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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 11 days ago

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Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 2/End)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Switch!Jayce, Rough Sex, Biting, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Female receiving), Eating Out, Angst, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Size Kink, Jayce Has A Big Dick, Self-Hate, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Crying

Notes: A LITTLE LATE BUT AS PROMISED, I’m publishing the ending to this fic before the end of January (and the beginning of my surprise Valentine’s Day event 👀). This one is gonna be quite the emotional ride, so better strap in, fellas (PS: I SWEAR I love Jayce with all my heart I just love toying with his heart because I’m a monster)

(Chapter 1)

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed.”

‘Fuck you’, you wish you could spit back at Jayce. ‘What would you even know about what anyone wants in bed, you pathetic two-pump loser?’

It's extremely tempting, if only to see his face go crimson in frustration and embarrassment again, but you know his fragile little ego might not survive it. And no matter how much you'd like to deny it, he's right: you do want to know about what Viktor likes.

You want to know every single thing about Viktor so badly, it hurts.

You've fallen for him in the same way a forest fire burns: slowly, and then all at once, overwhelming, relentless, all-consuming. It's gotten almost painful to be near him in the last few months, your stomach contorting angrily whenever he gives you a witty smile or laughs at your idiotic banter. The desire for him to look at you, and only you, is searing your skin a little more each passing day; so much so that you wonder if there will be anything left of you but ashes by the time you muster the courage to confess.

And God, do you want to: the need to tell him how you feel has become a constant itch that's as painful as it’s unending. All it would take to quench these all-consuming flames are three little words, three measly syllables, a laughable eight letters.

Yet you just can’t say them.

Because underneath all the bravado you're always putting on, you're nothing more than a hypocrite, who is absolutely terrified of hearing his answer. Of seeing nothing but compassionate pity in those soothing golden eyes of his, a gentle ‘I'm sorry’ forming on his lips, and burning you alive once and for all.

So, you wait for a sign from Viktor: a word, a touch, anything that would make the risk of confessing more bearable. As a born engineer, you've always been pragmatic and logical to a fault; you simply won’t jeopardize your relationship with him based on insignificant data and hopeful speculations. Maybe it's nothing more than a spineless justification to let yourself wither away, but it's the best you, and your burning little heart, can do.

After all, something is comforting about staying in the unknown— in that state of limbo where there's no real acknowledgment of the nature of your feelings, or his. But the fire that is Viktor is relentless, ever burning, and it consumes you inch by inch, growing every minute you spend with him working side by side at the Academy.

It worsens more each time he remembers insignificant details about you: how you like a touch of extra cinnamon in your morning latte, how much you hate seeing your middle name used in the lab's paperwork, how you always fidget with your jewelry when you're stressed— little habits and quirks he somehow never misses or fails to offer a helping hand with.

You've been in love before, but never like this; and you doubt you ever will again. Viktor is the type of person you can only meet once in your life, a shooting star that graces the human eye every thousand years, just to disappear the second you look away, before you ever get the chance to tell it it's beautiful.

And then, there's Jayce.

Jayce, who looks nothing like Viktor, with his muscular frame, perfectly symmetrical smile, and sun-kissed skin.

Jayce, who is nothing like Viktor, with his annoyingly booming voice, total lack of social awareness, and oversized ego. Whose very presence signifies, at best, an incoming headache, and at worst, endless screaming matches and arguments over the most minor details.

Things hadn't always been that way with him. There had been admiration, at first, back when you had been accepted as dean Cecil B. Heimmerdinger’s newest pupil, and the fourth member of his elite team of post-graduates. He had more than his fair share of accolades for a man in his mid-twenties: many of his papers were cited in the highest calibre of academic journals, and he had a list of awards and scholarships almost as long as your arm. You had truly believed you would learn a lot from him.

It barely took a week with him for all your naive and bright-eyed delusions to come crashing down. Behind the pretty face and the accomplishments was nothing but arrogance and disregard for all the discipline you valued. It all came so maddeningly easy to him— school, work, looks—like effort was beneath him, or even worse, completely foreign to him.

He hadn’t been shy with his interest in you for a second, either. Between the corny pickup lines and the obvious stares at the meat of your thighs, Jayce hadn’t been quite subtle; but you had no endearment for men like him. A pretty boy whose grandiose romantic gestures were clearly an attempt to quickly get into your pants, only to leave you behind the moment your novelty had worn off. The type to take everything for granted, including women’s affection, and to never have heard a single ‘no’ in their life.

There was no way you were going to fall for it.

Yet the more drily you rejected his advances, the more Jayce seemed interested in you. It had to simply be the novelty of someone finally rejecting him and seeing his true nature that fascinated him. But it wasn’t love that he felt for you; it couldn't be.

People like him could love no one but themselves.

He would glance at you with desperate puppy eyes whenever he thought you weren’t looking, a shiny toy out of his reach. Every now and then, on one of his trashed design drafts, you’d find tiny pencilled sketches of your face with a surprising level of accuracy. He clearly took some pleasure in arguing with you over everything and nothing, and you'd lie if you said that you never got some enjoyment out of that dynamic.

You had let his resolve weaken you once, and only once, early into your arrival at the lab, and long before you had developed any feelings for the then much more reserved Viktor.

And it had been a mistake.

—

Those first few months had been gruelling for you: as the newest recruit, you did much more dull and tedious paperwork than any practical or creative assignments in the lab. It was hard, and the long hours of staring at nothing but the bright blue light of your computer screen made you dizzy; but you wouldn't have exchanged it for the world.

You had earned your place here by never being complacent, by refusing to see any task as below you or too difficult to accomplish. You had been a diligent student under the harshest of conditions throughout your life, and you would continue reaching higher and higher by working hard, and always proving your worth.

One day soon, you’d be standing at the very top of it all, with your wildest dreams accomplished; and it would be with the knowledge that you had made it there entirely of your own merit.

You had been surprised and apprehensive to see an email from Professor Heimerdinger that morning, requesting that you pass by his office. Heimerdinger was very much not the type to plan out discussions, preferring to randomly pop in and out of the lab to hold impromptu, casual meetings, so the atypically formal message had made you feel uneasy.

You were under the impression you had integrated into the program quite well, and that you had begun nicely bonding with your two lab partners. Although you had had strong reservations about Jayce and his attitude, and were still extremely on the fence about your opinion of him, his puppy-like charm had started to wear you out, and you had agreed to go get coffee with him during that weekend.

You had made it very clear it wasn't a romantic encounter, but a team-bonding exercise: an occasion for him to prove some of your unfavourable impressions of him wrong. Then, maybe, and only maybe, you'd consider the idea of a date with him; but he didn't need to know that yet, lest he’d let it go to his head.

For now, your focus was only on your appointment with Heimerdinger, and the anxious knot in the pit of your stomach.

You knocked on his door gently before coming in, finding the short, older man perched on top of a small ladder, nose-deep in one of the many books that lined every inch of the walls. The countless volumes adorned his office like multicoloured bricks, giving a cozy, yet slightly claustrophobic feel to the small room.

“You asked to see me, professor ?” you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice to appear more composed.

Heimerdinger raised his head in surprise, likely so entranced in the huge textbook that dwarfed his small frame that he hadn’t heard you come into his literary fortress—or even remembered he had scheduled a meeting with you.

“Ah, yes, dear girl, come on in and take a seat!” he exclaimed, closing the book with a loud ‘thwack’. He struggled a bit to place it back on one of the shelves as you sat to face his desk, eyeing his precarious position wearily. He, thankfully, managed to make his way down the creaking ladder without incident, landing on his feet with a slight wobble.

“The great, dangerous heights one has to reach to gain knowledge,” he mumbled pensively, a chubby hand running through his wild tuft of dusty blonde hair. “One would think that with twenty years of service here, the finance department could afford to invest in a less perilous stepping stool.”

He made his way to the other side of the desk, settling comfortably in his pillowy chair. He adjusted his thick, round glasses, his expression indecipherable behind the imposing white mustache that covered most of his lower face.

You immediately let yourself fear the worst, your firm conviction that you had been doing well since your arrival crumbling like a house of cards.

“Have I been performing… below your expectations, sir?” you asked abruptly, the anxious ball in your stomach tightening on itself.

Heimerdinger cocked his head to the side in confusion, frowning, his thick eyebrows shifting down like two fuzzy caterpillars.

“Now why would you say such a silly thing? You’ve been going above and beyond, from everything I’ve seen and heard,” he complimented with a reassuring smile. He gave you a sly wink, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension leaving your body like a puff of smoke. “I have an eye for exceptionally talented people. I wouldn't have recruited you if I hadn’t been wholeheartedly convinced of your capacities.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhaled, releasing a sharp breath you hadn't realized you were holding. So it was all a misunderstanding then. Everything was alright. “May I ask why you’ve requested to see me this morning, then?”

Heimerdinger only hummed as an answer, opening one of his desk's drawers and digging through a visibly messy pile of documents. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling out a single sheet of paper with a flourish, and handing it to you with no further explanation.

You grabbed it carefully, quickly looking it over with growing confusion: the bold title only stated your name, next to the words PROJECT TRANSFER.

“Here you go, all signed and completed,” Heimerdinger added with a casual wave of the hand. “I would have simply sent it to you by email, but protocol requires you to sign it in front of me. You know how bureaucrats get,” he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

The more snippets you caught of the document, the less you understood. ‘Personal request made by the student to be discharged from desk work duty for the Wyatt Project — Approved by team supervisor — Reason for request: Lack of affinity with the project and given tasks — Signatures of department head, team supervisor, and concerned student below’.

“I’m sorry, what… is this?” you asked slowly in hesitation.

The Wyatt project had been the most tiresome and dull assignment you had been given as of yet at the Academy, and although you often complained about it in your off time, you had never made any sort of official demand to be transferred from it.

“The discharge paper for the Wyatt project,” the older man explained, seemingly surprised by your lack of enthusiasm or recognition. “I was told you didn’t enjoy the busy work much and would prefer a change of pace. I’ll be putting you on the assignment corrections for the undergrads, which should be much simpler and less time-consuming.”

Your mind began racing chaotically, attempting to puzzle how a few unserious, nitpicky rants could have possibly made their way as an official demand to the dean himself. You barely registered the empathic nod he gave you as he cleared his voice, a sparkle of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

“Perhaps I was requesting a lot of you for your very first semester here, with an assignment as advanced as this. My apologies, dear girl. But do know this transfer is a rare exception, and I will require more receptiveness from you for future tasks.”

The slight pitying look he gave you made you feel like throwing up.

You'd disappointed him.

You had failed the expectations of the man who took a chance on you as his youngest pupil, and you weren't even aware of how you had done it.

“I—I mean yes, the Wyatt project is a lot of busy work, but I never—who told you I asked to be taken out?” you managed to stutter.

Who? Who could have possibly gone so out of their way to ruin the reliable and efficient reputation you were working so hard to build here? Your mind came up blank, reviewing the few people you might have said anything to, and not finding a single one who would so blatantly jeopardize your fragile new position.

“Why, Jayce,” Heimerdinger said as if it was entirely obvious. “As your team leader, he gives me monthly reports of the status of each project you're involved with. He was quite adamant about putting you off the Wyatt and onto an easier project.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face at the sight of your decomposing expression.

“Has… Jayce not discussed this with you?”

No. No, he hadn’t.

You barely remembered the walk out of Heimerdinger's office after that, fuelled only by a mixture of incomprehension and betrayal. With each step, it shifted into something much stronger, a fury burning from your core directed not only at him, but at yourself.

You slammed the door of the lab open, the plexiglass banging against the frame with a dull thud:

“How fucking dare you?!”

Jayce was thankfully alone in the lab, but even if Viktor had been here, you weren't sure you would have managed to control the outpour of anger. The man looked up from his notes in surprise:

“Woah—wait—excuse me?” Jayce stammered, visibly more confused than insulted.

“Who do you think you are to decide what I can do or not?!” you seethed, barreling rapidly towards him. “How dare you go around asking things in my name to our supervisor?”

He got up from his chair hurridly, eyes wide, raising his hands in a placating gesture as if you were a wild animal ready to attack.

"Relax, I really have no idea—" he started hastily, only to stop mid-sentence as realization dawned on him. His brows knit together in confusion. "Wait... is this about the Wyatt project?”

"What else could it possibly be about?!" you yelled, your voice slicing through the silence of the empty lab. Under different circumstances—if this wasn't about your entire career here—you might have remembered that your outburst could easily carry into the corridor, reaching the ears of other students, and even possibly teachers. But blind frustration consumed you, eclipsed only by the raw, aching sense of betrayal you felt towards him.

“But you’ve been telling me and Viktor for weeks how much you hate it,” Jayce argued, frowning, his lips reducing into a thin line. He was genuinely perplexed, like the very concept that he hadn’t done you a service wasn't registering in his mind. “You’re the one who said you wished you could do more work in the lab with us!”

“So you went over my head and told the fucking head of the department I was too lazy to complete the work he gave me?” you retorted without missing a beat. You hadn't realized how close you had gotten to him, your balled fists barely a foot away from his increasingly punchable face. You could smell the artificial scent of body spray off him, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Do you have any idea how unreliable and ungrateful that makes me look as the new girl?! I haven’t even had this position for six months!”

Understanding slowly dawned across his face, and his expression softened, regret pooling in his chartreuse eyes.

"I was just trying to help, I didn't—" he began, his voice gentle and remorseful, but you weren't even close to being done with him.

“Help?” you spat, the word dripping with venom. “Help how? By making me look like I don’t want to work hard? Like I'm a spoiled brat who goes on dates with her team supervisor to get easy jobs? What, do you think I slept my way up here?”

“I’d never—I thought you felt too shy to talk to Heimerdinger, I just wanted to give you a hand as my junior! How is that a bad thing?!” he protested, frustration creeping into his voice.

“It's a bad thing because it means you don't fucking believe in me!” you shot back.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, willing them gone and clinging to what little pride you had left.

“It means you think I'm too weak or too stupid to do the same work you and Viktor did when you started. That I'm not even enough of an adult to handle my own shit—that I need some random guy at work to baby me!”

He flinched at the harshness of your words, the hurt on his face unmistakable. His mouth opened as if to speak up again, eyes carrying the wounded look of a kicked puppy, but you didn’t let him, refusing to let his charm ever fool you again.

“I don't care if it's because I'm younger than you, or because I'm a woman, or because you think I'm attractive,” you snapped. “I'm staying on the Wyatt project until it's completed, like I signed up to. I won't let you mess up everything I've worked so hard for.”

You took a step back, your feelings too overwhelming to stand staring at him a minute longer. Your instinct about Jayce—that he was as spoiled as he was self-righteous— had been correct from the start, yet you felt no pride in that knowledge; there was only the bitter taste of disappointment.

Your voice was sharp and unforgiving when you spoke up again:

“Do me a favour. Next time you want to help, don’t.

—

And yet, here you are now, in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere, butt naked in a cramped shower with him, the feeling of his tepid cum still lingering on your thigh.

Jayce Talis wants to help again, and you’d be an absolute fool to accept, or to give him more ground than you already have.

But things are different, this time.

You want his help. You need his help.

You know better now than to believe he feels anything resembling real affection for you. His obsession isn’t love: it’s a fixation born from entitlement, from the relentless need to possess what he’s been denied. You’re nothing more than a challenge, the one girl who refuses to fall for the Academy’s golden boy, and that only makes him want you more. But once he’s had his victory, once this game is over, the thrill will fade, and he’ll lose all interest in pretending he ever cared.

So what’s the harm in saying yes, then? It’s not like either of you will come out of this with any hurt feelings. It’s the same as back then, with him taking you for the easy fool he can be a knight in shining armour for, solving your issues like the great man he is. But at least, this time, he’s had the decency to ask you, first.

