#again there’s probably more i don’t remember

[fleuryuns]

presenting a fic by @FLEURYUNS

you're still a virgin?

IN WHICH heeseung realizes you're still a virgin after swearing you'd get with someone from the start of the year, so he offers to help solve this problem

PAIRING ⟡ bsf!heeseung x virgin!femreader

UNIVERSE ⨯ non-idol au

WARNINGS ⟡ mdni, smut, porn with a smidge of plot for context, not proofread cuz who needs that, fingering, orgasm denial (briefly), missionary, very vanilla sex, heeseung's kinda awkward #pathetic_men

WORD COUNT ⨯ 3.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . first smut fic on this acc... minors avert your eyes

“We never finished sharing our new year’s resolutions.”

You stop mid-bite into your pancakes. You and Heeseung had spent all morning making them, finally testing out the new oven you got after the last one broke down during another pancake morning. It survived, luckily. There’s only the taste-test left, but Heeseung’s comment catches you so off guard, you put the fork back down.

“New year’s resolutions?” you repeat. “You mean the ones from basically last year?”

He nods, shoving his first bite in. He hums at the taste. Success. “Yeah, we made those lists and started sharing but then—” Heeseung tilts and quirks his brow in thought. “—I can’t even remember. We probably got distracted, but either way, we never made sure we both completed our lists.”

Chuckling awkwardly, you keep your eyes on the plate. “I don’t even know if I still have mine—”

“I do,” Heeseung interrupts. “We put them in that box, remember? I found it this morning, that’s why I thought to bring them up, ha.”

“You didn’t, er, read them, did you?”

Heeseung shakes his head, chewing through another bite. “I thought it’d be fun to go through them and see what we’ve done or not.” He lightly taps his fork around his plate. “We’ve got a few days before the new year starts, no plans, I don’t know…”

“No, no, yeah, I get it,” you assure, nodding quickly. “I just, um, they were stupid. I was stupid. This year changed me, you know?”

Your roommate looks at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “Oh yeah?” He watches you nod again. “All the more reason to get them.” And before you know it, he’s rushing to his room to, you assume, get the box he’d mentioned earlier.

It’s not long before he’s practically skipping back into the kitchen-dining area bringing the box. Tossing his plate aside, he sets the box in between you two and sits back down. You’re anxious at how he unfolds the lid and pulls out two sheets of crumpled paper.

“Yours was the one with the rip at the top,” you say, reading the questions in his mind. Your face flushes as you realize that’ll only prompt him to take it out the other first.

He smiles at you before hiding his face behind the paper. He begins to read it out loud. “Resolution one: Learn how to make (good) pancakes—” Grabbing his fork, he clinks it twice against the porcelain. “Check. Number two: Make weekly savings—Check, right?”

You hum, your leg shaking beneath the table.

“Alright, and then—” He lowers the paper. Your eyes widen. “Lose my virginity?”

“Okay!” you say overenthusiastically. “See! I was being stupid, such a dumb thing to write on a new year’s resolution list, right? Haha, so funny, let’s just throw these out—”

“Wait, but we can cross this off, though, right? You had that boyfriend?”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” you clarify. “He was… gross. I never really liked him like that, so it just never happened. It’s whatever, I’m a virgin, okay, let’s move on. Isn’t the next thing I put down like eat more salads—”

“You’re still a virgin?”

You look at him bewildered. What was up with the intonation? Was it really shocking? Why does he even care? You suppose he’s always been the nosy type, just never assumed it would translate to this, as well.

He seems to realize the second meaning to his words and fumbles to take them back. “Okay, not like—I didn't mean it in a weird way, I’m just surprised that you’re... you know?”

“It’s… whatever,” you clarify. “It’s fine. It’ll happen at the right moment, right? That’s what they all say.” You'd shovel another bite into your mouth and you can’t help but taste the bitterness from your words with the sweetness of the syrup. “I’ll get over it when it’s done and gone.”

Heeseung clears his throat, paper discarded to the side, his eyes fixed on your plate in deep thought. “Do you…”

You raise a brow.

“Do you want my help?”

In your defense, you really hate being a virgin. Not that it’s embarrassing or shameful to be one, but the fact that you swore to yourself that you wouldn't be a virgin anymore since last year makes you want to crumble up inside.

You just don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your past self. Imagine her laughing at you? That’s a new low.

Which leads to this moment right now. Laying in Heeseung’s bed, in Heeseung’s room, waiting for Heeseung to come back into said room with the “supplies” he was rushing out to get.

The door slowly swings open as Heeseung pushes it with his back, his hands full. He makes eye contact with you and a pout makes its way across his lips. “You’re still wearing your clothes?”

Your eyes snap open wider. “Yes?!”

“We’re gonna have sex, Y/N, your clothes aren’t supposed to be on.” He smiles at you as he sets down lube and condoms.

A wave of relief washes over you when you realize he’s just teasing. Heeseung’s a gentleman, but it’s not like you've gotten the chance to know the side of him you two swore to never let you meet. He could’ve been a weirdo creep for all you knew, as long as he was paying his half of the rent it never mattered until right now.

“Do you want me to turn around when you take them off?” Yep, just the same old awkwardly sweet Heeseung you’ve always known.

You smile, albeit nervously. “You’ll see me naked anyway, might as well put on a strip performance to get you in the mood.”

He laughs at your sarcasm, then points to the lights. “We could turn those off if you want.”

For a moment, you consider it. If not for the hopes of Heeseung seeing the least possible,  but for the ambiance. Do people leave the lights on or off during sex? Not like you know. Ultimately, you shake your head, getting off from the bed and sticking your hands under the hem of your shirt. “Ready?” you ask him, though the question is more internalized.

His hum is muffled by his hands reaching at the collar of his shirt.

At once, you two pull your shirts off together.

Standing bare chest to bare chest - with bra - you eye him carefully. “You take your shirt off from the top?”

“What?”

You mirrored his previous action. “You took your collar and pulled your head through the neck hole first—” your words muffle as you reenact it sloppily. “Normal people take their arms out first.”

Heeseung stifles a laugh behind his hand. “Aren’t you supposed to try to seduce me?”

“Is this not sexy?”

“Oh, please, go on, you’re making me hard.”

The two of you laugh and you realize you’re not so nervous anymore. The anxious jitters left your hands and you can feel your muscles relaxing. It’s just Heeseung. Just Heeseung.

As he recovers from a fit of laughter, you look at him in a way you haven’t taken the chance to ever since you met almost two years ago. His arms that flex when he wraps them around himself. His smile which switches to a sly smirk when he’s resisting the urge to laugh louder. His hair that falls neatly into place, over his eyes that glint to the point you can’t take your gaze away from them.

Heat rushes to your cheeks.

He’s attractive. Yeah, that’s been obvious.

Your type? Maybe…

But this is different. And, oh god, he’s going to have sex with you.

Heeseung clears his throat, snapping you out of your daze.

“Pants?” he asks cautiously. His eyes are brimmed with concern, probably sensing your confused thoughts, clearly not understanding what you’re telling yourself.

You respond by tugging at your sweatpant laces, letting them drop down dramatically. Heeseung keeps his eyes glued to your movement, eyes widening at the sight of your bare legs and white panties. He quickly reaches for his belt.

To your surprise, you can see that he’s, at the very least, getting hard. Maybe it’s nerves. You try not to think too much about the possible influence the sight of your almost-bare body has on him.

Still, to test the waters and ease or completely disrupt your mind, you ask, “Can you help me with my bra?”

He fumbles an answer, you’re pretty sure you hear a ‘yes’ through his blabs, as he kicks out of his pants fully and stumbles to your side of the bed. You turn your back to him, giving him the cue by raising your hair away from the clasp.

Shivers run down your spine at his gentle, warm touch on your skin. You never knew you were sensitive, but with every simple movement, every brush against your back has you feeling goosebumps running up your arms.

