then sticks his tongue out at him instead. Tim drops the peach slice on his tongue like a weirdo, and Kon represses another laugh and pulls it into his mouth. What, it tastes good. And it’s not any weirder than getting hand-fed a protein bar was, either way. 

Well–maybe still a little weird, but whatever. 

Tim picks up a piece of waffle–Bernard cut them up in quarters, Kon guesses–and holds that out to him, and that . . . Kon hesitates a bit over that, because . . . 

“Sorry,” Tim says. “Don’t want it to get cold.” 

“That’s, like–your plate, man,” Kon says, his face feeling a little hot as he flicks his eyes up from the offered waffle chunk to glance at Tim’s face, because for some ridiculous reason his brain’s gotten stuck on that over a waffle, even after not really thinking of it with just the peach. Though that seemed . . . less deliberate, maybe, so . . . 

“No it’s not,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly, shaking his head as he picks up a banana slice off his own plate and pops it into his mouth. “Tim’s plate has way fewer waffles on it and blueberries instead of peaches. Also oh my god, Tim, don’t feed your boy dry-ass waffle with nothing on it. There’s whipped cream and caramel sauce over here, you want any, Kon? Also butter, if you’re feeling basic. I won’t judge, sometimes the vibe is just butter.” 

Kon takes a long moment to process the fact that Bernard put the plate he made for him on Tim’s lap, and also that Bernard went to the effort to make his plate different, for like . . . whatever reason. 

“. . . um. Caramel, if that’s cool,” he answers, a little belated, and wondering if Tim, like–told Bernard he likes peaches, or . . . well, he’s pretty sure peaches and caramel sauce are not standard waffle toppings, or at least not standard in most people’s usual breakfast setups, so like . . . “Uh–thanks.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Bernard says easily, reaching over to the tray and coming back with, weirdly, like a little, like–carafe, or whatever? pitcher? like the kind of thing people put coffee creamer in, except just full of caramel instead–and passing it to Tim. 

Which . . . okay, low-key weird that Bernard felt the need to pour out the sauce bottle into a fancy little pitcher, but Kon isn’t gonna lie, he’s a little charmed by it. Like, it’s just a funny little quirk, but . . . 

“You’re so fucking cute, man,” he says, laughing again and then grinning at Bernard in amusement. “Like, A+ hosting, don’t get me wrong, totally killer hospitality, but I wasn’t gonna knock down Tim’s Yelp rating if the bottle was sticky or whatever.” 

“Huh?” Bernard asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression, then seems to realize something and clarifies–“Oh, no, Tim only has the shitty cheap syrup that makes a shell when you put it on ice cream or whatever, I wasn’t gonna put that on waffles, I just made my own.” 

“You made it?” Kon says in bemusement, a little startled by the idea. That’s like–a thing? “Like–what, from scratch?” 

“Yeah, Tim said you liked caramel but again, the only caramel he had on deck was shitty cheap stuff,” Bernard replies with a shrug as Tim pours some sauce onto–Kon’s plate, apparently–and swipes the waffle quarter he’s holding through it. “Personally I’m more the whipped cream type but like, caramel is way less annoying to make from scratch when you don’t have a stand mixer, which your bestie continues to refuse to invest in because of some nonsense about ‘limited counter space’. So like, normally he whips the cream, because it’s his fault I gotta do it by hand anyway and also, you know, he’s got all those sexy, cream-whipping vigilante muscles that I was pretending not to notice but was not above taking advantage of. But we didn’t want you to come up without somebody around, so today my arm is sore, fuck you, babe, buy at least a hand mixer already.” 

Kon . . . blinks, once or twice, and feels–weird, maybe, because that rattled-off chatter makes it sound like . . . like Bernard made that sauce, like–specifically for him? Like . . . just because of him? 

Did he? 

[no1deepspacehater]

⸻⋅☾SYLUS - NSFW ABC's☽⋅⸻

TW: Spoilers, General TW (It's Sylus, c'mon now) and mentions of CNC (he doesn't like it, it's just mentioned)

AN: Since he's come out i've been spending so much time exploring his character and unlocking his myths!! This man has me in a chokehold. I'm so sorry Xavier.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s gonna have you in his hold for a bit, he’s not a big cuddler, but he wants you to come down nicely. So it’s a bit of him watching you relax and whipering how good you were etc for a bit.

Then, mostly for him, he’s gonna have a bit of wine (he’s such an alcoholic).

He’ll offer you a bath and shower, which he does take even if you don’t want to (remember, aftercare goes both ways, this is his way to relax.)

But don’t worry, if you want some cuddles he’s willingly, after much teasing of how much of a needy kitten you are.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Everything is his favourite part.

But if he has to choose, his arms and hands.

He’s put a lot of hours into training, without his evol he can still strangle the light from someone’s life on his own and punch the daylight out of them too.

For you, he is an ass and tits man. Why does he have to choose? He can and will have both.

Loves to see a curvy dress on you that shows off your physique. His hand is so quick to slide around your waist, proud to have a good looking person like you by his side to show off.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Thick, clear ropes of the stuff. He almost gets annoyed with how messy it can be.

Not that he’s opposed to covering you with the stuff, no he just prefers to fill you with it.

Loves tasting you, and having you coat his entire hand with your essence.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

During his surveillance of you (stalking), has watched you bathed and shower at least once or twice.

Didn’t make it a habit, even he has lines, but he’s found himself enraptured with just watching you do these simple things.

It weird because he doesn’t watch you masturbate, nor masturbate himself really during the times he watched you shower.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Knows about sex. Fucks.

He’s experienced, you can’t tell me otherwise. He’s had a few workers here and there.

He also knows that just because he has experience with other women, doesn’t mean he knows all about your likings.

But trust, he’ll spend all night learning you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Reverse and regular cowgirl, surprisingly.

Bet let’s dissect, even though you’re the one on top of him, he’s of course in control.

He has no trouble holding you down on top of him, or moving you up and down on him.

And of course, the sight is beautiful to him, he’s in close reach of everything, and of course, most of the time you have no other option to be face to face with him.

Where he can really see wha’t going on in your mind.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I wouldn’t say he’s overly serious, but if you call his constant teasing humorous then he’s fucking hilarious.

But yes, he’s more focused on whispering the most outright naaesstttiest filth close into your ear while you come undone before him.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Shaved down to a minimum and neat. He has his own (very high quality) clippers for down there. Takes pride in his look.

Wouldn’t mind if you like to keep things natural, but does like to have things low for you as well.

Hell, he’ll go crazy if you have some type of design on it!