"Fine, whatever," you finally grumble, your gaze snapping back to his. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his expression, but you ignore it. It doesn't matter to you, just as you won’t matter to him. "What’s next, Talis?”

—

The issue is that Jayce really hasn't thought that far ahead.

His first and main goal was to distract you from how he had been so stupidly eager, he came without your hands ever even touching his cock. But now, he needs to come up with a next step—fast—before you see right through his bluff and realize he knows far less about Viktor’s sex life than he has so confidently let on.

To his credit, Viktor has always been intensely private about his personal life, even with his closest friends. In all their years of partnership, he had never once introduced Jayce to a girlfriend or boyfriend; never even hinted at a crush, or a stranger who might be something more. No matter how many times Jayce had prodded and teased him in their younger years, Viktor had never let anything slip.

But there is one thing, a small, passing remark, that Jayce does remember.

Back in their very first year together at the Academy, unravelling the enigma that was Viktor had been one of Jayce’s greatest challenges. The man revealed very little about himself and it seemed like science and logic were the sole foundations of his world, an unwavering structure built on nothing but reason and precision.

But every now and then, Viktor would do or say something so entirely unexpected, it shattered any understanding Jayce thought he had of him.

One of those moments had been Viktor’s quiet but undeniable fascination with the arts.

Jayce remembers a particular night, one that has somehow stayed in the back of his mind since. Sitting beside Viktor in the dim glow of the Academy’s theater, watching a play neither of them had particularly planned to see, he had expected boredom, maybe even a few sarcastic quips. Instead, Viktor had been captivated. His sharp eyes, usually so calculating while they worked in the lab, were alight with something softer, something close to wonder, as if he were seeing an entirely new world unfold before him.

"Do you not think it's nice? The music of someone's voice," Viktor had hummed afterward, his tone distant, contemplative, like he was still half-lost in the echoes of the performance.

Jayce had shrugged, stretching his legs out lazily in the cramped theatre seat. Art had never really been his thing—too abstract, too confusing. "I don’t know," he replied casually, "AI is getting pretty good at mimicking it."

Viktor had turned his head slightly, casting Jayce a look that was equal parts amused and disappointed, as if he couldn’t decide whether the comment was genuinely naive or just tragically shortsighted.

Viktor had merely tutted in disapproval, shaking his head. "The human soul, Jayce. The emotions, the passion, the sorrow—that is what a voice carries. We may build a thousand algorithms that reproduce it, down to the subtlest change in tone or pitch… but it will always be missing that.”

Jayce had gone quiet after that, letting the conversation die in the soft hum of the crowd leaving the theater. He didn’t get it then; maybe he does now.

“Voices,” Jayce blurts out, the thought snapping into place like a last-minute save. “Viktor likes hearing people’s voices. I think it’s because of how personal they are to everyone? Something about that just… makes him happy.”

He’s grasping at straws now, but it’s something, and that’s already better than staying silent with his mouth agape like an idiot.

“Maybe, um—maybe you could practice what you’d say to him? The kind of sounds you’d make?” His pulse stutters, but before he can stop himself. “I-I think he’d probably want to eat you out.”

It’s a blatant, bold-faced lie. A shot in the dark dressed up as certainty.

Because that’s not what Viktor said. That’s not even remotely what Viktor said.

It’s what Jayce wants to do.

But he’s already in too deep, tangled in his own bullshit with no way to back out. If he’s going to lie, he might as well be a little selfish about it.

You glare at him with that sharp, dissecting stare, the kind that strips away pretense and weighs his words like they’re under the lens of a microscope. Even though you’re shorter than him, there’s no mistaking who’s in control here; the balance of power tilts undeniably in your favour, and you have him fully, wholly under your thumb.

And he knows it, knows it from the tension in his own shoulders, from the way his lips uncontrollably twitch, from the slight tremor in his voice. He would do anything for this, for you, and he’s not foolish enough to think it doesn’t show. But this moment isn’t about him—not about how much he wants you, or how much he’d give to close the remaining space between your bodies.

It’s about you, and how much you want Viktor.

Jayce already knows your answer before it even leaves your lips.

“Alright. Just…”

You hesitate for just a second, as if there's something else you want to say; a glimpse of uncharacteristic doubt flashes across your face. But it vanishes just as quickly as it came, swallowed by that effortless, burning confidence. Whatever words you might have had for him go up in smoke.

"Forget it. Get on your knees."

Jayce certainly doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast he drops, the wet tile beneath him offering no grace. He nearly slips twice as he contorts his broad frame awkwardly, trying to find a stable position. The cramped width of the glass panels press against his shoulders, making his movements all the more difficult.

You tsk at him, unimpressed and visibly growing impatient. The glare you send down his way is all the incentive he needs to stop fumbling and settle as best he can, even as the mosaic tiles dig uncomfortably into his knees.

One of your hands settles on his head, slightly brushing the damp strands of dark hair, and he leans into the touch; it's probably the closest thing to praise he's ever gotten from you.

"Don’t make me regret this," you warn him.

He grins, throwing you a wink with far more cockiness than he actually feels. "Regret is my middle name, baby."

Before you can shoot back a biting remark, his hands are on your hips, firm and certain, pulling you flush against his face. The heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

If this had been different, if it had been real, he would have taken his time. He would have traced every detail of your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, committing every inch to memory like something sacred. He would have worshipped you slowly, methodically, with the kind of reverence you deserve.

But that's not the case.

Instead, he opts for savagely peppering your inner thighs with warm, rough kisses, just barely letting his teeth graze your skin. You hum in approval, the hand on his scalp petting him like a puppy. The rush of confidence that goes through his body is indescribable, and he makes the bites more insistent, leaving burn-like marks on your skin.

You tug at his hair, just enough to be insistent, but not enough to hurt. For once, he understands you immediately, without you uttering a single word. It’s a little strange —almost ironic— that conversations with you always spiral into arguments, yet here, without speaking at all, you're both in perfect sync.

He obeys the silent command and moves his mouth where you’re guiding him, never pausing the messy, open-mouth kisses against your lower body. It's no surprise that your pussy is as pretty and warm as the rest of you. The hair has been recently trimmed but has grown just enough to tickle against his face as he buries his face comfortably between your legs.

You twitch in his grip the second his tongue touches your folds, but you don't let out a sound. He’s not about to be beaten so easily, though: he gives a strong, assured lick against your clit, and this time you can't suppress a small moan:

“Ah…”

Oh, and God, it's an addictive sound, one that he yearns to hear again, immediately. He copies his movement once, twice, thrice, dizzy off the little vulnerable pants you make under your breath. He's like a starved man, lapping at the fresh water from the shower on your skin just to catch a hint of your juices.

“Hngh-” you inhale sharply when his tongue probes your hole. Your grip on his hair tightens, fingers tangling deeper as you pull him closer. It’s probably just instinct, a mechanical reaction to the rush of pleasure sparking through you; but for a split second, the pressure of your touch feels intentional. Like you want him. And that foolish, aching thought makes his poor little heart clench when you speak again:

“V-Viktor!”

A single word from you, just one name, and reality crashes back down on him like a tidal wave.

He freezes, his tongue flat against your clit, and the warmth of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by something sharp and unforgiving. The water hitting his exposed skin from the showerhead suddenly feels ice-cold, seeping into his bones.

This isn’t right. He knows it. And he’s certain you do, too.

But you’ve both chosen this.

You’re as guilty as he is, using him just as much as he’s using you. It’s a pathetic, hollow imitation of the intimacy he truly craves, the kind where your fingers intertwine with his without hesitation, where your voice murmurs words of love meant only for him, where your eyes remain wide open and locked into his.

But there’s no coming back from having tasted you. A single bite of the forbidden fruit, and he’s undone: his sense of judgment shattered, his pride discarded, his dignity crumbling beneath your touch. If this is all you’re willing to give him, if he’s nothing more than a placeholder for someone else—so be it.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll offer, no matter how empty. No matter who it’s really meant for.

You let out another wonton moan when he shifts again, his teeth lightly scrapping your clit, and he lets himself wonder what you're imagining behind those closed eyes.

Granted, the who isn’t much of a mystery; that part is painfully obvious. But how?

How does it play out in your head? Is it tender and slow, filled with whispered confessions and gentle touches? Or is it something desperate, something raw, something that strips you down to nothing but need? Against his better judgment and all common sense, he can’t help speculating.

Viktor would probably not enjoy staying on his knees for very long; maybe you're picturing yourself laying in bed with him, his face nestled snuggly between the meat of your thighs. You’d have a smile on your lips, your sparkling eyes wide open, eager to take in every second of the moment. Viktor would probably chuckle at your eagerness, amused by the contrast of how firm and unyielding you are with everyone else, yet how effortlessly you melt in his presence.

“Viktor, please… please…!” you almost beg as he fucks you on his tongue, your hips rhythmically moving along to his pace, moans raw and unfiltered, forgetting about the thin walls and your likely disgruntled neighbours with how lost you are in your fantasy.

Jealousy begins to rear its ugly head in the pit of his stomach, a dangerous thing to start feeling during something that’s supposed to be pure make-believe. But no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down, it lingers, festering beneath the surface.

He can’t help it, spoiled brat that he is. He always wants more. Nothing is ever enough.

His childish ego whispers that he’s the one making you squirm under his touch, that for all your longing, for all the thoughts clouding your mind, he’s the one here. He’s the one touching you, drawing those needy sounds from your lips.

It's his name you should be saying.

He's gotten hard again, the touch of your skin blending with the smell of your body, the sharp taste of your wetness making his head spin. He's humping the air like a dog in heat, aching for any sort of relief. He wants to stay between your legs for as long as humanly possible, let you use him, but he's not sure how much longer he can handle hearing someone else’s name over, and over again.

He manages to pull away from the vice-like grip of your thighs, mouth coated with your juices. He looks up at you, standing above him like a goddess, surrounded by a halo of water from the showerhead.

"I really, really need you right now, baby," he breathes out, voice raw with desperation. He knows he should have some dignity left, some shred of self-respect; but it's all long gone. At this point, he doesn't care what you think of him anymore, not when he’s fallen this low. “Can I please fuck you right here?”

Your eyes flutter open, slow and reluctant, like it physically pains you to be pulled from whatever reverie you were lost in. For a moment, you just look at him, considering his expression, the firm grip on his head easing slightly.

“I…” you start hesitantly. There it is again, just like earlier: something uncertain in your gaze, lost, vulnerable. It’s jarring, unsettling in a way he can’t quite name. It doesn’t belong there, not in your eyes—eyes that are usually so bright, so sure and unwavering.

"Bed. Viktor wouldn't be comfortable here," you mumble under your breath, refusing to meet his eyes. "And don’t call me baby."

Jayce exhales a shaky sigh of relief. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t tease—just moves.

He scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips again, catching himself just in time. With a sharp nudge of his elbow, he shuts off the faucet before effortlessly scooping you up from the wet tiles. You yelp in protest, but he ignores it, already carrying you out of the bathroom, his grip firm yet careful.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s gone, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes to his backpack; balance has never been his forte, but you’ve rendered him so unsteady his legs feel like jello. His hands fumble through the numerous pockets, almost frantic.

Socks, phone, extra boxers, sunglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste—

There!

He raises the lone condom triumphantly into the air, presenting it like a grand prize, his grin wide with victory.

You don’t look half as impressed.

"Do you seriously bring that with you everywhere you go?" you remark drily, one brow arching in clear contempt.

Ah, right. For a moment, in the heat of it all, he had almost forgotten that you really hate him.

“Can we keep the insults for after I'm done fucking you?” he groans, his arm falling in defeat. Yet, despite the frustration laced in his voice, there’s something oddly familiar about this, something comforting. The push and pull, the sharp edges of your words clashing against his: it’s a unique rhythm, a dynamic that belongs to the two of you alone; one that Viktor will never experience.

The idea makes him happier than it should.

You let out a dramatic sigh in response, waving a dismissive hand as if to say ‘whatever’.

He climbs over you, his body still sopping wet, water trailing down his skin and seeping into the sheets beneath you both. Droplets fall from his hair onto yours, cool against the lingering heat of your skin. The bed is going to be disgustingly damp later, and you will certainly complain and blame him for it, but he can’t bring himself to care about it right now.

The sight of his fully hard cock resting on your inner thigh makes his throat dry almost instantly. Jayce is more than aware he’s well endowed, and he hasn’t shied away from using it as a selling argument for flirting before; but this is so very different. His size dwarfs your cunt, like a little toy underneath him; the realization that he's going to get so deep inside of you that you'll never be able to fully get rid of him is enough to break whatever hesitation he might have still had.

He glances up at you with a cocky grin, expecting you to eye his arguably imposing member with some anticipation, only to find that you're looking away, gaze lost somewhere in the printed forest of the peeling wallpaper.

He clears his throat, and you turn back towards him, expression distant, maybe even cold.

“Want me to, um… prep you a bit?” he asks. He knows you’re soaking wet, he's made quite sure of that, but the thickness of his cock has usually required him to use a few fingers with his previous partners.

You seem disinterested, barely sparing him a look:

“I don't care. Just do it, Talis.”

The absurdity of the fact that you’re still using his last name after he’s eaten you out—and right before he screws you—would be comical if it wasn’t so deeply sad. He tears the plastic wrapper open, rolling the condom on himself without another word. He aligns his member with your entrance, just barely spreading your folds with his dick, before you interrupt him with a firm hand on his bicep.

The look you give him is full of something unspoken, heavy with meaning he can’t quite grasp—or maybe just refuses to.

"Just… be gentle,” you ask stiffly, like you doubt he’s even capable of it. “Like Viktor would."

That last part splinters something inside him, shatters a piece of his heart he thought had accepted he would never be the one you’d want.

For a second, everything blurs. The floodgate cracks open, and with it, the jealousy he thought he had under control surges forward, unrestrained and bitter.

Because Viktor. Always Viktor.

And never him.

He pushes in without replying, groaning at the resistance his tip is already facing. It takes a bit more force, but the head of his cock finally passes through the ring of muscle, and he's able to slowly and fully sheathe himself in, your wetness making the slide easier.

“Fuck- fuck, you're tight,” he sputters, the words falling out of him without his control. “You're so fucking tight, princess.”

Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t gotten laid in too long, but he doesn’t think he's ever been inside someone who feels this snug around him, like you were made for him. You’re walls are fluttering around him, squeezing him so firmly it’s as if your pussy is forbidding him from leaving. It's heavenly, and he stays still for a moment, just to carve in his memory the exact way you’re clenching around his cock.

A quick glance at your face tells him everything he needs to know: your eyes are squeezed shut, your brows furrowed deeply, likely lost in a world where he isn’t the one above you. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re picturing him instead, rewriting reality with Viktor’s touch, Viktor’s voice, Viktor’s presence.

That’s fine. Perfectly fine.

Because by the time he’s done, by the time he gives it to you just right—hard enough, deep enough, good enough—he’ll make sure the only name you’re screaming is Jayce.

He starts pulling out before sharply shoving himself back in, and you let out an absolutely broken cry. There. As a sound that's for no one else but him.

He repeats the motion, again and again, the sharp feeling of your nails digging into his back making all thought incoherent. Your cries are driving him insane, raw and oversensitive, and he pounds into you harder with the knowledge Jayce Talis is the one tearing them out from your throat.

He looks down where your bodies meet, drunk off the idea of seeing his fat cock plunging into you, but he freezes.

There's blood.

It's not much, just a little red that has tinted some of your combined juices, but it's there, a stark contrast against your skin.

He opens and closes his mouth in incomprehension; he had been harsh, and hungry, yes, but you should have been wet enough to take him with only a slight burn, a nice feeling of fullness. How?

He looks at you in panic: your eyes are still sealed shut, but unshed tears have pooled in their corners, your lips stuck in a thin line.

You’re crying.