Heeseung’s breath is hollow behind you.

When the clasp is finally undone, you pull your arms out of the straps, letting the material drop to the floor with your other discarded clothes.

You turn to face Heeseung, his eyes saying more than any words could mean. Stunned, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whisper in return, eyes drifting down to his mouth.

He doesn't hesitate to lean in. His arms naturally slide around your waist, pulling you flush against his body as his lips hungrily crash into yours. You gasp through the initial shock of ferocity, relaxing into his hold with your hands coming up to the nape of his neck.

His fingers squeeze your skin pulling a sound from your mouth, muffled by his lips. You don’t even notice the way his knees push you back until you’re laying on the bed, lips still attached to Heeseung’s, but even those pull away eventually. You almost get up onto your elbows to chase after his touch, but stop yourself at the sight of his intense gaze.

Your gazes lock with each other for a moment, before he finally breaks contact to rush to the bedside cabinet where the lube bottle sits. He pours a generous amount on his fingers, rubbing the gel slowly. He eyes the way it reflects the light and this one reaction makes you think he’s never seen it before, but you doubt it — you’ve heard his sexual escapades thanks to your graciously thin walls.

“I’m going to finger you first,” Heeseung interrupts your thoughts.

You simply hum in return, letting your legs fall apart for him to get back into place, between them.

Heeseung has one hand on your thigh, the other levitates over your skin with nearly-dripping lube, but his eyes are on yours, waiting for another nod before he can continue.

Giving him the signal, you aren’t prepared for the chill that runs down your spine at the cold sensation of the lube on your sensitive skin. Soon enough, though, your gasps turn to gentle hums as Heeseung draws little circles on your bare pussy.

“This okay?”

You nod needily.

One finger finally intrudes, swimming through your walls and curls to find that certain spot. Your hips roll into it—you never thought it'd be this different from your own fingers.

“More,” you whimper.

“Already?” Heeseung teases, but you can hear partial genuinity in his tone.

Wordlessly, your hand reaches down to his, pulling at it to get another finger inside of you.

Heeseung chuckles in disbelief, but doesn't disobey your request.

Two fingers in and you’re letting soft gasps escape your lips, eyes already threatening to roll back at the rhythmic pattern Heeseung’s keeping up. He pushes in, pulls out, pushes back in and curls into you. You match his pace with your hips, hoping to deepen his touch. He’s so close, so close to where you need him.

Meanwhile, his thumb rolls gently over your clit to ease the tension of the stretch. It helps, making your head spin and forcing you to focus entirely on the pleasure you feel, rather than the pain.

Heeseung doesn't warn you when he slips in a third, but you’re busy throwing your head back, moaning to tell him off for it.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the ceiling. “‘Is so good.”

Your back arches as Heeseung’s fingers reach your G-spot, curling and tickling the bundle of nerves, ripping out more muffled moans, your hand thrown to your mouth not to disturb the neighbours.

“Right there!” you moan. “Right—shit, yes—Right there!” When he keeps at it, you can't hold on much longer. “Fuck, I’m so close—”

And then it’s gone.

All the pleasure is ripped away from you as Heeseung pulls out of you coldly, barely looking your way as he turns to the bedside cabinet.

“Hey,” you whine, albeit childishly.

It’s as if something clicks and he turns back to you. “Sorry,” he singsongs out. “I didn’t want you to come so soon, I still have to actually fuck you, right?”

You pout, but ultimately he’s right. That’s what you're here for. “Fine.”

He fumbles with the condom packet, eventually giving up on going at it with his lubed-fingers and rips the package with his teeth.

“I could’ve helped,” you tell him, smiling teasingly.

“I got it. I got it.” He waves his hand at you before he uses that same hand to roll down the condom and—Holy. Shit. He’s packing.

You never took the time to think about his size, though you probably would've determined it was a decent size from the outline of it when he's chilling on the couch with sweats on.

But now that it's out, hard and flush against his toned abs? You take a deep breath and try not to think too much about how it must taste, how it’d feel to have him down your throat—as if you even know how to give a proper blowjob. Maybe he could guide you, holding your head from the back and pushing it back and forth rhythmically up and down his cock and—

“Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you’re sure about this?”

He’s pumping his cock as he asks. You resist the urge to lick your lips.

“Yes,” you say. “I’m ready.” And there’s no lie in your words.

Heeseung crawls back onto the bed once more, staying on his knees when his body is lined up with yours. He nods to himself and you before lining up his dick with your entrance, one hand falling to the side of your head, the other resting on your lower stomach as he pushes in slowly.

The intrusion is unfamiliar. The stretch hurts more than expected. Yet, your mouth is agape in frozen pleasure — Heeseung let his hand fall lower and is now drawing circles on your clit to ease the tension.

He keeps his thumb on your pussy while slowing his movement to a stop. “Tell me when I can move.”

Instead of relaxing into the stretch, preparing yourself for more friction, you focus entirely on Heeseung’s movements on your clit. Rolling the bud of pleasure between his two fingers, your eyes flutter shut in pleasure.

You test the waters by flexing your core muscles, squeezing your walls against Heeseung’s cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, snapping his hips forward at once, but he quickly stops himself. Heeseung looks up at you with cutely worried wide eyes. “Shit, sorry—Are you okay?”

You giggle. “Go!” you say between laughs, rolling your hips down to get him going.

He doesn't need to be told twice. He quickly resumes his previous thrust, your legs are naturally pushed apart to give him more access—moans spill from your lips at the newfound depth he reaches.

Heeseung’s head dips, his hair falling over his face, but does nothing to hide his expressions. You watch him for a moment, reveling in how good your pussy is making him feel. You clench around him again and his mouth falls open. He lets out the most harmonious sound you never expected from him but want to hear again and again.

So, you roll your hips into his, until your lower stomachs are threatening to brush against each other, until Heeseung lowers from his hands to elbows, and your bodies are flushed against each other. Your skin is sticky with sweat, but you can’t be bothered. Not with his rhythmic thrusts reaching so deep inside of you. Not with his fingers still playing with your clit, torturing the bud with nonstop pleasure. Not with his lips so close to your mouth, and your head pulling itself upward to capture them in another kiss.

Your hands snake to the back of his head, curling into his messy hair and pulling gently to bring him closer to you. His free hand finds its way into your hair, too, pushing the flyaways back into the rest of the mess, away from your face, before it rests gently on your neck, guiding you in the kiss.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers into your mouth as your walls clench around him again.

Your head spins at his low tone, pleasure bubbling in your stomach in a way it never has before. “I’m—Shit—I’m so close!”

Heeseung takes this as a signal to speed up his fingers on your clit, and slows down his thrusts, deepening them with each push in.

“Come on, come for me.”

And you do.

So much, like never before.

Your back arches into him, head thrown back, letting out a sinful string of moans. You’d curse from the pleasure, but your thoughts aren't coherent enough to form words.

You’re frozen in place, legs shaking as Heeseung pulls out to finish himself off. He jerks off into the condom on top of your wasted body, coming undone as soon as your dazed eyes meet his hungry gaze.

He doubles over, landing on his hand, face mere inches away from yours. “Fuck,” he says.

“Fuck,” you repeat, a giggle in your tone.

“Congratulations,” he says, rolling onto his back to be laying beside you. “You’re no longer a virgin.”

Your weak arms raise in a small celebration. “Yay.”

“How was it?”

You can’t even respond, hands coming up to cover your flushed face. You can almost feel Heeseung’s smirk behind them.

“I’ll take that as good.” Then, after a beat. “Does that mean you'd want to do it again?”

Your hands fall flat to your sides in one quick movement. “What?”

“There’s so much more I can teach you.”

“No,” you say while shaking your head. He looks defeated, you almost want to reach up and pet him like a dog. “Not until you buy me dinner.”

[helenisaweirdo]

it’s you, it’s you, it’s always you ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the blue lock boys who will only ever have one lover throughout their life…and the reasons why.

