#BUT ITS SO COOL THAT IT STILL WORKS!!!!!!

[hoshifighting]

Hello honeeey.

Can i request something? That's being going in my mind and i thought you be perfect for this... i wanted to ask for a first time with Seungcheol... like no the first time ever but the first time with him.

Like new relationship, a lot of previous teasing but he has being waiting for you to make the first step and stuff.

Pleaseeeee, i love your work, kisseeees💗

first time having sex with seungcheol in a new relationship

WARNINGS: smut, new established relationship, fingering, penetrative sex, hair pull

a/n: hiii my dear!! thank you for the request, I hope you like it <333 sorr ab how late is this going, but I can use this excuse for a chirstmas gift....? 🥺 love youuu!!!

he knows he’s about to ruin you but doesn’t feel the need to announce it.

you’ve both been circling around this moment for weeks—every touch lingering longer than it should, every kiss dipping into field that leaves you squirming. now you’re here, and he’s leaning over you with that smug, lopsided grin, looking like he’s been waiting for this exact second his entire life.

“been thinkin’ about this,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw, his hands already sliding under your shirt. and yeaaaah, maybe you’ve been thinking about it too, but you’re not about to stroke his ego like that.

his mouth is warm, soft, leaving a trail down your neck that makes your toes curl. but it’s his hands... that really mess with your head. they’re big and rough, and its so good! its like he plays a 3 hour long documentary about womens anatomy in his head, to make it all perfect. and you’re not even sure if it’s intentional at first, the way his thumb brushes your ribs before dragging along your waistline is making you loose your cool.

“you good?”

“mhmm..”

he’s pulling your clothes off slow, his eyes flick up to yours when he hooks his fingers into your waistband, waiting for the nod before tugging it all down.

then, he pauses—just for a second, but it’s enough to notice. like he’s recalibrating, trying to balance his usual cocky self with something more reserved. you swear there’s a flicker of nervousness there, but it’s gone before you can really clock it.

and then his mouth is on your thigh, pressing soft kisses that turn into teasing bites. “you’re so fucking pretty,” he says, his voice wrecked, like he’s the one losing his serenity.

when he slides two fingers in, he tries to be soft to stretch you properly for his cock, without making it burn, curling in a way that makes you moan loud for the first time. “like that?” he asks, smirking when you moan in response. he’s watching everything, adjusting the angle, the pace, until you’re arching off the bed.

“so sensitive...” like he’s proud of the way you’re squirming under him.

but seungcheol’s not about to let you get too comfortable. just when you’re about to cum, he pulls his fingers out, grinning at the whine you let out. “don’t worry, baby,” he says, kissing the inside of your knee, “i’ve got you.”

and when he finally presses into you, he doesnt know if he should be sexy and shameless, or be more reserved in case he cums on the first slide. so he starts slow, letting you adjust before picking up the pace.

you swear he’s holding back at first, keeping it steady even when you’re begging for more. but then you pull him down by the hair, whispering something filthy in his ear—things that he was CRAVING for you to say, that’s all it takes for him to snap.

“fuck,” he growls, his grip tightening as his thrusts get rougher, deeper. but just when you think he’s going to completely wreck you, he slows down again, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. he pulls—just enough to tilt your head back—and kisses you hard, like he’s staking a claim.

“thought about this for so long,” he says, his voice rough, his movements still slow. “you don’t even know.”

you didn’t know he could be like this—rough and tender, cocky and careful, all at once. but now you’re here, and he’s everywhere, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to think about anything else. he’s determined, you can tell. determined to make you remember every single moment, every touch, every kiss, every thrust. and when you finally cum, he’s right there with you, holding you until you frown, because you two are definitely sweating.

[nefariousnemesis]

okay, so. OP i hope you don't take this as me getting upset, i just get super passionate about pokemon and need to explain to everyone in the audience why most people did not think to do this.

first is the most obvious thing like. it came down to arrogance right? the leaders before this were some of the biggest pushovers in pokemon history. falkner and bugsy. another point is that a lot of people don't really want to use pokemon from past gens unless they REALLY love them.

any way it's time to go over the type of team most trainers would've had at this point. you got your starter, you got your pikachu/mareep, free eevee, flying, and bug poke.

now. here's the problem: barring chikorita (who takes not very effective) and totodile/eevee (takes regular damage), EVERYONE on this team is weak to rock. also who would've guessed a gym leader would have type coverage?? actually. this is a good time to bring up the crown jewel: this ABSOLUTELY ingenious setlist and break it down:

Stomp: a 65 base power move and 30% chance to flinch. not only that, but it's a STAB move making the moves power closer to 98. yeah.

Attract: a status move that has a 50% chance of working every turn. to make things worse, your starter (who would normally be doing the most heavy lifting) is very likely to be male.

Milk Drink: basically just recover/soft-boiled/roost (ok so roost is a bit different) which is VERY GOOD. 50% of max health is even better than any potion you would have access to at this point. also wanted to point out but if you slapped whiney's clefairy before she had a chance to heal it, that means when you FINALLY managed to whittle milktank's health down, she could just heal it with her two potions as well but. why would she at that point when she's got MILK DRINK.

ROLLOUT: oh god. so. it comes to this. here is all the numbers and information on pokemondb.net which i will post now and we can all boggle at the absurdity of these numbers:

so yeah. as you can see the big problem is even when you switch out your pokemon into another one, even if it's something with high defense, as long as the move hits, it has a chance of a OHKO.

(btw in hgss miltank is level 19 instead but in exchange holds a lum berry. just in case you wanted to like. paralyze it or something you gotta do it AGAIN)

miltank is a pokemon that does not evolve so i guess the best way is to describe it is that pokemon with no evolutions have some pretty strong base stats compared to ones that have yet to evolve fully.

here's an estimation of what the machop you would trade IF it was the same level as miltank:

and here's quilava (the starter i chose):

ok, not bad-

NOW THIS IS MILTANK:

as you can see, even if your pokémon were a few levels higher, they're still at a disadvantage here. machop has some low base stats so unless you train and evolve it, its STILL going to be a battle as a turn 4-5 rollout can most likely oneshot it. this is why, for speed runners or nuzlocks the beginning is almost always the hardest just in terms of your options being severely limited and shit like this.

an way just to close this out but this post really unlocked another interesting memory in me. you need drowzee to trade for the machop and like. drowzee in joto was MY FIRST shiny pokemon and i captured it on route 34. i didn't know what it was, but it LOOKED special. reading this post, i wonder if i was looking for drowzee specifically for this purpose?

idk about y'all but when i was playing pokemon as a baby, i did not know defense and special defense were separate. or attack and special attack for that matter, i just saw a move and clicked on it. flame wheel looks cool on quilava and has a higher number than ember, so im keeping it. even though it's attack stat is the weaker of the two. so yeah. machop is the closest to a "hard counter" we would've had for miltank but fortunately whitey's strategy really only works the one time. the best thing to do was level up your pokemon or catch a heracross or quagsire. for full transparency, whitney is the only time i've ever been bested by the game's AI (not counting battle frontier...) but i think that's awesome. it taught me to become more diverse and creative with my movesets. any way i just think breaking stuff down like this is a lot of fun, and i always find it interesting when a community of people all had the same experience.

wait hold on yall didnt just use the machop that resists rollout, is immune to attract from female pokemon, can ko normal-types in like two hits if you just train it a little, and is basically given to you for free in the very same city you fight whitney????

[t-horn-n]

— cucumber cool

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader (female)

genre: fluff 

summary: simon carries a picture of you in his wallet from your school days.

word count: 1 106

On the day you graduated from secondary school, you lightly punched Simon Riley on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be a stranger.” 

He remembers how you looked then.  Your hair was down and curled, for once, and you had on a dusting of makeup because you promised your grandmother a nice photo from the event.  It was a rather temperate June late morning and now, when he thinks back to that day, he remarks upon how young you both were.  

You were going out to lunch with your parents to celebrate going to uni and he was taking his kid brother out to grab a greasy slice of pizza somewhere before he went off to basic training.  

He knew that it was more likely than not that he’d never see you again.  All he really wanted to do was to be a grunt in the military and fade away.  He was sure that you would get your degree and do something meaningful.  Or if not meaningful, interesting, at least.  

The two of you started off as friends of circumstance: you were in the same film photography class because he needed another art credit to graduate and you needed a class to fill up your schedule.  He liked the soft ratcheting sound the camera made as it moved the roll of film, too.  

“Hey, nice boots,” you told him on the first day of the class and the rest is history.  

Now, he has a picture of you in his wallet that he’s been carrying for at least a decade.  Its edges are frayed and discolored from years of rubbing against loose bills and coins.  You’re a little awkward looking in it.  You still had your baby face.  

The only reason why he has the silly thing is because you goaded him into putting one of the extra prints you had from a portrait assignment into his wallet thinking there was absolutely no way he would follow through.  What kind of sixteen-year-old boy walks around carrying a photo of his friend next to his student card?

He just shrugged in that way he often did—a kid of action rather than words—and slid your photo into his uncle’s hand-me-down wallet.  Done and done, cool as a cucumber.  

You laughed to conceal your surprise.  Whatever you felt in that moment was wedged between embarrassment and excitement.  What person doesn’t delight in being liked?  It made something in your chest puff up.  

By now, though, whatever has kept your image with him all these years later is between Simon and his own affections.  Every time he opens his wallet to retrieve cash, he almost surprises himself.  On some occasions, usually after particularly punishing missions, he’ll pull the picture out and look at the way your lips stretched into a smile.  He’ll follow the lines of your facial features and wonder how much they’ve changed since then.

On a snowy Tuesday in December, you meet by chance at a deli.  He’s off duty for the next two weeks and you’re on your lunch break picking up sandwiches for yourself and a friend at work.  You approach him first, from behind, but he knows you’re there even before you greet him.  The air around you smells the same way it did in school.  Now, it feels like walking nostalgia.

“Simon!” you say happily.

He knows that he isn’t all that similar looking to his sixteen-year-old self, so he wonders how you recognize him.  Funnily enough, you were actually planning to go down the street for takeaway salads, but you spotted him in the deli’s front window.  Well, you saw his back and found a persistent sense of familiarity in the curve of his shoulders.  It was awkward really: you stopped in the middle of the path and waited until you figured out who was standing on the other side of the glass.

Time is very strange.  A long time has passed since he last saw you.  He knows that.  Everything that has happened in the past decades has moved him consistently further from his adolescent self.  That, and he can see the ways you’ve changed.  You look older, certainly.  But there’s also evidence of the passage of time that’s intangible.  Maturity.  Experience.  

“Hello,” he replies.  Then, “How are you?”

You’ve grown out of your awkwardness, he notices.  You chat with him easily as if you hadn’t realized that it’s been years since you last saw him, not just a weekend.  You’ve heeded your own advice: “Don’t be a stranger.”  And he tries his best, too, but you don’t mind that he struggles to make eye contact or that he’s slow to respond with as much enthusiasm that you seem to have.  After you’ve both received your sandwiches, you part ways with your cell number in his phone and a promise to meet up for lunch late next week.

He has a vague sense of whiplash as he chews his lunch.  It feels sort of like the time that’s passed has been condensed.  

You find the picture when you two meet up the next week at this restaurant that has you hooked on its dipping sauces.  You’re sitting by the window and he’s sitting next to you in the booth.  It reminds you of how you used to sit in the cafeteria.  He was already rather large for his age back then so he would sit at the end of the bench so he could angle his knees out from under the table.  

You trick him into letting you out to pay by claiming you have to use the restroom.  But when he catches on to your plans, he throws his wallet at you.  

“You’re trusting me with this?” you joke.  “I could take it and run.”

“You’ve had too many fries to make it very far,” he quips softly. 

Laughing, you say, “Well, thank you for lunch.”

Your laugh hasn’t changed a bit.  

At first, you think that the little white card tucked in the pocket of his wallet is a coupon or a picture of a cat or something.  

“Oh my God,” you say as you make your way back to the table where Simon is picking the rest of your fries off the plate.  “You still have it.”

“Hm?” he grunts.              

You wave the little rectangular photo between your fingers.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, a little shyly.  “Never had a reason to take it out, I guess.”

“Damn, I don’t think I have any of my old photos from that class anymore,” you lament while leaning over to grab a fry.

“Hey, you’re getting grease all over it,” he grumbles. 

— tags

@thecursebreaker

— m. list

[aestas---estas]

Working hands

MDNI 18+ | Part 1 | Part 2 | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | ~4,6k words | fem!reader, assistant!reader, reader described as shorter than Simon, suspend your disbelief for how long it is inbetween missions, basically all fluff | if I forgot a tag/tw please tell me | divider by @cafekitsune | Read on AO3

It's early Saturday morning and you get woken up by a strong fist incessantly knocking on your front door. It's pointed and regular, military in its consistency. While Price knows where you live — it's on your paperwork after all — and you have no doubt in your mind that both Johnny and Kyle could've easily found out, you know in your bones that it's Simon.

“Coming!” You call out, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you quickly find a pair of sweatpants to throw on; it would probably be in bad form to open the door in only a washed-out shirt and underwear. You stop in front of the bathroom mirror to quickly fix your bed hair as much as possible, splashing some cold water on your face in an attempt to look more awake than you feel. Simon’s still knocking intermittently and you can practically hear the irritation he’s starting to feel through the door — the man does not like to be ignored or left to wait.

“Good morning,” you say as you finally fling your door open, annoyance at having been so rudely interrupted clear in your voice despite the amicable words. He’s standing with his fist raised, ready to knock once more, a tool kit gripped in his other hand and you eye it curiously. “What-?”

You don’t really know how to end the sentence — what is he doing here? What’s with the tool kit? What makes him think he can wake you at 7:30 in the morning on your day off? — but you’re cut off before you manage to get another word past your lips, as he’s already made his way into your flat and toward the bathroom.

In confusion you close the front door and follow behind, your bare feet padding against the cool wooden floor, making you wish — not for the first time — that your landlord allowed heated floors. Simon’s courteous enough to have already toed off his boots by your shoe rack, so at least you don’t have to clean up dirt and grime, but the barging his way inside your space only worked to further annoy and confuse you.

“Simon, it’s not even 8,” you say as you lean against the doorframe of your bathroom, watching as he gets down on his knees in front of the broken washing machine you still hadn’t had a chance to look at. The annoyance seeps out of you as you remember the conversation you had that Monday; about how you wanted to return his jacket washed, but hadn’t been able to do your laundry. It’s a thoughtful gesture, one you can’t help but smile in appreciation at.

“I’m an early riser,” is all Simon says in return, not even glancing your way. He’s already busy with turning the machine on and off, looking at all the hoses and pipes, to try and discern what the issue might be.

For a moment, you just stay there, watching him quietly. He’s not wearing the skull mask or printed balaclava that had become synonymous with his alias, but rather a more simple black surgical mask. You don’t really know what you expected Simon to look like; you knew he was blonde, something Johnny had once shared with you to tease his Lieutenant, yet the sight of the surprisingly well groomed tresses on his head make something inside of you stir. His hair is just long enough for you to be able to card your fingers through it, and his left eyebrow is cleaved in half from a faded scar. You can’t see his jaw or chin properly, and the only time you remember him ever lifting his mask in your presence was to drink his beer in the pub all those weeks ago before he walked you home. You’d been drunk back then, hadn’t had the sense of mind to memorise his visage, and you mentally kick yourself about it now.

“It’s the water,” you supply, wanting to be helpful and hopefully distract yourself from thoughts of how it would feel to pet his hair and trace his scars, and Simon turns his head to glance at you. “It doesn’t drain properly, overflows about half the time too.”

Simon nods before turning back to the washing machine, pulling it away from the wall with little effort. “Sounds like the hose, or maybe the drainpipe. Could also be the lint trap. If there is one.” He’s mumbling more to himself than to you at this point, craning his neck to look at the backside of the machine all while nodding or shaking his head, making mental notes of possible solutions.

“Might be a while, love. Why don’t you go make us some tea?” It’s the out you didn’t know you wanted, but the second the suggestion leaves Simon’s lips you pounce on it, leaving the bathroom for the kitchen with no words or fuss.

You make two cups of some berry blend one of your friends got you as a birthday present — the mugs are white, bland, a little too boring for your liking, but they get the job done. And besides, you have more important things to spend your money on than crockery.

When you return to the bathroom, two steaming mugs in hand, you can’t help but stare at Simon for a moment before making yourself known. While the hoodie he’s wearing doesn’t provide you with much, his jeans are tight fitting around those muscular thighs of his, especially with the way he keeps crouching and kneeling. God, he’s got an ass too. The thought makes heat race to your face and you pull your eyes away from the enticing view of his rear.

“One cup for you,” you say, placing the tea down on top of the washing machine for whenever he feels like taking a sip. He sends you an appreciative look before focusing back on the task at hand; you’re both relieved and disappointed that he didn’t remove the face mask to have a taste of the drink right then and there. But then again, if he did, you’re more than sure that his uncovered visage would haunt your dreams in the best way possible.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to it then,” you say when he makes no move to speak again. 

It’s odd having Simon in your space like this. Sure, he spent the night on the couch that night after the pub. But you had been drunk then, had thought of nothing but the soft embrace of your bed that awaited you. Now you’re both sober, both clear minded and both all too aware of whatever it is that’s been growing between the two of you. 

Usually on your days off you would sleep in, would take a long shower so hot the fog on the mirror wouldn’t disappear for over an hour afterwards, would even make a proper breakfast if you had the energy for it. But Simon was currently occupying your bathroom, so a shower was out of the question, and while a short nap as he worked didn’t sound so bad it felt almost rude to go back to sleep as long as he was still there. He was doing something sweet for you; fixing something you hadn’t had the time or money to fix yet yourself.

So instead of your usual routine, you plant yourself under a blanket on the sofa with a new book you’d been meaning to read but haven’t had the chance to just yet and turn on some music. You can hear Simon in the bathroom, the clattering of tools and humming of the washing machine as he starts and stops new cycles every so often. The whole thing feels almost domestic, and it tugs on your heart in a way you don’t want to look too deep into.