It’s so silent, so light, that he hadn't even heard it despite your proximity, despite him being quite literally inside of you. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded—the tightness, the blood, the tears—as the math begins to add up very unpleasantly in his head.

"Wait, are you—" he starts, voice laced with panicked disbelief.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you turn your face away, hiding it behind the crook of your arm, ever the prideful one. But he sees it anyway, the telltale tremble of your bottom lip.

And just like that, every ounce of his frustration, every drop of jealousy, vanishes in an instant. What’s left is something colder, heavier—realization.

You're a virgin.

His stomach twists. "I'm sorry, I—I had no idea—" he stammers, his mind racing to catch up. "Did I hurt you? Oh my god, yeah, I did. Do you want to stop? I’m so sorry—"

The words tumble out in a frantic rush, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where they should be—whether to comfort, to retreat, or to hold you close.

He moves to pull out, but you make a pained hissing sound, grabbing his arm to keep him in place.

You stay silent, breathing haggard, clinging to him like a buoy in a storm. Your fingers dig into his skin painfully, but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

Jayce swallows thickly, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Carefully, he slides a hand beneath your head, lifting it just enough to keep you from sinking further into yourself. With the other, he brushes away a few damp strands of hair stuck to your clammy forehead. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

There’s nothing he can say right now that wouldn’t feel meaningless.

Your eyes eventually open, and the few tears you had been holding back finally spill down your cheeks. He catches them with the pad of his finger, wiping them away as gently as he can.

You’re so still in his arms it scares him. Fragile in a way he’s never seen before. Like a doll he’s played too rough with, beautiful, limp, and oh so breakable. Not meant for the big, clumsy, uncalculated hands of someone like him, but rather, for a gentle and precise touch.

Meant for hands like Viktor’s.

The thought cuts deep, a jagged wound of self-loathing splitting open inside him. Jayce has never hated himself more than in this moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur at last, your voice steadier than he expected. "It’s not like I haven’t done anything before, I'm not a prude, just… not this."

You pause, exhaling slowly before finally admitting the words you’ve been trying to say all along. "I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to look like a clueless idiot if Viktor ever… wants me."

Jayce’s chest aches at how small your voice sounds, at the quiet vulnerability you’re letting slip through the cracks after being so closed off to him for almost three years.

Why do you always say you’re fine when you aren’t? Why won’t you ever let me help? Why can’t you admit you’re scared?

"Viktor would never think you're an idiot," he breathes. "He’d think you’re the smartest girl in the entire world."

You hesitate: “…Yeah?”

"Yeah," he confirms without missing a beat. Then, with a faint smile, he can’t help but add, teasing, "Maybe just a little too thick-headed for your own good."

A weak but genuine laugh escapes your lips, lightening the weight between you, the tension slowly washing away, the tide receding just enough to let you both breathe.

"Big words from someone who compliments himself in the mirror, Jayce," you shoot back with a smirk, eyes glinting with a flicker of mischief. “And it’s not like you’re that big, anyway.”

He huffs out a laugh in disbelief: “Are you seriously pulling that card right now?”

You snort in reply, unable to hold your smile back.

It’s all so absurd, so fucked, tangled in emotions he doesn’t fully understand. But here you are, smiling at him—teasing, but genuine. A fragile thread of connection woven between sarcasm and chaos.

And then it hits him.

You’ve finally said his name.

Not in anger. Not in passing. Not as part of some joke.

Just his name, wrapped in laughter, soft around the edges.

It’s not exactly in the way he’s craved, not in the way that would make this his; but still, his name has left your lips with a real smile, with your eyes looking at nothing but him. Despite everything, it settles something deep inside him, filling the hollow space that’s been eating him alive.

It makes him feel whole.

"I’ll be fine," you tell him again, voice back to the one he knows and adores. "Just… a little slower, alright?"

Jayce exhales, nodding, his grip on you instinctively firming— not possessive, not demanding. Just there. An anchor for you, as much as it is for himself. He’s going to make sure you’re actually fine for once.

“Yeah. Of course,” he promises, but more than that, it carries the weight of a vow, something unspoken yet deeply solemn, something true.

If he’s water, then you are fire, never defeated, blazing brightly with something that could consume him whole. Maybe that’s why he lets himself drown in you—because it’s the only way he can hold onto something that he was never meant to touch.

You will always burn him, and he will always yield to the sound of his name on your lips.

🌸 Taglist Darlings 🌸: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway , @just1cefor4ll , @apexie100

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#jayce x reader #jayce x reader smut #jayce talis #arcane #arcane x reader smut #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane smut #jayce fanfic #jayce x you #my writing #my fics #fruitforthoughts 💭

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judasofsuburbia · 2 years ago

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something something caretaker! steve gets hired by rockstar! eddie to look after and live with wayne. everything is set up over the phone after eddie was given his resume so eddie's never physically seen the guy but he has enough positive reviews and references that it seems like there is anybody in this world that doesn't like this steve harrington fellow.

wayne munson soon becomes his #1 fan.

wayne keeps telling eddie all about steve in their weekly phone calls. anytime eddie tries to steer the conversation into something actually about wayne's health and wellbeing, wayne manages to involve steve. says that steve's blushing face is real handsome while steve rolls his eyes and laughs to himself across the room.

"you should come home on your next break," wayne says.

"i'm planning to."

"steve really wants to meet you," wayne says with an infliction.

"well, shit, wayne. from how much you gush about him, i'm excited to meet your new boyfriend too," eddie teases.

"oh hush, you. my casanova days are over. you, however, could use someone good."

the next break eddie has, nearly six months after steve starts working for the munsons, he arrives at nearly 11pm. he's quiet as he sneaks into the house he bought wayne years ago and nearly shits himself when he sees steve hanging out on the couch watching TV. he drops his suitcase to the floor, jolting steve out of his trance.

"oh god, i'm so sorry!" steve rushes to say as eddie clutches his chest and tries to steady his breathing.

"steve, i take it?" eddie laughs breathlessly.

"yeah, hi," steve stands from the couch and holds his hand out. "nice to finally meet you."

steve steps into the light as he does this and eddie's taken aback by just how handsome he is. oh fuck, wayne wasn't just messing around. eddie takes his hand, firm and strong, and shakes it.

"sorry to jumpscare you like that," steve smiles and his eyes twinkle in the low hallway light.

"no, i should've prepared myself," eddie says. "someone hasn't been in the house either than wayne or i in....well, ever."

"don't worry, i'll try to keep mostly to myself as you two have quality bonding time," steve replies sheepishly.

eddie shakes his head. "you don't gotta do that. you're more welcome around us than anyone. i owe you so much for looking after him."

steve smiles. "you already sign all my paychecks."

right, yeah. eddie's technically this guy's boss. eddie's never really thought of it that way before. that means any plans eddie's monkey brain had in the last thirty seconds about flirting with the handsome caretaker is out the window. it wouldn't be appropriate. eddie slouches and gives steve a tired smile.

"i'm gonna turn in. see you at breakfast?" eddie asks, hopeful despite his conflicting internal monologue.

"be prepared for oatmeal," steve jokes. "it's the only thing he wants for breakfast nowadays."

eddie scrunches up his face. "you don't have any poptarts or anything fun stashed away somewhere?"

"depends. do you like brown sugar cinnamon?" steve asks.

"love it," eddie whispers.

"then yeah, your breakfast fate can be a little better," steve nudges his elbow and it lights up eddie's skin.

"thank you caretaker steve," eddie salutes and turns heel to his teenage bedroom.

over the next few days, eddie goes out of his mind. he watches steve just do his job, the job he hired him to do, and he's still going crazy over it. how steve prepares for everything, accidents and things eddie couldn't even predict. spoon feeds wayne if his hands are too shaky. jokes and messes around with him like he's family. wayne's eyes keep drifting over to eddie's when steve isn't looking, a smug little smirk on his face.

"it can't happen," eddie seethes when steve leaves the room. "you're what's important here and i need him to stick around."

"and i need you to stop moping about the country, getting your heart broken every other week," wayne retorts. "steve's a good boy. he would treat you right."

"we don't even know if he's gay," eddie grumbles.

wayne gives him an unimpressed look that makes eddie bark out a frustrated laugh. "take a look at his bedroom, kid. you'll have all your questions answered," wayne advises right before steve returns.

"jeopardy time?" steve asks, hands already on wayne's wheelchair handles.

"eddie is gonna beat us both," wayne claims.

"that so?" steve beams. eddie is glaring daggers at wayne.

"he's full of useless facts," wayne jokes while eddie throws up his hands and steve laughs joyfully.

eddie falls for steve more and more as the week goes on. he tries his best to restrain it, tries his best to never be alone with steve. catches himself from checking steve out (especially in his daily running outfit, god) and swallows flirtatious lines that nearly escape his mouth. it's hard to say no when steve invites him to watch a movie or hang out with him while he cooks dinner but he does. eddie has to be coming off like a total dick at this point but it's for the best.

steve is out running an errand so eddie finally decides to snoop only a little bit. opens steve's bedroom door and smiles at all the decorations. sure enough, there is a little bisexual pride flag sticking out of the pen cup on his desk. eddie is admiring framed photos of steve and some kids along with little handwritten camp postcards on his corkboard when steve enters the room.

"anything interesting?" steve jokes from the doorway.

"shit!" eddie yells, clutching his chest again like he did the first night. "fuck, i'm so sorry."

"don't be," steve shrugs easily. "it is your house after all. i snoop your teenage bedroom all the time when wayne asks me to change the sheets."

"still, i shouldn't be invading your privacy," eddie says with an apologetic face.

steve walks carefully over to where eddie is standing. "i don't think there is much privacy between us where wayne is concerned," steve says quietly with a kind smile, leaning up against the desk.

"i'm sorry about him," eddie groans, rubbing his hand over his chin. "he is a little pushy about my love life."

"no, i'm sorry that he's weird about us. i swear i called you handsome once and he has never left it alone since," steve admits with a small blush.

eddie's eyebrows raise. "you think i'm handsome?"

"are you kidding me? you got this whole," steve gestures in a circle, "rockstar bravado going on. hard not to admire the show."

"well, you've got a show i admire too," eddie admits, inching closer.

steve huffs, looking down bashfully. "do i?"

"mhm. smart, genuine guy with a heart of gold. makes wayne's days better. lights up a room. probably rescues cats from trees and saves drowning puppies," eddie smiles.

steve tilts his head from side to side. "i may have rescued a cat before but it was stuck under my little brother Dustin's porch."

"see? heart of gold," eddie repeats.

steve exhales deeply, twisting his mouth. "i wasn't sure if you liked me."

eddie reaches his hand over and touches steve's hand on top of the desk. steve looks up shyly to eddie's sympathetic face. "i didn't want to-- there's a power trip here, you know? like you said, i sign your paychecks. i'm not about to pull out the moves and make you feel like your job is at risk if you aren't into it."

steve nods before slowly rubbing his thumb over eddie's.

"and if i am into it?" steve whispers.

"well i--" eddie stutters.

"can i kiss you?" steve asks quietly. eddie's not sure he's ever been asked in his entire life.

eddie nods. when steve's lips touch his, it's all over. any pretense of keeping his feelings undercover blows up like fireworks underneath his skin. eddie feels as his resolve sparkles and cracks away into the air. he encourages steve to keep kissing him by pulling in his face closer. steve sucks his bottom lip in between his own when his watch beeps.

"wayne's meds," steve whispers.

"old bastard," eddie jokes. "watch a movie with me later?"

steve bites his lip and nods. "i know just the couch."

#emily writes #emily's brain worms attacking her at work once again!!!!!#steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie au #steddie fics #steve harrington/eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Sugar Cookie

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse and neglect, oral sex, manipulation, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You try to learn some new traditions for your first Christmas with Tony.

Character: Tony Stark

Day Eleven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - experiencing a new festive tradition

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stare at the floating screen and suck in your cheeks. It's only your first try but you're feeling overwhelmed. Just like always, you can't follow simple directions. You're a fuck up.

It makes you wonder how you ever ended up here. In this immaculate kitchen with its shining marble counter tops, sparkling appliances, and many gadgets and accessories. Silver pans dangle from the rack hung over the island and knives are stuck to the magnet hold mounted on the wall. Yet you've made a mess of it all as flour dusts over the gold-veined surface and the smell of burnt dough tinges your nostrils.

"Miss, is appears you've burnt the snickerdoodles," Friday says in her matter-of-fact way.

"I did," you groan and plant your elbows on the counter, cup your chin in defeat. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise to me," she assures. "You should start again at step one. 'Preheat the oven to 375 Farenheit...'

"The oven's still on, you drone as you turn your face down. "I've ruined it all. I tried so hard but it's just all spoiled."

"Miss, you can try again. I've already ordered more ingredients so that you can make everything," she insists.

You puff. That dang computer. Of course, Tony insists that isn't what she is. She's a companion. She's more than code and she's a lot smarter than you, so you should listen.

You push yourself up as you stick your lip out pathetically. You've never baked before. Tony knows this but it's a tradition. Not your tradition. You never even celebrated Christmas before. You watched it on the old VHS'. The films about daughters or sons or lovers trying to make it home for the holiday. Stuck between four walls, you always just assumed it was another fantasy.

"Miss, you should dump the burnt cookies. They are not fit for consumption. And put a fresh sheet of parchment paper down."

You nod and do as she says. Your hands are still fettered in the oven gloves as you take the tray and carry it to the bin. She opens it and you wince. You're still not used to that.

You return to the counter and pull off the thick gloves. You tear off a new sheet of parchment and lay it on the pan. A frown tugs at your cheeks until they hurt. What if you can't do this? What if you disappoint Tony? He'd just be another person who you let down. There may not be many of those, but you can count everyone you've known on one hand.

"Begin with the topping," Friday directs you. "Combine the granulated sugar and cinnamon together in a small bowl..."

It's easier to let her tell you what to do. Almost like she's thinking for you. Tony does that too. He tells you what needs to be done so you're not so worried. Sometimes though, it's too much. All those expectations. Before, you were only ever expected to be quiet.

You make three lines of four. The dough balls are perfectly arranged. Now you just need to not mess them up.

"I would be happy to set a timer, miss." Friday offers.

"Thanks," you say over your shoulder as you slide the pan into the oven.

"You've made enough dough for three more batches. In the meantime, you could begin on the fruitcake," she suggests.

"Uh, sure," you agree.

"Mmm, smells like a fire," Tony's voice jars you before the companion-programmed interface can give her next command. "What're we workin' on, beautiful?"

You face him and press your sweaty palms to the red apron with the frill edging. "Cookies. Or cake--"

"There are a dozen snickerdoodles cooking with eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds left," Friday supplies. "And she was about to begin the fruitcake."

You cringe and nod, "what she said."

"What about the meringues? Peppermint? Just like I said?" He asks.

"Sure, uh," you gulp, "you know, Mr. Stark, Tony... I'm not very good at this."

"You'll get better, beautiful. Besides, it's tradition."

"Y-yeah, I know, but I... I don't want to screw up or make you sick."

"Baby, you're just fine. I know you can do it." He steps closer and puts his hands on your arms, "I see what no one else saw in you, huh? You got potential, you just gotta try."

"I am. Trying, sir," you say.

"I know, beautiful," he reaches to tap the end of your nose. "Don't be so mopey, alright? Look at all you got; a gorgeous kitchen, a gorgeous house, a gorgeous man..."

You flick your lashes shyly and look away. He leans in and you let him kiss you. That's getting easier, even if the other things still hurt.

"You know, there's nothing else I could ask for," he purrs as he draws back, "well, maybe one thing. Whiskey?"

He looks at you with his deep brown eyes and that crooked grin. It was that look that comforted you the day you met. When the red and gold receded and revealed the very human man beneath. The first man you knew that didn't loathe you outright.