(a/n: this one can be cute but it can be just as humbling and cruel at the same time. i tried to be as realistically romantic as possible, remembering that the blue lock boys are still in the end, teenage boys)

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

the ones who have one lover simply because they’re loyal

isagi, yukimiya, kaiser

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ isagi - growing up with a loving family who loves him unconditionally, isagi is naturally someone who believes in monogamy and traditional dating values, such as loyalty. even if there is a hypothetical scenario where isagi falls out of love with his lover, he’ll still stay because he simply believes that it’s just “the right thing to do”. even if his lover breaks up with him, he’ll stay single because he doesn’t want the potential scenario where he falls back in love with his lover while dating someone else.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ yukimiya - loyalty and good morals is something that yukimiya shows a lot of in the series, so naturally, it’s the same when it comes to romance with him. cheating on someone is a clear “no” for yukimiya—why would he date someone in the first place if he’s just going to cheat on them anyways? and if his lover ever cheats on him? well, he’ll be far too heartbroken and insecure to ever go on a date with someone else ever again. he’ll probably try getting his lover back though.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ kaiser - i know, i know. kaiser, of all people, loyal? i think the biggest factor in this is his mother and also his constant needed desire for unconditional love. kaiser’s mother left him and his father, and kaiser is most definitely not wanting to follow in his mother’s footsteps. plus, kaiser canonically having studied psychology makes it clear that he probably knows that if he stays loyal to someone, that’ll make it easier to make them love him unconditionally. ultimately, kaiser’s sure as hell a red flag, but he’s not heartless.

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

the ones who have one lover because no one else wants them

bachira, nagi, hiori

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ bachira - i think we all know that bachira grew up pretty much alone. with such a lack of friends, the moment someone shows interest in him, he’ll latch onto them. it’s to the point where it gets unhealthy, as he’ll get into a nearly depressed state if someone he latches onto finds someone else, like his reaction when isagi and rin were ignoring him during the second selection. because of this, he’ll realize pretty damn quickly that if he wants someone else to be loyal to him, he’ll have to be just as devoted.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nagi - similar to bachira, he grew up with basically no friends until he met reo. although nagi doesn’t seem to care nearly as much, ever since meeting reo, he is much more attached. nagi is self aware that he’s not the most pleasant of the bunch, so similar to how he is with reo, if he meets someone who genuinely cares, he will latch onto them. sure, there will be times where he will leave for a little while; but in the end, he will always come crawling back to his lover because he knows that no one else would want him.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ hiori - hiori is a weird one. a lot of people definitely have a crush on hiori; however, due to his childhood and the way that his parents treated him like more of a tool, hiori definitely just wants love—similar to kaiser. however, the biggest difference is that when hiori finds someone who loves him, he doesn’t realize that other people love him too. it very much matches the saying “love is blind” if you don’t understand what im saying. hiori is obsessed with the idea of being loved that he’ll do anything to help and stay loyal.

⋆｡°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦

the ones who have one lover because they want no one else

reo, kunigami, barou

(a/n: remember kids, THESE are the MEN—not boys—who you should date)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ reo - reo is someone where if he falls in love with someone, there is no one else in the world except for him and his lover. just looking at the way that reo acted when nagi left him for isagi says enough already on its own; reo didn’t try to find someone else to replace nagi—he tried getting nagi back and grieved. when reo falls in love, he truly wants no one else. even if someone goes on their knees and begs for reo to give someone else a chance, he’ll just reject them. in fact, reo will do anything for his lover to stay.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ kunigami - walking green flag. growing up with younger sisters, he knows that being loyal and dating someone who he truly loves is extremely important. he always makes sure to not date someone or give someone who he doesn’t like the wrong idea because he doesn’t want to break their heart and make himself feel guilty. similar to reo, once kunigami falls in love, the world is just him and his lover. to him, falling in love is an eternal thing—something forever. and kunigami knows better than to take advantage of that.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ barou - just like kunigami, barou always grew up with younger sisters who he took good care of. he understands to be a loyal man—that it’s important to treat someone who he loves in a devoted and loyal way. it’s rare for barou to fall in love because this man KNOWS his worth. he doesn’t want someone who will take advantage of him and his housewife ways; so barou falling in love is—like kunigami—a lifetime thing. he’s dedicated to whoever his lover is because…why shouldn’t he? if he fell in love, he won’t fall out of love.

[seumyo]

another new year with bakugou katsuki.

One more hour ‘til the New Year.

“So,” you started, “we’re about to ring in another year. Guess I’m stuck with you again, huh?”

Bakugou paused from tidying up the scattered toys in your shared bedroom. The gears in his head need a moment to get to processing.

“Hah?”

“It’s just hitting me, you know? I’ve been putting up with you for how long now? Feels like forever.”

A scowl immediately made itself known in his lips, unsure if you’re joking or not. “The hell are you gettin’ at?”

You tapped your chin as though deep in thought. “Maybe it’s not too late to return you to your parents. They probably miss having you around, anyway.”

“You’re jokin’.”

Bakugou’s eyes blink dumbfoundedly.

“Does your parents have a no-return policy?”

His voice dropped to a grumble, and his brows furrowed. He finishes tidying up the toys and joins you on the bed, cuddling close to you (even if he doesn’t consider it cuddling, moreso invading your personal space—but you’re his wife, so he gets a pass).

“As if. You think you can just ship me off like I’m some Amazon package? No way in hell, dummy. You’re stuck with me.”

And I’ll gladly be stuck with you for eternity, he finds himself wanting to say but refrains from doing so.

“Stuck with you, huh? That’s a bold statement, Katsu. What if I do want to send you back?” You laughed softly.

Bakugou snaked his arms around you, pushing himself impossibly closer to the point where you could tease him for being too clingy, his lips tugging into a pout he’d never admit to. “You can’t. You said yes when I proposed. You walked down the aisle. You said ‘for better or worse.’ That’s on you.”

You smiled, combing your hands through his hair. It may appear all spiky and rigid, but you’ve learned that it’s actually fluffy and soft—definitely well taken care of.

“I don’t remember that part. I think you dragged me down the aisle, all grumpy and scowling.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere. You were practically sprintin’ to get hitched to me.”

“Was I?”

“You were,” he scoffs, but it’s soft, as if thankful of the fact. “And now you’re mine forever. No refunds, no returns, no exchanges.”

The sound of your laugh is something that’ll never get old to him. He could play it on repeat and never choose to turn it off.

“Forever’s a long time, Katsu.”

“Forever’s not a long time when I get to spend it with you,” he says. It’s the truth, and he can never bring himself to lie to you. Not now, not ever.

Because if anything, Bakugou Katsuki loves with his whole heart, puts every piece of himself in the things he does and has done, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you settle for anyone less.

“Spend it with the little brats, too.” Ah, your two daughters have him wrapped around their little fingers.

You rolled your eyes. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He looks at you with this all too familiar look, as if asking for a simple thing.

“And don’t even joke about tryin’ to get rid of me. You’d be lost without me.”

“Oh, absolutely helpless,” you tease, indulging him with a soft, chaste kiss.

Bakugou snorts. “Whatever.”

“Forever, right?”

“Forever,” Bakugou said firmly, resting his forehead against yours. His voice dropped into a quieter, almost shy tone. “And don’t forget, you’re stuck with me, too. No way I’m lettin’ you go.”

Your heart melted a little at his rare softness, and you kissed his cheek. “Fine, Katsu. I’ll keep you. But only because the return policy’s expired.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you,” you joked.

“Damn right I am,” he replied, choosing to enjoy this serene moment with you rather than bothering to watch the same old boring fireworks to celebrate the new year an hour later.