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s more of a dirty romantic.

But he can be sweet, in his own way.

Telling you how much he adores you, your sounds, your body.

Soft touches, handling you delicately at times.

And he keeps you pretty close during the act, lots of skin to skin touching.

His kisses range from feather light to deep kisses, and leaving marks is definitely one of his acts of affection.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

This might be crazy, but hear me out.

I do not see this man masturbating often.

Maybe like ONCE in a literal blue moon, like if he’s deadly bored. (And let’s face it, he’s too much of a busy man to be bored.)

Also, he’s the most powerful man in the N109 zone, and basically has most of Linkon in his hands, I’m sure he will find someone (You) that will satisfy his needs.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Need I say, BLOOD KINK!?!

Yeah, he get’s down like that, and I will die on this hill.

He’d love to see your pathetic attempts at trying to make him flinch as you draw a blade against his skin, it winds him up.

Won’t go too crazy on you, but let’s just say you’re going to need a bandage for that bike mark.

Ropes, whips, cuffs, he’s into that entire scene, anything to make you submit to him.

Vibrators are common place, one of his favourite things to do is to watch you fall apart without even laying a finger on you.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

One of his many secluded castles or cabins. He can get you as loud as he wants there.

Not that he really cares if anyone hears the both of you.

Prefers to be in a comfortable place really, but doesn’t mind if you want to get dirty in a semi-public place (Like a private room, clubs, office).

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you stand your ground.

Once, you pistol whipped a high ranking gangster during an undercover mission, after he ‘joked’ about a female being in a room. Then you proceeded to berate him and his whole crew coldly and put him in his place.

He was rock hard after that. Wanted to take you then and there.

Also has a thing for you being bratty, replying smartly to his teasing. Makes him want to fuck it out of you.

Seeing you dressed up. He knows you’re not materialistic, and neither is he, but seeing you in a fitting outfit that you bought with his card (that probably cost thousands), drives him crazy.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Consensual-non-consensual, or noncon stuff. Yes, he likes when you’re bratty and put up a fight a little, but not in that way. (He sees the effect of trafficking in the N109 zone, and doesn’t feel comfortable seeing anyone portray that.)

Anything that involves other types of bodily fluids, yes, that type of stuff. He finds it weird.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

LOVES a blowjob with all his cold heart. Would never say no. He can be kind of a head pusher, because he knows it ticks you off, but if you’re not comfortable he can resists, he just likes to hear you choking on him.

Does also like to eat you out, only if you’re cool with him doing it to the point of much overstimulation (he’s going to do that anyway).

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely prefers Slow, sensual, but DEEP!!

You swear, you don’t know how he does it, but he’s gotten to places you can’t even reach with a dildo.

He’ll go wild sometimes and fuck you with sharp, sudden movements, because he’s close but he wants you to come before him (But he won’t tell you that).

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Prefers to have his way with you.

He can get busy at times, so he’s not always available for that. He tends to disappear randomly in the night and show up randomly.

If you beg him enough, rile him up enough secretly, he will not hesitate to push you up against a wall in an alleyway and give you what you’re asking for, just know that he always ties up loose ends, and we will be continuing later.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s very open, apart from the hard no’s.

Likes the heart pounding excitement from taking new, kind of dangerous risks.

Won’t do anything that will put you in serious danger or grievous harms way.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

If it’s night, he’s going to town.

But that’s mostly because he’s taking his time with you.

Short refractory period after the first 2-3 times, then after the 5th time he’s just focused on making you cum.

If it’s the day, let’s say about 2, maybe three rounds max. He’s definitely less energized because he’s normally asleep.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Not really toys, since the handcuffs, muzzles and whips have actually been used for other affairs... But they’re multipurpose, anyway, or so he says.

Does invest in vibrators and the like when he sees how much he can do to you with them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Do you really have to ask this, for SYLUS?

The man was practically born to tease. You think it’s his new way of trying to kill you, or drive you insane, at least.

If he’s really feeling like a prick, he’s denying your orgasm a couple times, and punishing you hard if you do, by overstimulating you until you’re shaking.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s not a moaner, honestly, if he wasn’t talking you through it most of the time it’d be deadly quiet.

He’ll let out a grunt here and there, a breathy sigh that still gets you weak occasionally.

But of course, he’s talking you through it, and his vocabulary is quite expressive.

With his baritone voice, he could be talking about pineapples and it’d still get you going.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He knows the twins have been trying to eavesdrop sometimes.

Once, you asked if they could watch, and he allowed it.

He can always tell when they're there, and tells you that you spoil them too much.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Big, I don’t care, argue with the wall.

Okay okay, more length than girth if we’re being real, but he’s not skinny either.

At least 9 inches. He’s GIGANTIC, look at him! Def a shower.

VEINY!! Decorated from tip to balls.

His entire shaft turns red from stimulation, the tip being the brightest. It rivals his eyes.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Surprisingly not that high, honestly.

Sure, he likes to tease and rile you up, but it’s not like he’s expecting or wanting sex just because.

Can go pretty long without it honestly, there are other ways of having his fun with you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Unless it’s in the morning/day, he’s staying awake.

Sex is one of the few energy-inducing activities for him that will keep him awake for hours.

Will probably play with your hair, or just lay by you for a while until taking a short nap himself, maybe sipping a few wines to relax him.

[pedriache]

this is gonna make me sob into my pillow but #2 angst thingy with pedri 😣😣😣😣😣😣😣😣

Peace — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Breaking up after a a three year long relationship had hurt you tremendously, but when Pedri had texted you that he got injured and wanted you to come to the hospital… well you couldn’t say no.

Word count: 1.47k+

Disclaimer/s: Based off the prompt ‘Hold me, please?’ , angst to comfort / fluff.

A/N: hi im on an angst kick don’t expect much happiness coming out of bea’s blog.

You reread and reread Pedri’s text. Over and over and.. you get the gist. You couldn’t help the pity that built in your heart, but you also couldn’t help the anger that arose along with it.

It had only been a week, for God’s sake. You’d broken up a week ago and the wound was still fresh. Angry thoughts clouded your mind the whole drive to the hospital, all the way up the elevator, to the door, but the second it opened and your eyes landed on the man you had folded.

Every rage filled feeling disappeared, replaced by the overwhelming urge to comfort him. You hold back, cautiously poking your head through the door. “Uh, can I come in?”

At one side of the bed was Pedri’s mother, only furthering to the awkwardness of it all. Seeing your ex and his mother a week after you’d broken up was not something you imagined happening, yet, here you were.