"Yes, Tony," you answer and spin around. The liquor cabinet opens as you approach. You thank Friday and take out the dark bottle. A cupboard opens and you pull out a glass to pour. You bring the drink to him and smile nervously. "Here you are."

"You know, seeing as this is your first Christmas and all, you're learning all my traditions," he leans a hand on the counter and sniffs the whiskey before he sips. You watch him tentatively, "we could start a few new ones."

"New?" You echo curiously.

He winks and takes another swig, "yeah, all this sweetness," he looks around at the cluttered ingredients, "I'm thinking something even sweeter."

"Oh?" You bring your hands together and wring them. "What's that?"

"Friday, scram," he looms close to you and sets his glass down.

"Reconfiguring to standby," Friday responds promptly.

He steps up and frames your hips with his hands. He sucks his teeth as he looks you up and down. You shiver as you're reminded of the night before.

"How about you hop up here?" He keeps one hand on you as he sweeps aside the bag of flower and canister of baking powder with his other. "And feed me another kinda dessert."

You look at him. You think you know what he means but you’re not sure. You’ll be embarrassed if you’re right. The last time he tried that you couldn’t stay still.

“Oh,” you bat your lashes.

“Oh,” he repeats coyly as he squeezes your hip. “You’re doing all this work, baby, why don’t you let me do some?”

“Um, later... er, the cookies--”

“I got a hankering for something better than cookies,” he grabs at your skirt and shoves his hands under the hem. He gropes your ass suddenly as he pulls you flush to him. You squeal in surprise. “What are these?” He pinches the fabric of your panties. “I didn’t pull these out.”

“Uh, I...” you gulp. You didn’t think he’d be unhappy, you can see through every pair he gave you. “I’m sorry.”

“Take ‘em off,” his voice deepens as he lets you go and steps back. He crosses his arms as his lips straighten to a dire expression. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” you blanch and open, your thumbs catching on your skirt before you can get the panties down.

You teeter as you shove them to your knees and they fall to your feet. You bend to untangle them and stand. Tony takes them from you and flings them without looking.

“Now, baby, I’m ready for the full course,” He takes you by the waist and turns your back to the counter. “You gonna serve it up to me?”

You stare at him, speechless. His thumbs curl into your stomach then ease. He trails his hands to your hips and you yelp as he lifts you. You land on the counter and knock over a bowl as you slap your palms on the marble.

“Tony!” You squeal.

He hushes you as he raises the apron and your dress up your thighs, “open up for me, beautiful.”

“Please, can’t we wait--”

“I’ve been waiting,” he growls and bends before you can stop him. Not that you would even try.

He grazes your thigh with his lips and his facial hair tickles you. You quiver as he nuzzles along the crease of your leg and against your pelvis. You tense as he grips your knees, holding them wide as he shoves his mouth against your cunt.

You cry out again. You spasm as his tongue glides between your lips. His flicks around your clit and you whine. It’s so sensitive you could explode.

You grasp the back of his head and try to push him away, “it’s still too much--”

He hums and keeps going, ignoring your protests as he suckles on your bud. The pressure is enough to make you buck. You lean back on your arm and hiss. He puts his hand over yours and presses it to his skull, as if to make you urge him on.

He wiggles his head as he eats you up unabashedly. He snarls and groans and laps. You whimper and shake, your insides consumed in flames. You can hardly stand the heat as he seeps through to your skin. You push your nails into his scalp and murmur his name.

“Mmm, delicious,” he slithers against your thigh, pressing a wet kiss to your leg.

You close your eyes as the sight of his head just peeking out beneath the rumpled apron makes you blush. You bite your lip and shudder as he goes back to his eager tending. He clutches your hand tighter as his tongue swirls around and around.

The smell of smoke tinges your nose again. You sniff and flutter your lashes. You open your eyes and see the silver curls climbing out of the stove. You squeak and try to twist free of Tony. He grabs your thighs and sinks in fingertips in until you ache.

“Ton-y,” you eke out, “the cook-ies!”

“Leave em,” He growls as he snakes his hands under your thighs and hooks his arms around them. He yanks you so you fall onto your back, splaying wider as you crush mixing spoons and bags of chocolate chips and sugar. “I got more than enough right here.”

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #drabble #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #iron man #mcu #marvel #avengers

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selfindulgentpixies · 8 days ago

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Safe in his arms, Safe in yours

part 1

Dazai x GN!Afab!reader X Chuuya

MDNI

I will block minors, ageless and blank blogs.

So I've been tossing around a few fic ideas for BSD and this is the first one that I finally finished. Well I say finished but in reality it's a part one. Came about because of omega verse selfship questions that my imagination go a little wild. This is self indulgent.

CW: Omega verse, established relationship with Dazai, Dazai was previously in a relationship with Chuuya. Reader's anatomy is referred to as cunt and pussy, but their chest is reference more neutrally. Alpha!Dazai, Omega!Chuuya(with some atypical behavior of omegas), Omega!Reader. They/them pronouns are used for reader. Sweet heart used as a nickname for reader by Dazai once.

Anyway please be kind and I hope you enjoy!

It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. It’s why you were here solo afterall. You were supposed to slip in, an unassuming omega, get what you needed and get out. You’re not defenseless but you’re not a frontline fighter and rarely do you ever go in alone, especially since you’d bonded to Dazai. He was on another mission though, just like everyone was. The agency was swamped. And again, this was supposed to be an in and out mission.

Being pinned to the ground by some monologuing asshole alpha had not been a part of the plan. A monologing asshole who apparently had a personal bone to pick with Osamu. But you also hadn’t accounted for a certain red headed mafia exec to show up.

For you it feels like it happens so quickly. One minute there’s a boot on the back of your neck and the next… The next there’s yelling and then the weight is gone, amidst a crash and a rush of dust, gloved hands are gently helping you to a sitting position. “Good, you're still able to sit up. Thought the worst when I saw you pinned by the neck like that.” Eyes, one blue and one brown scan over you.

You blink at him somewhat owlishly, barely dried tear tracks streak your cheeks that he mercifully doesn’t comment on as he takes off his coat and wraps it around your shoulders, enveloping you in the scent of warm cinnamon and leather, making you shiver and pull it tight. You both turn at the sound of crumbling debris.

The fight, had it been anyone other than Chuuya likely would have been touch and go but for him, especially with protecting someone in mind, was no problem. No harder than stomping out a large bug. A bit of a nuisance, a little gross, but not a problem.

No, the real problem was the state he found you in after the fight. Curled forward on your knees, hidden in his coat, even both being omegas he could tell you were trying to breathe in his scent from the neck of his coat, likely in an attempt to soothe yourself. But you were from the ADA why would you need to be soothed, you should be able to handle this sort of stress- He kneels down “Hey-” you jerk a little as he reaches into the coat behind your neck so he can slide a hand into your hair and tilt your face toward him. “Fuck.” Your pupils are blown wide and curls of hair stick to your forehead with sweat.

His grip on your hair isn’t tight and with the sudden closeness you find yourself drawn forward to his neck, toward his scent gland with a long faded bite where you press your face in a haze. You whine, you’d be embarrassed any other time but you can’t help it, you think you catch the faintest bit of Osamu’s scent there.

Chuuya can’t help it. He stills. Has to gather himself against the tidal of memories that want to pull him under. Then he’s rising up and taking you with him, gathering you up and carrying you as if you weigh nothing. “We can’t stay here with you like this.” His words feel so far away. Was he ever the one going under or was it you?

–

Getting to and checking into the hotel is hazy for you. Chuuya finally sets you down but you remain leaning heavily into his side. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t give your real names but soon enough the check in is done. You don’t notice the leering look the clerk sends your way, nor do you notice the warning flash of teeth Chuuya gives before ushering you along, one hand at the small of your back and keys rattling in the other. Ideally he would’ve taken you somewhere safer, but this place was convenient, and in the moment that seemed to be the most important thing with how fast your heat was coming on.

Key in lock and your warm breath on his neck Chuuya glances at you. “Just hang in there okay? We’ll get you settled and I’ll call that jackass alpha of yours to see how quickly we can get him to come take care of you.” The lock clicks and the door swings inward.

“Sorry for all the trouble..” It’s the first thing you’ve said and apparently it’s not the right thing by the huff Chuuya lets out as he closes the door behind the two of you and locks it.

“Hey none of that. This ain’t your fault, you hear me?” He scoops you up again so he can carry you to the bed and gently place you on the end of it. He kneels down and looks up at you meeting your gaze as he makes quick work undoing the laces of your boots. He knows that look, has seen it in the mirror when his own heat has begun to hit and he’s trying to keep a clear head. It’s a helpless feeling. He pulls off your boots and sets them to the side before massaging your left calf with one hand. “Do you have your phone? Dazai will be more likely to answer a call from your phone than mine.”

You fight to blink some awareness back into your eyes at Dazai’s name and fish around in your pants pocket, pulling out your phone and passing it to Chuuya. “Good,” He praises as he takes the phone. He can’t help but note that your background is a picture of yourself and Dazai where Dazai had fallen asleep on your shoulder and you decided to take a selfie. It’s sweet, it makes something tighten in Chuuya’s chest, he finds him your contacts and hits call.

It rings once, twice, “Hey Sweet heart~ How’d your mission g-”

Chuuya doesn’t let him finish. “Dazai-”

“What happened?” All sweet flirting lilt leaves his voice immediately because something has to have happened for Chuuya’s voice to be on the other end of the line when it’s a call coming from your number.

Chuuya has to resist the urge to snap back at him for interrupting. “They’re safe before you get your alpha panties in a twist, mackerel. They’re gonna need you though,” and he explains all he knows of the situation and gives him the location of the hotel before passing the phone to you. He watches you from the corner of his eye as you curl up on your side and quietly speak to Dazai on the phone, watches as some of tension leaves your body.

Then you speak up. “Okay I will.” And switch the phone to speaker. “Can you hear me, Slug?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“Good. I’ll be there as soon as I’m able, I already told them to let you look after them so I’ll be counting on you.”

Hearing those words from Dazai sends a thrill up Chuuya’s spine that he wishes he could smoother. “Yeah yeah, i was planning on it. I’m not gonna just make them suffer. Just hurry up you shitty alpha. Pretty pathetic of you having another omega taking care of yours..” the last part is grumbled as Chuuya begins to pull off his cropped jacket to place on the bed beside you before unbuttoning his vest.

You turn off the speaker and speak quietly to Dazai for another minute before hanging up, presumably so he can start making his way here without delay. You look to Chuuya curiously as he hands you the vest. “I know it’s not as good as something of his, but you can use it to nest for now.” then more hesitantly. “If you want it anyway.” He swallows as he watches your eyes spark with something before you’re pulling him onto the bed with you, only pausing long enough for him to kick off his shoes finally.

Undressing goes in a push and pull. His coat shoved back off your shoulders, a tug of his harness until he gets the hint and it’s unbuckled, shirt over your head, his steady hands covering your shaking ones as you try to undo the buttons of his shirt. In this way the two of you are slowly stripped down your boxers, able to press skin on skin while you make your nest as best you can. He manages to convince you to toss your dusty clothes off the bed. You’re more antsy and fussy than Chuuya expected you be as he coaxes you into laying with him finally. Your instincts weren’t going to let you feel your nest was complete until you had something of Dazai’s So you needed to be distracted.

Really Chuuya would have told anyone who had dared tell him this morning that he’d be curled up in bed with fuckin’ Dazai’s current omega, skin on skin gently rubbing wrists together, the fabric of his gloves being pushed up, that they’d fucking lost their mind. Possibly would have broken a few bones. But that’s exactly what he was doing. You were soft, endearing in the way omegas were meant to be, in a way he never had been, he can’t help but think. But he also thinks he likes you like this. What a dangerous little thought.

“C-chuuya-” You whine into his neck, never attempting to bite or even lick, just often pressing your face to the scent gland there as you press your body along his. Chuuya’s muscular thigh has slotted between your own at some point, and he allows you to rut against him, the soaked boxers leaving little to the imagination. “P-please I need..” His fingers flex against your hips.

He suddenly flips the two of you so you’re below him. “You need to wait for that stupid,” He takes a breath, a mistake, he shudders, gathers himself, “You need to wait for your alpha. You’re not in your right mind to ask me for anything.” He shouldn’t have to breathe through his mouth like this, not for another omega, he shouldn’t , the taste of your scent is hardly better. He’s gonna be pissed if he’s in heat too by the time that bastard gets here. He can feel his mouth fucking watering over you.

“No no please, I know what I want, Chuuya, I promise. I’ve always liked you whenever we’ve met and, ‘samu says i can trust you an” you’re babbling, the heat is in your head now and honestly it’s hitting Chuuya too if what he does next is any indication. He cuts you off in a kiss, it’s wet, all tongue and teeth as he licks into your mouth, swallowing your whimpers as you yield to him immediately, so willing to give whatever he shows you he wants to take. Heat coils low in his belly and his hips jerk.

He should hold out. Put a pin in this until you’re both clear headed but fuck, the kiss was the point of no return because of the pheromones in both of your saliva. He pulls back from you, pupils blown as he shuffles to create enough space to lift your lower half enough to yank off your boxer briefs in one swift motion. He lets you sag there, one leg hooking over his shoulder at the knee while the other falls to the side, your foot hitting the bed with a small bounce. “Ffff-uck-” he breathes out. Your glistening cunt right there, your clit swollen. The hand by the shoulder where your knee rests grips you so he turns his head for a moment and takes out his need to nip and lave a soothing lick. He raises his right hand, the one not gripping your leg, to his mouth so he can pull his glove off with his teeth, spitting the garment off somewhere on the bed. Hand now bare he spreads your glistening cunt, his eyes blown dark.

You feel dizzy, well you’ve been feeling dizzy with it, but this is different now with your shoulders and head sunk low into the pillow as you look up at Chuuya who has you curled against his chest cunt first. Normally you’d be trying to bury and hide your face, humiliated by how closely he’s looking at the most intimate parts of you. Right now though? Your brain is heat addled and you’re pressing your weight into your shoulders to try press your pussy closer him- you can’t. You can’t, it’s like you’re being gently yet firmly held in place, held down all over. Chuuya turns his face slightly and grins down at you. “You’re gonna be patient for me.” And as he tells you this he slides his fingers through your slick folds. It’s only then that it occurs to you that he’s using his ability to hold you in place. Before you can react in any meaningful way he’s pushing his middle and ring finger into you “Fuuuck,” he says in chorus with your moan. You’re so warm and wet around his fingers, of course you are, your scent, even more than when he’d stripped off the last of your clothes, seems to fill the air around him. He can’t help but lean forward, forcing you to curl up further so his body is wrapping around your own.

He’s so lost in you, your expressions, scent, the feel of you around him, that he almost misses the click of the door’s lock. Almost. He begins to pull back from you, allowing your spine to unfurl while whipping his head toward the door teeth bared.

“Easy there, Chibi. It’s just me.” Dazai Says while slipping through the door quickly, opening it as little as possible and closing it just as abruptly not wanting the scent of his omegas.. omega to flood the hall. He looks rather harried, duffel tossed over his shoulder. With the door securely locked his dark gaze turns back toward the bed and the biting words Chuuya had been about to spit at him about the nickname and running so late die in his throat. He loathes to admit what being under that specific gaze does, the weight of its possessiveness even if he knows it’s for you and not him.

“Osamuuu,” You whine, desperate, tears springing to your eyes all while Chuuya is jolted back to himself when he feels you clench involuntarily around his fingers. His heterochromatic eyes snapping back to you as his ability suddenly releases allowing you to sag and he pulls his fingers from you.

“Shit, sorry- “ your name tumbles out of chuuya’s mouth as the bed suddenly dips and Dazai is taking his wrist, bringing the fingers Chuuya had just pulled from inside of you to his mouth and licking at the digits from base to the tip, the pink muscle curling obscenely, and letting the taste of your slick spread over his tongue.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’m here now. Chuuya was taking good care of you huh?” His voice husks, while he’s still holding Chuuya’s hand to his mouth.