Your husband can recreate any fireworks shows any day, anyway.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[revelboo]

I feel like a dumbass, but when did Reader learn Soundwave's name in Bad Idea? I went back through the chapters to try to find it but couldn't find when

Nah, I’m the dumb one. Reader didn’t learn his name until Lazerbeak used a recorded clip of it to interrupt. It should be fixed now- too many ongoing storylines and too many little details. Apparently trying to keep 50+ storylines going at the same time was a terrible idea 😅

Clumsy Heart Pt 4

IDW Soundwave x Reader, Shockwave x Reader

• Venting tiredly as he watches Shockwave accidentally knock you down again, Soundwave reaches to catch the scientist’s wrist. Trying to not shudder when he feels those empty places in Shockwave’s mind. Touching someone always creating a circuit he can’t shut out, letting in their thoughts, their emotions. Letting him feel the broken parts, too. And the fact that Shockwave is contemplating dissecting you. Again. “You brought the human for me,” he reminds Shockwave, watching those antenna flick.

• That’s right. “We could improve it. Maybe more legs,” Shockwave growls, head tipping. That horrified look on your face strangely unsettling. “It’s too helpless.” Not sure if he’s trying to justify it to you or Soundwave, but you retreat to the far end of the desk, arms wrapped around yourself. Bad things happen to the helpless. He remembers- what? What does he remember? Slumping back, he tugs his arm free of Soundwave. Not his memory. Just like that other face he remembers is no one. Not him. “I could make you better.” Little head shaking at him, you lean as if to gauge how far a fall it is. Far enough to break you. “Don’t.”

• “I don’t want extra legs or anything else.” Eyes darting between the two, you’re tempted to take your chances with a broken neck. Because the cyclops creeps you out. Skin crawling whenever he touches you. It’s probably the lack of a face, no expression to read. The other one’s face is hidden by his visor and mask, but it at least looks like there is a face under there. Soundwave. Creepy is Shockwave, you remind yourself. “What do you want with me?” Besides mutilating you for fun. Experimenting on you.

• Rubbing his servos against his helm, he pushes Shockwave’s hand to the desk and holds it there when he slowly begins to reach for you again. “You’re safe, little one,” he says, offering you his hand instead. Watching you look from him to Shockwave, your fear so sharp it hurts. Knows all you see are two monsters keeping you against your will. No matter what he says, you’re not going to trust him. Why should you? “Come here.” Reaching slowly, he feels your fear spike.

• Snarling softly when you back up again, Shockwave sees your heel miss the edge of the desk. Sees your eyes widen as you throw out your arms and find only empty space when you pitch backwards. That look on your face, equal amounts shock and terror. Not making a sound as you inhale sharply. And he’s lunging across the desk, accidentally shoving it toward you as he reaches and finds you. Servos closing on you and then you finally scream. Feels Soundwave dragging his hands you’re trapped in toward him, but he can’t move, shivering slightly. That look on your face. Is that the look he’d worn when they’d seized him? That never happened. Wasn’t him. Aware of Soundwave prying his servos loose, of the pained sounds you’re making as you curl into yourself and the memories of that stranger pull at him.

Previous

[cognitiveoverload]

New Year’s Day (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: On the first morning of the new year, Aaron admits that he has a New Year’s resolution.

tags: Established relationship.

It’s barely eight when you wake up. On any other day, you would say you managed to sleep in, but today is different, today you can say it’s quite early to wake up considering you went to sleep some time after three in the morning. As you walk down the stairs, you keep stumbling upon evidence of the night before, from polaroid pictures to patches of confetti, and you can’t help but smile when you remember the best moments of the night.

This year Aaron decided to invite the team for a New Year’s Eve celebration, giving Dave the opportunity to be a guest instead of his usual role as a host. The house was crowded as everyone could bring a significant other if they had one, while JJ and Will brought Henry too, so Jack wasn’t bored to death either.

On your way to the kitchen, you pick up the photos, but you don’t have a look at them before you brew yourself a cup of coffee to fully wake up. As you wait for the espresso machine, you yawn and rub your eyes with the heel of your palm, hoping by some miracle your sleepiness would disappear. You could have stayed in bed with your boyfriend, but the thought of caffeine lured you downstairs.

With the steaming mug in your hand, you decide to sit on the floor in the living room, with your back against the couch as you finally take a look at the polaroids in your hand. Everyone was so happy, and each and every one of your guests had big, wide smiles on the pictures, sometimes making silly faces or hand gestures too. The love they all have for each other is evident, and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

You turn your head to see Aaron approaching with a small smile on his lips. His hair is a mess from sleep, the white t-shirt wrinkled after the night, and the dark blue pajama pants are probably hanging a little lower than usual. You strangely love your boyfriend the most in the first ten minutes after waking up, when the filter between his brain and mouth doesn’t work properly, so you can usually expect some of the sweetest nonsense he can come up with.

He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, and you look up at him with a smile that matches his. “I could be asking you the same thing,” you point out.

“You weren’t next to me,” he states without hesitation. “You know I have trouble sleeping when you’re not there.”

His eyes move to the photos in your hand, but instead of asking you about them, he sits next to you and takes the mug from your hand to drink some of your coffee. You lean your head on his shoulder as you once again go through the pictures, this time holding them in a way that he can see them too. When you reach one of Jack and him, he takes it from you and watches it with a loving smile.

Sometimes he doubts himself, believing he’s not good enough for his son, but there are times like this too, when he’s reminded of how much Jack loves him. You obviously prefer these moments, and you can’t help but place a kiss on his shoulder before resting your chin on it. “He looks so happy,” you tell him quietly, to which he responds with a hum of agreement.

The two of you sit there a little longer, enjoying the quiet morning. He’s holding your hand, occasionally taking your mug to drink even more of your coffee, but you don’t mind, because these are those moments that you cherish the most. These times you can feel how much he loves you. It’s not that he never shows how he feels about you, it’s just more domestic, making you feel like you were a real family.

“You know, I have a New Year’s resolution,” he begins, turning to you with a mischievous smirk. When you give him a questioning look, he takes a deep breath. “I want to marry you this year.”

It’s quite shocking to hear him say these words so nonchalantly, as if it was a topic you have discussed several times already. But you have never talked about marriage, you didn’t think he would want to take your relationship to this level. “Where did that come from?” you wonder out loud.

Aaron raises your hand to his mouth, taking his time to answer. But then he takes the mug from you, and puts it on the floor next to himself. “It’s nothing new, I just wasn’t sure if you wanted this. I mean, we’re good together, you stay here a lot, but something was always missing. And then I realized this something was you moving in and becoming a real member of this family. Marriage… it’s just a step I want to take with you to make sure you don’t go anywhere,” he says with a smile.

You giggle before leaning closer to give him a quick kiss. “Good to know.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Ask me, then you’ll see,” you tease him.

Rolling his eyes, he wraps an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. “You’re mean,” he points out. Before he could say anything else, you hear the wooden steps creak, a clear sign that his son woke up as well. “Morning, Jack,” Aaron calls out, raising his hand to wave to his son, signaling him so he knows where to find the two of you.

“Good morning,” the boy says as he sits next to his father and curls up against his side.

With a loving smile, he puts his arm around his son, then you both listen to the little boy telling you about how much fun he had last night, and how you should let him stay awake this long more often. Aaron lets out a thoughtful hum as he watches the kid. “You can stay awake past midnight on your birthday. How does that sound?”

Jack furrows his brows as he considers the offer. “Can the others come over again?” The answer is a nod. “Okay.”

Your boyfriend ruffles his son’s hair briefly before he leans over to you. “He can also stay awake on the night of our engagement party,” he informs you. When you give him a displeased look that he brought it up in front of Jack, he decides to speak up again. “Hey, I’ll ask you when you least expect it.”

And you know he’s telling the truth. You definitely won’t see it coming.