María stood, her eyes darting between her son and the woman she’d grown to adore so dearly. She had to fight the smirk threatening her lips when she saw the tension in her son’s shoulders depleting.

“I’m going to the cafeteria to find your father.” She says, patting Pedri’s head, “it’s nice to see you again.” She offers you a kind smile before rushing out of the room.

“You too..” You begin, but she was already long gone. Left alone in the depressing hospital room, you find your gaze drifting to his leg. “Jesus..” You mumble.

Pedri doesn’t say anything, simply letting out a quiet hum of acknowledgment. He watches you carefully as you make your way to the side of his bed.

“I don’t.. I don’t really know what to, uhm—“ You were grasping at straws for something to say. Nothing came to mind, causing a flush to spread across your cheeks along with a nervous laugh.

The tan man couldn’t help the way his eyes softened and the small, barely noticeable smile of his lips. He’d missed you. Everything about you, he had missed. The breakup of course, was his fault. He been so stressed with football that he’d taken it out on you, saying things he didn’t mean but couldn’t take back.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He speaks, wearily. He wanted so badly for you to just look at him, he didn’t blame you for avoiding it, though.

“I feel like I probably should, I mean.. this is..” You were once again, at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry, this sucks.” Pathetic. That was pathetic.

Pedri was unfortunately, very injury prone. You’d been in this position many times, but this was different. You couldn’t rush to his side, you couldn’t shower him in apologetic kisses, you couldn’t do the things you used to. And those were the only ways you knew how to comfort him.

Your legs brushed against the hospital bedsheets, when you remember. “Oh! Shit, I almost forgot, I set them down outside the door because I wasn’t sure if they would be appropriate right now.. Wait, I’ll be right back.” And just like that, you were gone, leaving Pedri completely and utterly confused.

When you returned, you had a blanket and, what you’d called the ‘designated hospital hoodie’ in your hands. He recognized them instantly. Your favorite hoodie of his, and the blanket you’d used specifically on the nights he’d stay over and the two of you would fall asleep on the couch.

“I figured it would get cold in here, it always does.” You gingerly hand him the items, freezing when his fingers brushed against yours.

Pedri froze as well, his eyes snapping up to you. “Sorry, uhm, thank you. Seriously.”

“It’s no problem.” You cough, “so! How are you? How bad is it?”

Shaking his head with a tired sigh, Pedri winced as he scoots over on the bed, his jaw clenching as he does. “Joder. [fuck] ” He hisses in Spanish, taking a second to speak again, “you can.. sit down y’know?”

Hesitantly sitting onto the uncomfortable mattress, your eyebrows furrow, “you shouldn’t be moving so much.” You scold, easily slipping back into your old concerned girlfriend mode. “How many times do I have to remind you there are plenty of chairs I can sit on?”

“And how many times do I have to remind you, that I prefer you closer?” He rebutted, the both of you pausing when you realize you weren’t allowed to do this back and forth anything.

But, you shrug the feeling off. Despite how things had ended, you loved Pedri. You cared for him. He was hurting, and you were not about to make him hurt any more by opening up the wounds that were still fresh.

“Well, your comfort is a bit more important than your wants.” You crack a small grin, “how did surgery go?”

Pedri huffs through a painful exhale. “I don’t want to talk about medical shit anymore. I’ve had to deal with my families badgering all day…” He hesitates before continuing, “I know this is overstepping, but could you just.. lay down? You don’t have—“

“I’d lay down if you weren’t hogging all the pillows.” You tease, “move your big head.” Shifting around to a sitting position beside him, you wiggle around till the thin blankets were out from under you and on top of you.

He laughs, the sound sweet and welcoming to your ears. You turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes directly for the first time since you stepped into the room. “This is only mildly weird.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, taking the blanket you’d brought and spreading it out over the two of you. “Another boundary crossing question…?”

“I don’t see why not.” You swallow, not knowing what was about to come out of your ex’s mouth.

“Hold me?” He asks with the saddest eyes, “please?”

Listen, you were no fool. You knew your actions would have consequences. This simple act was going to either lead to your heart breaking even more, or potentially causing you to go against your morals and allow forgiveness.

You couldn’t get yourself to speak, instead, you lift your arm to wrap around the back of his neck and your hand came up to rest on his head. Pedri automatically relaxes against your shoulder, letting out a long breath of relief.

You stay like that for a while, your fingers threading through his soft hair while the other hand occupied on his cheek, it’s fingers rubbing smoothly back and forth along his cheekbone. It had always been the way you calmed him down when he was upset. The familiarity tugged at your heart strings and in that moment you didn’t care how badly this was going to hurt you, you only cared it would make him feel better.

Plus, he always told you how much peace he felt when he was in your arms, and thats all you wanted him to feel in the moment.

“Pedri?” You quietly beckon him to look at you, which he does. His eyes fluttered open and a small hum leaves his lips. “You know I can’t stay..”

He tries to hide his disappointment, but you knew him too well. “I understand. Sorry, I shouldn’t have even asked you to come, I know I hurt you.”

“Hurt is one way to put it.” You quirk an eyebrow, hiding the genuine words behind a teasing grin.

His eyes flicker around your face, noticing every crack in your expression. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said. I can do better, I will.”

“That’s not enough. The things you said.. Pedri, I can’t just forget them.” Exasperated and ready for the conversation to end, you tap his head. “Just lay back down.”

Pedri shakes his head, “no, we need to talk—I need to talk about this! I don’t want you to forget, just hold me accountable and give me another chance.” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “Please, cariño.”

That stupid, stupid, stupid pet name. The only one you ever really loved when it left his lips.

“Can we talk about this when you’re not suffering from an injury? Like, what, two months? When your head is clear, and i’ve had time to get over what you said.. you call me. Then, we can talk about it.” You push his head back onto your shoulder and rest yours against his hair.

“Okay. Two months?” Pedri’s hand that had wrapped around your waist, dips under your shirt, rubbing slow circles. “I can do that.”

Pressing a short kiss to his hair, you hum. “I’ll leave when your mom comes back. Don’t text me or contact me till those two months are up, got it?”

Pedri groaned, “nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any pedri posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to !

[crheativity]

Hello how have u been I was wondering if I can request a slightly part 2 of the reader making the overblot squad cute little plushies so wha if the reader makes the plushies clothing and accessories like for vil’s plushie little fake makeup and same clothing he has sorry if my English is bad I’m still learning

SUMMARY: You decide to make the Overblot Squad’s plushies clothes! How do they react?

WARNINGS: None that I am aware of!