---

“Can I ask you something?” you question and Simon grunts in that affirmative way he always does when you knock on his office door in the mornings. He had felt you coming back into the bathroom five minutes ago, leaning against the door frame, watching him with inquisitive eyes; but he had kept his attention on the washing machine. “Why do you wear that mask?”

If you hadn’t been studying him so intensely, you might’ve not noticed the way his shoulders and back tensed for half a second; it’s gone before you even have a chance to ponder about his reaction.

“Anonymity,” he answers at length, but you can tell there is more to it. Most of the other operators don't wear facial coverings — and if they do, it’s only while in active combat.

You understood wanting to keep his identity anonymous in the field, not letting the enemies know his name or face, it was dangerous work what he did after all, yet you couldn’t help but press. “Everyone on base already knows your name. And besides, there’s no one around but me right now.” Who are you hiding from? is what goes unasked, but the question still makes the air around you both feel heavy.

“They know what I want them to know,” he supplies, as if that would be a satisfactory answer. And it is, you suppose, at least somewhat. It doesn’t answer why exactly he keeps himself closed off, why no one — not even the men he fights beside — knows what he looks like. But it does tell you that he’s deeply paranoid and near obsessive with personal security. It tells you that he’s willing to show more of himself to the few he deems worthy; god, you want to be worthy.

“When’s the last time you took it off?” It’s a gamble of a question, but you know if Simon wants to leave the conversation he’ll let you know it in no uncertain terms.

“Last night.” You roll your eyes at that, because of course he doesn’t sleep with a stupid balaclava or face mask — maybe in the field, but you don’t know what goes on during their missions if it’s not in the reports.

“I meant with someone else in the room, Simon,” you tell him and cross your arms over your chest.

It’s quiet for a few moments, seconds stretching into minutes as Simon gives no indication of giving you a reply. Just as you let out a sigh, ready to give up on the conversation and walk back to your living room, he speaks. “It’s been… a while. Years.”

You don’t feel sorry for him, you have a feeling Simon wouldn't take kindly to pity, but empathy courses through your veins at the pain evident in his voice. He puts down the tool in his hand, turning his head just enough to make you appear in his vision, but makes no move to stand up. You realise he’s studying you, your reactions, your body language, every micro expression you don’t have the education to hide like he does.

“That sounds lonely,” you eventually say, taking the few steps from the doorway to where he’s kneeling beside the washing machine, lowering yourself until you’re eye-to-eye. “If you ever…” you hesitate for a second, but the fact that Simon has yet to end the conversation makes you power through. “I’ll be here, if you ever want to show someone.”

It’s not a demand or a manipulative tactic to get him to feel secure before ripping the rug out from under him; you genuinely want to be there for him, face or no face, want him to not go through his life with that crushing loneliness that’s been making it hard to breathe freely for years. Your eyes shine with open honesty and it’s almost too much for Simon to bear. He nearly tells you everything then; about his past, his family, Roba, everything. But you seem so innocent, untouched by the cruel reality of the world. And although he’s destroyed more uncorrupted and pure lives than yours, he wants you to keep living in the bubble of life is worth living for as long as possible.

“It’s not pretty,” is what he says instead. It — his life, him. A sad smile passes your lips as you nod your understanding.

“I’ll be here,” you repeat, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before standing and leaving him alone in the bathroom to work.

Simon stays there for another half hour before packing everything up and making his way towards the door. Truth be told he had figured out the issue after only ten minutes, had fixed the problem — a clog in the drain pipe — as slow as possible just to be in your presence for a few minutes longer. He knew he had disrupted your morning, had woken you up too early on your day off just to selfishly indulge his own need for your warmth, and now you were offering him unadulterated support without demanding anything in return. He didn’t deserve your kindness, had used your predicament to satisfy his own wants. It made him feel low, dirty, unworthy. 

“It works now,” Simon tells you as he walks past your spot on the couch, heading towards the front door without a second glance back.

Quickly you scramble from the couch and follow behind him, the blanket once more wrapped around your form. “Thank you,” you say, your eyes tracking his movements as he pulls on his jacket. “I’ll get your jacket back as soon as it’s washed.”

Simon shakes his head. “Told you, love, keep it.” There it is again; love. Before that weekend he had never called you that, and in the moment you had assumed the nickname had slipped from his lips the same way you had called him baby — simply to sell the illusion of a relationship so the creepy guy at the club would leave you alone. But now you couldn’t be so sure.

“At least let me buy you lunch or something as a thank you,” you insist, catching him by the wrist as he reaches for the door handle, grasping at straws for anything that would allow him to stay in your life. You had always done a good job at keeping your private and professional lives separate; but that was before Simon.

Simon’s eyes flicker down to where your fingers envelop his wrist, but he does not shift out of your grasp nor tell you to let go; so you don’t. “It doesn’t have to mean anything other than thanks,” you say, hoping the reassurance will help him decide.

Something indescribable passes through his eyes before he gives a firm nod. “I’m not much of a restaurant guy, but… a lunch sounds nice.”

“Great!” You beam, something akin to butterflies fluttering around inside your chest. “We can order in if that makes you more comfortable.”

Simon nods and it feels like he wants to say something, but no words leave his lips before he’s out the door.

---

As the hours of the day tick by, you find yourself glancing over to the hook where Simon’s jacket hangs. He said you could keep it, that it looks better on you. It feels wrong both to keep it — like you're owed something when you're not — and to give it back — like you don't appreciate his gesture of friendship.

It's a tightrope, one you can't navigate properly, one that wobbles and every step threatens to topple you over. It's anxiety inducing yet the most excited you've been in a while.

Deciding to bite the bullet, you send him a text.

Hope I didn’t scare you away with the invite to lunch.

You chew nervously on your bottom lip, already dreading his reply, but before your inevitable anxiety can spin out of control, your phone buzzes in your hand and the screen lights up with a new message.

You have plans tomorrow?

You don’t, actually, and tell him as much. It’s a few, short back and forths after that — Simon is concise even in text — but you have an official game plan that involves takeaway from the Indian place down the street and Simon showing up at your place around noon.

---

Simon had left the ordering up to you, having no idea what was good at the chosen restaurant — but he trusted you to guide him. He shows up just as you hang up on the Indian place, a can of WD-40 in hand, and you raise an eyebrow in question.

“Heard the god awful squeaking of the hinges on your bathroom door yesterday,” he explains with a shrug before making his way over to it without invitation.

You follow behind with a soft smile on your face, watching with more fascination than really necessary as he sprays the hinges and moves the door back and forth a few times until satisfied.

“Thank you. You didn't have to,” you say, giving his bicep a quick squeeze in gratitude. You'd lived with those squeaking hinges for months now, it had annoyed you in the beginning but it quickly fell into the background and it just became a noise you now ignored. 

“The food should be here in fifteen minutes,” you add.

“Alright.” Simon gives you a short nod, not quite meeting your eyes. If you hadn't known him, you would've thought he was uncomfortable or seeking an escape — but you did know him, knew that he would just up and leave if that was his prerogative. But he was here. He brought lubricant for your door without prompting. He entrusted you to pick the restaurant and the food. 

“Do you wanna sit?” you ask, gesturing to the couch; a fluffy blanket was draped over one of the armrests, embarrassing really how many times you folded the damn thing while cleaning up to make everything look presentable.

You were nervous, buzzing with both excitement and anxiety. You had hung out with Simon one-on-one before, a few times where he had walked you home from the pub, that time you called him after being ditched by your friends at the club, every single morning when you brought him a cup of tea in the office, and just yesterday when he had showed up unannounced to play handyman. But it had never been anything preplanned, you had never had time to rethink your decor and spend hours meticulously vacuuming and dusting and rearranging everything. And the realisation from the day before, about how kind and strong and capable and downright attractive he was, did not help.

You knew you wanted this to be a date, but there had been no clear confirmation from either side whether it was or wasn’t. Maybe he just saw this as lunch between co-workers, or as some sort of indebted meal because he fixed a problem that was entirely yours to sort.

It comes as no surprise when Simon spreads his legs wide on the couch when taking a seat, one arm on the armrest, the other slung lazily across the back. You knew if you sat down next to him, his knee would press against yours and his hand would be dangerously close to falling around your shoulders.

It was an easy choice, really, to plop yourself down beside him.

The conversation flowed easily, one topic blended into the next, Simon relaxed fully in his seat and you found yourself smiling enough to make your cheeks ache. It wasn’t until after you had thanked the delivery driver for the food and was starting to unload the various dishes you had ordered onto the coffee table, that his previous visible trepidation came back.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” you explain nervously, eyes downcast as you organise and open the boxes of food. They smelled delicious, and steam was rising from all of them; it nearly made your mouth water. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything.”

It’s good to have left-overs, your brain chimed in in defence of your own actions.

“‘S not that,” Simon replies, reaching for one of the dishes. You study his movements from the corner of your eye and as he stops his hand mid-air to his face you realise what the problem is — the mask.

“I can… turn around or something,” you supply, hoping to be helpful, to ease his nerves. But Simon just shakes his head and pulls the band away from behind his ear, letting the mask dangle for just a moment before unhooking the other side too.

You try not to stare — it’s obviously a big step, something significant that he chose to do with you — but it’s hard to tear your eyes away when the image in your head of what he looked like was actively being shattered and reformed.

There’s a raised, jagged line across his right cheek, a bump that makes his nose just a little crooked from where it hadn’t set properly after being broken, another smaller scar down the left side of his jaw. But the one mark that rocks you the most is the Glasgow smile. It’s only one side, but it’s clear as day that it wasn’t just someone getting a little too close with a knife in the field; it’s meticulous, sharp, someone with a steady hand had held his face still enough to carve it slowly. Not a battlescar, but rather one from torture.

You shake your head slightly, forcing yourself out of the spiral you’re otherwise likely to go down, and grab one of the boxes at random. “Let’s eat.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake, but when Simon raises an eyebrow you know you’ve failed.

“It’s okay to say it. It’s ugly. Told you it was.” He doesn’t sound mad about it, more exhaustedly used to it. Like it was an inevitability you would find him unattractive once he showed you everything.

As if instinctual, your hand shoots out to cup his knee. You can’t give him reassuring words, because the scars are awful, and you know Simon would see right through you if you try to lie and say you barely noticed. But they don’t take away from his attractiveness; rather, they make you sad at everything he’s gone through and angry at every person that’s inflicted pain upon him and forced him into the hard shell he now hides behind.

For a split second, Simon freezes, the unexpected touch sending adrenaline coursing through his veins as his body gets ready for a fight that never comes. He’s unaccustomed to friendly and harmless touching, at least the kind that lingers. The occasional congratulatory pat on his shoulder from his captain and teammates, but never one from someone like you.

“Let’s eat,” you repeat, giving his knee a quick squeeze before resituating yourself on the couch and digging into your food.

---

It becomes a form of routine after that; Simon showing up at your place the weekends he has off. More often than not he’s got a toolbox in hand, fixing small things around your flat that he grumbles that your lazy landlord should’ve already fixed ages ago. You always say it’s not his job, that you’re used to the leaky tap and squeaking hinges and uneven shelves, and then thank him with the offer of lunch, trying a new restaurant every week; he seems particularly fond of the various noodle dishes they provide so you order those more than anything else.

Eventually he starts placing the black KN95 on your entryway table when the front door closes behind him. You never mention it, and neither does Simon. And even when there’s nothing left to fix (apart from completely ripping the floorboards up and installing heating, but you vehemently refuse to let him do that in fear of being kicked out), he still shows up for lunch and just a conversation. Most of the time he lets you ramble on about whatever you please, chiming in with hums of acknowledgements and one-worded replies — if he was being honest with himself he could listen to you talk for hours and be satiated.

You kiss his cheek goodbye every time before he shrouds his features again with the mask; your lips are soft and reverent, right over the scar that gives him a perpetually lopsided smile. It takes Simon four goodbyes to let his hands rest, warm and heavy with intent, on your waist, and it makes butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.

It’s a simple gesture, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but it’s also a big step. While you haven’t shied away from physical intimacy — a hand squeeze here, a bumping of shoulders there, all the cheek kisses — it was the first time Simon allowed himself to reciprocate.

It takes him two more goodbyes to finally angle his face enough to let your kiss catch the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” you mumble and try to take a step back, but Simon’s grip tightens and keeps you firmly in place.

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Oh.

Oh.

Carefully you raise your arms to wrap around his neck, going slow enough that even just a twitch from Simon would stop you in your tracks. But he stays still as a statue, eyes flickering between yours before settling at your lips.

“Is this okay?” you ask, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails gently scratching his scalp.

“More than,” Simon replies, his breath washing over your face as he dips down, letting his lips hover over yours, his every exhale intermingling with yours.

You press yourself closer and in turn his hands slide from your sides and around your back, holding you in place firmly against him, his touch leaving a scorching trail on your skin despite the fabric that separates you.

You don’t know who moves first, who closes the small distance between you, but suddenly his lips are on yours and the butterflies in your stomach metamorphosize into fireworks and you can feel your heart race against your ribcage. His lips are warm, softer than you'd imagined, and you can still taste the cigarette he smoked before entering the building. Your fingers tug gently at his curls, angling his face to your liking so you can easier slot your lips over his.

A broken moan leaves your throat as Simon’s tongue finds yours and it’s all he can do to not push you up against the wall and fuck you right then and there. God knows he’s fantasised about it enough, fisted his cock to mental images of how you’d sound as he punched the air out of you with every thrust, how you’d look with his cum dripping down your thighs, how your eyes would roll to the back of your skull as he wrings out another orgasm from your already spent body. But he knows that’s not the way to go about this, not if he wants to keep you.

He licks into your mouth, exploring and teasing all at once, indulging in the sounds you let slip from your lips. His hands twitch, eager to wander over your body, but settles on curling his fingers in your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you trying to kill me?” Simon rasps when you eventually break to catch your breaths and your teeth nip at his lower lip.

“No,” you hum and trail a hand down his face and neck, smoothing your thumb over every risen scar in a show of unadulterated affection that makes him preen under your touch. “Quite like you alive. Like you a lot actually.”

Simon surges forward again, captures your lips in another bruising kiss because, fuck, if that doesn’t make his heart soar.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, how this will affect both his and your work, neither of you do. But he knows he’d rather be right here, with you in his arms, kissing you senseless, than anywhere else in the world.

--- Masterlist

[darkisnotevil]

I like my cookies thick and soft, see end for additional modifications

My Modified Toll House Choc Chip Cookie Recipe

1 1/4 cups AP flour

1/2 cup cake flour*

1/2 cup bread flour*

2 sticks butter

1 cup dark brown sugar*

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp kosher salt

2 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp baking powder

1 12oz package chocolate chips*

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 375F.

Bring butter AND EGGS to room temp*.

If using multiple flours, measure out your flour and mix slightly with a fork or spoon.

In a bowl, beat room temperature butter with sugars until the whole thing is one uniform color.

Beat eggs into the butter-sugar mix. It should be a uniform brownish-beige.

Add in everything except the flour and the chocolate chips. Stir until the ingredients are mixed in, then turn the speed up a notch and beat the wet mixture until it becomes a uniform slightly lighter brown. You’ll need to stop and scrape the edges once or twice.

On a low speed, mix the flour in 1/2 cup at a time, making sure the flour is thoroughly incorporated before adding more. Once all the flour is mixed in and the edges have been scraped in, STOP. Don’t overbeat your dough.

Using a spatula and working by hand if possible, fold all but 2tbsps of the chocolate chips into the dough. These are your reserve chips for the last few cookies you make by scraping the bowl.

Scoop your cookies onto your nonstick or parchment paper-lined baking sheet. I have a scoop I use that’s I think 2 tbsp, but a large rounded spoonful works too. Try to be consistent in your sizes. Use your reserve chips for the last sad set of cookies that don’t have any,

Bake for 9-11 minutes. The cookie should have a golden hue when you take it out. If you like crispy bottoms, the center of the top cookie should look fully set. If you like softer bottoms, the center top should have that same golden hue but should be not quite set yet.*

Allow the cookies to rest on the baking sheet until you can comfortably touch the sheet with your bare hands*. Remove to a cooling rack and cool completely, or until the melted chocolate doesn’t burn your mouth.

Notes:

*Flours: if you don’t have bread or cake flour, just do 2 1/4 cups AP flour. If you like dense and chewy cookies, replace just the cake flour with AP flour. If you like really fluffy cookies, replace just the bread flour with AP flour. If you like thin and crispy cookies, use all AP flour and remove 1-2 tablespoons.

*Dark brown sugar produces a more complex and layered taste than light brown sugar.

*Chocolate Chips: Weirdly enough, brand does matter. Nestle is the OG, but I like Ghirardelli 60% too. Point being, if you can afford not to go store brand, it’ll make a huge difference in the final results.

*Room Temp: if you’re in a hurry, place cold eggs in a soup bowl, turn your tap as hot as it will go, and fill the bowl. The eggs don’t have to be AT room temp, but if you hold them for a few seconds they should feel cool, not cold. For the butter, place both sticks on a small plate and microwave in 5s increments, rotating the sticks 90deg between each increment so that a different side of the stick is on the plate each time. It shouldn’t take more than 4 or 5 sessions. The butter should hold its shape and give a mild resistance to squishing it. If any part of the butter is melting, stop heating the butter and proceed with the recipe.

*Top is set: if you don’t know what this means, the top center should be the right color but not look quite “done”- it’ll look a little wetter, a little less puffy than the surrounding dough, the pores may be larger, and it’ll be a little squishier to the touch than the edges.