“Do you f-fuckin’ mind, asshole?” Chuuya bites out, hating how he feels warmth flush even deeper at Dazai’s actions, the feeling of his tongue, the scent of an alpha coming off him in waves now that he’s invaded his and your personal space. He tells himself he should rip his hand away from Dazai, he’s more than capable and yet.

Your head bobs up and down in the pillows, drawing Chuuya’s gaze mercifully away from the lewd sight of Dazai still sucking your slick off of his fingers. “He really was, he’s going to get to stay right?”

“Hmm, that depends on him,” Dazai nearly hums the words, something knowing, syrupy thick and sweet dripping off the syllables making Chuuya finally yank his hand back. He ignores how goosebumps prickle his flesh from the alpha’s cooling saliva on his skin.

“Depends on what about me exactly?” The question is barbed, something most any other alpha would bristle at, especially while in the presence of their bonded omega, in heat and spread out on their back. But Dazai has never been just any other alpha.

“Well on if you want to stay, of course. You were going well out of your way to help us.” Chuuya starts to open his mouth but Dazai interrupts. “And you know very well helping them, especially in this circumstance counts as helping both of us. So I’m certainly not going to chase you out.”

While the two of them are going back and forth you’re shimmying in the pillows, finally getting the leverage you need to begin to sit up, tucking your feet beneath you and by the time the two pairs of eye turn to you you’ve already launched yourself, tackling Dazai with most of your weight yet still snagging Chuuya as you go with your right arm. The result being Dazai on his back with you sprawled on his chest and Chuuya beside the two of you, your forearm planted across his chest in a way that can only be described as possessive. “I want you both here.” The words start muffled against Dazai’s bandaged neck though you turn your face just enough to peek one eye at the other omega.

And there's part one! My brain feels a little like mush from finishing it up and reading over it several times so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you all enjoyed!

I don't know why i'd so nervous about posting for bsd in particular but i am. 😅

Also special shout out to @lorelune for changing how i look at omegaverse forever.

tag list!: @startcarvingdarling @osamucide @lorelune @flametrashira @icy-spicy

@chuuminn @fyodior @pastelle-rabbit @katsulock @dorotheasdiary

@yinyuedijun @strawberrystepmom

#osamu dazai x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #soukoku x reader #osamu x chuuya x reader

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venusflytrapm · 24 days ago

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so i had this idea but i can't write it. can you right a aizawa x reader one shot where reader is a barista at a small café and doodled little hearts and cats on aizawa's cup of coffee?

oooo i love thisssss, w.c. 340

You know who the order is for before you even see the name.

Large coffee, 3 creams, 5 sugars, and a teaspoon of cinnamon.

It's the same order you get three times a week for the past couple of months. And you can't help the flutter your chest gets when you know Aizawa is coming in to get a coffee.

You've learned he likes the simple things in life; cats, quiet, and preordering his coffee online before he gets to the cafe. You asked him why he chooses to use the new system rather than just stick to ordering in person like everyone else does and he just shrugs.

According to him it's because he needs to get his coffee as soon as he walks in, he doesn't want to be late to work supposedly. But the way he stops and talks to you for 15 minutes each time tells you otherwise.

Today is different. You're doing something you don't do for any other customers; as you write his last name on the cup in pretty cursive the idea dawns on you and before you know it, you're doodling on his cup.

You know he likes cats so he shouldn't mind the caricature of him as a feline! Little hearts are circling around the cup like a carousel and there are more hearts than cats once your finished.

Its cute, really, the time you put into these trivial things. And you don't notice it but Aizawa was watching you from the pick-up counter with an enamored grin.

Moments go by, and you're making his coffee and handing it to him, your fingers brushing against his.

He glances down at the cup then into your eyes and mumbles a quiet 'thank you'. If you were to ask, he'd blame the quietness of his voice on the time.

It's not until he's out of the cafe that he notices your number written artfully on the side of his cup.

And he sends you a text before he even gets to school.

#aizawa shota x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta x reader #bnha fanfiction #fanfic #unediteddd and i wrote it on my phone SORRY #i hate the endinggg ugh my weakness

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abilouwrites · 6 months ago

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WHO TELLS A TEENAGE GIRL SHE’D MAKE A PRETTY BRIDE

AND THEN LEAVES WITHOUT WARNING, ON A FRIDAY NIGHT

I’ve never been comfortable with love, rarely found comfort in another person. Except him, cradled in his arms on a Tuesday night. My leg over his, his between mine. My arms around his neck and fingers twisting the green curls in my fingers. He peppers kisses against my chest and collarbone, “I can’t believe we’re about to be second years” I murmur. My breath hot against his skin as his hands slide up my tank top.

“I want to marry you” Izuku whispers, so faint I can barely hear it. In the privacy of my room with my fan blowing the words wish away into nothingness.

“I do too” I agree, a little more firm. A little more existant than his, I lay next to him a happiness of just existing next to him. Of being with him, a hopefulness of the future.

Oh how quickly that was ripped away from me. A startling Saturday morning, knocks on doors. Shouts from downstairs. Letters taped to doors, each one. Even mine. Scribbled handwriting and some stains through the ink. I stare at it as I ride the elevator down. Baggy sleep shorts and one of his shirts I took last night after we did our homework together.

Gone, just like that. Like he just disappeared; gone out to nowhere. Izukus excuse to leave me after telling me he loved me. Because he was worried about my safety. Mine and everyone else’s.

“How do you feel y/n?” Momo asks as I stare in silence at my letter. Biting at my lips and picking at my fingers, “y/n?” She repeats my name softly. Passing me a cup of green tea. It shakes in my hand that I grasp for it. Her reflexes catch it from my slippery grasp and she sets it on the table. She sits next to me, a friend from my elementary days. A girl I’ve known my whole life. She wraps an arm around me and holds me to her.

“I don’t understand” I repeat again and again, as if the more I say it the clearer his reason for leaving me will become. Leaving me after I’ve told him how many times I’ve been left. In this same situation, again and again I have loved and love has been ripped away from me, “why would he leave? He’s safest here?” I try to make sense of it. But there is none.

No logic was made in his choice to leave. But he still left, “he told me he loved me” I whisper, “he thought I was asleep but I wasn’t and he told me he loved me. And now he’s gone”

I’m still reeling from this, standing slowly. Iida chastises me but I’m in my own world. One where I need to lay in bed and mope, wail and cry until the hurt leaves my body. Until I don’t want to run out and find him, I’m too tired to keep begging for someone’s love and affection. I don’t have it in me anymore to love. And maybe that sounds selfish but to be gifted a note that says he wants to protect me and the school but still leaves me. Knowing it may hurt me more than death to see him leave.

I close my door, sinking to the ground on shaky legs and sore bones. A lump shoves itself into my throat; I bow my head and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of him. The sweet cinnamon of his cologne. Vomit biles in my throat as I rip the shirt off. A desperate attempt to rid myself of him. A shoving cleanse of everything he’s gifted me.

Tears fall down my face, thick hot tears fall down my cheeks. Bowing at the curve of my lips, snot running down my nose. I’m shirtless crying in my dorm room, wailing and sobbing like some stupid girl but the boy I loved and the boy who told me he wanted to marry me just left me. Left me with no good explanation. God I want to die.

Air doesn’t feel like it’s air, and I can’t breathe. I’m weak as Momo lets herself into my room. Quiet and gently she grabs a shirt from my closet and tugs it over my shoulders.

“Shh. I know y/n just breathe”

I don’t fight her, I don’t fight as she lifts me into my bed. And lays with me, I don’t fight. I don’t have anything to fight. As the tears fall from my face and collect on my pillow, as they stick my eyelashes in clumps. As my nose runs and tears fall into my open mouth.

“He told me he wanted to marry me..” I hiccup against her skin, “and then he left me”

I repeat it again, softer this time. Like the way Izuku said he wanted more, more than just a girlfriend, “he told me he wanted to marry me, and then he left me”

#louiseabilenewrites #my hero acedamia #izuku midoryia x you #izuku imagine #izuku angst #izuku mydoria #izuku midoria x reader #mha izuku #izuku x reader #bnha izuku #izuku midoriya #izuku x y/n #my hero is over and i’m not ok #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia

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papasbaseball · 2 months ago

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The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 2

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,899 of 5,084 Prev | Next

AO3 Link

The Markets of Oz are normally packed during the daytime, ladies coming and going to get groceries and maybe a new dress or two, but they are flooded during the night markets of Lurlinemas. If you have the chance to look without getting swallowed in the waves of the crowd, you can see green lights strung from brick building to brick building (the bricks painted green for lack of renovation funds), newly built stalls in the main square that sold roasted quail for a quarter, and a great Spruce that had been brought in from Winkie Country, its top cresting just past the meager buildings that boxed in the square. Emily tugs me along as I admire the great golden star that was perched atop it, emeralds chiseled into the shape of snowflakes adorning each tip.

"If we move any slower they're going to run out of hot chocolate," she says, pulling me by my elbow.

The hot chocolate in the night market is one of a kind, spiced with warm cinnamon and sweetened to the point that it hurts your teeth. If I could have it year-round, I think I would like that very much, even if I did eventually get sick of it. I follow after her in our immediate quest, trying to shoulder oblivious men and women out of the way.

"How many presents do you need to get?" I ask as we get in line for the cocoa.

Emily pulls her green-gloved hands out of her pocket, silently ticking off her checklist on her fingers. "Six," she says.

I try not to drop my jaw at the idea of such wastefulness. I'm not sure there are six people that I could call friends, much less that I would be willing to spend my wages on for silly presents. In truth, there was one, but she would chastise me if I tried to get her anything. Still, I couldn't help but wish for something to get her.

We order our hot chocolate and sip it as we stroll through the sea, dipping and dodging any particularly rude costume choices. We had stuck to our uniforms, hiding them under the woolen pine-colored peacoats that were standard issue for when we had to lend an extra hand in shoveling off any balconies that got covered in snow during the wintertime. There was no option for us to have extra extra wide-brimmed hats or wired puffy sleeves that were the size of small dogs. Even if we had the option, I don't think that I would have done it on a regular market day, much less in the nights leading up to Lurlinemas.

Emily stops at an ornament seller and takes her time browsing the brilliant sun catchers and rhinestone-encrusted baubles. The glass and “sodering” (I’m sure it’s silver-colored glue) look far too flimsy, so I tell her I'm going to the next booth to look at ribbons and laces. The price of laces haven't gotten any better (in fact they had gone up by 6 cents) but I look at them anyway.

Most clothing could be mended, but there was only so much to be done about laces as they became more and more unraveled. If you had a friend in the mailroom, you could persuade them to let you borrow some rubber cement to stick the frays back together. If you didn't, you had to dip the tips of your laces in the wax of your candle at night. The wax didn't last nearly as long as the cement, usually cracking off within a day or two. I wasn’t friendly with anyone in the mail room, so I had slowly been shortening and dipping my laces until they just barely tied in a regular knot.

My eyes flicked over the shades of olive and forest and moss, until they had reached the box of ribbons. There is a skip in my heart as I remember how the Wizard had tied the ribbon in my hair just days ago. If I close my eyes, I can feel his hands guiding the ribbon up from the nape of my neck and the warmth that radiated from them as he tied the bow in place. If it is true or not, in my mind he has a smile when he looks at me after. I wonder if these ribbons would make him smile like the one I still have in my hair, if they would make him...

I have to look away from the ribbons for a brief moment. The thoughts I had of him since that day have not been pure and kind. They are selfish. I know that they will lead me down a path of trouble if I linger on them. I have my sister to think about and it would not do if I were to lose my job at the palace. I could not save her from the children's home, but they still let me visit her and send her things. I don't send her much, most of it disappears within a few days, but I bring her sweets if I have time to swing by the bakery after I am no longer needed for the day.

Looking back at the ribbons, I can't help but wish I could get one for her. I want her to feel as pretty as I did that day in the Wizard's bedroom. The kids would have a harder time taking the ribbon from her if I braided it into her hair, away from their jealous hands. My eyes flick up to the price card that is held in a coily golden wire stand. 200 cents! It's more than double the price of the laces.

I bite my lip, but my mind is already made up. I look at the shop lady, but she has her back turned attending to the till and adding pennies to it from a green paper sleeve. I snatch a pistachio-colored satin ribbon and shove it into the pocket of my peacoat. Quickly, I slip back out into the crowd of people, heading back to Emily in the ornament booth.

I'm jerked back, my forearm locked in an iron grip as it is hoisted high, so high above my head that I'm afraid my shoulder will dislocate.

"Hey!" I shout.

"There is zero tolerance for stealing in the Emerald City," The man says. I scrape my tiptoes against the ground to get a better look at him and realize that I've been detained by one of the Emerald City's Royal Guards. The green coat with gold trim and accents is unmistakable, accompanied by a sharp green officer's cap.

"I didn't steal," I lie.

He fishes into my coat pocket and pulls out the ribbon that I had stashed in there. "Is that so?" he says. My shoulder burns as he drags me back to the lace and ribbon booth, chucking the spooled-up ribbon back to the shop lady. "Sorry about that, Hazel. Street rat."

I can't help it as the words come flying out of my mouth, “I am not a street rat! I work at the palace!"

"Good," he says. "Then I know where to take you. Lets me get off my shift earlier at least."

He lowers my arm, only to twist it up behind my back, his other gloved hand grabbing hold of the collar of my coat. I shout at Emily, trying to fight against him as he marches us past the ornament booth, but I'm not sure she heard me. She has a confused look on her face as I'm dragged off, but she doesn't do anything to interfere. We may share a bed in this cold weather, but she's never been the type to stick her neck out for anyone, no matter how big or small the injustice. I wouldn't expect her to start with me.

By the time we get to the palace the hand behind my back is numb from the position and the cold air. The shame and fight has long since left my body, my mind trying to focus on how I will provide for my sister and me, or even if I will be allowed to see her again. Do they let criminals into the children's home? Would they even let me stay in the Emerald City? I try to remember what happened to criminals that were detained in the palace. There had been a boy in the kitchen who had been caught with a whole ham hock in his bag when the kitchen staff was closing up one night this past summer. It had been such a scandal -- it was all the staff could talk about for two whole weeks straight -- but in the end, I could not remember what had become of him, only his original crime that had been passed on by those who had been in the kitchen when the joint had been discovered.

We don't go through the main doors, neither the servant's entrance, but rather a side door that I had never seen before. It must have been for guard use only. They crawl the castle like an infestation of ants, so it only seems natural that they, like ants, would have cracks and crevices to aid their coming and going. It's dark, but soon I see that we are in the main entryway. If I can remember correctly, the guards' barracks and offices occupy the left wing from the audience room (convenience for removing unruly guests from the days of King Pastoria, I suppose). Most in the Wizard's personal service have no reason to go there.

The Wizard. There's a sort of heavy disappointment that sits like an oversized and cold jewel on my chest, deep beneath the layers of wool and scarves and uniform. It's not the disappointment that a child might feel under the disapproving eye of a parent, no. It is something entirely unfamiliar: an anger at myself that I might never see him again, that my last impression on him will be one of a thief. But wasn't that what I was? I had stolen the ribbon, no intention of paying.

The guard marches me up through the darkened emerald halls, passing the large pillars, the walls carved with their sharp geometric designs. I take in the sight of all of it knowing that it will be my last time seeing any of it. We're crossing the audience room, the heart of the entire palace, and nearly to the other side when I see him.

He's in a deep green almost black suit. The lapels of the jacket are peaked giving him the appearance of being even taller than he already is. He's talking to a stocky man, at least two heads shorter than him and twice as wide, wearing the uniform of the palace guards with a few additional golden cords strung over his chest that my jailer doesn't have.