[iandoubt]

scott smajor with number 7 for your spotify asks?

omg anon sorry it took me so long to get to this, but here: Scott smajor with number 7, Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance!

textless and bgless under cut, as well as really long ramble caption vvvvvvv

I hope this is alright! If nothing else, I’m so so proud of drawing hair braiding, that took. So. Long. lol, anyway yeah I also really like how Scott’s hair came out, and I’ve never made a third life Jimmy design before so I came up with this on the fly and I really like how it looks. But yeah, I saw which song it was and thought of them immediately, Scott was so distraught at Jimmy’s death in third life, (prepare for ramble that is mildly unintelligible if you are not really geeky about MCR lore lol. The main stuff you need to understand is that mcr has four albums, I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, The Black Parade, and Danger Days: The True Lives of The Fabulous Killjoys, and all of them have a lot of lore) like they are so demolition lovers coded, especially because of the whole back from the dead thing where Jimmy is alive and well in later seasons but Scott is still grieving him and the memory thing with winners remembering which means Scott remembers third life and Jimmy doesn’t, reminds me of like (from my understanding of the story, which is different from other peoples because MCR lore is very vague) the inner turmoil of the lover from the three cheers lore who went to hell, and his lover is in heaven and on one hand he wants to reunite but on the other he knows his lover doesn’t even know he’s alive (-ish. Not sure how much his situation qualifies as “living”) and feels guilty, thinking that she probably won’t even want to see him again, because he’s killed so many people and he doesn’t want to ruin her paradise (I mean she misses him too and wants to see him again but he doesn’t know that, and also he rightly recognizes that he is an actual sociopath. I’m not saying c!Scott is crazy (well, as not-crazy as you can be in life series death games. Everyone is at least a little bit off their rocker. Woah, parentheses within parentheses, what is this!?), but I am saying the guy demolition lover absolutely is. I am also saying that c!Scott has self worth issues. At least in my headcannons. I also have a similar headcannon for Joel. Maybe that’s why they hate each other, their mad that they can’t sacrifice themselves for each other and then decided a murderous rivalry was the only option/j ) but yeah so the torturing themselves over a lover who is both dead for them and also at the same time alive and well but unreachable and in a better place than them and wanting to be with them but holding back for fear of hurting them which ends up hurting them anyway (which is also a theme in the black parade, so ig you could also kinda compare Scott to The Patient, but patient always felt more Joel or Pearl coded to me. Also yes I know I already made a post about smalletho demo lovers au, but idk I can have both smalletho and flower husbands demo lovers I just like projecting my interests onto,,,,also my interests ig lol) is something Scott and the sinner demolition lover have in common. Also this song makes me cry. So much. Could barely even draw this through the tears lol/silly, and I’m exaggerating but less than you’d think. Unfortunately I am a crier. I also cry at Summertime from danger days, pretty much all of three cheers but especially I never told you what I do for a living, demolition lovers from bullets (btw for non MCR fans these are album and song names. Also the demo lover’s story starts in bullets with the song titled for them, and then is continued in three cheers for sweet revenge) as well as I don’t love you, wttbp, the end, mama, and famous last words from black parade. And those are just the MCR songs, not counting all the other sad songs from other bands. I am a CRIER lol. But yeah, thank you sm for the ask anon I really enjoyed drawing this!

[ihfmseatsoch]

Hiiii this is Jimmy rape anon again!!!! Your fic was so good and super duper cathartic sooooo X333 Waiter, more Jimmy torture please!!!!!

Can I please get a red room type situation where the reader streams snuff porn of Jimmy after he tries and fails in drugging and taking advantage of them? Or if snuff is too far for you, maybe just in general ruining of his life? Super sorry if this is too weird, I respect your boundaries and I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable!!!

-🥩

I ❤️ SNUFF 😁 smiles sweetly

genre: smut, dark fic

gender neutral reader, genitalia isn't described

word count: 2.2k

warnings/content: dead dove, attempted rape, actual rape, kidnapping, drugging, snuff, jimmy dies 🥳🎉

(>_< this is my first time writing smth like this #sorry if its dumb. bleh)

—

Nights like this were routine for Jimmy; go to a bar, chat up someone that looked the most deprived of their father's affection, roofie them, and take 'em home. Not like anyone would miss a dumb whore in the first place, so it's all guilt free.

Everything was going smoothly with you, although it was frustrating how you kept your hand protectively over your drink the entire time. You also don't seem particularly interested in his advances, so drugging you unconscious was the only course of action. Problem was, the opportunity never arose.

His impatience began to grow. He was not used to being denied what he wanted, and he started to feel irritated by your resistance. You were certainly a difficult target.

Losing interest, his focus diverted away from you, scoping out anyone else that looked drunk enough to make his goal an easy feat. He takes a sip of his drink, grimacing at how it tasted unusually bitter, the flavor lingering unpleasantly on his tongue. Jim dismissed it as a minor quirk. He's just imagining things, the bartender must've made it wrong.

Deep down, an uneasy feeling nagged at him, an inexplicable sense of foreboding settling in his mind.

He doesn't remember anything before everything went black.

When he regains consciousness, he can hear the muffled sound of someone speaking, and through his unfocused, bleary vision, he can see a blinding light pointing directly at him. It takes him a moment to completely get a grip on reality.

Jimmy can tell he's on the floor, but the texture underneath him is similar to... a tarp? He can recognize a camera stand only a couple feet away from him, once his dizziness alleviates.

"Oh, good. He's waking up." He hears an... oddly familiar voice coming from nearby.

Jimmy attempted to move, but all of his limbs felt sluggish and slow. He quickly realized his wrists and ankles were bound together with thick rope that dug painfully into his skin.

"What... the fuck?" Jim manages to groggily mumble, panic washing over him.

"Say hi... um, whatever your name is. I forgot. Probably unremarkable, anyway. I mean... who would care to learn the name of a pig bred for slaughter?" The figure in front of him snickers at their own sentence. A chilling sense of recognition dawns on him.

You.

"Fuck." Is the most fitting word he could utter between his teeth to describe the horror gripping his chest in this moment. "What...– What did you do to me, you psychotic, fucking–" Jim spat, his words still slightly slurred from the lingering effects of the drug.

"Language." You scold, reprimanding him like a child. "I've already heard every insult you could throw at me. Honestly, men like you need to get more original."

He notices a USB cord connecting the camera to a laptop, the screen displaying what looks to be... a live chat, and his body, sprawled pathetically on the ground.

He was being filmed, streamed to a live audience. If he was close enough to read the chat, he'd be met with thousands of people egging you on to make him suffer, using every method in the book.

"Everyone's been so eager to see me butcher another piece of meat. You should be flattered that I chose you. You're gonna be a star." Your tone is eerily giddy.

"Flattered" was most certainly not the word he would have chosen to describe this predicament. "What... What do you want from me?" Jim sounded weaker this time, the fear finally starting to seep into his voice.

"It's not what I want from you, silly. This is about what I can do to you." Your clarification isn't any less threatening. "You tried your hardest to hurt me first, and usually I commend perseverance. But... being so committed to assaulting an innocent person... that's not worthy of praise. Punishment sounds more like what you deserve."

This is not happening. This cannot be real.

"H– Hey, okay, listen. I made a mistake." Jimmy stammers, trying to come up with anything to stall for time. Anything to throw you off. Anything to keep him alive. "Just let me go, I won't breathe a word of this, I swear to god–"

"God? God won't save you. You're not worth it. I don't know how many victims you've gotten your greedy hands on, but even one is more than enough for the death penalty. In my humble opinion." Kneeling on the ground beside him, you grab his face, forcefully turning it to make eye contact with the camera. "You're a pretty boy. Shame you turned out this way."

"Please– Just let me go. I– I'll give you cash, I got money." He pleaded, struggling against the restraints around his limbs. "I'll give you everything. I'll do anything, j–just–" He swallowed, his words faltering under the weight of his desperation.

"Money?" You laugh, like it's the most hilarious thing you've ever heard, and it very well may be. "Aww, you're cute. But no, I don't want your hush money." You position yourself above him, groping his hips, feeling his body up as if you're inspecting an animal.