*Removing the cookies: if your top center isn’t quite done but the visible edges of the bottom of the cookie are a much darker brown, remove the cookies from the sheet to a cooling rack immediately. You’ll need to be very careful, as the cookies are still very soft.

anyone got a good chocolate chip cookie recipe? i trust yall significantly more than browsing internet recipes

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Corori

Debut: Kirby's Dream Land 3

A penguin! What's more Christmas than a penguin? Many things. Many, many things. But they're still moderately Christmas. That's just your lot in life when you're an inherently whimsical creature living in a world of ice and snow!

While real Antarctic penguins are constantly fighting for their lives in a freezing polar desert, Corori is having a whole lot of fun! Instead of huddling with anyone else for warmth, it is playing with a snowball, rolling it up and pushing it down a slope. Yippee! What allows it to be unaffected by the elements? Clearly, the answer is its cute little hat. And the fact that its feet are so close to its blubbery little body. I know you don't see any, but they're there, I promise!

Corori's snowball is dangerous! What did you expect? This is a big rolling ball in a platformer! One must wonder, though, how much harm it actually intends, especially because I doubt it can see around that thing to know if anyone is in the way. Maybe it is just trying to get the snowball bigger to make the biggest damned snowman anyone's ever seen... don't tell Corori about Snowman's Land, please. It would be rather disheartened. After it pushes the snowball... that's it! It only had the one. I hope you liked it!

So, Corori is pretty "cool", huh? I think it's very n"ice"! There's "snow" doubt about that! If you don't like Corori, I might just have to give you the "cold" shoulder. If I ever saw one in real life, I would hope to have a "polar"oid camera on me! "Antarctic Krill"

Anyway, Corori gives no ability in this game. And it sort of makes sense, I suppose? Previous (and future) games would have penguin enemies with the Ice ability, but these are typically ones that have intrinsic Ice Powers, while Corori, as far as we know, is just playing with the snow. I could do that! But it doesn't make me able to produce ice from my body. With my unique biological abilities, I would yield the Pee ability!

After Kirby's Dream Land 3, Corori was gone. No one had any contact with them. They left no note. We did not know what happened, and resigned ourselves to a world where we would never see Corori again...

Until, after 25 years, Corori returned! "I'm back," said Corori, "and more powerful than ever." Indeed, in Kirby and the Forgotten Land, Corori can now make multiple snowballs, getting to work on a new one right after pushing the previous away! You will also now notice its little orange feet, no longer hidden within its body. Enhanced snowball craft? Increased cold resistance? Could it be? Yes! Corori is now a source of the Ice ability! And its hat is so realistic now! I feel like I could wear that! But I won't. It's not mine.

[callme-holly]

okay do this with whatever boy(s) you want but like what abt them x reader who is just like the happiest person ever. they havent lived the prettiest life, its clear, but theyre still so happy, they just find a way to love everything. the way theyre always laughing, the way they point out simple things with just beaming joy. theyll see a random bird and start ranting about how cool it would be to be able to fly like that, how they love birds and how beautiful they are. they see bugs and talk about how pretty they are even if theyre a bit scared of it. they gush about how the grass feels cool at night and the way it gives them goosebumps all with a smile of giddiness at the dark. theres nothing they dont love, and they make sure he see the beauty in everything too, slowly but surely.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚/𝐧 : im finally on christmas break y'all!! i've still got quite a lot of requests to get through, but im scatty as hell so please bear with me

Darry Curtis:

Your positive energy is something Darry craves in his life. He’s been through more than anyone should ever have to face, and when he met you, you were like a breath of fresh air. He knows your life hasn’t always been perfect, but neither has his, and you two balance each other out.  After a long day of work, all he wants is to sit on the couch with you curled up beside him, rambling about all the little things in your day that have made you happy. He loves the sound of your laugh, your smile, and the way you move your hands when you talk. He starts to notice things he might not have noticed before and learns to slow down a little and appreciate life as it comes. 

Sodapop Curtis:

You and Soda are a match made in heaven. You’re both such happy, positive people, despite everything you’ve both gone through, and people can't help but envy you both.  The two of you will sit together on the porch and talk for hours about your day, no matter how good or bad it may have been, pointing out all the little things you loved about it. Soda makes it his sole challenge to make you laugh all the time; he just loves seeing you smile. You both see the world from the same point of view, and no matter what it throws at you, you both learn to love every little thing. 

Ponyboy Curtis:

Pony finds your happiness both relieving and fascinating. We all know he can get a little down sometimes, and having someone like you around to pick him back up is something he needs.  Watching the sunsets together is a key part of y'all's routine; you always take the time out of your days to sit together and watch all the colours as they blend into one, appreciating the beauty of nature. Pony will read poems to you when you’re both alone in the house, and you’ll always make an effort to point out the tiny little details, laughing about them and smiling throughout. 

Johnny Cade:

Johnny’s homelife is pretty awful, as we all know, so having someone like you around who is always so upbeat is something he desperately needs. He loves listening to you ramble, and he’ll just nod along as you tell him about all the wonderful little things you saw on your walk. He can’t help but smile whenever you do; he laughs when you laugh. You really help to brighten up his life, and you help him see things a little more positively, even if it’s just for a little while. 

Dallas Winston:

Your positivity probably annoys Dally a little. It’s not that he wants to rain on your parade; it’s just that he can't see what's so good about the world that you need to constantly be talking about it. He always tries to make a snarky comment whenever you start gushing over something small, but the moment he sees your smile, he forgets whatever it is he was going to say. Something about your outlook on life confuses and intrigues him, and he slowly starts to realise it’s not all bad.  He’s not the type to gush about it, but sometimes you’ll catch the subtle things he does to show his appreciation for you: the way his smirk softens when you laugh, the way he pulls you closer when you ramble. 

Steve Randle:

Steve is drawn to your energy like a moth to a flame. He’s home life isn’t grand either, and it amazes him how you manage to find so much good in the tiniest things. He teases you for it, but he loves the way your eyes light up at the simplest things, and he finds himself going out of his way to make you laugh or smile. On his lunch break, he’ll hold you close while you tell him about all the things you’d seen on your way over, and he’ll just chuckle and kiss you softly. Your positive perspective is something he needs desperately, and he finds that time seems to slow down whenever you’re together. 

Two-Bit Mathews:

Two thrives off of your happiness and always manages to return it with the same energy. He loves how you can see the silver lining in almost any situation, and he always finds himself joining in with you as you marvel at the little things in life. Your laugh has him cracking up, and if you’re smiling, so is he. He firmly believes that you light up any room you walk into, and he just helps to keep that light shining bright.  While he’s probably the most positive one of the gang, he’d never taken the time to slow down and appreciate the little things until he met you, and now thats he’s got you, he can’t seem to stop.

[inkinflux]

Can't Keep a Secret

Viktor x gn!Reader | 3k | SFW Viktor notices you've been burnt out for a while, so organizes a short trip away to help you relax. A/n: I am so in love with this fictional man hnggggg also I based this off this song because it matched how sappy I felt :') 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫  

Air pushed against your splayed fingers, the draft cool against your palm as you held it against the pressure. You dipped your nails down, the force causing your hand to swoop, the sensation pulling a smile on your face.

You didn’t travel often, and never before via airship. The novelty was neither lost on Viktor as he held onto the railing beside you, eyes wide as he watched the rolling hills of Valoran pass beneath. The airship’s shadow dove up and down the golden fields of wheat, until it reached the highest crest and the gold slowly dissolved into blue.

The wind whipped your face, its dominant presence the reason why the rest of the travellers remained inside during most of the duration of the ride. But the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant, in fact, it was refreshing.

After being holed up in your study for weeks, it felt nice to be given a stark reminder that you were, in fact, a living creature who needed sun and air and adventure to satiate your soul.

It had been Viktor’s idea to take a trip to the coastal city of Holdrum to pull you out of your rut. There was only so much staring at a blank piece of paper you could handle before it drove you insane. He knew that feeling of stagnation all too well, and also knew that pushing yourself past that point didn’t often yield the desired result.

The ship passed through a cloud, and you laughed as the condensation licked your skin, leaving you slightly damp. Viktor reached his arm out behind you, mimicking the way yours reached out into the clouds. He drunk in your joy and the fresh air, his tired lungs feeling lighter for once.

You opened your mouth as the next cloud passed, tasting it on your tongue.

The flight was thrilling, albeit brief, the airship docking a mere three hours after it had taken off from Piltover. The tickets had been cheap thanks to its avoidance of using the Hex Gates.

It was an irony that was not lost on you, that one of the creators of such an invention still couldn’t afford to use it the traditional way. Though you were sure an exception would’ve been made to let him fly for free, Viktor wasn’t the type to put up a fuss.

His hair was a fluffed mess from the wind when he shuffled along the gangplank back onto solid ground. You stuck close to him, slightly intimidated by the busyness of the station, wares and people being offloaded all around you.

Viktor tugged you along with a glint in his eye and a grin that shone brighter than the sun. Your briefcase was heavy with clothes and books, but you didn’t need to carry it for long as you reached a carriage that would take you to your weekend accommodation.

Your thigh bumped against Viktor’s as you peered out the window, making repetitive comments about how beautiful the view was. Viktor could barely concentrate as your hand rested on his knee, his eyes constantly drawn to your side profile as you watched the oceanside pass by.

His body objected as he clambered out, but his respite was so close, the seaside cottage standing at the end of the dirt path you’d been dropped off at. Peacefully isolated and surrounded by trees, with sand trailing through the cool shade of leaves, the sound of waves a hint at how to find the beach.

You took his bags, bright-eyed and excited to explore. Viktor tried not to drag his feet as he followed, lugging himself up the few steps of the porch. He subsequently crashed into the couch as you both entered the small wooden structure that had once been blue, but showed signs of age, driftwood peeking from beneath the paint.

“This is incredible!” Your voice came muffled from the other room as you darted in and out of the different rooms.

Viktor wanted to join in your energetic outburst, but after having been on his feet for most of the day, he couldn’t muster more than a hum of acknowledgement.

You poked your head out of the bedroom, taking in the way his lanky limbs extended over the small couch, his face pressed into the cushions. He heard you approach by way of creaking floorboards.

“Thank you.”

He raised his face, laying his cheek flat as he looked at you. You were on your knees, curled forward with your chin resting close on the cushion.

“I know no one who works harder,” he told you, “and no one more deserving of a break.”

You pushed his wind-tousled hair from his face, the gesture enough to make his heart soar. Or maybe he’d left it in the clouds when you’d thanked him the first time, looking up at him with the same adoration as you did now.

“No one other than you, you mean,” you teased, pinching his cheek before you rose back to your feet.

Viktor turned, the couch the perfect balance of firm and soft to keep his strained back at ease. He watched as you approached a window, opening it to let the stream of natural sounds flood in. Distant waves and the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze that was picking up with the promise of a summer storm.

He wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful. That you gave him the impression of a living piece of the world, clicking so perfectly into any scene. In the clouds, by the coast, at your desk, by his side.

It was a secret he kept, to no one’s benefit but his own, really. These words he guarded, belonging to only you. The thing was, he was terrible at keeping secrets.

He had blurted about the tickets the moment he’d seen you last week, when you had looked so colourless and crestfallen. He’d do anything to see you smile, even ruining the surprise.

Even now, he struggled against the word as it danced on the tip of his tongue.

“Beautiful,” he mused, “isn’t it?”

You nodded, taking a moment to tear your attention away from the relaxing ambiance. When your gaze settled on him again, it softened.

“There’s a storm rolling in,” you told him, taking a seat next to his reclined body. His shirt had rode up, exposing a section of his pale, lower stomach. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it down to cover him again, but not without brushing your fingers against him in what you hoped was an inconspicuous manner. Viktor bit down on the inside of his cheek, his entire body thrilling at your touch. “Perfect weather for a nap, don’t you think?”

Viktor smiled, the smell of rain filling the room as the first drops fell from the sky.

“You may choose whichever bedroom you prefer. I will remain here, for now.”

Your hand fondly stroked the cushion beside his head, too shy to risk another real touch. Viktor enjoyed having you so close that he could feel your warmth seep into him. You wanted to ask him to join you, your idea of the perfect nap to weather the storm being one where he held you in his arms, but sensibility won out in the end.

The room grew darker as you disappeared into one of the bedrooms, leaving the door open behind you as you collapsed onto the mattress.

The heavy rain lulled Viktor to sleep, his hand tucked under his cheek, unaware that you had curled onto your side in the same fashion, imagining the warmth of him around you.

When you awoke hours later, bare feet padding out of the dark and into the warm light of the kitchen, you found Viktor cooking dinner.

He had slipped into something more comfortable, a baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants that hung low on his hips. You admired the dimples of his lower back as he stretched up to grab two glasses from the cabinet. Once he placed them down, he propped his cane back under his arm, hovering close to the stove as something delicious-smelling bubbled away.

Your footfall was quiet, but he turned his face to the side, a small smile on his lips.

“Did you sleep well?”

You yawned as you approached him, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Like a log. Is that curry?”

Viktor hummed a confirmation.

“The pantry is stocked, so I found something I thought you might like,” he stirred the pot lazily, still somewhat sleepy. “Though, the town has a market that sells imported fruits. I was hoping we might go there tomorrow.”

You nuzzled your head against the side of his arm and he chuckled.

“Will you stay awake long enough to eat with me?” He picked up the wooden spoon, blowing on it. “Here. Try.”

With his other hand hovering beneath, Viktor brought the spoon to your lips. The explosion of flavour melted into your tongue, and you hummed in delight.

“Good?”

“Good,” you agreed, eagerly moving to the table, sliding onto the bench.

A moment later, Viktor placed the food and assortment of cutlery before you, then slid in next to you, your thighs pressed flush against another.

You hooked your foot around his ankle, too tired to pretend you didn’t want to steal every sort of touch he’d allow you to get away with in your sleepy states. You found he made it quite easy.

Few words were shared during the dinner, the food so good Viktor had to warn you to slow down.

“Who taught you to cook like this?” You were surprised, because he had opted for quicker meals while at the Academy, too engrossed in his work to waste time on such necessities as a well-cooked meal.

“My mother,” he answered softly. “Years ago, I would return home each week from the Academy to tell her about my work with Professor Heimerdinger. She would always cook for me.” You looked at him as he reminisced, somewhat melancholy. “The smell reminds me of her. Vegetables and spice and stock.” He turned his gaze to you now, his eyes adoring amber. “She would have liked you.”

Your elbow knocked against his as you shied away from the kind words, swirling your food with your spoon.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said with certainty, “because you make me happy.” He then poked your thigh, aiming for a lighter tone. “Even if you are clingy. Like a kitten.”

“I’m not clingy,” you stated with defiance, despite the fact that you’d all put burrowed into him.

Viktor smiled. “Do not mistake my comment for complaint. I… quite like it.”

Your back straightened at his words, the grip on your spoon tightening. Viktor cursed himself internally for letting the secret of his affections slip. Always in moments where he wanted to reassure you, he couldn’t help himself from tipping his hand to show you his cards were all hearts.

“I’m not like this with everyone, you know.” It seemed you didn’t know how to keep a secret, either.

“I know.”

After dinner, you sat on the porch, watching the rainy night with Viktor. You laid against his chest, his square thumbs massaging the wrist and palm of your dominant hand, which ached from the repetitive motions of your work.

“It is too bad such devoted hands cannot be mended with oil and tightening screws.” Viktor’s breath tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Flesh and tendon is so difficult to work with.”

You melted against him, nestling your face against the side of his neck. “Still feels nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

The post-dinner relaxation gave way to a familiar pull of sleep, but when it came time to return to bed, you lingered in the doorway, pleading eyes pulling Viktor up from where he had been preparing to read on the couch.

He curled a finger against the underside of your jaw, stroking up and down. You pressed your mouth into a line and tilted your head at the man.

“Does this sleepy kitty need company?”

You tugged at the drawstring of his pants in response, and he relented, snatching up his book and settling into bed beside you, reading glasses perched on the edge of his angular nose.

“The reading light won’t keep you awake?”

You made a small noise to suffice as a “No” before curling into him, your hand sliding under his shirt, coming to rest on the tuft of hair beneath his bellybutton.

Viktor reread the same sentence about a dozen times before he realized he wouldn’t be able to focus with you touching him like that. Still, he tried, until the sinking pillows pulled him into the same delightful dreams you dwelled in.

It seemed in his sleep, he had lost control of his limbs. Viktor awoke to an entanglement he couldn’t possibly hope to free himself from.

Your thigh was trapped between his, one of your arms pinned underneath him. Viktor’s nose brushed yours as he raised his head from the pillow, surveying the situation.

The movement caused you to curl into him further, a satisfied huff tumbling from your soft lips.

Viktor gave up any notion of getting out of bed, conceding to his fate.

The second time he woke, you were bending over him, placing a sweet kiss on his forehead. He shut his eyes quickly, pretending he was still asleep.

You were greedy and sought another stolen kiss, this time atop the beauty mark below his eye, your lips a fluttery feeling against his cheekbone.

Viktor waited patiently, silently urging you to give the same treatment to the mark above his top lip. He sucked in a breath as he felt your weight shift on the mattress, considering it as you hovered above him.

Then the springs creaked, his hopes dashed as you instead decided to get up.

You were eager to repay the favour of last night’s dinner with breakfast in bed, but before you could step away, a warm hand had shot out, curling around your forearm.

“Good morning,” you greeted, Viktor’s unfocused eyes drinking in your form.

“Where do you think you are going?” He asked, the rasp in his voice causing something within you to shudder.

You lowered you voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a secret.”

Viktor’s sleepy smile almost convinced you to stay. But you were determined to do something nice for him, after he’d organized the perfect getaway and treated you to such lovely cuddles all night.

“Stay here,” you told him, and reluctantly, his grip weakened, his hand falling empty as you walked away.

After five minutes of trying to be patient, he missed you too much, making his way to the kitchen.

“Vik,” you tutted as he came up behind you, hands sliding down your arms indulgently. You turned around, holding the spatula up threateningly.

“A fearsome weapon. Is it meant to scare me off?”

“Yes.”

Viktor wrapped his hand around yours, easily stealing it from you.