I try walking faster, dragging the guard who had my arm pinned behind my back. I don't want him to see me like this. Better to just have all of my stuff gathered and thrown out the back door with me than to disgrace myself even further.

"Uh…Guard," a voice calls. I know it's his. I hate that I know that it's his.

My captor stops in his tracks, spinning us around to address the two men. "Captain," he says, giving a nod to the shorter man.

The Wizard has a confused if not irritated look on his face. I can tell that I've made him upset. How poorly must this reflect on the palace if members of his staff are getting arrested in the street? He says, "Are you going somewhere?"

The guard looks to the stocky man who gives him a subtle nod of the head. "Street rat," my captor says. "I caught her stealing in the market. I'm taking her to booking and calling the head of staff for the palace. She said she works here."

"Well, yeah," the Wizard says. "I can see that. Anyone can see that." He approaches me and pinches the thick wool of one of my coat lapels in between his thumb and forefinger. I try not to look too hard at the gold ring on his thumb as he drags it back and forth lazily against the material, stroking it as if to assess the warmth of the garment. "She's wearing a palace coat. Initials on it and everything."

My captor seems tongue-tied by this, I can hear his mouth open, a gasp for air as if to say something but nothing comes out. I dare to look up and see that the Wizard has his eyes locked on him. The way he's looking at him with those amber eyes reminds me of grade school, when we learned about the flora and fauna of Oz in biology. When talking of tigers, our teacher had told us that if you could see their eyes through the grass it was already too late. You had been stalked for hours before even noticing and they never got close enough for you to notice until you couldn't get away even if you tried. Foolishly, he tries, saying, "I need to take her to booking. She is a stain on the image of the palace."

The wizard drops my lapel and walks back to the officer that is now resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It makes me nervous, but I'm not sure for who. Would they execute me right here in the audience chamber? I wouldn't be the first. The Wizard bends down and whispers something to the officer. I watch his eyes tick back and forth as he processes the secret.

"Guard," the officer says, "Leave her to me. I am sure you are wanted back in the square. Where there is one thief there is sure to be more."

I can't see his face, but I know that my captor is annoyed. He'd been hoping to clock out early and now he had to walk all the way back down to the market square. That brings a smile to my face as I hear the hesitant click of his boots and feel all the blood start rushing back into my arm as he lets me go.

We stand there, the three of us, until we hear the loud echo of the door shutting. The short man salutes the Wizard and makes his exit. The smile drops from my face as I realize what little law and witnesses there were had just walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tiger.

"Stealing?" he says, cocking his head to the side. Immediately, he sets to pacing around me.

"It was just a ribbon, Your Wonderfulness," I say. My shoes have become infinitely more interesting to me, noticing the way even the stitching of the leather to the soles was starting to fray near the toes.

He laughs and it is quiet and deep, sending a prickling from my shoulders down my spine. "Did you like the first one that much? You could have asked for another."

"It wasn't for me," I say.

I can feel him tug on the braids that wrap my head. I had woven the ribbon into them earlier today. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't worn his ribbon since I got it. It was risky, and eventually Emily or someone else would catch on, but I didn't want to leave it in my nightstand and come back to find it missing, pilfered by someone's sticky fingers. So I had woven it into my hair where no one could take it, where the Wizard was now tracing its crooked and dashed path against my scalp.

"You are a terrible liar, missy" he says. "What are we going to do with you?"

Let me go? Kick me out of the palace? In truth, I wanted things to just go back to the way they were, no ribbon, no staff suspicions, just me and my chores and the shared bed with Emily. My voice quavers as I feel his finger stray from the twisted path of the ribbon, wandering onto the pulse of my bare neck, stopping underneath the corner of my jaw. "I won't do it again," I choke out.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," he says. "But you can't be trusted. To have a thief in my staff... well, it would just cause too many problems. First ribbons, next other things..." He completes his circle around me and I find myself facing him again.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

He smiles, revealing to me a flash of hungry white teeth. Too late. He says, "Do you want me to?"

I shake my head, my lips stitched together in case any wrong words should fall from them.

"Such a fascinating creature," he says, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? I have... things to arrange."

He leaves me there in the audience chamber, shaking. If you see them, it is too late. I am standing there, head still on my shoulders, and yet I know that I haven't escaped. If you see them, it is too late.

#wicked fanfiction #wicked 2024 #the wizard x reader #the wizard fanfiction #wicked 2024 fanfic #jeff goldblum

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 2 months ago

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a/n: the final holiday fic! i always love doing a svech family moment and this was beyond fun to write 🥰 and with that, i’ll be quiet on the fic front since i’m a little wiped out lmao. thank you guys for always being so awesome and have a fabulous holiday!! 🤍

word count: 2.2k

tw: domestic fluff

summary: getting all five kids to work together on one project always makes for a memorable afternoon

Andrei drops the grocery bags on the counter, ruffling the recipe printouts with the little gust of air. “I think this is last of it,” he says, frowning as he digs through the bags.

You look up from the notepad you’re scribbling a list on and poke your pen into one of the handles to tug it down. “Oh, good, you got the regular honey Teddy Grahams. The last time we made these, I accidentally bought cinnamon and I thought Al was going to stab me,” you say dryly.

“We don’t want that,” Andrei laughs and kisses the top of your head. He starts unpacking the bags, lining all the ingredients up on the counter. You tick each item off your list as it appears, sighing in relief when everything is marked off.

“Okay, we’ve got all the ingredients for all the cookies,” you sigh, looking up at your husband. “Remind me again why I thought a baking day with all five kids was a good idea?”

Andrei grins and puts two cartons of eggs into the fridge. “Because you’re the best mom,” he replies. “And you want all the babies happy.”

“I’m not a baby!” Dimitri comes stomping into the kitchen. “I’m six!”

He’s wearing a miniature helmet and carrying a mini stick, whacking at the baseboards as he goes. You pin him with a glare, because he knows he’s only allowed to hit the foam pucks or balls with the stick and only in the basement. He looks a little sheepish and holds the stick behind his back.

Andrei leans down to pinch his cheek. “We know you are not a baby, Dimka,” he says, trying to hide his laugh.

“But you’re our baby, always,” you finish. “Evie’s still our baby, even though she’s twelve.”

“Evie’s too bossy to be a baby,” Dimitri grumbles, rushing at Andrei’s legs. Andrei jumps out of the way, laughing, and catches the boy around the waist to pretend fight him. Childish giggles fill the room as they go, knocking into the counters and chairs.

The commotion attracts the rest of your kids and they appear in the kitchen one by one. Alina and Kira appear together, your youngest daughter’s face covered in glitter for some inexplicable reason. You’re not in the mood to question it, but you do wince at the trail of glitter that she leaves in her wake. Alina immediately jumps into the chaos with Andrei and Dimitri, giggling as she distracts Andrei for Dimitri to get a few good whacks in at his legs.

“Mom,” Kira climbs up onto your lap, getting glitter everywhere. “Can I get my letter to Santa back? I wanna add something.”

You internally cringe. It’s a week before Christmas and you finally had the kids send off their letters to Santa a few days ago because he “needs time to make the presents!” and you need time to make sure you got the stuff that was most important off their lists.

A last minute change up could throw a wrench in your carefully plotted and executed plans.

“We sent off the letters, baby,” you remind her, brushing glitter from her eyebrows. “What did you want to add?”

“Oh,” she shrugs and hops off your lap, “I’ll just tell Canes and he’ll tell Santa.”

She disappears into the mess of husband and kids, which now includes Maks, who snuck in at some point when you were talking to Kira.

You try and muffle a groan with your hand. If Kira tells her latest gift wish to Canes - the Elf on a Shelf named for both your husband’s hockey team and candy canes, you’re actually pretty impressed with Evie and Alina for coming up with that one - you’re screwed since the hunk of plastic and stuffing obviously can’t speak.

Somehow, you’re going to have to figure out what’s going on in your middle kid’s brain. You’ll get Andrei and Evie on the case too.

Speaking of, your oldest wanders into the kitchen. She’s tying an apron around her waist, looking at you seriously. “Mom,” she plants her hands on the kitchen table and leans in, “we need to get baking! If we’re going to make cookie boxes for everyone, we’re already behind.”

Your little taskmaster.

You smile at her and tuck a strand of dark blonde hair back into her braid. “Bunny, Dad just got home from the grocery store. We’re going to get started any minute.”

“They don’t look like they’re ready to start,” Evie side-eyes her dad and siblings, frowning.

“They’ll fall in line,” you promise, standing up and tugging at her braid. “Let’s get everything set up in stations, okay? That’ll help.”

Evie doesn’t look like she quite believes you, but she attaches herself to your side and sorts the ingredients by recipe, using all the counter space and the island. When she and Alina had first decided they wanted to do cookies boxes for all of your friends and family, you’d been hesitant to add another heavy lift to your holiday to-do list. Especially when each kid - and Andrei - had insisted on picking their favorite cookie for the box, making it a little more complicated to coordinate at least six different recipes.

Evie had requested gingerbread, the soft kind not the hard kind because the hard kind is gross.

Alina was all in on the most tedious of “cookies” to put together - puff pastry with chocolate and a Teddy Graham made to look like the little bear shaped cookie was sleeping. Your most chaotic child with the most involved project.

You’d had to talk Kira out of the peanut butter cookies she insisted on - reminding her of the peanut allergies that some of your friends’ kids had. She’d compromised on sugar cookies rolled and shaped to look like candy canes.

The boys were easier. Maks insisted on chocolate chip cookies with “lots and lots of chcocolate” and Dimitri wanted the almond snowball cookies you’d made a few times before because he liked how much the powedered sugar puffed out when you accidentally exhaled when eating them.

Andrei had grinned at you as the kids listed out their cookie requests and you’d pinned him with a glare, murmuring, “if you pick something difficult, I’ll never let you in my pants again, I swear to god.”

He’d taken pity on you and picked a relatively simple lemon ginger cookie that you could make in your sleep.

Now, Evie commandeers the kitchen, pointing each of her siblings to a job. They fall in line relatively quickly and without complaint, but you’re sure they’ll get tired soon enough and rebel. For now, you tell Alexa to play a Christmas song mix and get the kids dancing as they help.

Andrei presses a kiss to your cheek, murmuring, “is it normal if I am afraid of our daughter?”

You giggle, Evie really is terrifying when she gets her mind set on something. She plants her hands on her hips and tells Maks he’s pouring the chocolate chips wrong and you have to swoop in before he starts to cry.

“Yes,” you agree quietly. “Totally normal because I am too.”

You pass Maks off to Andrei and your husband swings the five-year-old up onto his shoulders to keep him out from underfoot. He laughs and immediately grabs onto Andrei’s hair, “Dad! It’s like Remy, I’m Remy and you’re Lin-linweenie!”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest at Maks’s mispronunciation. Andrei grins at you and reaches up to tickle Maks’s side. He agrees with your youngest child and goes along with the game, listening as Maks directs him on what to do and correcting every time Maks gives him the wrong direction. You take a few minutes to really appreciate the way Andrei’s back and shoulder muscles move as he works.

He winks at you when he catches you watching.

You work with Dimitri on the snowball cookies, choking briefly on the cloud of powdered sugar he accidentally unleashes from the bag.

“Sorry, Mommy!” he yelps, looking concerned.

“I’m okay, baby,” you choke out, ruffling his hair while you cough into your shoulder. The cloud of sugar hangs slightly in the air and you know it’s going to settle into every crevice of the kitchen.

That’s a problem for a later time.

The girls manage to work together on their dough with minimal drama - of course you get the whine that Evie is bossy and Alina is messy and Kira is getting sprinkles everywhere even though there’s no sprinkles in the recipe. But for the most part, they’re working together nicely, which makes your mom heart really proud.

Like you predicted, they scatter to the wind after a few hours. Alina is the first to go, disappearing with a skip and a grin. Kira follows next, dragging Dimitri with her.

Maks is slumped over Andrei’s head, little hands on Andrei’s cheeks, and you know he has to be getting tired of holding the baby on his shoulders. But Andrei doesn’t say anything, continuing his job of scooping cookie dough out onto the baking sheets while telling Maks some kind of story. It’s really adorable.

Eventually Maks complains and wants to be let down, so Andrei swings him over his head. “There you go, Maks,” he says, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Maks slaps Andrei’s hand in a high-five, which is his latest move when saying hello or goodbye, and runs off into the den, screaming about wanting to watch Remy. The fact that he’s so obsessed with Ratatoille is cute, but you wish it had been a better movie for him to want to watch over and over.

“Dad and I can handle the rest, Eve,” you say to your last child standing. She’s carefully placing the gingerbread cookies an equal distance apart on the baking trays, tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth.

Andrei scoops a bit of raw cookie dough from the bowl and pops it in his mouth. “Yeah, zaychik, now is boring part. Putting trays in and out of oven,” he says, eyeing you in a way you know means he wants some alone time after the chaos of the last few hours with the kids.

“Promise you won’t let them burn?” She turns to face you both. “And you’ll call me when we can decorate?”

“Yes and yes,” you promise, kissing her forehead and brushing a smudge of flour from her cheek. “Go, have fun. Dad and I will handle it. You did such a great job keeping the troops in order.”

She beams at the praise and unties her apron, tossing it over a chair. “I’m going to make cards for all the boxes, okay?” Evie darts off before you can answer and then suddenly, the kitchen is quiet. Your ears are ringing slightly, but you can feel your shoulders relax.

It must show on your face, your relief at the quiet, because Andrei chuckles and opens his arms for you to step into a hug. You bury your face into his chest and inhale the mix of vanilla extract and cologne that’s seeped into his henley.

“I love them,” Andrei chuckles, voice vibrating through your chest. “But they are very loud.”

“Mhm,” you hum in agreement, lifting your face to rest your chin on his chest and look up at him. “But they’re really cute too, right, Linweenie?”

Andrei grins wider, showing off his dimples. “Very cute,” he replies, craning his neck to kiss you quickly.

You hum into the kiss, grinning when Andrei’s hands slip to your ass, squeezing. “You taste like chocolate,” you mumble against his mouth. “Sneaking all that dough is going to make you sick.”

“But who will make sure cookies are good enough for everyone?” Andrei asks cheekily, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Oh, so you’re quality control?” You tease, pulling away from his embrace so you can start loading the trays into the pre-heated ovens.

Andrei scratches at the few days’ growth of stubble on his face and hands you another tray. “Is a risk I’m willing to take,” he says, tone full of faux modesty.

“Our hero,” you joke back, stepping into his personal space again and reaching up to play with the buttons at the top of his henley. “Meanwhile, Kiry mentioned wanting to add something to her letter to Santa, but wouldn’t tell me what. She’s going to tell

Canes.”

Andrei rolls his eyes at the name of the Elf, the whole concept strange and silly to him. But he goes along with it for the kids’ sake.

“I need you to be stealth and figure out what it is,” you continue. “If it’s something small, we make it happen and keep the magic of Santa alive for a little bit longer for her.”

Your husband nods, eyes twinkling in a way that tells you he’s going to go above and beyond to make Kira’s list addition happen, no matter what it is. He’s always gone above and beyond to be the best dad and husband, making magic for your kids every day.

You love him all the more for it.

“Daddy!” Kira’s shout echos through the kitchen. “Come play mini sticks, Alina quit cause she’s losing.”

“Am not!” Alina shrieks.

You laugh and scratch your nails through his stubble. “Go, play mini sticks. I’ve got this,” you tell him.

His kisses you quickly again before jogging off to the den, calling out, “Dad versus kids!”

Their chatter starts almost immediately and you lean against the counter, Christmas music playing and the scent of gingerbread in the air, tired but so in love with your husband and kids.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov x you #nhl fic

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neoplatinum · 11 months ago

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cinnamoroll girl | kim 'winter' minjeong

summary: you meet a girl obsessed with cinnamoroll

pairing: minjeong x reader

themes: fluff, just two very cute girls, cinnamoroll, yizhou & aeri!, mention of jimin!

wc: 1.7k

"aeri, stop." you pull the covers back up your face. curling into yourself in bed. you already feel awful, so why is she bothering you right now?