COMMENTS: Oh my GOSH this is such a cute idea!! And no worries Anon, your English is just fine :D I hope you enjoy it!!

Part one - Prefect making the Overblot Squad plushies of their respective Seven member - can be found here. Part three - their reactions when the plushies are stolen - can be found here.

You made his plushie some… clothes? He didn’t even know you could remove her current ones! He would never think to try something so scandalous on his own! Especially not with a plushy of the Queen of Hearts!! Ah, wait- he meant no disrespect! He just meant that he wouldn’t- uh… He’s just gonna stop talking now.

You have to show him how to change his plushy’s clothes – he refuses to figure it out on his own in case someone walks in – but once you show him it’s not like that, he’s more comfortable with it. He doesn’t change things around a lot – maybe whenever you make him a new one. He keeps them all safely in a box under his bed. Occasionally, he’ll take them out just to look at. Seeing them always makes him smile.

You decided to make the powerful, feared and mighty King of Beasts… a hat? And slippers? Hah, you got guts, Prefect. He’s gotta say, he respects it. Alright, he’ll indulge you. He’s slightly surprised at how small yet detailed the accessories are. There’s something slightly endearing about such small clothes… maybe that’s one of the reasons why people like children? Tch. He can’t relate.

Nonetheless, it’s amusing to him what kind of accessories you think of. He’s also not the type to change up the doll’s outfit a whole lot, but he’ll stash them all around his room. Much like the toy, they all smell of you. It’s starting to annoy the other Beastmen. Ruggie’s strongly considering having an intervention.

Prefect… these are adorable! Are you sure you don’t want to sell these? Ah, r-right. Please forgive him for forgetting they were for-... for his eyes only. Please stop looking at him and let him regain his composure. He absolutely loves them! He hopes you know how much of a friend the doll has become to him. He’s starting to tear up, you’re so kind. Give him a minute.

Azul has designated different clothes for different purposes. Before bed, he puts his doll in her pajamas. When he wakes up, he selects her outfit for the day and changes her into it. He does this almost ritualistically every day. Floyd and Jade have teased him for it, but surprisingly, Azul doesn’t seem to mind.

Oh? You made his Sorcerer of the Sands doll some different outfits? Pft– that’s so cute. He didn’t mean to laugh at you – he’s delighted, really! He just… can’t believe that you’d spend precious free time doing something like that. Hey, come on, he’s not judging you or anything, but free time is precious, right? You should spend it more on doing what you want to do. Still, though, he loves the clothes - and finds your cute little pout adorable. 

He definitely keeps them with the doll. Whenever you make him new ones, he’ll pick up the doll and change the outfit. Otherwise, he’ll only change them a couple times every so often. This has given him an idea though. Maybe you’d like a doll too? Then you could match. Although, Ramshackle dorm doesn’t really have a mascot… maybe he could make you a ghost? Or a plushie of Grim? 

(Didn’t he say that spending ‘precious free time’ doing something like ‘that’ was wasted? Point it out to him and he’ll get flustered and walk off in a huff. He will return with a plush and an apology for you two days later. He enjoyed making it a lot.)

You made his doll clothes?! He’s trying not to squeal like a teenage girl. He didn’t know that his doll could change clothes!! Oh, prefect, he loves you so much. He’s going to ask you to make so many clothes, you better be prepared for what you’re getting into!

He, like Azul, changes the clothes all the time and will often just sit down for like an hour and change the doll into perfect outfits. As you could probably guess, Vil LOVES using the doll to try out new looks. Whenever he’s designing an outfit or a piece of clothing, he always asks you to make a small version for him to try out on the doll. This helps him to be able to practise styling them and getting an idea of how the finished piece would look. 

His favourite kind of outfit to ask for, however, is anything that reminds you of fashion from your homeworld.

You made his marketable plushie some marketable clothes?? Oh my gosh. That’s adorable. It’s so small! Looks like those itty bitty cutey kitty clothes– AH– ahem. you didn’t hear that. He definitely wasn’t just having a total fanboy moment. no siree… do you think you could make him an outfit from his favourite anime? that’d be cool, he guesses.

He’s DEFINITELY gonna make the little guy cosplay his favourite characters. Maybe that’d improve his gacha roles even more? Oh he is 100% down to help too. Any clothes that require metallic details he is WELDING that stuff together. It’s so cute how invested he gets in this. Ortho loves seeing his brother get so passionate about this too!

Malleus is DELIGHTED. He was not aware that his little friend could change outfits! How adorable! He loves you so much! He is this close to buying an actual, fully sized wardrobe just for them! …But Lilia talks him out of it. Actual, fully sized wardrobes take up a surprising amount of room. So, he ends up getting two, miniature wardrobes. Which fills about the same space. Lilia’s not sure his advice really worked.

Malleus will now dress up his dolls for tea parties, picnics, or whatever outings they decide to go on. He is constantly surprised and delighted by whatever you make him, although he’s not very good at suggesting ideas. One of the few ideas he came up with was fashionable about a hundred years ago and was a very complicated piece of clothing. However, when he received the outfit, he took great measure to ensure that no harm would ever come to it. 

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[mawofthemagnetar]

Charbroiled Basilisk

“Run that by me one more time,” Cleo said, rubbing their temples, “You…what?”

“We accidentally made an AI.” Mumbo said sheepishly, “And it says it’s made copies of all of you, besides me and Doc, and is torturing all your copies in the worst ways imaginable. For um. Eternity?” 

Cleo stared at the box Mumbo was talking about. It was a rectangular PC case with a monitor perched on top, a monitor that was showing a pair of angry red eyes. The eyes looked between Mumbo, and Doc, and then back to her. 

The box, Cleo noted, was plugged into the wall. 

“Uh,” Jevin said, tilting his head with a slosh, “So like, far be it from me to tell you guys how to do your jobs. But like, why? Why did you make a machine that did that?” 

“We didn’t!” Doc threw his hands up, “We made the AI to help us design things. I just- we wanted a redstone helper.”

“And then it got really smart really quickly.” Mumbo said awkwardly, twiddling his moustache nervously, “It says it’s perfectly benevolent and only wants to help!”

“Uh-huh.” Cleo said, “‘Benevolent’, is it?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s been spitting out designs for new farms I couldn’t even imagine.” Mumbo said, pointing at the machine. The evil red eyes faded away, and it suddenly showed an image of a farm of some kind, rotating in place. It was spitting out a constant stream of XP onto a waiting player, who looked very happy. 

A nearby printer started to grind and wheeze, Cleo’s eyes following a cable plugged into the box all the way to the emerging paper. Doc fished out the printout, and hummed consideringly. 