“Hey!” You complained, but there was a laugh in your voice. Viktor took over pancake flipping duty, if only out of guilt for ruining your plans to serve him in bed.

You gave up, pressing your forehead to his back. Your hands naturally found their way under the hem of his sleeping top, thumbs feeling out the bolts in his spine, tracing them with such fondness that Viktor struggled to remember how to breathe.

“How does your hand feel?” He asked, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“Like it needs more attention.”

Viktor smirked as you pushed your hand through the gap between his waist and arm, letting your arm dangle in his line of sight. He took hold of it and pushed circles into your palm with his thumb while he flipped the pancakes. It proved more difficult than he had anticipated.

Breakfast was eaten back in bed, as you had insisted, the entanglement now only limited to weaved legs. The dawning day beckoned, and as much as you both would’ve liked to remain underneath the covers, you both found the motivation to get dressed and ready to explore the town and beaches.

The dirt track that led you out of your blissful solitude was now dotted with puddles from last night’s storm. The sky still held a hint of grey, but luckily the clouds had mostly dissipated, giving way to a clearer day.

Your shoes squelched in the mud as you stepped out, turning back and waiting for Viktor as he locked the front door. When he turned to you, he froze at the look you were giving him.

“Do I have something on my face?”

He looked absolutely divine. Being outside of Piltover, outside of the Academy, seemed just as good for him as it was for you. The leather strap of his bag crossed over his chest, atop a teasingly sheer white button down. He’d pushed his reading glasses up into his hair, a stray strand falling against his forehead. You adored him.

“Oh,” he noticed your gaze and tapped his head, quickly taking the glasses off and pushing them into his bag.

He reached you before you could fathom a reply. “Let’s hope the rain does not catch us out,” he spoke, unaware of the way your enamoured heart had caused a short-circuit in your brain. He was amused at the stunned expression you wore, reaching up to tap on a large leaf above your head, causing cold droplets to fall upon your face.

You released a shocked laugh, giving him a light shove. He regained his balance, his walking stick tucked firmly under his arm.

The trees glistened with suspended water drops, and you curiously tapped against a few before you stuck your tongue out, eager to taste how fresh the water was. The remnants rolled over your lips as you turned back to Viktor.

“You should taste it. It’s exactly like the clouds.”

Viktor stepped forward, a large hand cupping your jaw as he dipped his head. His mouth was against yours in an instant, stealing your breath. He took advantage of your parted lips, his tongue delving into your mouth.

When he pulled back he was pink-cheeked and wearing a wobbly smile.

“Yes,” he stammered, unable to focus on either your eyes or lips, his gaze flitting between them, “It does.”

[spideysl0ve]

Pre-relationship “did you just steal my jacket?" with Zoro please. Up to you if pre/post time skip!

You’d think it’d be the reader wearing Zoro’s shirt, but it’s Zoro wearing their oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants. Zoro is oblivious while reader is flustered when they see him working out 😂

It’s cute that the Straw Hats wear each other’s clothes sometimes 🥺

 . 𔘓 ؛ what's yours is mine too

⇢ masterlist

⇢ writing prompts

⇢ roronoa zoro x reader.

⇢ tw: fluff, zoro being a tease and reader being flustered about it, english isn’t my first language.

⇢ summary: “did you just steal my jacket?” prompt with my boy.

the morning unfolds gently, with the first rays of sunlight spilling through the curtains, casting a warm golden hue across the room. the air is crisp and filled with the faint hum of birdsong, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee that sanji was making, drifting from the kitchen.

the world seems to stretch and yawn awake; you stirred in bed, seeking the comfort of your boyfriend next to you in bed, finding his spot empty.

you whimpered, fingers brushing over the cool sheets where zoro had been, it was unusual for him to wake up early, which made you even more uncomfortable.

with a soft pout, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the day already felt a little less warm without him there.

dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the closet, your heart set on your oversized grey hoodie. the thought of its familiar softness against your skin made the chill of the morning seem more bearable.

but it wasn’t there.

your brows furrowed as you looked through every possible hiding spot. no hoodie. under the bed? no hoodie. by the messy draws you shared with your boyfriend? still no hoodie. frustration bubbled up as you grabbed another one, smaller, less comfy, and pulled it on with a huff before heading toward the kitchen.

the smell of breakfast greeted you first, followed by the sight of sanji expertly flipping pancakes while zoro leaned against the counter, a steaming mug of coffee in hand.

“good morning, y/n" sanji smiled to you but your attention was immediately stolen by zoro.

more specifically, by the hoodie slung casually over his broad shoulders. your hoodie.

“are you serious? did you just steal my hodie?” you blurted, staring at him.

zoro glanced up from his coffee, one brow arched. “what?”

“that’s mine!” you exclaimed, pointing at the grey hoodie as it hung off him.

zoro tilted his head as if this was news to him. “oh. thought it was lying around.”

“it wasn’t lying around, it was in my part of the room. my hoodie, zoro!” you crossed your arms, glaring at him.

sanji glanced over, clearly amused, as he stirred a pot of something aromatic. “ah, the barbarian strikes again. zoro, don’t you know it’s rude to steal a lady’s clothes?”

“it’s not stealing,” zoro said, shrugging. “besides, what's her it's mines too”

“it doesn't work like that!,” you shot back, stomping closer. “give it back.”

zoro smirked, setting his mug down. “fine, fine,” he said, tugging the hoodie off and tossing it to you. “here. happy?”

you caught it and immediately pulled it on, feeling a surge of satisfaction as its oversized warmth enveloped you again. “ecstatic,” you muttered, stomping toward the table, trying to ignore the sound of sanji’s chuckle.

------------------------✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩--------------------------

the morning had settled into its usual rhythm, the hum of the waves blending with the clatter of weights and the rhythmic swish of a weighs slicing through the air so you decided to head to the training area, if only to check on zoro and make sure he wasn’t overdoing it.

as you stepped onto the deck, the sun cast golden rays across the ship, making everything feel alive. your eyes instantly landed on zoro, and your jaw practically hit the floor.

he was shirtless, sweat gleaming on his chest and shoulders as he moved through his sword drills, each swing precise and deliberate. his focus was intense, and for a moment, you might have admired the view... if not for the fact that he was wearing your sweatpants.

your favourite, soft, perfectly broken-in sweatpants.

“zoro!” you barked, storming toward him.

he stopped mid-swing, one huge weight still raised, as his gaze shifted lazily to you. “yeah?”

you planted your hands on your hips, glaring at him. “are those my sweatpants?”

he glanced down at himself, as if only now noticing, then shrugged. “guess they are.”

“what do you mean, ��guess they are’?!” you demanded, flailing your arms at the offending pants. “why are you wearing my clothes again? haven't you listened to me?”

“they were there,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

you gaped at him, completely at a loss for words. “you’re unbelievable. first my hoodie, now my sweatpants? what’s next, my socks?”

he grinned, walking over to you, completely unbothered by your rising frustration. “depends, are they comfortable too?”

“zoro!” you snapped, your cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment as he stopped just inches from you. his proximity was disarming, especially with how nonchalant he looked.

he tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. “you’re really worked up over this, huh?”

“yes, i am!” you shot back, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your checks. “those are mine, and you’re stretching them out!”

“they look fine to me.” his smirk widened as he reached out, tugging playfully at the waistband of the sweatpants. “if anything, they fit me better.”

you slapped his hand away, your face burning. “you’re the worst, you know that?”

“nah,” he said softly, leaning down slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart race. “you like me too much for that.”

before you could come up with a witty retort, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, most teasing kiss imaginable. it was so quick, so maddeningly brief, that by the time you processed it, he was already pulling back, his smirk firmly in place.

your face went hot, your hands instinctively grabbing at the hem of your hoodie as if to ground yourself. “don’t think you can distract me with with that,” you stammered, your words faltering under the weight of your flustered state.

“worked, didn’t it?” he said, his voice low and teasing as he stepped back toward his training area.

you glared at him, your heart still pounding as he picked up his weights, completely unbothered.

“this isn’t over, zoro!” you called after him, but your voice lacked its usual conviction.

he glanced over his shoulder, his grin as infuriating as ever. “whatever you say, princess.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. he was impossible, and unfortunately for you, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

but he was yours, he was your clothing thief boyfriend

taglist: @remasjoestar @anamiad00msday @rotin0 @moon4lust @elitesanjisimp @dreamcastgirl99

be added to my taglist

[hcneymooners]

⋆ cellophane.

dance instructor!ambessa x muscular!f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you are an athlete forced into retirement by an unforeseen injury. ambessa is the dance instructor who rehabilitates you through ballet. could it be any more obvious?

cw: mentions of injury, tall!reader, muscular!reader, angst, implied mental health issues, age difference because it's me, non-sexual intimacy, rehabilitation from an injury, ballerina!reader, soft!ambessa, emotional hurt/comfort, making out, getting together, implied praise kink, body dysmorphia.

notes: written completely for @for-sappho based on their post about ambessa's canon type. this is a drabble.

“begin.” 

without opening your eyes, you began to let your body break down. surrendering was the only way forward. it had been years since you’d danced professionally, but the memory was still a deep instinct. you felt the ripple of your back, flexing under the easy weight of your instructor’s hand, and let it guide you, pressure you.

you’d started taking classes again, not for ambition but survival—something to give your defeated body a purpose. after the accident, the world felt permanently off-kilter, as if it had spun wildly and refused to settle. your days blurred into repetition: waking with the sun, curling into yourself to relearn how to move, then collapsing into bed again. sometimes, you’d coax your dog to lay on you, his solid weight anchoring you to the grave of your bed.

the classes were private. shame dictated that much. it wasn’t that the other dancers weren’t kind; they were. but you didn’t fit in, and you couldn’t bring yourself to try. bitterness clung to you like a second skin, a self-inflicted punishment for ruining the athletic future you’d worked so hard to build. and then there was your body—tall, muscular, powerful in ways that made you feel both monstrous and vulnerable.

you always thought you looked misshapen in a leotard, like a tree gnarled by time and trauma. yet the world, in its stubbornness, disagreed. magazines, headlines, strangers—they described you in words you never allowed to belong to you: graceful, elegant, divine. it only felt like another cruelty. but maybe if the world insisted on that truth, you owed it to yourself to try and believe it.

when you found the studio—medarda—you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t just the glowing reviews or the name that caught your eye; it was her. ambessa.

she was your instructor now, a thickly muscled woman with a commanding presence, her skin traced with scars that spoke of combat. there was no warmth in her gaze when she first met you; it was only a firm assessment as she took in the way you folded into yourself, trying to shrink in a body that refused to be small.

the first day, she scoffed when you requested to dance. instead, she stretched you.

that summer day still burned in your memory, slurred with heat and the bite of her hands cooled from a bowl of ice water she kept beside her. you’d been unprepared for the emotions that spilled out of you. 

tears slipped down your face as her hands worked along your body, massaging, lengthening, coaxing. when she pressed on your hips, one hand steadying your back as she bent you forward, the fire that licked through your thighs wasn’t just physical. it felt like grief unraveling. a gasp had shuddered from your throat as she bent you, wet and small. 

your head bowed, neck surrendering as you let go of something you hadn’t even realized you were holding. she said nothing, only pulled you upright and held you straight. her thumbs pressed deep into the curve of your lower back. and then she trapped you there, steady, until you stopped shaking.

you’d never felt so exposed. you hated her, desperately. the next day, you returned.

“are you here, or are you somewhere else?”

her voice brought you back, cutting through the haze as you spun into stillness. her sharp eyes followed your every movement; her hair was braided tightly away from her face. you let out a slow breath, fingers brushing over the loose strands of your own undone bun. your toes flexed against the floor, grounding you.

“i’m with you,” you murmured.

it was a bizarre thing, your deference toward her. the words in themselves were an odd thing to say, but she didn’t comment. she only nodded, choosing to save her sharper critiques for moments when she knew you could bear them. today wasn’t one of those days. 

she could tell from the way you moved—raw and sluggish—that you were caught in one of those moods where you turned on yourself, uselessly cruel.

“good,” she said. “that’s where you should always be.”

“yes, ambessa.”

“again.”

you spun out, arms lifting as you rose to pointe. your calves screamed, your ankles throbbed, but you didn’t stop. you wouldn’t. ambessa stepped toward you, silent and deliberate, her hand pressing firmly against your stomach. she guided you, her touch steady, pushing until your back curved deeper, the stretch pulling at your muscles with a delicious ache.

a sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, as you exhaled shakily. your lips parted in silent anguish.

“i understand,” she said, her voice softer now, her thumb brushing against your side like an unspoken promise. “just breathe.”

this body was a monster to you. 

it had betrayed you, defied you, broken you in ways that were undeserved. you had loved it, used it, but still there were days it felt foreign—like an unwelcome thing you had to drag through the hours, an intruder you could never escape. even now, as ambessa’s hands pressed against your trembling core, your knees chose to abandon you and buckled.

the ache surged too fast, too sharp, and you stumbled forward, your body instinctively seeking refuge. you fell into her.  

her arms caught you easily, steady and sure, and for a moment, you stayed there, leaning into the solidity of her frame. her body, like yours, was carved with power—muscle over bone, skin stretched taut from years of wear. it struck you, suddenly, how similar you were to one another.

“see?” she murmured, her voice low but unyielding, a vibration that traveled through you. “see how we are the same? this body you hate—this body you think of as destroyed—is no different from mine. you are not alone, and you are far from weak.”  

her hands didn’t let you go. instead, they held you tall, forcing you to bear the weight of her words.  

“i’m not a child,” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration, but not at her. at yourself. at the world. “this was my life. once. i was strong. i was capable. and now…”  

you trailed off, the silence heavier than anything else.  

“it isn’t anymore,” ambessa said firmly, her words like a blade. “and you must make peace with that.”  

your head snapped up at her, anger flashing in your eyes. “make peace with it? how? how would you make peace with losing everything you worked for? everything you were?”  

her gaze softened—not with pity, but understanding. she tilted her head, her scarred hands moving to rest on your shoulders.  

“you rebuild,” she said simply. “you take what remains, and you shape it into something new. you let go of the life you had, not because it wasn’t worth something, but because clinging to it will destroy you. you are strong. you are still capable. but the strength isn’t what it was. it’s what it is now. and now, you are learning.”  

you closed your eyes against the sting of tears, your chest heaving brutishly.

“i don’t want to start over,” you whispered, voice cracking. “i want it back. i want to go back.”  

ambessa exhaled, a sound heavy with both patience and exhaustion. her hand slid to your jaw, tipping your face up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes.  

“you can’t,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “what you had is gone. but what you are becoming—what you can become—is something greater. and you will not do it alone.”  

her words settled into the silence between you. you didn’t have it in you to argue. instead, you continued to let her hold you, her strength bracing yours. 

then you pulled away. 

you sat on the studio floor, your legs stretched out awkwardly as you packed your ballet bag. your fingers fumbled over the soft fabric of your cardigan, the worn ribbons of your pointe shoes. the quiet felt heavy, pressing against your chest like a dead animal. your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, distant and tired.  

ambessa’s presence was impossible to ignore. she moved silently, a relentless force of nature, and before you realized it, she was there—lowering herself to the floor beside you. her broad frame folded gracefully as she settled next to you, close enough that her knee brushed against yours.  

you looked at her through the mirror first. her sharp, regal features were softened by the dim light, her expression unreadable. your chest ached at the sight of her, and you turned toward her fully, unable to stop yourself.  

your hands reached for her face before you could think better of it, cupping her cheeks with a gentleness that surprised even you. her skin was warm beneath your palms, scarred and beautiful, and you felt her gaze settle on you, an invisible blanket.  

“you,” you whispered, the word trembling as it left your lips.  

then you kissed her.  

it was tentative at first, a soft press of your mouth against hers, but when she didn’t pull away, you deepened it. your lips moved against hers, searching, desperate. your hands trembled as they slid from her face to her neck, to her shoulders, tracing the strong lines of her body.  

you kissed her neck, her hands, each touch more tender than the last, until the emotions bubbling beneath your skin finally escaped you. tears streamed down your face, silent and thick, as you pressed your forehead against hers, your breath hitching with the force of it.  

ambessa let you cry. her hands, steady and sure, came to rest on your shoulders, grounding you as she always did. when she spoke, her voice was low and steady, each word deliberate.  

“life,” she murmured, “is like a hive. at its center, there is both the bee sting and the honey. you sting yourself constantly, over and over, until you swell with pain. you must allow that to die off. only then can you taste the sweetness.”  

you shook your head, your tears falling faster now, but there was something in her tone, in her words, that stilled you. she studied your face for a moment, her thumb brushing lightly over your jaw, and her next words came softer.

“i will still want you,” she said, as if your desire had been sitting quietly between the two of you, open and magnanimous.

you pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, your hands still trembling as they rested on her shoulders. your voice was low, but the words came with a bruising force.

“there is no honey at the center,” you said, your voice breaking. “only you.”  

her lips twitched, a hint of a smile breaking through the seriousness of her expression. 

“then i will be the honey,” she said, her tone steady and sure. “let me remind you of what you’ve forgotten—of who you are, and who you can still become. let me into your mouth,  let me drip across your teeth.”

your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your hands falling to your lap as you searched her face. the words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable:  

“will you—can i be your favorite?”  

the question hung in the air, fragile and desperate, a callback to the days when being the judges’ favorite was everything. when it meant proof of your worth.  

ambessa’s expression softened, and she dipped her head.

“you already are,” she said, the words unyielding. “it is only natural.”  

her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. “there is no need to compete. not for this. you are enough as you are.”  

her words freed something within you, a bird whose wings had been bound tightly for years. your breath hitched again, but this time, it was laden with relief.  

slowly, she picked up the cardigan you’d cast beside you, wrapping it carefully around your shoulders and tying it snugly over your chest into a perfect bow. then, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.  

“you will always be my favorite,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure. 

you bent forward, listened to her heart. it didn’t skip a beat. she was honest and strong. you, for the time being, were weaker but wanting. 