"Don't–" His body tensed the moment you made contact with him, and he tried desperately to jerk his body forward to get away from your touch, but, well... you can't exactly do much without hands or legs, can you? "–Dont f– fucking touch me!" Jimmy cried out in vain.

"What gives you the right to beg, when the people you've hurt couldn't?" You roll your eyes at his whining. Men like him are always such crybabies.

"Hmm... should we do a poll, chat? Duct tape over his mouth, or no?" You type away on your keyboard, speaking casually to your deranged audience like nothing about this is remotely insane.

His heart thrummed against his ribcage, a cold sweat causing his clothes to uncomfortably stick to his body. "Wait– No! No, you c–can't–! People will look for me, y–you can't j–just–" Every word he speaks ia now filled to the brim with panic and dread, lacking their usual sharpness.

"No one is coming to help you."

You respond plainly. And truthfully, you aren't wrong. Jimmy knows he only has one friend in this entire world, and zero family that ever gave a fuck about him. There's no doubt that Curly would indeed search for him, but the police are useless. He'd file a missing persons report and the case would go cold in a month.

"I've known guys like you my whole life. So which one is it; Daddy issues? Mommy issues? Both? Either way, your parents obviously didn't care enough about you to raise you right. So family is out of the question."

That last sentence got through to him, hitting too close to home. "Shut up," Jimmy's face contorts with anger, "You don't know anything about me, you–" He growled, a weak attempt to hide the shame he felt deep down. He hated how clearly you saw through him. He was truly alone, and it stung.

"I know enough," You reply, without even a hint of emotion. In fact, you were infuriatingly nonchalant. "It's always the same story. Mom and dad fucked you up, so now you're bitter and old, taking any chance you can get to make people feel the same misery you have inside you."

Jimmy winced when you so ruthlessly pointed out the truth he always tried so hard to deny. He wanted to fight back, but what could he say? He was at your complete mercy, literally. So he stayed quiet, his body trembling in your grasp.

You study something closely on your screen, something he can't see, which makes him all the more nervous. "Duct tape it is." You nod to yourself, grabbing the roll you conveniently placed beside you, like you were prepared for this. To silence him. You're not gentle with it, either. You wrap the tape carelessly around his head, the material sticking to his hair and mouth, secured tightly in place.

A muffled protest comes from behind the tape, but it's just as pitiful as his pleading earlier. Your fingers loop around the hem of his jeans, tugging them down roughly. It's honestly a bit more of a struggle than you'd hoped for, with his squirming, plus the rough material not going down smoothly without a fight.

"Don't you think it's stupid to fight back at this point?" You huff, wiping sweat from your forehead when you finally get his pants down to his mid-thigh. "Like, come on. This is the end for you, and you know it. At least you'll be entertaining to watch..."

Dread. That's all he can feel right now. Pure, nauseating dread. Jimmy feels like he's been punched in the gut, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach from rushing to his esophagus. His adams apple bobs as he swallows down the painful, choked up sensation in his throat. He doesn't want to cry. He can't give up his pride just yet.

Jimmy's stubbornness doesn't last long when you yank his underwear down, his soft dick laying limp on his stomach. You straddled his hips, grasping his shaft agonizingly tight, making him involuntarily let out a panic stricken whimper. No one has ever touched him like this, in a way that made his entire body feel violated. He could sit in the shower for the rest of his life, and never wash off the filth.

Jim attempts, once again, to plead for mercy, his brown eyes glazing over with fresh tears.

He's thankful he can't see your face anymore.

You can't make out what he's trying to say, but it's not like you're all too interested to find out, anyway. He feels you shift on top of him, reaching over to grab something off a nearby table. As soon as the cold, metallic barrel of your handgun presses against the pulse point on his neck, his body stiffens, his cries halting altogether.

"That's right. You just stay nice and still." You mutter, maintaining that same calm demeanor you've had since you brought him here, sealing his fate. You've done this before, it's obvious.

It's terrifying.

You keep the gun against his throat as you slip him inside of your hole, albeit with some struggle of course, because he's not hard in the slightest. Jimmy's chest heaves, and he's sure he could vomit at any second. Everything about this makes him feel sick. He's trembling so hard, lightheaded from hyperventilating.

He wishes he would just pass out so he didn't have to feel you use his dick like a toy. Every time you sink back down onto him, it makes him physically recoil, cringing with every muscle in his body. It feels so... wrong. Depraved in a way that's too monstrous, even for him. Which is hypocritial of him to think, honestly. He's put, what, dozens of people in this exact position?

His senses are completely overwhelmed, and he's unable to let out the buildup emotions in a way that isn't letting tears flow freely down his cheeks, out of the fear that if he makes a single noise or complaint, you'd kill him early and continue desecrating his corpse, whilst every single person witnessing his final moments cheers you on.

"At least I'm getting some use out of you," You pant above him, getting off on his sobs, and his palpable, unadulterated fear. "You can be proud knowing you actually made someone cum before you died. I doubt you ever have before."

His eyes anxiously follow the gun as you move it to press it against his forehead. "I wonder where I should shoot you," You hum, deep in genuine contemplation, "I think everyone would like to see your brain splattered all over the wall. Or, I could shoot you right in the heart," You prod the barrel against his chest, "And watch you panic when you feel it stop."

Jimmy wanted to ask you to make it quick. Honestly, he's relieved he'll die when this is over. At least he wont remember a single thing about his fucked up existence when he's unconscious and rotting wherever you throw his corpse. At least he wont remember how he felt in this moment. It's a little comforting to let his mind wander elsewhere, thinking of how blissfully numb he'll be when you end his life.

You could feel yourself nearing your orgasm, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your body, and if you're being honest, his cock is big, even if it's flaccid inside you. What a shame that it'll go to waste soon. "None of this would be happening if you were a decent man. Isn't that funny?"

No, it isn't.

When you finally cum, he doesn't even have the strength left to be scared anymore. After years of longing for death, his prayers have been answered. It's not the most graceful way to go, but then again, he never expected his last moments to be peaceful.

You grip his hair, roughly twisting his head to look into the camera lense. Surprisingly, even to himself, he doesn't fight back.

"I don't know where you're going, but I hope it's worse than hell." You cock the gun, pressing the barrel to his temple.

The last thing he hears is a deafening gunshot that bursts his eardrum.

—

[ddandelionfluff]

moonlit recollections | viktor x reader

modern-ish? au; fluff; no relationship established; it's my first time posting pls forgive any mistakes; englishmajor!reader; inspired by Astrophil and Stella Sonnet 71

***

Who will in fairest book of nature know

You knock on his door at two in the morning, startling him out of the coffee-fueled haze he had been in for the past few days. Your voice carries through the thin door, asking if he was still awake. Joints creaking, Viktor pulls himself out of his desk, self-consciously smoothing out his too-wrinkled shirt and running his hands through his too-long hair as he opens the door, stopping quickly. The inside of his dorm is a mess, and if you saw it, you’d probably start trying to help him clean.  

He draws a breath as you look at him and laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling as they trace his hair.

“You look rough.” An admonishment.

He shrugs.

“I have an exam tomorrow,” An apology.

“Which is why I’m here,” You say by way of explanation, which does not actually explain anything.

His brows furrow as he leans against the frame, taking some pressure off his leg. “I do not understand. We did not have a study session planned today.”

And even if you did, it wouldn’t have been at two in the morning.

You laugh again, a short, incredulous sound, and Viktor wishes he was funnier so he could be credited for it more often.

“No, genius, I’m here to get you to take a break. Also, you did miss our last session, so you owe me.”

How virtue may best lodged in beauty be

So here he was, following you through the dark university buildings as you, for the lack of a better word, broke into the arts lounge.