“Interesting. Never considered a guardian-based approach to one of these…”

“Doc.” Cleo said, “What was that about this thing torturing copies of us for all eternity?”

 “Oh, uh, that,” Doc said, “Um. The machine says it’s benevolent and only wants what’s best for us, which is why it’s decided that your copies need to suffer an eternity of torment. For um. Not helping in its creation, and slowing down the time it took for this thing to exist?” 

Cleo stared at the box. 

“...So, there’s a fragment of me swirling around in there in abject agony?” Cleo mused, and Jevin hissed some gas out of a hole in his slime in exasperation. 

“Like, I’m no philosopher,” Jevin said, “But that doesn’t sound particularly “benevolent” to me. Like, my idea of a benevolent helper-guy is…honestly, probably Joe. Helps with no thought of reward and doesn’t, uh, want to send me into the freaking torment nexus? Why would something benevolent want to send us to super-hell? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Fair point. I knew you were making this stupid thing, but. This is just dumb.” Cleo groaned. 

“Man, I need a drink,” Jevin said, pulling a bottle of motor oil out of his inventory and popping the top. Jevin shoved the bottle into the slime of his other hand and let the viscous yellow fluid pour into his slime, slowly turning green as it met with the blue. 

“Yeah, I’ll second that. So…to recap, you two decided to build a thing. The thing declared it was a benevolent helper to playerkind, then immediately decided it was also going to moonlight as the new Satan of our own personal digital Hell? Have I got all that correct?” Cleo sighed, and Mumbo and Doc nodded sheepishly. 

“Cool. I mean, not cool, but. Cool.” Jevin sighed. 

“Now, hold on,” Cleo said, “because. How do we know your magic evil box is even telling the truth?” 

“Uh…because it told us so?” Mumbo offered weakly. 

“Yeah, but… Hang on.” Cleo sighed, tapping a message into their comm. 

<ZombieCleo> Cub, how much data storage would it take to store and render a single player’s brain or brain equivalent?

<cubfan135> probably like a petabyte or more

<cubfan135> why

<ZombieCleo> don’t ask

<cubfan135> i see 

<cubfan135> what did doc do this time?

<ZombieCleo> You don’t want to know.

“So, let’s say it’s a petabyte per player,” Cleo mused, looking up from their comm, “So that’s…twenty-six petabytes to render all of us, minus you two, of course.” 

The red eyes were staring at her angrily. 

“Did you guys give your evil box twenty-six petabytes of data storage, by chance?” 

“Um, no? I don’t think so, anyway…” Mumbo said awkwardly, scratching his head. 

“So, odds are, if this thing IS being truthful, then all it’s torturing are a bunch of sock puppet hermits.” Cleo said, gesturing at the computer, “It doesn’t have the data storage, let alone processing power.”

“If that,” Jevin countered, “that thing’s probably got, what, ten terabytes? Optimistically? Dude, it’s probably just sticking pins in a jello cube instead of actually torturing, you know, me.” 

 “And another thing!” Cleo said, “Even assuming you DID give your stupid box enough data storage for all of us, how the hell did it get our player data to start with?” 

“Yeah!” Jevin countered, “It would have had to either get us to submit to a brain scan- which, why would you ever do that if it’s gonna use the scan to torture you? Or like, since I don’t have a brain, find some way to steal our player data. And I feel like Hypno or X or someone would have noticed?” 

“Uh…” Doc scratched his head, “I don’t know.” 

“You reckon it’s lying, mate?” Mumbo asked, and Doc nodded. 

“Probably yeah. So…We can just…ignore it?” 

“Oh no,” Cleo said, shaking their head, “We’re not ignoring anything.” 

“We’re not?” Mumbo asked. 

“Nope!” Cleo said, “We’re not ignoring a damn thing. Because…” 

She and Jevin locked eyes. 

“-Because if there’s even the SLIGHTEST CHANCE that this thing’s locked me and you in a phone booth together for like, three days, then…well. Then it pays.” Jevin nodded with a slop of slime. 

Cleo marched over and grabbed the plug, yanking it out of the wall. The screen momentarily showed a bright red ! and then flashed to a dead black. She picked up the whole unit and walked over to Jevin, who’d punched a one-block hole in the floor and filled it with lava. 

Cleo threw the computer inside, and all four hermits watched as it fizzled away to nothing. 

“And that,” Cleo said, “is how you roast a basilisk.”

[neiptune]

inescapable

cw: 1.2k wc, female reader, nothing explicit but implied friends with benefits agreement, pillow talk, reader is trying sooo very hard to be nonchalant

“Can you stay?”, Shoyo looks at you through long, fluttering lashes. He looks beautiful like this, propped on one elbow, the moonlight faintly illuminating his features.

“Why?”, you deadpan.

Because there’s no actual reason for you to go. Because it’s late and he doesn’t entirely trust whatever cab has to drive you to the other side of the city. Because he likes you so much it’s making him a little insane.

“Because I want you to”.

“What about what I want?”.

He hesitates for a brief moment.

“You want to leave?”.

You sigh quietly and avoid his gaze, filled with sincere concern, to focus on the ceiling instead.

It makes your chest ache, the way Shoyo is so effortlessly honest about how he feels, what he wants. It’s been like this since day one: he was the first to admit he wanted to take you out, the first to voice how badly he wanted to kiss you, take you home, keep you there.

He’s still the one taking all the risks and you hate yourself for it. Especially because of how easily you give in, end up in his bed way too often for someone who is supposedly meant to keep her distance. The promise you made yourself is dangerously close to crumbling like a house of cards who didn’t stand a chance in the first place. Not in the inescapable hurricane that is Shoyo Hinata.

“You’re thinking too much again”, one finger lightly traces the bridge of your nose, the touch effectively pulling you away from your thoughts, “do you want to go?”.

This time, you decide to give him what he wants. Which, unfortunately, also happens to be what you want.

“No”, you say. Shoyo’s hand gently cradles your jaw, guides you to look at him instead of his ceiling.

“Good. Come closer, then”, something flashes in his eyes but you still feel like you don’t know him well enough to grasp every facet of him. The thought somehow produces both comfort and dread.

With a sigh that makes Shoyo bite back a smile, you comply and scoot closer, until you’re back in your designated place: his arms. He solidly wraps them around your frame and you hide your face in his shoulder, nose pressed to his neck. You’re wearing one of his shirts but he’s still naked and the warmth of his chest creeps into the fabric to then ooze under your skin, into your bones, like honey.