"you are such a mood killer! she dumped you six months ago, get up!" aeri tugs the comforter so hard she falls on her butt. you laugh at her until you realize how cold you are without the blanket. so you rush forward to try to grasp it out of her hand.

"aeri! give it back!" you shout at her.

"no! please come outside with us. we're all so worried about you." aeri pulls the comforter harder, and you let go. aeri once again hits the ground again. you hear a loud thud and see her soothing her head.

"that's what you get." you stick your tongue out at aeri, to which she throws the comforter right back in your face. you get sent backwards, falling into bed.

"ning! i'm done with her, she's hopeless!" you hear aeri shrill. yizhou walks in, eyes wide at aeri on the floor. but she ignores the girl, walking towards the bed and trying to coax you out.

"sweetie, it's not healthy to stay in bed all day. come join us outside!" out of spite for aeri, you comply immediately. getting up with a playful smile as you watch aeri's shocked face. aeri walks out annoyed while you get ready for a night out.

"ning, i'm going to strangle that girl." you hear faintly in the hallways.

you join the two girls outside, eyes smiling at yizhou while aeri punches your shoulder.

"you are so annoying, why are you only nice to ningning?"

"because." and you leave it at that, walking out of the apartment.

"aeri, who's that?" you point at the girl with the short bob. her eyes are wide as she tries the claw game; it looks like she's trying to get a cinnamon roll plush.

"that is ning's friend, be nice. we invited her out too." aeri explains, but all you can see is the love of your life. hot hot biker jacket girl with a short bob and a handsome face. lips to die for and long, long, long legs. wow, she is exactly your type.

"ning! you didn't tell me you had such a hot friend." you don't take your eyes off the girl, just speaking loud enough for yizhou to hear.

"i did, i told you multiple times about minjeong. you have just been so 'woe is me' about your heartbreak that you never met her." yizhou continues, eyes rolling when she sees you eyeing minjeong like a puppy seeing their owner.

"god you are so gay, not even an hour ago, you were moping about jimin." aeri starts shaking a hand in front of you, and you finally snap out of your daze.

"shh, don't speak of her please." you shush aeri, and pull the two girl's arms. you need to meet minjeong quick. so you approach the girl at the claw machine.

"hi!" you enthusiastically say to the unsuspecting girl. the girl gives you a once over and a look. before pointing at your shoes.

"your shoelace is untied." she points out, and you look down. sure enough your right shoe is untied.

"oh, um. yeah sorry." you kneel down to tie your shoe, meanwhile aeri and yizhou are snickering at each other. you attempt another introduction.

"hi, you are minjeong?"she tilts her head, and you swoon, it's really like looking at a maltese.

"yes." she says and returns to her claw machine. both yizhou and aeri let out a boisterous laugh. leaving to go "get food", which really means they're going to watch you try to flirt with minjeong from afar.

"do you like cinnamoroll?" you watch as her eyes light up, suddenly she's stopped looking through her pockets for more coins.

"yes! he's my favorite sanrio character." she exclaims, taking out her phone to show you a photo of her cinnamoroll collection. they have nearly taken up the whole wall of her bedroom. it's adorable actually, how dedicated she is to this sanrio character because of how cute it is.

"that's so cute." you point out.

"yeah but i'm having trouble getting this cinnamoroll." minjeong points at her claw machine. "i've been here for ten minutes, but i've had no luck."

"maybe i could try?" you offer. digging through your jean pockets for coins. you start shoving coins into the machine. flexing your hands and stretching your neck. getting ready to get this cinnamoroll plush for this cute girl.

you go for the first try, lining it up in the front, and lining up the clawe by checking the side glass. tongue in between your teeth as you focus. dropping the claw...it grabs one and you can hear minjeong gasp. as it rises up, it releases the cinnamoroll. dropping it back onto the pile.

you aren't going to let that stop you from winning this plushie for minjeong though.

you get another try, aiming for a different cinnamoroll, same method. checking the front, and checking the side for position, dropping the claw and crossing your fingers, begging for the claw to give you the plush. and with bated breath it drops into the dispenser corner.

"yes!" you shout, high fiving minjeong who gives you tight hug after, leaving you breathless with a rapid heart beat. goodness, this girl's got you good.

aeri and yizhou return with hot dog and drinks in hand. watching minjeong get absorbed in the cinnamoroll doll that you just won for her. minjeong hands it back to you.

"it's for you." you say, and push the doll back into her hands. she smiles widely at that, tucking it into her bag and the other two girls give each other a knowing look. you four enjoy the rest of the arcade, all the while you're busying eyeing minjeong and you think she is just so darn cute.

"can i have minjeong's number?" you ask aeri. she's popping popcorn in her mouth as you both watch spiderverse.

"ask her yourself." aeri doesn't take her eyes off the movie.

"when would i be able to do that?" you ask.

"tomorrow, she's coming over." aeri continues digging through her bowl of popcorn.

"tomorrow? aeri our apartment looks like a mess right now!" you get up and start picking up all the random clothes and pieces of trash littered around the living room. you start running into your room like a sprinter. grabbing all the dirty clothes off your floor, and shoving them into a laundry basket. you run out and throw all the clothes into the washer, immediately pressing buttons to start the wash cycle.

then you're wiping down the kitchen counters, the dining table, the windows. you wipe down the coffee table and lift aeri's legs to wipe it completely.

"aeri move!" you shout at her. she rolls her eyes but lets you clean around the couch. then she's back to sitting down. you start cleaning the many dishes in the sink and placing them in dryer rack.

"maybe i should say minjeong is coming every week for you to do these chores." you roll your eyes but honestly yeah this is a great motivator. then you start cleaning the bathroom and washing the shower. (aeri is confused why you're washing the shower because minjeong is definitely not staying over)

you finally clean your bedsheets and comforter after your laundry load, excited to have minjeong over. then you start pestering aeri again.

"what does minjeong like to eat? snacks? drinks? favorite food?" you start, opening your notes app to diligently write down each answer. aeri shakes her head at you.

"and do your job for you? no way, ask her yourself. it's more genuine that way." she answers as she pauses the movie, getting up to watch you run around like a headless chicken.

"fine. be like that. just so you know, i ate your lunch last week." you stick your tongue out at her before hiding in your room.

"you come back out here!" aeri shouts. you tune her out, smelling yourself: yeah you need to shower. while aeri pounds at your door, you're busy gathering yourself for a long and definitely needed shower.

"hi minjeong!" you bump aeri out of the way, to greet minjeong first. the girl looks so adorable in a blue button up and light washed jean shorts.

you think she looks like how the first spring day feels. warm and inviting. she walks in with a small smile, a little timid visiting you and aeri.

"hello, thank you for winning that cinnamoroll plush for me." she says as she gifts you two some wine.

"oh no problem, anything for a pretty girl." you say to her. aeri's gagging just at the sound. then minjeong walks in with yizhou trailing behind her.

it's a full house, when you all sit at the dinner table, enjoying a delicious dinner filled with laughter and bad gossip about people. you get to really feel the energy of minjeong, a rather reserved girl to people she doesn't know well, but gets very comfortable around people she knows well.

yizhou is doubling over in laughter, and nearly spilling her wine all over the floor, while hitting aeri. minjeong just laughs and points at them two. you laugh at the sight of them three, it's like dumb, dumber, and dumbest.

aeri and yizhou are knocked out on the couch after laughing too much. you take the time to help clean up around the apartment, putting away leftovers. meanwhile minjeong offers to help wash dishes, not letting you say no.

so you and her are quietly cleaning the apartment while the two other girls take a much-needed rest after their drinking.

you walk behind the kitchen counter, and you start drying dishes that minjeong has washed.

"hey minjeong."

"yeah?"

"could i have your number?" you ask, very nervous and feeling the jitters in your body.

"yeah, only because you won me that plushie." she looks at you and smiles. you don't stop smiling the rest of the night, even if aeri kicks you when she wakes up.

a/n: my original minjeong work got deleted :((((, but it's okay i didn't love the plot for it. so here we are with this piece instead. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#aespa #aespa x reader #kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #minjeong x reader #kpop imagines #aespa x you #aespa winter #winter aespa #neoplatinum

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vivalas-vega · 1 year ago

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mistletoe / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

hey hi hello !!! if you couldn't tell by my previous post, it's my favorite time of the year... which means fics to go along with it! this is just the beginning, from now until new years my fics are going to be very centered on the holiday season so if you have any requests pls send them my way! this one is very short, but sweet and fluffy to kick things off :)

mistletoe / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

add yourself to my taglist

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none really, slight suggestiveness at the end

Frank Sinatra was crooning from the record player on the console to your left… perched next to it was a still-steaming mug of hot chocolate done up a mile high with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick barely poking out of the top. There was glitter from the ornaments dusting the floor and unbeknownst to you, a rogue piece of tinsel woven into your hair as you perfectly placed each bauble on the tree before you. You were so lost in your own Christmassy world humming along to Let It Snow and narrowing your eyes at your work to make sure it was just right that you didn’t even hear the front door open and close, or hear Jake chuckling at you as he snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I think it’s a little too early for this, darlin’, the Halloween decorations have barely been put away,” he said into your ear as you squeaked in surprise, squirming in his grasp to turn around and hit his chest.

“I know your mama taught you it’s rude to sneak up on people,” you chastised and he just smirked down at you. “Besides, it’s never too early for a bit of Christmas joy.”

“Far be it from me to rob you of your joy,” he said, backing away and holding his hands up in surrender as he looked over the place. You’d had the day off while he was gone at work and you really didn’t waste a second of it. The tree was nearly done, all of the pillows and blankets on the couch had been swapped out for more festive options, and garland was strewn across the mantle. He was always in awe of you and your ability to bring magic to any space… when he’d arrived home from work at the end of August he’d actually been startled by a rather gruesome statue greeting him on the front porch and the fake spiderwebs he’d managed to walk through… you hadn’t accounted for his height when putting it up, only yours. Even throughout the normal periods of the year your home exuded warmth and a little something special that was just you.

“It’s perfect timing, really… I need your help with something,” you said and he looked at you expectantly, eager to oblige whatever request you had for him. He watched as you ruffled through the various shopping bags, and he decided it was probably for the best that he just not look at the bank statements this month, before you produced several bundles of glittery snowflakes and thrust them in his direction. “I wanted to hang these from the ceiling, I thought it might be pretty.”

“I think it will be wonderful, sweetheart,” he said, setting them aside for a moment as he looked you over properly. You were wearing a red slip dress adorned with lace complete with fuzzy reindeer socks on your feet that were in stark contrast to the silk clinging to your body but somehow they made you look all the more sexy to him as he settled his hands on his waist and pulled you in, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips but you leaned back and put a finger on his lips to stop him, giggling at the look of confusion that passed over his features.

“Excuse me, sir… I don’t see any mistletoe, do you?” you asked, looking above you and he let out a sigh at your antics. “I’m a lady and I can’t go around kissing just anybody. There are rules, you know.”

“I didn’t realize I was just anybody, darlin,” he replied, digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you flush against him but you weren’t having it, you wiggled free from his grasp and turned your back on him, returning to draping tinsel along the branches of the tree and trying to suppress your giggles.

“Find the mistletoe and you’ll get your kiss,” was all you said and he muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch as he began stringing the snowflakes up, taking great care to space them evenly and hang them at varying heights… something he knew to be sure to do after the great debacle of Halloween when he didn’t hang the bats to your standards. He watched you out of the corner of his eye… still humming along to the Christmas record you’d inherited from your mom as you stepped back to admire your work. It really was beautiful, and he wasn’t just biased because you had done it. You had managed to keep it nostalgic without looking tacky, modern without lacking warmth and he couldn’t help but smile at the satisfied look on your face.

You stood on your tiptoes, struggling to reach the top and place the star atop the tree and Jake chuckled as he quickly reached your side and took over for you, fiddling with it until it was straight and you leaned into him as you admired your handiwork, “I’ve always loved Christmas but ever since you came along I can’t seem to get enough of it.” you said, recalling the first Christmas you’d spent together on his family’s farm. You’d been welcomed with such open arms, and experienced a true small-town holiday season for the first time in your life and it solidified that this was without a doubt your favorite time of year.

“I was just thinking the same thing, sweetheart,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your temple before you moved to clear away all the bags and boxes, leaving behind a pristine and festive living room. You leaned against the archway leading to the kitchen, watching as he secured the last snowflake to the ceiling as you made sure to position yourself just right… legs on full display and that mischievous smirk on your face that Jake couldn’t get enough of. It was something you had picked up from him, and he always loved seeing the little ways in which you two would mirror each other. “What are you up to over there?” he asked, eyeing you suspiciously and you shrugged.

“Oh, me?” you replied, “nothing.” You truly looked irresistible to him right now… lace delicately framing the curve of your chest and the tops of your thighs, all done up in red with that sparkle in your eye as you settled all of your focus on him, walking across the room as if being pulled to you by a magnet.

“Is there a reason you’re glued to this doorway?” he asked, resting his hands on your waist as you allowed your eyes to dart upwards, just for a moment, and that’s when he saw it… the mistletoe. “You little minx,” he teased, leaning closer and your head tilted back instinctively. You had specifically chosen the area the two of you passed through the most often to place the mistletoe and that cheekiness was one of the reasons he’d fallen so head over heels in love with you. He closed the gap and captured your lips in a dizzying kiss, tightening his grip around you when you leaned into him. You moaned softly into his mouth when he deepened the kiss but were left wanting when he pulled away suddenly.

“You know, I am a gentleman… just because there’s mistletoe that doesn’t mean I can-” he’d started, wanting to get back at you for your earlier stunt but you just rolled your eyes as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around him. You never had a second thought jumping into his arms so suddenly, you knew deep in your bones he’d never let you fall.

“Oh shut up and take me to bed,” you said and just like the snowflakes he was more than eager to oblige your request, reconnecting your lips as he maneuvered down the hallway, hands gripping your thighs as you melted into him.

“Oh my god, Christmas threw up in here too.”

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @toobouquet @a-v-a123 (if your name is struck through it means I couldn't tag you - so sorry!)

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frenchie-sottises · 7 months ago

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Back at it With the Punch Out Headcanons.

It's been a long while since I've done any Punch Out Headcanons, and combined with the fact that I looked through my old posts and may or may not have cringed a little, I'm gonna add some more headcanons and update some current ones. (Mostly cause they were made out of little information I had at the time.)

Also, just throwing up a warning real quick as some of these headcanons do mention some heavier topics like familial abuse and childhood neglect for some of these boxers. However, they don't go into detail.

Glass Joe:

I called him a cinnamon roll last time, and that still holds true, but I didn't realize how sassy this man was. Telling you you're bad for his health, making it clear he's coming for you by pointing at you like you just committed a crime, this mfer has some spunk for having a hundred losses to a single victory. He's still extremely chill, but he's not above throwing hands if necessary.. even if he might lose.

100% the type of person to make baked goods for someone if they're down or it's their birthday. Part of the reason why he likes taking his friends to lunch.

Even though the WVBA doesn't seem to have an age limit, especially apparent with boxers like Gabby and Hoy, he's still not looking forward to the day he must retire. He enjoys boxing, it's why he's still kicking despite losing so much, and he hates the idea he won't be in the ring anymore.

Tumblr has broken his humor.

Von Kaiser:

Was exposed to so much propaganda as a kid that he makes a point to learn all sides of the story purely out of spite.

His dad was in the military, so respect was almost literally beaten into this man's head as he grew up. However, despite the trauma, he doesn't believe in his father's tactics, so he chose to turn his boxing career into a place where he can teach other kids the proper way to become respectable adults without the trauma he was put through.