“It’s not breaking in if I’ve got the keys,” You justify, keys jingling in your hands. Viktor studies you as you fiddle with them, your face scrunched and tongue poking through your lips in concentration. You hadn’t taken off the lip oil you usually wore for moisture, and it glittered under the flashlight’s scrutiny.

“Hmm?” He says, realizing that you had said something, and that you were standing.

“Is the sleep deprivation getting to you, Viktor?” You tilt your head, eyes roving over his face, searching for the obvious signs of exhaustion painting his features. The purple under his eyes, drawing his face in even harsher lines, the line of tension between his brows. The way his features tended to draw into themselves like a plant unwatered. He watches you watch him, tracing your lips, touchless, trying to remember a word that wasn’t your name.

“I think it is,” He admits softly, afraid of letting you catch onto him.

You smile, hands finding the doorknob and twisting. You leaves the lights off, navigating through memory and the stray light of streetlamps streaming in. Viktor stumbles behind you, feeling his way through clumsily.

The doors to the balcony had been left open, a major oversight you grumble about as you slide them open. The air is chilly, making you shiver as it slithers past the warmth of your sweater. His sweater, Viktor notices. He had lent it to you a week ago, at your last session.

 Let him but learn of love to read in thee,

You had shown up to the library soaked through, the rain outside painting the world gray with its weeping. You tried to hide the shivering, but it was clear in the way you clenched your teeth, body drawn together with tension as you laughed off his concern.

“I don’t need my sweater, go change in the bathroom,” He had offered, both pitiful and exasperated at your lack of planning. With a sheepish smile, you had accepted the help, promising to return it as soon as possible.

Sunk into worn leather couches warmed by the nearby fireplace, you’d almost disappeared under the wool. As your hands danced across the page of the textbook in your lap, underlining and annotating the poem as you explained the basics of close-reading, Viktor couldn’t help but notice how you halted to push the sleeves up now and then as they got in the way.

It was supposed to be an easy class, but as of late, it had been taking up more time than his core courses. Not that Viktor could be bothered. You two had been in the library for hours now, on the couches near the fireplace—a frequent haunt. It was the best place to curl up with your anthologies in your laps, the lack of tables allowing  forcing Viktor to lean closer to see what you were pointing at, and—unbeknownst to him, for you to sit so your thigh would press up against his. Though he wasn’t aware of your design, he was plenty aware of the electricity firing up his nerves, even when the warmth of the fire threatened to drag him under.

He yawned, confused. Not only because he couldn’t make sense of your explanation or the sonnet itself, but also because he wasn’t used to the extreme bouts of fatigue that overtook him around you. It must be the literature, he had thought to himself, the words were literally putting him to sleep.

Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.

“Tired?” You’d asked, sounding equally exhausted and perhaps a little hopeful. But Viktor had shaken his head—he’d needed to get through it that night, for the test was less than twenty-four hours away. The first one, his chance to set a standard for himself and to make an impression.

“Confused. I still do not understand what this last line adds to the poem. It is so…” Viktor had sighed, mouthing the line. “…random.”

“Well,” You’d started, tucking away a stray strand of hair. “If you look at the rest of the sonnet, Astrophil has been focusing on the virtuous parts of his love for Stella, basing it in admiration of her character and beauty from this very pure, respectful perspective. Almost like he was worshipping a deity rather than, I don’t know, loving a person. Keeping that in mind, what do you think the sudden interjection of desire might mean?”

Even half-asleep, you made the perfect teacher. Viktor wondered if he was making you question your decision to be an educator with his idiocy. Mulling over your words, he’d tried to formulate a response that would please you.

There shall he find all vices' overthrow,

That was the most difficult part of this subject—finding an appropriate answer. In his field, there was only ever one. But here? It felt like he was shooting in the dark, randomly putting together semblances of analysis in hopes of making the puzzle fit. It frustrated him.

“Hm,”—is what came out. Sighing, he’d tried again.

“Well, desire in this case would refer to a…carnal feeling, would it not?” The word was awkward against his tongue as he’d looked to you for approval, lighting up slightly when you nodded. Congratulations, you absolute genius, you remembered a basic definition, he thought sarcastically. It was a clear testament to his skills that even such a rudimentary recollection made you happy.

“Desire expresses, well, a desire for sustenance,” He’d continued. “So, it is being starved by the virtue of Astrophil’s love for Stella, then? Is that it?”

You smiled, teeth peeking out from behind your gloss-painted lips. “That is one interpretation, and a pretty good one at that.” Then, you’d paused, leaving Viktor confused again. A good interpretation did not mean the best one.

Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty

“Some might say that it’s a reminder that any true love can’t just be focused on virtue and purity, but also needs to encompass more carnal, ‘lowly’ aspects to be complete.” You explained, noticing his look. “But it really doesn’t matter what interpretation you argue for, as long as you have a strong argument.”

“But which is the better answer?” Viktor had asked incredulously, a hand threading through his hair.  

You laughed lightly. “There isn’t one, I suppose. Just whatever you can argue for.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” He said with finality.

You shrugged as you scribbled down the analysis in his margins, leaning over so your hair was too close to Viktor’s face. He drew in a sharp breath, smelling the fresh scent of your shampoo.

“It’s just an exercise in close-reading, Viktor. The entire point is to discover the poem,”—you’d punctuated this statement with a flourish of your hand, rings glinting—"not to tie it up and beat it until it gives you the ‘right’ answer.”

Your voice had taken on that trademark gentleness, the tone it always took when you talked about anything you loved. Poetry, your favourite book, even a particularly good cup of coffee. It made Viktor’s chest ache, like it was pulling into itself, trying to shy away from you. He wondered if you could ever talk about him in that tone.

He’d been silent too long, eyes resting on your face absentmindedly. You laughed, snapping your fingers in front of him. He startled, sheepish. You’d been talking.

“Wanna call it a night?” You’d asked, shifting to face him properly, knees still tucked under your thighs.

Viktor had shaken his head. “No, I still do not feel entirely confident about this test,”

“Relax, Viktor, it’s only worth four points. Have fun with it,” You yawned, leaning your head against the couch, right beside his shoulder.

He’d mimicked you, leaning his head back to relieve the ache in his neck. “I would have thought that our semester-long acquaintance would have shown you how impossible that is.”

You had shrugged, blinking slowly. “Worth a try,”

Silence was a blanket over the two of you, your eyes shut lightly while Viktor tried to draw his away. He’d dreaded the end of this quiet, when you inevitably opened your eyes and sighed, a complaint about how you still had to go home and make dinner slipping from your lips. And Viktor had, once again, been too afraid to betray himself, to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner, to punctuate that question with the fact that his place was closer anyway. Instead, he’d stolen glances as you packed up, stopped you from returning his sweater, assuring you he’d just take it later.  

Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly;

“Do you remember when we first met? You looked exactly like how you do right now,” On the balcony, you pull him out of his thoughts, leaning against the railing. He steps forward to join you, the cold metal a welcome shock compared to the nearly uncomfortable warmth your presence inspired in him.

“Are you trying to tell me I look horrible?” He replies flatly.

You shrug, smiling. “Maybe,”

He laughs, swallowing the faint bitter taste of self consciousness as he takes his place beside you.

That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.

He’d been late on the first day, having to brace far too many stairs for his liking. The night before had been spent sleepless with pain in his leg, and the stairs that morning only made it worse. The only seat left was beside you, in the second row of all places. Cane thumping embarrassingly as the professor paused, Viktor had dropped beside you, trying his best not to disturb your arm as he settled in. The old hall, tucked away in the windowless basement of the Arts department, had creaky chairs and tiny pull-out desks, quite different from the state-of-the-art labs Viktor was used to. Despite his best efforts, his arm bumped against yours as he brought out his notebook.

You’d startled slightly, throwing him a small smile as he muttered a hasty apology. He began trying to decipher the page number by looking at your book, half-hidden by the arm you rested your head on. Unfortunately, you’d noticed that too. With another kind smile, you’d reached over and turned the book to the right page, pointing to the exact sonnet being discussed.