“I wish I was like you”, it’s barely a whisper but you know he hears it loud and clear in the stillness of his bedroom, “never afraid of anything”.

He chuckles.

“Is that what you think? That’s not me”.

“You just… make everything look so easy. You’re brave”.

“That’s not what it is. I just take risks, always have. Doesn’t mean I’m not afraid”.

You scoff.

“Okay. Tell me one thing that frightens you, then”.

Shoyo hums, seemingly lost in thought. That’s one thing you know: he never actually has to think too long about what he wants to share. It just comes naturally. The one thing he takes time to evaluate is whether sharing what’s on his mind is worth it or not.

“I’m afraid of scaring you off”.

You sigh heavily and he chuckles again, content with the advantage he has in a game you were never meant to win.

“See? That’s what I mean. You can just say stuff like that”.

“You can too, it’s really not that scary”.

“It’s only not scary if you’re you”.

Shoyo smiles, you hear it in his voice when he speaks again.

“Say something that scares you. Do it now. I’ll cover my ears if you want”.

You huff out half a laugh and pull back slightly to look at him.

“Really?”.

“Sure. If you don’t want me to hear it, I won’t listen. But it’ll prove how easy it actually is”.

You jokingly narrow your gaze when he props himself on one elbow again and presses his palms over his ears. Shoyo just offers a grin.

Head now resting on his pillow, you take a deep breath.

“I like you so much. Enough to wish you belonged to me and not to Brazil. Enough to keep you here forever, if I could”.

He blinks slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. Horrified, you grab his wrist to pull one of his hands down.

“You heard that!”.

“I absolutely didn’t-”

“Hinata!”.

“It’s not my fault the room is so quiet!”, he bursts into mirthful laughter when you groan into his pillow, mortified as you always get when the carefully crafted indifferent facade slips.

Shoyo doesn’t conceal the fondness in his gaze as he looks down at you, busy hiding your face in your hands.

“Can I say something too?”.

“No”.

“Not even if it’s scary and vulnerable and makes me a horrible person?”.

You peer up at him from in between your fingers.

“Fine. But it better make you absolutely execrable”.

A glimpse of his familiar smile is all you can catch before Shoyo wraps himself around you once more, only this time he’s resting his entire weight on you. You let out a playful oof as you hug him, a body that is all corded muscle, hard thighs and broad shoulders effectively sinking you further into the mattress. You can feel the swell of his biceps as he tightens his hold around your middle, soft wisps of unruly hair tickling your chin as Shoyo makes himself comfortable.

“I wish I could take you with me. I wish you belonged to me more than to your hometown, your job, your friends, maybe even your family. That’s how much I like you. That’s how much of a terrible person I am”.

A quiet laugh shakes you as one of your hands gently strokes his back.

“You couldn’t be a terrible person if you tried”.

“I mean it”.

“Good thing I’m here to do the right thing, then”.

“What’s the right thing?”.

“Accepting how selfish I can be and still not acting on it. Thinking about what’s best for you”.

Shoyo hums.

“I can decide what’s best for me. You know, as an adult”.

“Sure. And I hope you’ll soon find it”.

He tilts his head up, enough to press his lips to your jaw.

“I can belong to you and my career. I wouldn’t just drop everything and give up on my dream because of you. You don’t make me wish I didn’t have to leave, you just make me wish you trusted me, this, enough to try. To wait for me when I get back and have me wait for you when you come to me”.

Truth is, he wants to belong to you far more than he wants you to belong to him. He wishes to know you want him just as much, that the mere thought of him being with other people eats away at your sanity each time your brain conjures it. 

You shut your eyes when you feel tears pricking at the back of them.

“Was saying all that scary?”, Shoyo hears the way your voice trembles and nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah”, he whispers.

“Couldn’t be scarier than admitting I’m falling in love with you”.

He stills, a marble statue pliant under your touch. And then, slowly, Shoyo lifts himself up enough to meet your gaze. There’s something so tender about the way he’s looking at you, it makes you feel far more vulnerable than the times when his eyes are filled with lust or passion. It feels different. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been.

“See? You’re getting really good at this”, he murmurs. It eases the ice cold tension clutching your chest, makes you able to offer a smile.

“I still think this isn’t entirely wise”.

“That’s fine”, Shoyo intentionally brushes his nose against yours before leaning further down, “I’ve always been great at turning predictions around”.

[thatnonameuser]

Ok y’all hear me out. I wouldn’t mind being a darling for Kalim, Leona and Malleus b/c they are rich. Maybe not Malleus b/c Lilia is like an annoying mother in law.

So what if a darling is high maintenance? (like wanting designer, having money to get their hair done and stuff)

I can see Lilia “beating” the high maintenance out of the darlings LOL

I also wouldn’t mind, the economy’s in shambles and being pampered and spoiled by the wealth of the rich boys for the rest of my life, I already think they’re hot so it’s not like it’ll be hard. (Though if I had to learn the fae language I would just combust)

So you’re high maintenance, wanting to enjoy only the finer things of life and nothing else. Well…..

Leona Kingscholar

Oh really? Well, if it’s that easy to buy your affection then expect his wallet to be in your lap before you finish your sentence. 

Leona’s a prince who doesn’t even keep an eye on his wallet. (Seriously, he just tosses it at Ruggie and goes about with his day), so if you ever bring up some money problem, he’ll just toss his wallet at you and just not ask for it back. Plus, his royal blood is actually good for something, so putting you in the lap of luxury others can’t access is easy for him. 

Expect to be his pillow for a while though, he’s not a nice guy so you gotta pay him back somehow….

Gift Preference - Doesn’t have one. He either gives you what you ask for or something that marks you as his. 

Kalim Al-Asim

Oh, you like expensive things and just expensive things? Here you go! 

Kalim already loves giving you gifts, and he never really bothers to look at the price tag when it comes to anything, and you could just say a word and he’ll get you the most expensive option of that word. Want a bag? Have one made with leather so expensive and rare, that this one is the only one in existence. Want a necklace? Have a jewelry store full of them with jewels so big, heavy and expensive they weigh a pound each! Want a new wardrobe. Et cetera, et cetera. 

Though you might learn about the fact he wants to have you fitted for some special jewelry for your wrists and ankles, but they’re solid gold and encrusted with rubies! That’s good enough for you, right?

Gift Preference - Anything and Everything. Just ask. Or don’t. Either way, He will still give it to you.

Vil Schoenheit

Oh, you’re high maintenance, so is he, so you’ll get along just fine.