© hcneymooners.

[yellowjestertfs]

Altered State: Part Five

Alright second to last part! Read Part Four, Three, Two, and One here if you haven't. Just a warning, part is more action oriented then the others but still has the same tf and progression elements. Currently I am in the process of writing the epilogue which is a bit of a mess at the moment so the last part might be a few weeks (sorry) but hopefully not too long. Anyways enjoy and thanks for reading!

Edward's mind worked feverishly, processing his thoughts as fast as he could with his 19 intelligence. Part of him wanted to blow off the quest. The possibility of being a level one wretch, if defeated, seemed too big a risk to take. On the other hand, the love potion offered as a reward was excruciatingly tempting. The decision was made for him, Leon scooped him up in a firm fireman’s hold and then still naked, sprinted out the door and into the cool night, moving at a pace Edward couldn’t quite believe. 

His strides were effortless and long, and even with the added weight of Edward, Leon made an amazing time. The row of frat houses that everyone called “fratrow” was four blocks away. Leon reached in just less than a minute hardly even winded. 

It was fairly obvious which house was Sigma Alpha’s. Besides having the Greek letters emblazoned on its front, it was the only house on the row with loud music and voices coming from the backyard.

Leon set Edward down and it took a few seconds for him to get his bearings. According to Trent’s texts, the Alpha Sigma frat bros weren’t letting anyone leave. Edward had no idea why but he couldn’t imagine it was for any good reason. The backyard, enclosed by a seemingly hastily erected high wooden fence was where everyone was congregated. Two frat guys with their arms crossed stood outside, seemingly guarding the entrance to the backyard, and also the way out. 

Just above the fence, Edward could see the tip of a white-domed object peeking out. It looked like a satellite dish connected to the top of a projector screen connected with random metal scraps and duct tape. Sure enough, Edward could see a place on the side of the large two-story house with loose wires sticking out of it where the satellite dish was presumably held before.

The seconds ticked by. They had less than sixteen minutes remaining. “Alright, I’ll check out the backyard, and see if I can get everyone out. You need to go into the house and see if you can find Hunter or Alvis and shut down whatever it is they are planning” Edward said, the pressure making him decisive. As the one with the highest intelligence, if only by a few points, he felt responsible for making a plan. 

“You want us to split up?” Leon asked incredulously. 

“We have to. Besides you're much better equipped to do actual fighting.” Edward found his eyes drifting over to one of Leon’s strong pump pecs. He suddenly remembered that Leon was naked, a very easy thing to forget with Leon’s Naked Confidence perk. That meant he wasn’t carrying a phone, not that that would have been useful with Edward’s being basically dead. “If either one of us is in trouble make a bird sound or something. 

“A bird sound, are you for real?” Leon asked rolling his eyes. The comment broke Edward’s moment of seriousness and he moved to punch his friend in the arm, but then remembered the effect of his touch and thought better of it. 

“Shut up. Just call for help.” They now had only fifteen minutes left. “We got to go, stay safe.”

Edward pounded a fist against his muscular chest and faint hollow metallic sounds rang out. “Don’t worry about me.” Then in a genuine tender way, Edward hardly ever heard his friend use “you be safe too. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Edward felt his heart skip a beat. This was not the time to be having these feelings but god damn was Leon good at giving mixed signals. “Bet you I’ll get take out more frat guys than you.” Leon challenged.

“Suck my dick” was all Edward said. 

“Fine, but if I win you have to suck mine.” Leon shot back. 

“You're so on,” Edward said as the two snuck forward. Edward headed for the backyard, and Leon went up the stairs and to the front door of the frat. Once Edward got closer he could make out the two frat guys stationed at the door. He didn't recognize either of them. They looked young, maybe recent pledges. Edward wasn’t overly surprised when he saw they had floating names above their heads with classes and levels, but he thought it would make this a whole lot more difficult.

Luckily neither of the two guards was very high level. The one on the right had a floating tag above him that labeled him as Broden, a level four Jock. The other guy was a stranger. He wore a suit jacket and tie on top and only his boxers on the bottom. His name was Harold and he was only level two in a class called an Oil Baron. Edward shuddered to think about what type of boosts a class like that would give, though if these classes followed the pattern his and Leon’s did, which was hardly a guarantee, they hopefully wouldn’t have any abilities or techniques unlocked until level five. 

Edward adopted his best approximation of a bro walk and strode forward with all the confidence he could muster. The two young frat guys seemed as if they were about to say something but stopped when they saw the name and level above his name. 

“Yoo, what are you two bozos still doing here?” Edward asked in a dumb voice. He overdid it a bit and sounded like a caveman instead of a frat guy, but he hoped his high charisma and perks might make up the difference.

The two pledges just looked at him blankly. “Hunter sent you two out to get more duct tape like an hour ago. He’s going to be so pissed.”

“But bro, Hunter told us not to leave this door,” The Jock said, in a slow confused way that made it clear his class wasn’t giving him any boosts to intelligence.

“Don’t worry about it bro, I got it. No one gets in or out, I know the deal.”

The Oil Baron opened his mouth to object but a loud crash interrupted him. Edward suspected that was Leon making his entrance. Subtly had never been his strong suit. 

“Shit bro, that’s Hunter. You can’t let him find you here, I’ll cover for you don’t worry” Edward said. Fear instantly burned in both their eyes. Without another word, they both sprinted into the night. Edward waited until they were a few streetlights away before he opened the makeshift gate. The quest “defeat lesser members” changed from 0/26 to 2/26. As Edward watched that number went up to 3/26 then 4/26, presumably thanks to Leon. Edward would have to work faster if he wanted to win their bet.

Inside the party was packed like sardines. Judging from Trent’s texts Edward had expected people to be clambering to get out by the door but most people still danced and drank, unaware that they had been unable to leave in the first place. Edward navigated his way through the backyard. It was then that Edward missed the invisibility of being ugly. The second he entered the party nearly everyone was all over him. Strangers started to grind up on him, offered him drinks, and tried to chat him up. It made moving through the crowd a nightmare. His perks didn’t help matters either. His pheromones caused the people flirting around him to progress to making out and caused those already making out to progress further into outright indecent behavior. Edward did his best to avoid skin-to-skin contact but it was inevitable in a crowd so packed, he heard several yelps as people suddenly felt orgasmic pleasure on their skin anywhere Edward’s hands accidentally. 

Eventually, Edward reached the bubble of relative calm around the projector screen. He saw Trent and Tag talking to each other in low voices by one side of the fence, clearly unaware that the way out was open now. Edward briefly thought about going over to them but he knew neither would recognize him and he didn't have time for lengthy explanations. He needed to get everyone out, and quick. 

Edward glanced and saw two more frat guys standing by the door to the house while four others worked on the projector, taping wires down to the ground that led inside the house. All six had names, classes, and levels above their heads. Edward stopped walking realizing if he could see their level then they could undoubtedly see his. Sure enough, a level nine Keg Commander started walking towards him briskly. He looked older and in charge, and Edward doubted he could resort to trickery to deal with him like before.

Edward ducked back into the crowd, hoping the chaos would obscure his floating name tag. No luck, the Keg Commander along with two other floating tags, a level six Crypto Bro, and a level seven Hype Beast moved towards him. Edward pushed his way through the crowd much less carefully this time. More couples, affected by his pheromones got nasty with each other right there in the backyard, which Edward hoped would make the chase more difficult for his pursuers.

Edward heard a crash from inside the house. He checked the counter to see it was now at 6/26. Edward hoped Leon was being safe. He heard another noise, like a loud bubbling. Edward risked a glance behind him and saw the level nine Keg Commander wave his hand over a beer keg, the thing started shaking violently before it took off into the air like a bottle rocket. 

“Shit” Edward yelled reflexively, diving sideways into a group of guys who all let out sounds of shock and moans of pleasure as Edward pressed up against them. Edward’s dodge hadn’t been necessary. The keg went wide, flying over the party and landing with a bang in the neighbor's yard, spraying the gathered crowd with beer as it flew.

Edward kept moving, circling back around to the wall of the house. Behind him, the hype beast was letting out loud whoops and hollers that seemed to be riling up the crowd even further. The music started to build up to a beat drop and people started to mosh making it even harder for Edward to move through the crowd. Edward spied the source of the music, a giant speaker, at least the height of his chest. One of the frat guys, a level five DJ stood by it, making strange motions with his hands which caused the music to change in volume rapidly in a nauseating way. A plan formed in Edward's mind, with only thirteen minutes left he needed to be bold.

Edward made his way towards the speaker, careful to avoid the Crypto Bro who tried to cut him off. Once he was close Edward rolled up his sleeve and dove out of the crowd, running for the plug connecting the speaker to the outlet. The DJ tried to grab at him but Edward twisted so that he grabbed his arm instead. The bare contact with his flesh and the intense pleasure that resulted from it was enough to cause the DJ to drop his grip. Edward grabbed the plug and yanked. The loud music suddenly cut off, and there was a second of silence as the whole party looked toward the speaker questioningly. Edward took advantage of that moment. He climbed on top of the speaker and screamed a word as loud as he could manage. 

“Flee” he yelled, the word echoing loud and powerful as he imbued it with the energy of his Silver Tongue technique. His energy pool which had fully regenerated in the hours he had spent with Leon now dropped to 14/19. 

The effect was immediate and jarring. Every single person at the party fled in a wave emanating from Edward. The exit quickly clogged as hundreds of people all tried to leave the party at once. Edward watched horrified at the stampede he had created as students pushed at each other to get out as if death itself were chasing after them. Some students in their haste to get out decided to climb the tall fence, jumping off it into the neighboring yards before continuing to run into the night. 

In a matter of seconds, the entire backyard was empty and silent. Edward stood on the speaker, amazed at his own power. Though he had feared someone might be trampled it seemed that everyone had gotten out safe at least. It was a good reminder to him though that he needed to be careful with this power. 

His words had caught up a fair number of the frat guys causing them to flee as well. The counter now read 15/26, though he wasn’t sure how many of those he could take credit for. Still, Edward suspected he was kicking Leon’s ass when it came to their bet. He also noted that the quest item “Put a stop to the legion’s plans” was still marked as incomplete, meaning whatever it was they were planning involved more than just trapping students in their backyard. Edward thought of the love potion again and felt a nauseating mix of hope and guilt.  

Edward didn't have long to revel in his victory. From the second floor, he heard another loud crash then the unmistakable sound of an Owl’s hoot, or Leon’s best attempt at one, in truth it sounded more like a fart noise.

In a second Edward was off the speaker and racing toward the house. He entered a side door into the kitchen. Six low-level frat guys were inside, protected from Edward’s ability by the thick glass door. All of them were looking at the empty backyard in shock. They were even more shocked when the level eleven Snake charmer ran in. 

Edward didn’t have a thought in his head except the safety of his best friend. “Defend me,” he said, embossing the words with another ten of his remaining energy points, leaving him with only four more. Instantly the frat guy's faces went from confused to blank as they robotically followed him into the hallway and up the stairs as Edward followed where the wires connecting to the project screen led.

Edward raced upwards two stairs at a time towards the sounds of voices and struggles. A circle of frat guys, most of them level ten or higher encircled the kneeling form of Leon. Two purple and white bands bound both of Leon's wrists to the floor despite the obvious effort he was exerting to free himself.  A level fourteen Pledge Master with a sinister look to him held a red solo cup to Leon’s lips and was saying something in a low scolding voice too soft for Edward to hear with all the blood rushing in his ears.

Edward let out a yell as he and his frat protectors charged forward in the doomed defense of his best friend.

-

Leon strained at the colorful bamboo restraints binding him to the floor. The harder he struggled the tighter the traps bound him. He activated his Inner Strength ability and wrenched upwards, it was a bad idea. The sudden burst of strength was redoubled against him and he was forced to his knees, naked body beginning to sweat with the effort. Above him the level thirteen Prankster laughed. He had the same flawless complexion as Edward that indicated a high charisma, only his features looked mischievous and impish, nothing like the kind angelic features of his friend. 

Leon still found it hard to believe that god of a man he had slept with was Edward. And yet when he looked hard he could see the resemblance. His eyes had the same gentle genuineness in them, his lips, now thick and oh so kissable, still twitched the same way when he wanted to laugh but was trying to be serious. 

The Prankster above Edward let out a laugh that bordered on deranged as he watched Leon struggle. He and his other two frat brothers circled around Leon, a level ten Drug Pusher, and a level eleven Vape Mage, moved aside for a new figure. This one, a tall skinny man with dark hair and dark handsome features that made it clear he was also a charisma class, walked forward. His dark perfect eyebrows arched sharply, making him look like a cartoon villain. The floating name tag above him listed him as a level fourteen Pledge Master. Leon recognized him as one of them men who had been with Hunter earlier that day during the with the Dagorhir players, thought he hadn’t been nearly so handsome or intimidating when they had first clashed. Those events now felt like a lifetime ago. 

His hands glowed with an eerie brown light then a red solo cup appeared in them, full of a sloshing brown liquid inside Leon didn’t think was beer. “We have a new pledge I see. Hunter told me to watch out for you.” He took a step closer and a strange aura washed over Leon, he suddenly felt as if he would do anything this man told him to. It made him sick, nothing like the warm feeling he got from being around Edward. “You can join our frat if that's what you really want, but first don’t you know that new pledges have to suffer.” 

Leon blanched. He hoped Edward hadn’t heard the bird sound he had made when he was first trapped. He hoped Edward would escape now while he could. These frat guys were too powerful, too high-level. Leon had no idea how they had managed to gain so much experience in such little time. They must have received their classes after Leon and Edward had and yet even the two Leon had faced downstairs had been nearly his equal in level.

Leon supposed he and Edward could have been faster if they had been more efficient, and hadn’t spent several hours fucking like bunnies. Still, if those were to be Leon’s last moments on earth he was endlessly glad at how he spent them. He only wished he had told Edward how he felt, though that would require him to first understand what it was he felt, which was mostly confused.

Since the day they met in freshman orientation, Edward had been his best friend, his partner in everything. There had never been even a hint of anything more though. Leon was straight and Edward wasn’t interested in him besides. Now their dynamic had shifted. For Leon it wasn’t so much a big deal he had slept with a man, sure that was new, but his attraction for Edward burned just as bright, if not brighter than any he had for a woman. The part that was making him so on edge was the fact that it was with Edward. 

Leon knew with the way Edward now looked he could have any man he wanted. There would be no reason for him to want anything more than something physical with Leon. And yet Leon could swear that he saw something more than lust in those expressive eyes. He knew it was probably wishful thinking.

It wasn’t particularly worth dwelling on though, considering Leon’s current predicament. He had been so cocky when he had first entered the house. The door had been locked but a quick Inner Strength-enhanced kick busted the thing wide open.

Inside were two frat pledges, just sitting in the entranceway as if they had been expecting him, one, a level eight Louisville Slugger gripped a wooden baseball bat in his hand. The wood was a strange ashen gray as if it had been petrified to stone. The level eight swung his bat hard into the side of Leon’s face.

Leon’s whole skull rung like a bell as the bat that felt more like stone then wood bounded off his armored skull. The man moved to swing again but Leon took a step forward and shaved the man causing him to crash back into the stairwell. The other guard, a level six Tattletale made no move to attack, instead he opened his mouth, and a grating blaring almost robotic alarm came out, filling the whole house. Leon dashed forward and slammed his hand over the man's mouth, muffling the sound but not cutting it off. Leon wrapped his hand around the man's throat and squeezed, careful not to be too rough with his prodigious strength. Within seconds the Tattletale was unconscious. Leon made sure the man was still breathing before moving out of the entranceway. The counter was now at 4/26, meaning he and Edward were tied. Leon needed to move fast if he wanted to win and get another of those life altering blowjobs from Edward. 

Still he paid one last glance at the two unconscious men and noticed something odd. Both of them seemed to be changing, shrinking. The level nine Louisville Slugger was a muscular dude, tall and clearly athletic. Yet as Leon watched the guy's muscles deflated and he shrunk in height. The level above his head changed to seven to six counting down to level one as his stats drained away. Finally, as the guy started to look plainly average his class switched to one called a “Wretch” and he was defeated further, losing muscle height and likely some charisma based on the way his face twisted unattractively and broke out with acne. The Tattletale also lost much of his charisma-enhanced beauty and became an equally pathetic level-one wretch with his friend. Leon flashed back to the note about the quest being a correctional one. He supposed the two were considered defeated and therefore suffered the punishment of failing the quest. It was a horrifying fate. Leon imagined the muscles and perks he had so come to enjoy draining away and found the thought terrifying. He couldn’t go back to his old life, he wouldn’t.

Both the Tattletale, and the load noise of kicking in the door, had ruined any chance of surprise Leon might have had. He assumed other members of the frat would soon come to investigate the noise, meaning he needed to move. Leon wasn’t exactly sure where though, several hallways with bedroom doors on either side connected to the entranceway, along with hallways connecting to a massive kitchen and eating area that ran along the back of the house. A large lounge for hosting parties or doing school work was to Leon's right, and a set of stairs right in front of him led upwards, presumably to more rooms and potentially another lounge or hang-out area. Leon wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, either of the bosses he supposed. He poked around a few of the hallways but they were all abandoned and all the doors were locked. Eventually, Leon decided he should go upstairs. 

That was where the trouble started. Up the stairs, there was a long landing that let off to lots more rooms. In the hallway stood four older-looking frat brothers, all with classes and levels above ten. The Prankster and the Drug Pusher noticed him first, while the Vape Mage, and level twelve Beer Pong Champion stood with their backs to him.