Has a difficult time expressing his feelings, but will eventually give in if it's someone he's close to or with enough coaxing. However, the quickest way to gain his trust and help him open up is to respect his space. His expressions make it pretty clear what he wants.

Kinda has to be dragged to make any sort of online presence. He only has a Facebook and a Tumblr. It would've been strictly Facebook had Joe not encourage him to make a Tumblr. (The site has also broken his humor.)

Disco Kid:

Has 100% wore your typical 80s disco fashion. There's a reason why he's called "Disco Kid." His grandparents were big disco dancers, which eventually got passed down to him. Rollerskating's pretty much paired up with that, so he breaks it down.

Is quite an oddball when it comes to being a boxer. With his history, you'd think he'd just stick with being a dancer, but he's never liked the idea of his passion being his profession. He likes the freedom in his dancing, so it's staying as a hobby. Of course, you need money for hobbies, you saw his car, so he took up boxing when he saw a poster for a WVBA match. He may not be the best, but he loves boxing enough to want to incorporate it with his dancing.

Has made it a mission to learn every instrument there is! He loves his disco stuff, but he has a general love for music. Old, new, fancy, simple, it doesn't matter. If it exists, he wants to learn it.

Is one of the more tech savvy boxers of the group. There's a chat in the Discord server that is solely for memes cause he wouldn't stop posting them in general. ("I've been kicked for posting memes in general. Help-") May or may not be part of the reason Joe's and Von's humors are broken.

King Hippo:

He may be royalty, but he's one of the most humbled beings you'll ever meet. He's definitely an acts of service kind of guy, so he's holding doors open for people, giving people food, using his money to help the citizens on his island, his mother raised him well.

Has personally fought and chased Airbnb off of his island after they tried their greedy bullshit. They already cause people in other places problems, he'd be damned if they're welcomed on his island! (It was televised too, so his appearance alone made even Sandman shake in his boots.)

You're not gonna believe this, but.. Hippo can speak English. He can speak it really well, actually. His iconic way of speaking originally started for show, but became his main way of talking, but English was his first language, so, on the few occasions where he needs to actually talk, he surprises everyone in the room with it.

Has experience in architecture. Safe to say it's one of his biggest passions, and he uses it often to help his citizens because why be a king if you just sit on your ass all day when you can help your people instead? He sneers at most kings he's heard about.

Piston Hondo:

He's such a snarky lil shit in the ring, it's almost comical. He does it on purpose just to cause problems. He's fine outside the ring, but the boxers can tell when he's out to cause problems when his moves his eyebrows more than he normally should.

Second to Tiger when it comes to being a clean freak. He sneezes at the littlest things, so he has air filters and humidifiers all over his home. It's helped quite a bit! If he's in a room where it's dirty, he immediately goes into cleaning mode, outfit and all.

His love for drawing and art still holds true. He gets easily inspired, so he always has a sketchbook on him. He eventually picked up digital drawing, feeling unsure at first, but his determination led him to discover how much he loved it! He now makes a point to learn different forms of art, having made a room in his home dedicated to all things art.

Sneaks up on people too easily. He doesn't even do it on purpose most of the time, he's just very light on his feet. Not even the lightest sleeper can hear him moving around when it's three in the morning. 100% mastered this to raid the fridge, there's no way you're this quiet without picking it up somewhere.

Bear Hugger:

Got his knowledge and love for nature from his dad. He fully understands and accepts nature in all her beauty and ugliness. This also means that anything you'd want to know about nature, he's your go-to. He isn't one to sugarcoat things, so any information you wish to know is to be done at your own discretion. (Is also one of Casual Geographic's biggest fans as he keeps it straightforward while also having master word play.)

May or may not have his DNA altered via a were..bear bite. Yeah, who knew his sparring partner was a mythical being? He paid no mind till he started noticing the typical changes found in such a transformation. His speed and strength led to him breaking his tools by accident fairly often, and his sharpened senses overwhelmed him a few times, but he's adjusted to this and uses these abilities to his advantage, especially in hunting. He's thought about possibly climbing the ranks while he still has the time, but is still unsure as he doesn't mind where he currently sits.

Will fight and has fought people who litter without a second thought. The forest he lives in used to be covered in trash, which he spent weeks cleaning, so he takes massive offense to those who don't bother to throw away their trash. If the person purposely does it after being warned? Only God can save you, cause he's thrown people's whole selves into trashcans. (His werebear abilities make this easier to do.)

Was originally gonna be a massage therapist before attending one of his mother's boxing matches. He has always been good with his hands, so he went all the way and gained his license for it. Of course, he prefers boxing, but he hasn't let his license expire, so he still holds the therapist title!

Great Tiger:

Number one clean freak out of everyone in the WVBA. No one knows where he got it. He doesn't even have health issues that require it like Hondo does, but he feels the need to keep his house clean. This also, by extension, means he keeps himself extremely clean. It's not to insufferable levels like with Don, but he always has a light scent of lavender on him. If he was in a dirty room, or a dirty home, you're gonna see about thirty clones all dressed up and cleaning the place.

If the light shines on him just right, his eyes almost look like they're made of liquid gold. He gets a lot of compliments on his eyes, it's ridiculous. It's either the eyes, or the mustache, which, he won't deny, his mustache is pretty fabulous. He loves the compliments, but he does get a bit overwhelmed if they get too much.

Has a deep love for mythology. It doesn't matter where it's from, he reads and learns all he can about it. He's one of the few boxers who suspects Bear Hugger might've had something happen to him due to the subtle changes he's picked up. He's also dressed up as a vampire on a few occasions just for funsies.

He doesn't want to admit it, but whenever he wears a sash belt, the extra bit behaves like a cat's tail. He tries to control it, but it's apparent when he's irritated, it flicks around just like that of a cat. The only thing it doesn't do is lift straight up, which is something that happens when a cat is happy to see you, but it does curl at the end.

Don Flamenco:

For being as cocky as he is, if he feels like he's in the wrong in any way, he's apologizing FAST. He can't imagine ever hurting someone, even if it's unintentional. He also struggles to not cry as he admits he was wrong, but, dammit, he can't help it.

Absolutely adores games that encourage creativity like Sims and Minecraft. He's always looking forward to designing houses and gardens in these games, using any and all tricks he knows to bring extra pizazz to them. It's even better when Carmen's around to join in. His favorite of the bunch is probably Sims 4. Animal Crossing is a close second. (And you know, damn well, that they got the fanciest, gothic houses in the games.)

Don't ever assume Don performs actual bullfighting, cause this man will not let you hear the end of why he's against it. He's one of cultural heritage, but bullfighting is a disgrace in his eyes and looks forward to the day it's illegal across the country. He'd rather fight the bull with his bare hands in a test of strength than ever bring out a weapon.

Doesn't realize how much his perfume bothers people. He loves the smell of perfume, especially anything floral because of course this dude loves his flowers. He gets fussed at a lot for it, so it's a miracle Mac wasn't fazed by it.

Aran Ryan:

His parents are both terrible. The father pretty much drank his life away while the mother ran away. Because of this, Aran was forced to grow up and fend for not only himself, but also for his little sister, Arabella. It's mostly the explanation for his unhinged and masochist-like behavior. Most people don't fuck with crazy.

Despite his rough background, he was able to get help from neighbors, who all silently agreed to take turns watching the two cause American foster systems tend to not fair much better. He worked at several jobs once he was sixteen. He's worked anything from cashier work to yard work and even some automotive work. He wasn't able to finish school, he dropped out as soon as he started working, but eventually got his GED once he took up boxing and got a steady income to help keep Arabella in school.

Does not give a fuck about what people say about him, but will be on the verge of wailing on someone if they dare trash talk his sister. Soda's had to hold him back a few times cause he'll halt the match to fight whoever said some bs, he doesn't play. Luckily, for everyone involved, anyone with a sane enough mind will not dare cross that line.

Thanks to the WVBA and the neighbors, this is the craziest he'll ever get. Outside the ring, he's pretty much one of the most chilled boxers you'll meet. The most he does is pranks, which all go for annoying the people he targets. You can take the Irish man out of the chaos, but you'll never take the chaos out of the Irish man.

Soda Popinski:

Number one cat magnet. He can't explain it, nor is he trying, but cats love him. He can literally just sit on a bench in a random spot, and it wouldn't even take two minutes before a cat comes out of the wild for some pets. He was even once bombarded with a whole bundle of kittens when he saw one on the side of the road one day. He took them all home, named them, and takes great care of them. Tiger seethes with jealousy.

His calm nature is the Yin to Aran's chaotic Yang. He was one of the first boxers to greet Aran when he first joined, and lent an ear to all the stuff Aran was going through and had to get off his chest. After that, the two pretty much became best friends. He's even helped babysit Arabella a few times if no one else was around to help. It's a bromance at this point. Only Soda can calm Aran down if something, or someone, severely pisses the Irish man off.

Has an immune system of steel. Not even diseases like Covid can faze this man. People suspect it's the soda, but it actually lies in the fact that Soda's technically a genetic experiment gone undetected. Someone messed up the shots and his mother got the shot the Russian government was using to make super soldiers. No one knows about it.

No one has successfully hid from this man, his sixth sense for sniffing out bullshit is insane. Don was sent to get drinks, but came back claiming the store was closed, but Soda pointed out the shirt he left with had tiny flowers, but the one he was wearing currently is only dots. Then Disco came in late for his training sessions, claiming he caught the train, but Soda told him that there's a road that avoids it altogether and questioned why he didn't just take that route. It's almost annoying for the other boxers how quickly he puts them on the spot.

Bald Bull:

Mother died when he was only ten, so the rest of his childhood was handled by his shitty father. Despite being the oldest of three, his father gave his younger brother the ranch due to his disapproval of Bull taking up boxing. He kept what his mother said in mind: to follow his dreams, so he did. He's tried to keep contact with his siblings, but they cut contact with him despite knowing their father is in the wrong. He's understandably bitter about it.

When he has himself a me day, he dresses up in his biker gear and drives his saddlebag bike with the ape hangers. (Ape hangers are high sitting handlebars that encourage upright posture.) His helmet conceals his identity, so no one knows it's him driving around and having fun. He became a rebel/biker as a way to break free from his father's control, so it's forever a part of him. He's also outrun the cops on several occasions. They still haven't caught him!

When it's a good day, he's got that extra bit of shithead energy about him. Doesn't even care if he gets his ass beat by Sandman, when he feels good, he's taunting EVERYBODY. His favorite method of taunting is taking the heaviest dumbbell available and lifting it while cocking an eyebrow and grin while the person is down. Heaviest he's done is 260lbs. He's aiming for higher.

His love for Turkish delights came from his mother making them every weekend after dinner. They hold a special place in his heart, using the same recipe his mother wrote for him, along with several other of her recipes, to keep ever since he took up cooking classes. Will burn someone's house down if something ever happens to that little booklet.

Super Macho Man:

Pissing off people is his specialty. Even when he's not really trying, he'll say something extremely dumb that encourages one of the other World Circuit boxers, usually Sandman, sometimes Bull, to come and beat his ass. He's either oblivious, or he's secretly a masochist, cause this happens a lot.

Takes the BIGGEST offense when someone doesn't recognize him. He thinks he's super famous, and there's some truth in that, but you'll always have people who don't keep up with celebrity drama, so his dramatic self gets salty when the person claims to not recognize him. "Well, I thought I was more popular than that!"

Despite being a dick most of the time, he has his silly moments. People compare him to Randy Savage, they're being generous, so he'll go out of his way to quote him with the voice and everything. He's nothing like the guy other than name, but he does find it endearing and will happily give his fans free meme material. He even quotes memes made of Randy, even the breathing one. He almost passed out.

Loves musicals. He was a huge theatre kid, so he's really good at playing assigned parts and has an extremely good singing voice. (Disco may or may not be slightly jealous.) Absolutely got hooked on musicals like Hamilton, The Count of Monte Cristo, and even the Heathers! Doesn't care he's a buff dude, let him wear the costumes and play those leading roles!

Mr. Sandman:

BIG momma's boy. His mother basically raised him on her own, making sure her boy never lost his way once he got out there. He's grateful for having such a loving mother, and he often gifts her a good chunk of his paycheck so she can treat herself nicely. Not much is known about what happened to the father, but he was a former boxer.

Had dreadlocks at one point in time. Took amazing care of them, even sometimes decorating them with golden braid clips. When they fully matured, they made him look like a lion. He was super proud of them and was upset that they got in the way when he decided to take up boxing. He tried to tie them up in a ponytail, but some of the matches he had got heated, and it led to some of his locks getting ripped out. He plans to regrow them once he enters retirement.

Quietly thanks Mac for taking the belt from him that day. He aimed to be the best, not because of his insecurities, but because he wanted to ensure he could provide for his mom. He thought claiming the belt was it, so when Mac took it, he got the much needed kick in the ass to realize that he doesn't need to be perfect to help out. He's already top dog, so he's already reached that goal.

He tries hard to be stoic, but he can't help but chuckle at some of the shenanigans that occur with the other boxers. Aran smacking Bull's head really hard and getting decked for it? He snickered. Soda constantly putting people on the spot? He smirks at it. Macho almost passing out from doing that one Randy meme? That took some self control, especially when all he heard was Macho falling on his back with a loud "THUD" when he had his head turned.

Extra:

Carmen:

At first glance, she seems incredibly tame, but she's feisty! If someone angers her enough, she'll straight up rip a nearby door off its hinges and beating them with it. Hell, when she's really happy about something, there's a chance she'll kick the door on the wrong side and rip it off the hinges. She's had to replace the doors around the house a few times due to this, and Don finds it hilarious.

Pastel goth type. She was a pink hater for a long while, but the color grew on her. She's also incorporated other pastel colors into her wardrobe. May or may not also have Monster High stuff that she wears as well.

Works as a hairdresser. She colors and styles her hair often, and it's done so well that her girlfriends got her to do their hair. Some of them eventually suggested to her to pick up hairdressing as a profession, which she decided to give a shot and winded up loving it. She's even helped Don with coloring his hair a few times cause he tends to make a mess when he does it.

Cannot sing to save her own life. She was long ashamed of it too, but Don truly doesn't care whether or not she can sing. Due to this, she slowly regained the confidence to sing her heart out again. Anyone who judges or dares to wish for her to shut up will be met with a very angry Don.

Arabella:

She can do no wrong. No, seriously, she's far too sweet to even attempt the kind of bs Aran pulls on a regular basis. Unfortunately, this also means she's gotten bullied a few times as other kids think she's an easy target, especially considering she's chunky and is likely on the spectrum. When Aran had to try and teach her to defend herself, she questioned why she couldn't be friends with them instead.

People make jokes Joe is the baby of the WVBA, because, y'know, his record, but it's really Arabella. Literally everyone has adopted her. If she ever needs help with anything, there's always someone around to help her. Homework? Hondo, Soda, and even Macho can all help. Friendship advice? Disco is literally the extrovert. If she gets bullied? Well, God help the school board cause everybody's showing up. It's hard to not spoil her cause she's such a good kid.

There's a good chance she could be an engineer when she grows up. She comes up with the most creative, and sometimes simple, ways to solve an issue. Her and Aran had to use bunk beds for a while, but nobody really told them how to properly bunk the beds, so Arabella dug into the closet and grabbed a couple of hangers that they could break and use. Surprisingly, they worked really well. Aran's pride shows when he tells this story.

She loves to color in her free time. She has a whole drawer's worth of coloring books and coloring supplies. When she's done, she often gifts the boxers her work, which is also often themed based on what she thinks fits them. They cherish her work, often framing it and hanging it around their apartments. Some of her work is even on display around the gym they train at. She mostly uses crayons and coloring pencils, but she's been learning to use markers as well. She loves the alcohol markers.

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