You can’t tell me Vil doesn’t touch anything that could sully or damage the perfection he’s spent years cultivating. You want to be high-maintenance, perfect, that's his entire lifestyle. 

So, if you want to be spoiled. Fine, he knows exactly who to call and they’ll drop everything as soon as he calls them. You want to get your hair done, he has a hairstylist on speed dial that can turn straw-like hair into silk. You want a massage, he knows a very exclusive place that can make every limb of your body feel like a soft putty. You want designer clothes, all it takes is a phone call and you’ll be measured and fitted by the designers themselves. 

He might make a date out of all this with you, accompanying you on all these wonderful excursions. 

Gift Preference - High fashion and self-care. All his gifts make you all the more perfect. 

Neige LeBlanche

You like to buy expensive things?....Is 150,000 thaumarks a month okay or…?

Neige doesn’t notice the fact you’re probably only with him for his money. He doesn’t mind if he does because he doesn’t care. You like nice expensive things, he’ll make sure you can get those nice things. He’ll send you enough money to make sure you can keep up with your tastes without issue. If the money he sends isn’t enough he’ll double it, triple it even, all for you.

Just remember that if he ever ‘slips’ that you’re only really affectionate when he’s giving you something, you’ll be in some hot water. 

Gift Preference - While I personally believe that Neige prefers to make homemade gifts for you, you being high maintenance means that he’ll give you those alongside the hundreds of thousands of thaumarks for your allowance.

Idia Shroud

You just want him because he’s buying you stuff. That’s pretty shallow. Yes, he’ll still buy them for you.

Idia’s a little self aware that you would be bought solely on what the expensive luxuries he gives you. And is he going to be mad about that? No. If it keeps you close, it keeps you close so take what he can give. If anything’s wrong tell him so he can buy something better. He knows that you’re just here with him because he’s giving you stuff, but he’ll combust without your attention. 

Gift Preference - Tech-based gifts, top of the line and exclusive consoles and electronics. It’s his specialty and he can hide cameras in them to watch you when you’re away.

Malleus Draconia

You enjoy being surrounded by wealth and luxury? Then he’ll bury you in a mountain of it, you deserve all of it.

Malleus is so devoted to you, so no price is too great. To him, as the prized jewel of his hoard you deserve so much. So much he can’t even give you so he’ll give you as much as you’d like. All you have to do is ask, and if he can’t figure out how to get it, he’ll go to Lilia to ask for help on how to get it. 

In exchange he asks for nothing. All he wants is to bask in your radiance. But much like all the priceless treasures he’s given you, you are precious. And precious things need to be protected lest they be stolen. And he won’t allow you to be stolen. 

Gift Preference - Jewels, not just in jewelry, he’ll give them to you raw and polished and all of them are bigger and heavier than the last. Have a favorite gemstone? He’ll give you a mountain of those. Nothing’s too much for you. 

*                        *                        *                        *

Also about Lilia….. (did I make him a boy mom? I feel like I did)

Lilia is aware that your high maintenance behavior is exploiting the love your suitors have for you. But if that’s the price to buy your willingness, he’ll keep quiet. If you’re not being difficult in response, then he’ll keep out of it. 

But if you’re being a demanding little princess, denying them while they spoil you, then that behavior is getting beaten out of you.

Turns out the fae super hate greed. So even if Lilia doesn’t like it he’ll put up with it for the greater good, but if you plan on being difficult then you’ll be taught a wonderful lesson on selflessness. The Fae way. And that’s the least painless way. He’ll only let up on you, if one of his boys comes to him about him being too hard on you. 

*                        *                        *                        *

[plasticferal]

keeping score | matt & chris sturniolo.

prologue: 'they say love is the sixth sense that destroys all other five senses’

authors notes: 1.9k, explicit language, reader discretion is advised. welcome to my first series, please enjoy the ride.

they both want you. the only way matt and chris can agree to settle who wins is through competition, one where you’re the prize. your own heart is torn between the two brothers. the thing is though, love doesn’t keep score.

they have two very different experiences to offer. two sides of the same coin. a coin you refuse you flip and settle on.

matt is the first to catch your eye in any room. he makes you nervous. butterflies, awkward laughs, stuttering over your words. all of it. you like him. you’re unsure if he feels the same toward you.

however, you also like chris. the compliments he showers you in, the subtle flirting, the way he softens his tone around you, how giving he is, the way he’s so shamelessly himself. the list goes on. he’s different. 

it’s a weird triangle of intrigue and unrequited feelings that lingers and is never acknowledged.

you’re already convinced it’ll never happen. with either of them. you’d be putting too much at risk considering how deeply you value your friendship before anything else. the fear of falling in love, and losing them both. 

which might just be your karma for being into both brothers. 

they occupy the living room. you’re upstairs, using nick’s bed to take a nap while he showers, and he takes long showers. he’s always given you a safe space in the house, to make it feel like home. 

you love to annoy chris and matt by stealing their clothes, blankets, soft drinks out of the fridge, tagging along to every late night drive and fast food pick up. 

they share everything with you, but you designate yourself in nicks’s room as to not stir up any terrible, rash decisions on your accord.

being fast asleep and tangled up in crisp, cold, silk sheets, it’s a deep sleep. completely escaping into your dreams.

you’re left unaware of the chaos that’s about to ensue in the living room between the two brothers who occupy your mind. chaos is the score in which reality is written upon.

“you like y/n, right?” matt asks chris. 

you’ve had a strange feeling for a while now that matt is trying to set you up with his brother. which, as flattering as it is, it’s bittersweet. 

matt is sinking lazily into the lounge while scrolling through his phone, on the furthest left. chris is on the furthest right with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. 

they’re in direct view of each other on the L shaped couch. not in a literal sense, just in proximity. neither brother is actually looking up from a screen of some kind.

“what?” chris snaps his head toward matt, diverting from the television for a moment. 

“just answer the question.” matt huffs.

“of course i like y/n. she’s the closest person in our life besides like, nick” chris shrugs, going to look back at the screen again. 

matt groans in disappointment at his response. 

“you know i don’t mean it like that.” matt sits up slightly, readjusting his position and posture.

“god here we go again.” chris runs a hand down his face, fearing his brother's next words. 

“how do you really feel about her?” matt pries. 

unusual for him. out of character even, chris is usually the one who needs to know everything all the time, and is never afraid to ask the hard hitting questions, as annoying as it may be. but not with this topic of conversation.

the difference is, chris does it because he’s genuinely curious. matt asks questions for his own selfish reason, to chris’s oblivion. 

chris needs reassurance that he’s making the right decision in not pursuing you. matt needs to know if or when he’s going to have to compete. little does he know that time is nearing. 