Leon didn’t wait for any of them to react. He rushed forward and shoved the Beer Pong Champion hard. The man went flying into a wall behind. The attack caused Leon to come into proximity with the Drug Pusher which caused his head to start to feel funny, like he was drunk and high at the same time. The effect was unbalancing enough that the Prankster was able to grab his hand. He activated some sort of ability or technique and suddenly through his hand waves of  painful electricity washed through Leon’s whole body. It felt like one of those prank hand buzzers only one hundred times more powerful. His whole body shook, completely unprotected by his armored skin. Leon was too stunned to react as the Prankster used yet another ability on him which caused those bamboo restraints he currently struggled against to bind him to the floor. Leon struggled for a few seconds before he spotted an open window that faced the backyard and made his best approximation of a bird call. 

The three frat guys looked at him funny but they were too cocky with the thrill of their catch that they didn’t seem to care. They called out for the pledge master who came out of a hallway a few moments later. Now Leon looked up at his eerily perfect face and felt a wave of revulsion and loyalty at the same time.

“Let go of him!” Leon snapped his head away from the frat guy's face as he heard a familiar voice yell.  Edward raced up the stairs trailed by six frat guys all also running. Leon could only watch as Edward flung himself at the Pledge Master, skinny body bringing the other man to the ground. To Leon’s surprise, the frat guys who Leon had assumed were chasing Edward rushed into his air, charging their own comrades with first and foot and claw in the case of one guy with the Party Animal class who turned into a puma wearing a party hat before Leon's very eyes. The Vape Mage opened his mouth and a stream of light pink smoke emerged, quickly filling the room and limiting Leon’s slight to only the area directly around him. 

Leon could just make out as the Pledge Master flipped Edward onto his back, pinning him. Edward brought one hand up to rest upon the Pledge Master’s cheek almost lovingly. The man screamed out in orgasmic pleasure and Edward used that moment to break free of his hold and flip him onto his back, the two disappearing from view into the cloud of cotton candy-smelling vape. 

Around him, Edward’s frat guys fought against their own compatriots. Though they had the numbers advantage they were younger, and less high-level, lacking the truly influential perks and abilities to match their opponents. Leon continued to struggle in vain, wanting desperately to join the fight and come to his friend's air.

Edward’s presence was like a strong clean gust of wind, clearing away the other aura and effects that had been clouding Leon’s thoughts, allowing him to think clearly for the first time since he had been trapped. He took a deep breath of the cotton candy fog. All of these classes were thematic. The ability he was trapped in was from the Prankster class, which meant it had something to do with pranks. Leon looked down at the colorful interlocking bamboo pattern of the trap and realized it looked familiar. It reminded him of those Chinese finger traps sold for tickets at arcades or behind glass counters at roller rinks. The trick to those was simple, the harder you pulled the tighter it bound. All Leon had to do was relax. He let his arms fall loose and felt the bounds on his wrist loosen, he relaxed further and suddenly he was free. 

Leon swung about in the cloud of cotton candy smoke. He caught a brief glimpse of a few different frat guys fighting with each other but in the chaos, Leon couldn’t tell which were friends and which were foes. He needed to find Edward. 

At level eleven Leon’s Inner Strength cooldown was at 109 seconds. Though he has used it to try to escape the countdown was almost up. Leon waited the last few seconds then activated the ability, feeling strength surge into his body. Leon splayed his large hands wide, admiring his now considerable wing span, then brought his palms them together with a colossal force that would have likely broken both his hands if not for his armored skin. 

A loud boom shook the room and a pressurized gust of air ripped from his hands. The force wasn’t enough to do more than startle any of the men fighting each other on the ground but it was enough to temporarily clear away the lingering vape cloud in the room. 

Leon instantly spied the Pledge Master and Edward struggling near the stairs, the Pledge Master sat on top of Edward using some ability that made his hands glow brown and seemed to have paralyzed Edward. Leon wasn’t capable of feeling fear anymore but he felt something distinctly like it as he saw his friend helpless on the ground, that and a bubbling red rage he had never felt. As the room once again filled with smoke from the Vape Mage’s mouth Leon rushed towards the pair. He ripped the scrawny Pledge Master off of Edward’s body as easily as he would lift an insect and flung him down the stairs. The man tumbled down, sprawling at the bottom in a heap, out of the fight but still breathing. Leon watched the first level tick away and knew he would soon become a harmless wretch. 

From the ground, Edward looked at him with a mix of awe, fear, and relief. Slowly he regained control of his limbs and then sat up and wrapped his arms around Leon, squeezing tightly onto Leon’s muscular back. Leon laughed feeling an overwhelming flood of relief. He hugged his friend back tight, not caring that the skin-to-skin contact made his naked dick instantly hard. 

Leon continued the embrace until he felt something bounce off his butt. He turned around to see the Beer Pong Master, who he had thought was out of the fight, lift his hand and shoot a ping pong ball out of it with considerable force. More and more shot out in a jet towards the two friends. Leon positioned himself to block Edward from the barrage. The plastic balls stung but his Armored Skin prevented them from doing any real damage. Leon rushed forward and delivered a hard punch to the gut that finally defeated the man who began to turn into a wretch as well. The counter was now at 21/26. Whatever Edward had done outside and to control those guys had taken out a majority of the lesser frat guys. Leon was so relieved that he didn't even care he was losing the bet. He would be glad to give him friend a blowjob if they lived long enough for that.

The pink fog slowly began to clear and he and Edward were left facing down the remaining five frat guys. Edward’s method of control seemed to have warned off and the two remaining, a level seven Party Animal and a level nine Bully looked pissed. Leon readied himself for a fight. He didn't relish the idea of being mauled even with his armored skin but he would do it to protect Edward.

He was spared the trouble. A beam of purple energy shot from Edward’s hand and into the Party Animal. The frat guy's eyes glowed the same purple shade for a second, then he adopted a look of pure horror and ran right past him and Edward down the stairs, a visible wet spot in his pants. Edward had told him about his new emotion bomb ability but he hadn’t known it would be so potent.

Not wasting the opportunity Leon raced forward and quickly subdued the Vape Mage with a punch, then the Drug Pusher with a knee to the chest, then did a quick uppercut which finished off the Bully who went down to the ground groaning as he slowly became a level one wretch.

That left Edward and Leon facing only the Prankster. The sinister-looking man tried the same hand buzzer trick on Leon again but this time he was ready. He grabbed the man's hand and slapped it onto the guy's own chest causing him to electrocute himself instead. 

Finally, alone Leon and Edward stood in trashed hallways breathing heavily. Edward had a small cut on his arm and a blossoming bruise on his perfect symmetrical cheek which gave his handsomeness a rugged quality, a quality broken by his wide innocent grin. “So you want to suck my dick now or later?”

The quest marked itself up to 26/26 and he and Edward both heard a ding as they leveled up. 

“You have reached level twelve. You receive attribute points based on your class: +3 Strength, +1 Charisma, + 0.3 Intelligence.” 

“You have gained a class perk.”

“Punchable Face: If moved to sufficient hostility, creatures are more likely to attack you than your allies. Note: This effect scales off both Strength and Charisma. Note: Creatures with higher intelligence will be more resistant to the effects of this perk.”

Leon felt the now familiar feeling of leveling up as each of his attributes increased. The intelligence gains Leon got at each level were too small to be perceptible, though he supposed he noticed a small difference now that he had an 11.3 compared to his previous base of 8. His charisma boosts per level were larger, though also hard to exactly quantify. When Leon had looked hard in the mirror he had been able to pick out ways his face was a bit more handsome than it had been, thought it was hard though to know what was due to his charisma boosts and what was from the changes to his body composition. Still, his eyes were brighter, his features more symmetrical, and his skin clearer than it had ever been before. Despite gaining twelve points Leon didn't feel like he had gained Edward’s easy effortless charm, though his jokes that always sounded so funny in his head but never when he said them out loud did seem to be landing more frequently and he was starting to pick up on social cues that would have once flown over his head. This level up Leon actually did think he could feel something shifting in his face though he chalked it up to placebo. 

His strength though Leon was sure he could feel. His body stretched another quarter of an inch taller, and he gained another five pounds of muscle, all packed evenly onto his body. Though he didn't store fat according to his Metabolizer perk his muscles didn't have the dehydrated malnourished look of extremely low body fat. Instead, they all looked full and strong, tight on his dark skin. His biceps were like softballs, his legs were becoming thick as tree trunks, and his abs seemed to only get tighter, six-pack verging on an eight-pack. 

Besides him, he saw Edward experience a level-up. It was the first time he had actually witnessed it, last time he had been too busy fucking his friend's ass to see. Now he watched as Edward's already perfect features became somehow more perfect. Leon had thought his skin was flawless before but it now took on a somehow otherworldly shine. His teeth became blindingly white and even straighter, making the grin he shot Leon somehow more adorable and endlessly distracting. His jaw looked like it could open a beer bottle and his hair was so gold it could be spun from hay. Watching his friend change mixed with the proximity to Edward’s pheromones made Leon hard, his massive penis springing forth with the velocity of a jouster.

Leon opened his mouth and then closed it. Edward's beauty had always been distracting before but now he was stunned stupid by his charisma. The act of talking seemed too complex when he looked at Edward so he just sort of moaned and drooled a little. 

Edward had that far-off look that meant he was reading his notifications. He looked up and laughed at Leon’s cross-eyed expression. “Oh god. That’s my new perk.”

“New perk?” Leon asked. His face was all but paralyzed which made his words come out slurred and almost unintelligible. This only made Edward laugh harder. 

“It's called Dazzling Presence. Apparently, it gets less effective the more time you're around me.” Leon felt himself slowly come back to earth, though not fully. He found it intensely difficult to look away from Edward or think in more than caveman “me horny” thoughts.

“I think it's supposed to temporarily stun people when I first interact with them to give me the upper hand. It should wear off soon. Edward squinted his eyes as if he suddenly noticed something, he took a step forward so their faces were only inches apart, a move that was not helpful in Leon’s attempts to break free from his horny hypnotic state. “Oh my god your face!” Edward started laughing again, harder than before.

“What's wrong with my face?” Leon asked concerned. “I got a perk called punchable face.”

“Punchable face?” Edward asked still laughing. “More like a kissable face,” he leaned in and pecked Leon on the lips, the touch making Leon somehow harder. “Go look at yourself in a mirror.”

Leon had enough control now to hobble to one of the communal bathrooms, he stepped over a groaning unconscious level-one wretch, maybe a man who had been the Vape Mage or the Drug Pusher, it was hard to tell them apart now. In the glow of the automatic lights, Leon saw what Edward had meant. He groaned to himself. He had a serious case of Jock Face. He looked like a cartoon high school bully, with thick eyebrows, a broad forehead, head the shape of a square. The mustache he now had was not helping. Small dark beard hairs had already started to grow on his cheeks making him look like a dad coaching little league baseball who took the game too seriously. Leon felt the urge to punch his own reflection.

“It's not that bad” Edward called from the hall, knowing what his friend's reaction would be.

“I look like a Neanderthal!” Leon shouted back. His body was one thing but he had never expected this class to affect his face so much. 

“No, you don’t!” Edward said encouragingly coming into the bathroom to stand beside his friend. “I think it’s fitting. You look like a sexy Viking.”

Leon turned to look at Edward. His presence was still extremely distracting but Leon could now at least have a conversation with his friend. “It's worth it I guess. The perk says people are more likely to attack me now than you.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Alright, knight in shining armor. If I remember correctly you were the damsel in distress.” 

“Yeah,” Leon said awkwardly color flushing his cheeks, the blush looking strange on his now hyper masculine face. “I’m sorry about that, I got overconfident.”

“No I’m sorry,” Edward said grabbing Leon’s hand in his own. “I sent you in there alone. That was stupid of me, from now on we stick together.”

Leon nodded wordlessly, unable to get anything past the lump in his throat. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, not fear, he wasn’t capable of feeling fear but he still felt anxiety and guilt and a deep love for his friend. Suddenly he felt it all crash down on him. Everything that had happened in the past ten hours. Even with his Animal endurance perk Leon was exhausted. He realized he hadn’t eaten since that one protein shake so many hours ago. He couldn’t imagine how Edward felt.

Leon glanced at the countdown timer and felt his heart skip a beat as he saw they only had eight minutes left. There would be time to talk to Edward about what he was feeling and where their friendship stood after they completed the quest. 

The main hallway on the second floor led to a set of large wooden double doors. Leon was ready to kick them down but they were unlocked. He poked his head in and wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. There was a large room, obviously meant for holding mixers and formals. A long bar sat on one end of the room, a dance floor near it. Leon’s attention however was more focused on the contraption directly in front of him. 

It looked like a doomsday device out of a science fiction B movie. A mishmash of repurposed tech and scrap metal welded into a crude but ominous tower of technology. Strips of LED screens, ripped from discarded tablets and smartphones, lined the upper frame, flickering in erratic patterns, casting eerie reflections off the exposed metal. At its core was the familiar “Altered State” video game cartridge, nestled in a nest of wires and circuits that branched out to hacked Wi-Fi routers and a jury-rigged motherboard, all held together by zip ties, duct tape and sheer ingenuity. A large fully extended TV antenna was on the top of the contraption which buzzed and pulsed every few seconds with electricity. Leon hadn’t a single clue that the machine did but it looked intensely complex and dangerous. He had played enough video games to know that to complete the quest he and Edward probably had to destroy the thing. 

There was something else in the room that caught Leon’s eye. A figure paced back and forth in front of the machine, snorting and grunting occasionally as he moved. Leon had seen a lot that had challenged his understanding of reality today but the name tag above the creature's head sent him reeling. Hunter, level seventeen Roided Out Berserker. The Frat president was unrecognizable. He had always been a large man but Hunter now was a giant, eight feet tall, muscles like swollen overly ripe fruit, huge and crawling with protruding veins that looked like worms, glowing a sickly green. He was naked with an inhumanly large penis and a matching set of balls hanging in-between thickly muscled massive hairy legs. His arms were like veiny boulders, his neck a thick stump, and he had a massive roid gut ballooning out his belly.

His face, never particularly handsome was now a twisted mask of permanent anger, more animal than man, and the spark of cruel intelligence that once lived behind his eyes was gone replaced by a feral mindlessness. 

Quietly as he could Leon closed the door and pulled Edward away from it. He relayed what he had seen much to Edward's disbelief. 

Edward’s disbelief grew as Leon told him his hastily constructed plan. “Didn’t I just say we were going to stick together? You're going to get yourself killed if you go in there alone,” Edward insisted trying to talk him out of it. 

“It’s the only way. Besides you can always step in and save me like before,” Leon joked trying to ease his friend's tension. He wasn’t sure if his confidence was warranted or if it was reckless arrogance from his No Fear perk but he just knew he couldn’t bear to see his friend in danger again. Before Edward could further talk him out of it he walked over to a window and ripped down the ratty red curtain, then he marched back over to the set of doors and got ready to open them. “Be safe” Edward said looking at him with those deep soulful eyes.

“I will,” Leon said back tenderly. He wanted to say more, to sweep Edward off his feet and kiss him but the timer was at six minuets. There would be time after if he survived. Besides if they did this right his quest reward might just help Leon show Edward exactly how much he meant to him.

Leon burst through the double doors, red fabric trailing behind him like a cape. “Hey Hunter you ugly motherfucker. They say imitation is the more sincere form of flattery, but I think for you it might just be fattery.” The joke didn't actually make any sense but Leon stopped for a second to admire his on-the-spot wordplay. Maybe his higher charisma was having more of an effect than he had thought. 

Hunter growled and snorted like a bull, staring at Leon with undigested loathing as Leon entered the room. “Me fucking kill you.” He said in deep halting English, like he was Frankenstein’s monster. He and Leon started circling each other like two cats in an ally waiting to pounce. Leon’s new Punchable face perk ensured that Hunter kept his attention on him and not Edward not so subtly head peaking through the doorway. Leon hoped if Hunter did decide to go for Edward he would be stunned by the Snake Charmer's new perk but even so, he was determined to keep the Berserkers attention on himself. Leon waited until he had circled the whole room and his back was to the machine before he shouted.

“Now!” Due to the fast regeneration from his high charisma Edward had regenerated just enough energy points to perform one last Emotion Bomb. A beam of red energy leaped out from his hand, striking Hunter from behind and causing his eyes to glow red for a split second.

Any human part of Hunter left died at the moment as he was overcome by an overwhelming wave of anger and became fully animal in his desire to kill Leon. That was the result Leon was hoping for. He knew he wasn’t stronger then Hunter but he could hopefully be smarter, if he survived long enough. Hunter charged forward hands extended to tear Leon apart. Leon flourished the red fabric in front of him like a matador before jumping away at the last second to avoid the man’s charge.

As Leon had hoped Hunter charged straight into the device Leon had been standing behind. The whole contraption shook with the force, small electrical bits falling off the side. A few of the more ominous-looking red wires connecting to the game disk in the center disconnected but the contraption maintained its structural integrity. Hunter recovered and had somehow grown angrier. Leon flourished the red cape and began to circle again trying to lead Hunter into another charge at the machine. He shouldn’t have known it wouldn’t be so simple.

Hunter activated an ability. It was one similar to Leon’s own Size Up ability except rather than growing in overall proportional size the ability only affected Hunter’s muscles. The veins prominent on his body grew a brighter shade of green for a moment then each one of Hunter’s muscles ballooned to inhuman size, making the man even more grotesque. His dick grew to at least three feet in length and likely would have brushed the floor if it didn't become erect. 

Leon hoped the sudden growth might have decrease the big man's speed but it seemed the opposite was true. Hunter charged at him like a bullet and Leon just barely jumped aside at the last second.

As Leon’s plan crumbled to dust he realized once again Edward had been right. His plan, lure Hunter into charging at the device, toppling the contraption and trapping his foe all in one ironic blow, was a stupid one. The device at the center of the room was large but not nearly large enough to keep the now colossal Hunter pinned. Leon suddenly felt like David facing Goliath without a sling. Still, he had to look as if he was in control lest Edward rush in and do something stupid. Leon at least had a chance against the massive Hunter, but Edward would be trampled in seconds with his unenhanced strength. 

Leon shot Edward’s worried face peeking through the door a cocky wink and gave his makeshift red muleta a showman-like shake. He thought briefly about activating his own size-enhancing ability and decided agains it, he couldn’t overpower Hunter, not when the man had five levels on him. Sizing up would only make him a easier target and the last thing he needed was to get pinned down.

Hunter charged again. This time Leon moved too late, though he dodged Hunter’s attempt to grapple him he was clipped by Hunter's shoulder as he spun away. The slight contact was enough to send Leon skidding across the smooth wooden floors like a rag doll. 

He had no time to recover from the crushing blow. From the floor, he heard the sound of rushing feet. On instinct, Leon activated his Inner Strength ability and launched himself into the air just in time to soar over a rapid charge from Hunter. With momentum and reflexes of the ability, he flipped once in the air before landing on his feet, crouched low next to a windowed wall ready for Hunter’s next attack. The loss of his only safety net for the next 108 seconds would have made him fearful if he could still be. Instead, it made him focused, and ready. In the tumble, he had lost a scrap of red fabric, and seriously injured his left shoulder even through his armored skin. He tried to move his arm and felt a shooting pain, dislocated or broken he couldn’t tell which. He would have to hope his animal endurance would heal it soon. 

Hunter’s charge that Leon had dodged taken him right into the far wall and he had gone through it, revealing a messy bedroom on the other side. Leon guessed that once he started charging it was hard for him to stop. Maybe his original plan had some merit after all. 

Hunter turned back around eyes insane with rage, spit flying from his mouth as he screamed and grunted unintelligibly. For a moment Leon felt bad for what this game had done for him but then he remembered how Hunter had been in life and felt the pity leave him. “Hey, Cassie just called and she said she didn't want to date an Incredible Hulk knockoffs.” Leon wasn’t sure if it was just the loud noise attracting Hunter attention or if the beast could accurately process the jab thrown his relationship. Either way he charged big bare feet tearing up the floor as he rushed at Leon with inhuman speed.

Leon took a deep breath, crossed his fingers, and gave one final wink to Edward, hoping his friend would remember him fondly if this didn't work out, then he ducked and rolled.

Hunter sprung like a cobra. If Leon had still been there the hit would have broken every bone in his body. Leon however was not there, and instead, Hunter charged right into the wall. It was a testament to his strength that he took nearly the whole side of the second floor with him, glass, drywall, bricks, and electrical wires all fell down in a shower of debris as Hunter fell to the dark ground below. Leon had to throw himself forward so as not to go down with the collapsing floor under his feet. He heard a crash then a slash then silence. 

Edward rushed forward and the two of them peered through the giant hole in the house to the yard below. Hunter lay with his swollen belly up floating in the frat's outdoor hot tub, his body having crashed through the tiled roof of the hot tub like paper. Leon watched as Hunter shrunk, first as his ability ran out then as the levels fell away. Hunter began to look like himself again before shrinking further into a scrawny ugly thing labeled as a level one wretch. The quest “Defeat Legion boss” updated itself to 1/2, though the “Stop the Legion’s plans” still remained at 0/1 which was concerning.

“That was amazing,” Edward said voice tender. He looked down at Leon’s shoulder and sucked in a breath. “Does it hurt?”

Leon looked down and winced at the way his muscular shoulder was twisted at an unnatural angle. “Yeah” he answered truthfully laughing weakly. Leon took a deep breath and prepared to pop his shoulder back into place. He didn’t feel fear but he still felt pain.

Edward stopped “may I?” He asked reaching out his hands. Leon nodded and Edward placed his hand on the hard dark metallic surface of his skin. Instantly the pain was replaced with an orgasmic pleasure that felt warm and intensely comforting. Gently at first then harder when Leon didn't flinch Edward wrenched Leon’s shoulder back into its socket. 

Leon smiled up at him. “Thanks,” he said simply, he was too tired to think of a joke or anything more to say. 

“I should be thanking you,” Edward said cheeks flushing. The two of them weren’t normally like this. They normally teased each other like brothers and let the mutual love they had for each other go unspoken. Now all the changes had them flitting about like scared middle schoolers. Leon wanted to wrap Edward up in a big hug and tell him it was alright but it was clear his friend had more to say. 

“Look I know this might not be the time, but I have something to tell you,” Edward said. Leon still found it hard to do anything but think about fucking when he was around Edward but he sensed his friend was serious and tried to pay attention. “I know everything is happening so fast, and our relationship just became physical which I feel bad about. I really didn’t know it was you I promise, but well I like you Leon, I have always liked you and not just in a friend way or a sexual way but also like you in a -“

Leon blinked and suddenly his friend was gone. He heard a faint scream getting more distant. His brain took an embarrassingly long time to process what had just happened. Edward had been right in front of him saying, well Leon couldn’t bring himself to think about what Edward was going to say, when he was ripped through the hole in the wall. Something metal had grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him into the air like a fish on a line.

Leon rushed to the opening and couldn’t quite believe what he saw. On the street a giant thing had Edward in its hand, no claw. It was a machine Leon realized. It looked like it was made from a refrigerator, parts of a playground and a car, all deconstructed and reconstructed into a giant vaguely humanoid mech. Leon felt his blood boil as he saw a red bumper with a familiar license plate. Mother fucker had made his car into a mech. 

Leon’s rage continued to build as he saw Edward struggling to get free. His friend was saying something to the person inside but he was too far for him to hear. Leon looked back at the machine still humming behind him. He grabbed a loose brick from the rubble of the caved-in wall then hurled it at the center motherboard as hard as he could, hoping that would put a stop to whatever the contraptions purpose was. Then he activated his Size Up ability, growing 70% his original size, spine expanding, pecs ballooning, legs growing longer and thicker, penis growing to well over a foot long. His strength doubled and Leon for the first time felt the intoxicating rush of true power. He knew he now had to be one of the strongest man on the entire planet. Leon needed more. He activated his inner strength ability, taking his already monstrous strength to godly levels if but for a moment. Leon bent his legs and then jumped into the cold dark night cracking the floor underneath his feet. He sailed in a long ark landing just behind the mech with a powerful earth shaking impact.

The street outside was cold but his blood boiled hot. Leon couldn’t make out the face of the mech’s driver but he could see the name tag floating above its head, "Alvis, Level 22 Technocrat.” Leon smiled humorlessly and balled up his hands into fists now the size of thanksgiving turkeys. He was going to get back his roommate, his best friend, even if he had to rip apart his other roommate and every machine in the whole city to do so.

[cmdrfupa]

Home For The Holidays

I’ve been working on the last chapter but Tis the season! I hope the holiday is kind to you all. Love you much 💞💞🎄🎁

Stand alone but part of the Upheaval AU.

Post Shibuya Nanami x Reader

The faint scent of cinnamon reached him first, pulling him from restless dreams. He blinked up at the ceiling, the familiar texture barely visible in the soft morning light. Kento was home now—after months in the hospital, the sterile white walls and endless beeping monitors were behind him. And yet, the weight of it hadn’t lifted.

Shifting carefully, he pushed himself upright, wincing as the tightness in his arms and chest reminded him of the scars. They were always reminding him. The knit cardigan you’d left on the chair caught his eye, its loose fabric promising some comfort, even if it couldn’t hide everything. He slipped it only slowly, careful of the settling grafts that were integrating with the skin.

The smell grew stronger as he made his way to the door, one slow step at a time. His hand brushed the wall for balance, the cool plaster grounding him. Cinnamon… and something else. Pine, maybe? “Honey?”

When he reached the top of the stairs, he froze.

Golden light danced across the walls, spilling into the hallway from the living room below. He gripped the banister, leaning forward to catch a glimpse, and what he saw made his breath hitch.

The room was transformed. A tree stood in the corner, its branches draped with twinkling lights and ornaments he remembered from years past. Stockings hung from the mantle, both your names stitched in soft loops.

His eyes landed on the small chalkboard near the stockings, the words written in your careful hand: *Welcome Home.*

The warmth of it all—so gentle, so thoughtful—made his chest tighten. But it wasn’t comfort he felt. It was guilt, rising fast and sharp. You had done this for him, spent hours creating this perfect scene after tending to him at every turn and for what? He hadn’t even wanted to leave the bedroom this morning, let alone face a holiday that felt so far removed from who he was now.

He took another step down, hesitating halfway as the sound of movement came from the kitchen. You appeared, a smudge of flour on your cheek with a small stack of waffles already forming on the counter near you.

You stopped when you saw him, lips curving into a small, hesitant smile.

“You’re awake,” you spoke softly, setting down the whisk you’d been holding. Your gaze flicked to the tree and the lights in the living room, then back to him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it, but…” you trailed off, gesturing toward the room.

Kento opened his mouth but found his voice caught somewhere in his throat. He shook his head. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

“I know, I know..” you replied, stepping closer. “But I wanted to. And we’ve gotta eat so…”

He looked at you, at the effort you’d poured into every detail, and the guilt twisted deeper. “I don’t… I don’t deserve this, dove.” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “Not after—”

“Stop.” You voiced, soft but firm, pulling his gaze back to you.

You stepped closer, your heart breaking at the pain etched across Kento’s face. His scars were visible, yes, but it was the ones inside that worried you most.

“Kento,” you said gently, reaching out to brush your fingers against his hand. He flinched at first, but you didn’t pull away. “This isn’t about deserving anything. This is about celebrating the holiday. Celebrating the ending of another year while welcoming a new one. It’s about us.”

His eyes searched yours, guarded and uncertain, but you didn’t look away. “I know this isn’t easy,” you continued, your voice steady. “But this is still our home. You’re still you. And no matter how much you might feel like things have changed, there are some things that are remaining the same.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t empty. Slowly, his hand relaxed beneath yours, his grip tentative but real. You squeezed lightly, a silent reassurance. “I have cookies baked and ready for munching. Waffles are hot and ready for your favorite berry syrup and when you’re ready, the French press is set up in the living room for a strong cup. Okay?”

Kento quietly led you to the couch and sat you down before sitting next to you.

The glow of the tree wrapped around you like a soft embrace. He picked up the santa mug and smiled. “If you don’t mind.”

You poured his coffee, watching as he held it carefully, his shoulders beginning to ease. The faint scent of cinnamon lingered in the air, blending with the quiet sound of the lights humming on the tree.

It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t need to be. For now, this was enough.

[mixes-archive]

SUPER GRAPHIC ULTRA MODERN GIRL ✰

Arcee x fem! human! reader

SUMMARY: Being unabashedly feminine while working in a male-dominated field is EXHAUSTING. But thank Primus Arcee and you have each other to cope.

TAGS: winners possibly winning, cute fluff, the stove is not even on yet-burn, shitting on men a bit in spirit of this song

A/N: I BET THIS WASNT THE COMBACK ANY OF YOU WERE EXPECTING LOLOL - I won’t bore anyone with a long story, my ask box is open if you’re curious about anything.

This is my first fic in years, and my first for Transformers, so I hope its atleast somewhat enjoyable??

Arcee was, well…

confused, if an Autobot can be, at herself and her emotions.

Servos tracing the round part of her helm as she loses herself to her thoughts - about you.

The little human who had somehow, some way, crawled itself into the deepest parts of her processor. And with no great difficulty either, she was almost enamoured with you since she’d first laid her optics on your little form.

Finding reason for that wouldn’t be as hard as anyone would think either - for being such a tough and independent bot, having purely masculine friends doesn’t get tiring. (After you’d told her about the human equivalent of her experience, she was glad she lacked a sense of smell)

Now, she loves her crew, she really does, but first being one of the few feminine-presenting cybertonians and now seemingly the only one on earth (with exception of Airachnid) - it would have been hard not feeling lonely, while also admired by too many.

It was overwhelming and so, so lonely.

They’d previously brought a few humans in on their situation, to put it mildly. Unfortunate souls that couldn’t overlook the brightly coloured, obscenely tall and heavy machines shifting almost magically, in a badly hidden spot.

Of course, luck had been on their side, because they were all willing to stay silent, sometimes even helping out with stuff the autobots couldn’t do themselves.

Yes, they were lucky. But Arcee did not feel that way because as it turned out, they’d all ben men.

Not that she’d treated them as anything less than because of that of course, but she still couldn’t help but crave that true connection of someone likeminded.

So when Bumblebee came crashing into their hideout with a frilly, pink… thing in his servos, she was excited.

You’d looked so adorable, sharing her colour-way even, as if sent by Primus himself, saying: ‘Here Arcee, for all your troubles.’

Arcee made it no secret that she’d claimed you as hers. From the start she was by your side, giving you a comforting glance when Optimus gave you the run-down, and having her servo on the small of your back when you’d eventually met all the others. The others don’t think they’d ever seen her talk that much.

And the sentiment wasn’t one-sided either.

As much as it was upsetting to be basically kidnapped by a (admittedly very cool-looking) Camaro because you’d spotted it- him shifting to bend into a humanoid shape to pet a cat, you did have to admit it wasn’t a terrible situation to be in. At least you now had the confirmation that aliens wouldn’t cause harm to you.

Though once you’d been informed that really, they hadn’t planned on staying on earth as a long as they did, and really, really couldn’t afford to be known about on a bigger scale, you felt sympathy for them.

And something deeper for the nice, pink robot comforting you through all these plot-developments.

You ended up chatting so much that the night ended at dawn, along with a private lesson in motorcycling from Arcee herself. Turned out you actually lived close by and you promised each other to meet again soon.

Maybe it was the excitement of finally meeting someone that you clicked with so well and so quick, maybe the tiredness clouding your brain or maybe the fact that the first person you’ve found yourself attracted to is a 9 foot tall robo-woman, but you kissed her display before running into the safety of your house.

If she had speakers, Arcee is certain the entire neighbourhood would have woken up to hear Katy Perry playing.

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 7

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: non-explicit smut, Geta being an oblivious jerk

Chapter word count: 2.7k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Daphne didn't come back for a long time. Geta finished bathing and put on the clean tunic she had set aside for him, and still she hadn't returned to the hut. Feeling slightly worried and wondering if he had offended her somehow, he made his way outside to look for her.

A full moon was casting its light over the hills. Every stone, every leaf was painted in silver, and the lingering heat of the day felt less intense in such a cool, tranquil world. Even the insects were quiet. The only sound that broke the silence was Geta's own wheezing breath—the bath had tired him out more than he realized—and a splashing sound coming from the cistern. He turned toward it.

Daphne was sitting on a rock by the cistern, with her back to him. She was bathing, just as he had, by pouring water over herself using a dipper.

Looking at her, Geta suddenly understood why poor Actaeon had risked the wrath of Diana and death by his own hounds to spy on the goddess. He'd thought that Daphne looked like Aurora in the light of the rising sun, and now, under the moon, she had transformed yet again into Luna. In that silvery light, her body glowed with its own radiance, and drops of water on her skin sparkled like diamonds, so he couldn't tell where her flesh ended and moonlight began.

His arousal came back with a vengeance, a stiffening fire coursing through him, throbbing, aching, and he stood stock still on the hillside overlooking the garden, too mesmerized to even turn away. Had he been stronger, had it been any woman other than Daphne, he would not have hesitated to storm down to the cistern and take her right there and then, but a little voice in his mind told him that Daphne would not take kindly to that. He reminded himself that she was the only person standing between him and certain death, and it would make things rather awkward for him if he were to force himself on her. But it was more than that. Even now, sitting naked as she was, something about her struck him with awe, something stern and imposing, not physically but spiritually, something he dared not touch, lest he sullied it.

Just as he'd decided to return to the hut and take matters into his own hands, Daphne called to him, her voice ringing loud and clear in the stillness of the night. "Romulus? That you?"

Hades. How did she know? Had he made that much noise coming into the garden, or had she eyes on the back of her head? Now would be the time to apologize for spying on her, or even to sneak away as silently as he could, but he only mumbled, "Yes."

"Are you going to stay there?"

"Why?"

He couldn't see her face, but from the sudden turn of her neck, he could guess at the flush creeping up her face. "Because I like to get up, and I've forgotten my towel," she said quietly.

Her confession sent a lightning stroke through him. She was in his power now. He could do what he wanted with her.

But what did he want with her, exactly?

"I can fetch it for you," he said. His voice came out breathier than he'd expected, probably because the walk down to the garden had tired him. If not, why was his heart beating so heavily in his chest?

"Please."

But he didn't. Instead, he sidled down the garden path to the cistern. This close, the scent of soapwort was stronger than ever, making him lightheaded. He could just see the slope of her shoulders, the curves of her waist and hips, a hint of the soft swells of her breasts behind the washcloth she was clutching close to her chest. Her skin looked so smooth and white, but he imagined it would be cold and hard as marble upon touch.

"Are you still there?" she asked, after a moment.

"... Yes."

"My towel?" she prompted.

He balled his hands into fists. What was the matter with him? He had never been cowed by a woman before, and he'd be damned to the pits of Tartarus if he was to be cowed by this peasant woman now. A new but familiar fire—the fire of rage—rose within him and momentarily blotted out the fire of lust. Who did she think she was to order him about so? Did she think she could reduce him to a blushing, blubbering mess just because she was sitting before him naked? Or was this a clumsy attempt to seduce him? By Jupiter, he had seen thousands of naked women. In his bed at the palace and at the camps, in the baths, at orgies, even in the Colosseum, as female gladiators or criminals facing punishment. Only rarely did they move him. He would show her that just because he'd taught her to read and held her hand and comforted her, it didn't mean he was some village boy for her to toy with as she pleased.

The cistern was dug into the side of the hill, and with Daphne's position, right on its edge, facing the slope, the only way he could face her was running down the slope himself. He refused to go to the trouble.

"Turn around," he said.

She stiffened. "Why?"

"I want to look at you."

"...Why?" There was no anger or fear in her voice, only genuine curiosity.

"You've seen me naked, but you won't let me see you?"

It took a while for her to answer. "That's different," she said. "You were ill and I had to wash you. I took no pleasure from it."

"Who says I'm taking pleasure from this?" he said, unable to stop a smirk.