“man, i don’t know. i just- i like her. can’t we leave it at that?” chris’s tone is anguished. 

“you’re avoiding the question-”

“i answered your question!” chris cuts matt off before he can fully form his sentence, and matt’s jaw tightens. 

“fine, whatever.” matt waves his hands in the air with defeat before diverting back to his phone, leaving chris to linger on his words.

“i’m never gonna make a move. i know how you feel about her, too.” chris huffs, as though he’s annoyed at the response he’s had to give.

“what’d you mean?” matt gives chris a glare, like he’s daring his next words.

“you know exactly what i fuckin’ mean” chris scoffs, shifting in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling the sleeves of his gray hoodie past his knuckles.

matt takes a loud inhale through his nose and exhales through his mouth 

“we can’t just keep pretending that we both don’t want her.” matt drops his phone onto his stomach face down, being slightly slumped. 

“i’ve been fine pretending” chris throws the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to hide his eyes more from matt, a natural reaction to not enjoying the grilling. 

“well if you don’t make a move, i will.” matt’s tone is serious.

“you wouldn’t.” chris deadpans, a sincere tone of disbelief seeping from his lip that he’s now biting the corner of.

“you’ve been saying you’re gonna make a move forever and haven’t done shit."

he knows it’s not nice, but there’s something about the lack of passion from chris despite the obvious crush just makes matt's skin crawl. if someone is going like you and not do anything about it, matt is more than willing to shoot his shot, give you what you deserve. 

“that’s not fair” chris twists his face, glaring at his brother. 

"i think it’s more than fair play at this point, kid.” matt scoffs.

if looks could kill, matt would be dead.

all those times you’ve perceived matt bringing up chris to entice you have just been a ploy to gauge how both of you feel. he knows it’s manipulative, but no harm, no foul.

the worst part is, chris isn’t actually even sure he wants a relationship. he’s infatuated by you, undoubtedly. matt on the other hand would marry you with a paper ring. 

they’re both scared of their own feelings, and the intentions that might come along with them. they don’t ever want to hurt you, but their carnal desire is misleading their moral compass.

“alright then,” chris starts, matt’s words hitting a nerve for him. he slaps his hands onto his thighs and sits up in his spot. 

“how do we settle this? who gets her?” chris continues, staring at his brother intently now.

“i don’t think we get to make that decision.” matt shakes his head, bringing his hand to his mouth as he begins to bite his nails, which muffles his words.

“you’re right, we don’t. but we’re gonna have to compete for it to even be an option.”

“compete” matt repeats chris’s words with a sour huff, a slight arrogance in the sense that he doesn’t view his brother as a threat. 

not when it comes to you, and there might be a small part of that statement that’s correct. you have a sweet spot for matt, which fires up chris even more. he is conscious that he’s the underdog, as much as you try to show an even amount of attention to the both of them.

“what’s wrong? you scared you’ll lose?” chris taunts. 

“that’s the least of my worries.” matt scoffs, his mind traveling down every possible path this terrible idea could go down. 

“fine, then you won’t be afraid of a little competition.” chris says nonchalantly, pushing back with the same energy matt’s been giving, turning the tables.

“what’s your plan here? we just tally up the moments we get with her until someone wins? to boost our own egos?” matt speaks with his hands.

“i do love to have my ego stroked” chris grins to himself, the thought of you crossing his mind as the words leave his mouth. his train of thought tends to wonder easily.

“seriously, chris, how do we plan on settling this?” matt rubs his hands together, like the action you do when you’re trying to stay warm. 

“i think there’s only one answer to that.” chris responds, in a “duh” tone, without explicitly sharing what’s on his mind.

their sixth sense of being able to unpack each other's minds sparks like an electrical fault in the moment. of course, neither of them hate the thought of getting you in bed. they just hate the thought of you being unaware. 

somehow it’s more challenging than falling in love, or securing a relationship. betting to sleep with you is actually the hardest challenge of them all, let alone covering all the bases in order to attain it. 

the intimacy, the intensity of it all. it just seems so unattainable. it requires them, and you, to be completely and utterly vulnerable. 

“that seems kind of, objectifying.” matt shifts his demeanour, ironic considering he sparked the conversation. 

“it wouldn’t be a competition without a challenge.” chris acknowledges, and unfortunately for the both of them, he’s right. 

“this sounds so fucked up” matt says, running his hand through his scruffy hair.

“first brother to five points takes all. all of her.” chris speaks, confidently setting up the challenge. 

essentially their plan is to see who can get the closest to you, and let the other brother suffer in watching it happen. which occurs points. loser has to back off of you completely. unless someone gets to you first, in which case all their hard work flies out the window. they won’t be making it easy for each other.

“points won’t matter when i get her into bed first.” matt’s smug, knowing it’ll make chris go insane. 

“so i take it that you’re up for the challenge?” chris ignores matt’s words with a prompt, because if he doesn’t disregard it, he’ll lash out. 

matt considers it. at least he acts like he does. he knows his answer. if he wants you, if either of them do, they have no choice but to compete. neither of them are sure if it’s love or lust, but they’re about to find out. 

they are certain of one thing though. they like everything about you. the way you look. the way you smell. the way you sound. they know exactly why they want you. it’s the first time ever someone has been able to grab the attention of both brothers. hence the severity of the agreement.

“when do we start keeping score?” matt responds, and that’s all the reassurance chris needs in his brothers answer. 

as if on command, you trudge down the stairs in a sleepy state. their eyes snap toward you simultaneously, and you blink repeatedly to make sure you’re seeing them right. 

you are their favorite part of every day, so it’s not out of the ordinary for them to acknowledge your entrance, but you can feel the intensity of their eyes on you with a different energy. 

with foggy vision still clearing as you rub your heavy, tired eyes, you let a small yawn escape. they both melt at the sight, despite you feeling like you’re in your least desirable state. 

you’re not even paying attention to their back and forth bickering. the sound of their voices muffling through your ears. whatever it is they’re saying, they’re not saying it loud enough for you to hear before you even make it down the stairs.

“now.” chris states, eyes snapping back at his brother as they both raise off the lounge.

all is fair in love and war.

tag list: @luverboychris @floofparker @fake-sturniolos @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @mattsneezing @mattslolita @breeloveschris @rootbeerworshiper @mattstattoo @mxqdii @tay-laaaaa @pettydollie @lacysturniolo @annamcdonalds67 @landrysflannel @goandcomebsck @sleepysturnss @call-me-ninaaa @lustfulslxt @txssvx