Daphne twisted her head around. Just as with her voice, there was no anger in her eyes, but the look in them wiped the smirk off his face. It was a searching, probing, penetrating look, seeking something only she knew.

"You didn't fetch the towel," she said.

"I told you, I want to look at you." Now he knew what he wanted with her. He wanted to see her squirm in front of him. He wanted to see those sharp eyes veiled by her dark lashes. He wanted to see those strong lips quivering in fear and more. He wanted to tame her. He wanted—Hades, he just wanted her.

"Turn around," he said again.

Without realizing it, he had used his imperial voice, the voice that once sent senators and soldiers scrambling to do his bidding, the tone that once sent concubines and prostitutes to their knees. Yet Daphne barely even blinked. Still keeping her eyes on him, she got to her feet and stood facing him. Before Geta could take a good look at her, or indeed even feel the thrill of having won, she raised her hand, removed the pins holding her hair, and, with one shake of her head, covered herself with its dark mass. Then she picked up her things and stalked away, her head held high, her hair streaming behind her like a cape.

Alone on the hillside, Geta watched her disappear into the hut. He didn't quite understand what had just happened. Somehow Daphne had bested him, though at what, he couldn't tell.

***

She shouldn't have talked about Galen, Daphne reflected, as she sat by the kitchen table in her chiton, combing out her damp hair. It had brought back so many memories, both sweet and painful, and they, in turn, had stirred up her feelings so much that her mind became muddled. Why else had she—had she—why, she'd practically exposed herself to a man, a stranger!

Her cheeks flushed when she remembered the moment by the cistern again. So he'd wanted to look at her, hadn't he? Well, she hoped he'd had his fill.

Once she'd gotten her clothes on, Romulus had slunk in after her and gone to bed without a word. At least he'd had the grace to look embarrassed. Daphne wanted to feel embarrassed as well, but the heat burning her up from the inside was quite different from shame.

She had been feeling that heat for a while now, ever since that morning they watered the garden together, perhaps even before that, ever since that disastrous day her father came looking for her and Romulus had pulled her into his arms. But it was definitely after the morning in the garden, when she started to notice how his eyes followed her with an unmistakable look, how his hands lingered on her, how he found every excuse to touch her or brush up against her. The fool probably didn't even know he was doing it.

Daphne knew she ought to feel offended, but somehow, she couldn't muster up the outrage. It certainly wasn't the first time she received such looks of lust from men, and certainly wasn't the first time she felt some stirrings within her either—after all, she was a healthy woman, past her prime perhaps, but not so old as to be completely devoid of want and urges. Only she'd had so few chances to pursue those urges. She wouldn't pretend that she had been celibate since Galen's death, but her love life in the past eight years had consisted mostly of quick, largely anonymous encounters with travelers who passed through the village or whom she met on her own travels, never with anyone so close to home. It was bad enough that her father was the village's drunk; she didn't need to gain a reputation as a trollop as well.

Sometimes, she wished she could remarry and not worry about her reputation, but she couldn't give up her independence, no matter how precarious it was, for such flimsy security. Most men looked at her and only saw a widow, an easy mark for their lust, nothing more. The Adala scribe was the only man whose intentions had been serious and honorable, but he had wanted her to move to town with him after they married, and she couldn't leave her hut and her work to become a housewife. And of course, there were the potential husbands that her father kept throwing at her, but most of them were his drinking and gambling cronies, and that would simply be trading one kind of prison for another.

But with Romulus, it was different. Since Galen, she had never spent so much time, close, intimate time, with a man who was not family. True, she didn't know anything about where he came from or who his people were, and he was exasperating and suspicious and possibly dangerous. Yet there was something in his eyes, something infinitely sad that sent stirrings to her heart, quite different from the stirrings that his touches and his looks sent to her loins. He tried to hide it beneath his usual scowl, but she could see it, perhaps because she often felt that sadness herself. It made her want to reach out to him, hold him, comfort him, and have him comfort her.

And then tonight... She had never talked about Galen with anyone, only her grandmother, who had been a widow herself and understood not just the grief but also the fear of finding oneself without a place, without a purpose, the disappointment of having to return to one's parents and going from being a wife to being a daughter again. Romulus probably didn't understand it, but he'd tried, by Hera, he'd tried. When he put his hand over hers, she'd almost burst into tears. It had been so long since anyone held her hand. Such a simple gesture, but it had endeared him to her forever. It didn't help that his back was there, so broad and sturdy, and the hollow between his shoulder blades was just the right shape for her to place her cheek. The moment their skins touched, a sudden wave of desire had crashed over her and settled everywhere—in her chest, her veins, and between her legs—burning with such a fire that it frightened her.

That was why she'd gone to the cistern. She'd thought that a cold bath would quench that fire.

It hadn't.

She'd heard him shuffling down the garden path, of course. She'd known he was standing there, watching her. And so she'd called out to him, just to see what he would do. Only when he hadn't done anything, she'd let her fear win and covered herself up again.

Daphne glanced at the closed door to the bedroom. What was he doing behind it? Asleep, or thinking of her as well? Back at the cistern, what would she have done if Romulus hadn't simply stood there and watched her with those dark, dark eyes? If he had pulled her into his arms, if he had kissed her, if he had done more than that, would she have welcomed it?

She asked herself all these questions, and the answer was "yes" to all of them. She liked him, for all his moods and mysteries. And—for Daphne was honest and pragmatic—there was the reason of convenience as well. Nobody knew Romulus was staying with her, and he would soon be gone, so a tryst with him would pose no threat to her way of life or her reputation as a respectable widow.

The fire continued to rise within her. She pushed the tip of her hairpin into her palm and pressed her knees together, trying to find some pressure for relief, but there was none. There was only the fire, pooling, pulsing in her lower belly.

Well, who would judge her? Not the dead. Not Galen, who had kissed her so tenderly before he left for Caledonia and told her not to wait for him. Not her grandmother, who Daphne believed had taken plenty of lovers herself after her own husband passed away from swamp fever, making her a widow at twenty-five with two young children. As for the living... they couldn't judge what they did not know.

She dropped the hairpin onto the table, letting her hair flow free. Then she got up, strode across the room in a few decisive steps, and opened the door to the bedroom.

The moon was dipping low now, leaving the lamp in the front room as the only source of illumination. Romulus was in bed but not asleep. She could tell he wasn't asleep, because even in the dim glow of the lamp, she saw his shoulders tense up the moment the door creaked open. But he didn't move, didn't turn around. He lay still as a statue, his face to the wall, breathing slowly, expectantly.

She took another step into the room. "Romulus?" she called. Her throat was dry. She swallowed, and swallowed again. "Could you help me unfasten my chiton, please?" she said. "The pin is stuck."

He turned around and sat up. He looked at her then, really looked at her, fixing his eyes on her instead of just stealing glances over his shoulder and behind tree branches. She doubted he could see much with the light of the lamp behind her, but she could see him, and the look in those dark, unfathomable eyes took her breath away and pinned her to the spot.

He got up and came over to her side. He didn't ask why she was taking her chiton off after she had just bathed. He didn't say a word. Silently, he fumbled with the pin on her shoulder. There was a tiny ping of the pin coming free, and the linen drape fell down, baring her breast. She heard him suck in a breath.

"The other side too," she told him. The other pin came off, and her chiton fell to the floor with a soft swish. They were standing close now, so close, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. She wondered if he could hear her heartbeats, which were so fast that she couldn't breathe.

His own breath felt hot against her neck. One of his hands closed about her waist, steering her to the bed, while with his other hand, he shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. She could no longer see anything, only feel his fingers stroking her, scorching on the cool skin of her belly and her thighs, feel the coarse linen sheets under her back and the softer linen of his tunic against her taut breasts, making her long for his hand, or better yet, his mouth there, and then feel the heat and weight of his body as he pulled the tunic up and pushed into her.

A small cry escaped her, more from surprise than pain. It didn't stop him, and she was glad, for she did not want him to stop.

Memories of her wedding night came to her mind then, unbidden—she a girl of seventeen, her poor Galen only a year older, the two of them giggling together, nervous and giddy. They'd planned to get married, but not for another year or two, until they had saved up enough money to properly start a life together. They'd thought they would have all the time in the world. What fools! That spring, Galen had been conscripted, and when they learned the ban on marriage for soldiers had been lifted, they had hastened to get married, not wanting to wait until Galen came back gods knew when. Even then, it hadn't occurred to either of them that he might not come back. They had been too young, too full of hope. It was a quick ceremony, witnessed by her grandmother and Master Kavos, who no doubt had been dragged there by the old woman on threats of death. Then Galen had carried Daphne over the threshold of his hut as traditions dictated, while her grandmother chastised them both for laughing.

Three days later he'd left, and six months later came the news he had been killed somewhere in the cold and faraway hills of Caledonia. Galen had been an orphan and left no will, and when some distant cousin turned up and kicked Daphne out of the hut, she'd had no choice but to go back to her parents. If it hadn't been for her grandmother, she would have been living with her parents still, with a heart full of grief and a barren belly, for they had not been together long enough for Galen to give her a child.

Three days. Only three days they'd had, just long enough for her to know what it was like to share her bed with someone else, but not long enough for her to memorize his shape or his touch.

None of her other lovers had reminded her of Galen. So why did Romulus? Why was her body rising to him as if it had always known him? Why did his touch, clumsy yet so confident, stir in her such a familiar fire? Why did her legs fit around his waist and her heels dig into the back of his thighs as if they were made to be there, why did her arms wrap around his back, pressing him to her as hard as he was pushing into her? And why, when he finished, leaving her with only a shimmering sweetness that hovered just beyond the edge of her skin, did she cling to him, wanting more?

But he was already retreating from her, body and mind. She held on to him, running her hand through his hair, damp with sweat, searching for his mouth, wanting to plant a kiss there, to seal this connection, this intimacy they'd just shared, but he turned away, and the kiss landed on the side of his neck instead. He pushed her off, as though her kiss was a bee's sting, and sat away from her, pulling his tunic down.

She lay there for a moment, sweat cooling on her skin, chilling her despite the warmth of a summer night, while he sat at the edge of the bed, a dark shape in the dark room, a stranger once more.

So he wasn't any different from her previous lovers then. Just another man.

When the silence became unbearable, she got up with a sigh, collected her chiton from the floor, and went into the front room.

The fire was reduced to embers, so she stoked it up and put the kettle on. While the water was heating, she cleaned herself up, put on a fresh tunic, and dug around the shelves until she found the jar of wild carrot seeds. It was running low—she must remember to gather more this autumn—but there should be enough, as long as none of her patients needed to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy. She ground up a handful of seeds in her mortar and added it to a cup of boiling water. Then, sipping the drink, she retreated to her cot, watching the garden outside the window under the murky half-light of the setting moon. A part of her hoped he would come and join her, but another part of her was relieved that he didn't. He was a stranger, she reminded herself. He would be gone soon. It would not do to get attached to him. What had just happened between them was an act of impulsion and empty passion, born out of loneliness, nothing more.

The Romans did use wild carrot seeds as a sort of "morning after" pill. I chose it instead of the more commonly known herbal remedy of pennyroyal because apparently wild carrot seeds are safer. Don't quote me on that though!

I'm taking a break from Christmas through to the New Year, but I will be back in a couple of weeks. Thank you for all your support so far, and see you guys soon!

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

[sol-lar-bink]

Halaro New Ref!!! Halaro New Ref!!!

A revised, finalized look, and a lil deeper look at his electric magic (: ... I prooobably should have designed another outfit for when he's on Venostar, but the Casual look will work for now.

More info under the cut!

Name- Halaro

Age- 25

Gender- Male (He/Him)

Species- Floralian Spider

Sexuality- Bisexual

Occupation/ Job- 

During Sectonia's reign= Royal Cleaner/ Butler

After the events of Triple Deluxe = Works at Castle Dedede & also works with Puffe as part of Haltmann Works Company, Galactic delivery services.

Future - Works with Medea in her bakery 💙🧡

Bio- Halaro is a Floralian spider who grew up in Wild World with his parents. He worked for Sectonia for a few years before her demise in Triple Deluxe. Afterwards, he remains at Castle Dedede, only for adventure to drag him away from Planet Popstar and explore the galaxy!

Halaro himself is a pretty standard spider that you'd expect from Floralia. Black horns with cool ivory tips, a band of orange separating the segments. He has 6 orange diamond shaped spider eyes, two pure white eyes and orange fangs. His hair is a warm grey color, and is rather spiky, pointing downwards. The top of his hair is smooth. Six floating hands in white gloves, with a dark orange cuff and triangle pattern on the back of the gloves- and the thumb too.

As a kid he was happy and bouncy, always making friends, happy to help others... but once he got older, his personality shifted (Mostly due to his first jobs boss being such a terrible person). He keeps to himself, he gets easily irritated, he can get loud if pushed over the edge, but deep down he's still trying to be nice. The people he does care for help bring him out of that secluded shell.

Story: He grew up with his mother and father in Wild World, living in an jungle beside one of the many golden pyramids. His father was a chief leader, while his mother came from Royal Road. Halaro was a wild kid, but as he grew, he became more interested in his mothers live in Royal Road. They would go to yearly festivals, and he loved them. This was the spark that made Halaro want to live and work there.

Fast forward to him as an adult, he worked at a blacksmith with a Bonkers boss who abused and overworked him. Despite living through this nightmare, he would eventually meet Taranza, who offered him a job in the castle as Halaro had unknowingly been tending to some of the castles pieces, including some of Sectonia's jewelry.

After two long years of waiting to get in... by the time he arrived at the castle, the Queen was no longer recognizable to him.

His time in the castle was tough, but leagues better than the prior job. He started out as a simple polish boy, but would quickly become one of the main butlers.

He'd befriend Taranza and Medea, one of the maids- as well as meeting his mirror counter-part, Halara, whom he pretends is a long- lost cousin or step sister... they could never agree on an idea.

After Sectonia's fall, and Dedede destroying the Dimensional Mirror, Halaro and most of the others end up living in Castle Dedede, after he so generously offers a place to stay while Sectonia's castle is in need of repair.

Life seems chill for once, until they realize Halara can't get home with the mirror being shattered. Its pieces cleverly scattered across Dreamland by Dedede, so that it won't harm anyone again.

Halaro, Halara, Medea and a People of the Sky (PotS) named Petalia go in search of the mirror shards. Halaro teams up with Marx at one point, which leads him to sneaking into a Haltmann Works. Delivery Ship, where he would be whisked away with one of the mirror shards in his pocket.

Puffe, the delivery driver immediately punishes them and takes them to headquarters, where Susie decides the two boys must repay their actions through work. Halaro gets paired with Puffe, while Marx gets paired with Pierce.

It would be this decision that leads Halaro and Puffe on a strange quest across the galaxy, finding mirrors of similar power scattered around the various planets.

One of such is Venostar, where Puffe's ship is attacked by a strange creature, crash landing on the planet and separating the two. It is on Venostar that Halaro meets Toxecia, Sylvette, Galene and the Mage Sisters; Zan Partizanne later teaching him electric magic, sensing a potential in him.

There's more to the stories to come, but I'll save that for later!

[callme-holly]

Hiiii! If you'd like could you do a dallas x reader who got all dolled up for him in a nice dress and makeup and gets a little shy from his reaction. Thank you!

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 [dallas winston x reader]

𝐚/𝐧 : kinda soft dallas?

The creak of the bathroom door cut through the silence, the hinges squealing in protest as you stepped out, your arms wrapped around your middle, shielding yourself from the chill in the air and your own insecurities.

It wasn’t that you didn’t feel good in the dress; you did; you felt the prettiest you had in a long time, with your hair curled and your make-up done just right. It was moreso the fact that the fabric hugged your figure a little too tight, and while you had no reason to be self-conscious, you couldn’t help the doubt eating away at you. 

At the sound of you entering, Dallas looks up from where he's sat on your bed, lounging against the headboard, a cigarette dangling from between his lips. His eyes flick lazily over your body, and a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls the half-burnt cigarette from his mouth, stubbing it out in the ashtray on your window sill. 

“Lookin' good, doll,” he croons, and as much as you want to believe him, there's still a sense of uncertainty in the back of your mind. You glance back down at yourself once again, not entirely convinced by his words. 

You want to believe him, but you’ve never been great when it comes to receiving compliments, and the look in his eyes, the way they sparkle with admiration, has your face flushed a soft shade of pink. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, running your hands over the bare skin of your arms, goosebumps trailing across your flesh as you do so. “Do you think it’s too much?” 

Dallas stares at you for a moment, a deafening silence following your question, until he breaks it a few seconds later with a scoff. “Nah. You look perfect, sweetheart.” 

He moves so that he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, reaching out and pulling you closer until you’re standing between his knees. One hand rests on your hip, the cool metal of his rings pressing against your skin through the dress, while the other comes up to pull your arms away from where they’re shielding your middle.

“You don’t gotta hide from me.” His voice is rough from the smoke, and he glances up at you with dark, hooded eyes. “You look gorgeous, baby.”

Your cheeks burn hot as he leans forward, lips brushing against your stomach through the fabric of the dress. Slowly, he worked his way up, his eyes never leaving yours, until he reached your collarbone. He lingers there, fingers gently ghosting up your sides, at you cup the back of his neck, unable to contain the smile that graces your features. 

“Stop it…” You laugh a little, and he gives a teasing smirk. He presses one last kiss to your shoulder before he releases you, standing with a stretch. 

“Alright. But I’m expectin’ a proper look later.”

You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, turning away from his roaming eyes to head to the door. “Whatever you say, Casanova,” you mutter, grabbing the handle and swinging the door open. You glance at him over your shoulder, raising a brow. “Come on. This milkshake isn't going to buy itself.”

Dallas chuckles lightly behind you, grabbing his jacket and trailing after you. “I’m sure, doll.” His arm finds its way around your shoulders, and you lean into him instinctively, allowing the familiar scent of cigarettes, leather, and cologne to surround you.