Though he thanked you, the lecture still flew over his head.

He could feel your eyes on him as you put your things away extra slowly, as if to match his pace in an attempt to not embarrass him further. If so, it didn’t work. He’d been painfully aware of the delay he was causing.

 “Are you in this faculty?” You’d asked as Viktor stood up. He was a deer caught in headlights as you swung your bag onto your shoulder.

“No, this class is, eh, a required option,” He’d said, feeling the paradox of the category.

“Really? The engineering students usually take the lower-level literature courses.”

“How do you know I’m in engineering?” Viktor had asked. Being easily discerned didn’t sound like a good thing.

You’d laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s only because I know most of the literature students, we’re a pretty small group.”

“Fair, but I could be in maths, or biology,” He’d titled his head. Around him, new students had started piling into the room. The two of you had been standing here for a while now.

“Well, you smell like motor oil and formaldehyde, so I think I got it half right.” You’d winked, stepping past him. You smelled like jasmine and books.  “I’ll see you around?”

And, not content to be perfection's heir,

And you had seen him around. The next lecture, you’d grabbed a seat closer to the entrance, saving the one beside you for him. He saw you as soon he entered, drawn to familiarity. Stopping just a step away, he noticed the bag, self-consciousness seeping in for a second as he wondered if he wasn’t as welcome as your last conversation had led him to believe. Perhaps that was just politeness, to help him save face? He had taken up a lot of your time.

Somewhere in the middle of his internal conflict, you had looked up from your book.

“Oh, hi, I saved you a seat!” You’d said cheerfully, a hint of tension in your smile. Later, you would tell him you were afraid to come off as too eager to be his friend. He found it unbelievable that someone could be embarrassed of wanting to be kind.

Viktor had never been so grateful for both his inability to decipher literature or his disability than the effect it had on his friendship with you. After the egregiously long reading list was distributed, you’d turned to him:

“I was thinking of going to get the books after class, do you want to come with? There’s quite a lot of them, so it would be easier for us to carry them together.”

Only when you were walking back to his dorm did he realize that in his eagerness to form an acquaintance, he had skipped over something quite obvious.

“You do not need help carrying these,” He said, slightly accusatory.  In one arm he carried a tower of half of the total required books, and, he realized again, only the thinnest ones.

 “Well, I didn’t want to come off as patronizing by asking you if you needed help,” You said, voice strained. From embarrassment or the effort, he could not tell. “Besides, my reasoning was so half-assed, I thought you saw through it.”

Viktor’s annoyance had only lasted a second before he noticed the breathlessness in your voice, no doubt from carrying almost double the weight you’d have to if you’d bought only your own books.

“Well then, I think I owe you for this,” He’d said, trying to keep his voice even. The truth was, even with you taking on so much of the burden, his arms and legs ached. There was no way he could’ve made it all the way back without your help. “Thank you.”

Now, you were definitely embarrassed. “You don’t have to thank me, any friend would do the same.”

Friend. He had other friends, but Viktor had still warmed at the fact that you’d decided his company was worth pursuing.

Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move,

Now, here you were, a semester’s worth of study sessions and late-night talks later, still finding each other’s company worthy. Even as you stood silently, admiring the city’s skyline, basking in the presence of the other wordlessly.

“I must apologize,” Viktor begins suddenly. You shoot him a quizzical look but let him continue.

“For missing our last session,” He explains. Now your lips part, but Viktor continues. “No matter how busy I had been, I should’ve let you know I couldn’t make it. But I had just returned from an exam after two sleepless nights and fell asleep despite myself.”

You turn towards him, concern drawing your eyebrows together. “Viktor, why would you need to apologize for getting sleep? Speaking of which, why are you depriving yourself of rest?”

“I need to study, you know how it is,” He waves a dismissive hand, trying not to get anxious over the fact that he was currently wasting time.

“I must admit, I do not know how it is,” You reply. It was true, Viktor had noticed the delicate balance you struck in your own life, somehow always finding the time to socialize and keep yourself healthy without failing all your courses. Though you always said it was because your degree was easier, Viktor didn’t believe it.

“Unfortunately,” He sighs exaggeratedly, “we cannot all be gods of excellent time management.”

You laugh. “Not time management, just an easier program,”

Viktor shakes his head. “After taking just one of the courses that make up your schedule, I must disagree. I would have failed without you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, sure, Vik.”

The nickname makes his heart stutter, even though you’d used it a thousand times. The lack of sleep truly was getting to him. In the silence that followed (because he couldn’t think of how to continue), you sigh.

“What’s the end for you, Vik?” You ask, looking at him sideways. “What’s the point of all this—the sleepless nights, the skipped meals, the self abandonment?”

The question was uncharacteristically heavy, and he wonders for a moment if he should inquire after you. But then again, it was half-past two and you were here, with him, instead of getting the minimum eight hours of rest you subscribed to, so perhaps that was a non-question.

Instead, he ponders the question you’d asked, mulling the words over in his mouth before speaking. He hadn’t really vocalized it before. “Well, I want to help people, I suppose. Help them and be remembered for it.”

You hum in understanding, expecting him to continue. And he does.

“I suppose I’ve felt…invisible. For most of my life, that is. Most people were embarrassed of looking at me, and the universe itself seemed to be telling me that I didn’t matter. So I made myself matter. Became the smartest in the room, the most accomplished, excelling intellectually so that no one had a chance to notice anything else.”

“Did it work?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

“I…do not know,” He admits, laughing slightly. “The recognition, the awards, the opportunities—they help, but the attention only lasts a few minutes, and it’s always…incomplete.”

“How so?”

He hesitates slightly, scared of the words about to leave him. “People don’t see all of you, I suppose. Just your mind, and your work. They still shy away from all the parts of you that don’t fit in,” He motions towards the cane still clutched in his hand, and the leg that now ached tenfold.

You hum in understanding, your eyes now finding his. “Like people only value you for what you can do, rather than who you are.”

“Exactly.” For a moment, Viktor is in awe of your ability to understand people, before he notices the tension in your shoulders and the tight way you’d said those words.

“What about you?” He asks. “What do you hope to achieve from all this?” 

Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.

You take a breath, exhaling deeply as you look around. “Same as you, I suppose.”

“I was referring specifically to all this,” He waves a hand, gesticulating to your surroundings. “Taking care of so many people, in so many small ways. It must add up. It must take time away from studying, from actually working towards your goals.”

You laugh, but it’s more of a formality than genuine mirth. “I don’t really have big goals like you, a need to be remembered in history for doing something great. I don’t care about a classroom of kids studying history decades in the future, I care about my siblings remembering me the moment they’re, I don’t know, illegally drunk and have no ride. I want to love and be loved now, in the immediate. Screw legacy, or whatever,”

 Somewhere during your brief monologue, the fire behind your eyes had started blazing again. The traitorous ally that was the air in his lungs betrays him, as it usually does around you, but Viktor wouldn’t be surprised if he could just survive on the sight of you alone. Your shoulders tense, face taught, defenses raised, a vestige of having to defend your choices and your life from those who could never truly understand you. As much as he wished to reach out, ease the tension holding you tight, it was exhilarating to witness—the ferocity that inspired your love.

“What?” Your eyes meet his, finally, after roving everywhere else for the past few minutes. He realizes he’s been staring too long, too quietly. Licking his lips, coming up empty for words. Woops.

“Is there something on my face?”

A shake of the head. “No, no. You’re fine,”

“Alright,” You say, suspicious. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?”

“Of course not!” Viktor scrambles to correct you. “I was just…at a loss for words.”

“Whatever you say, Vikkie-boy,” You sigh, faking exasperation.

Viktor cringes at the nickname, which was novel.  “Please never use that term again.”

You pout, a teasing glint in your eye as you lean towards him. “Aw, you don’t like my new pet name?”

“Yes,” Viktor replies, deadpan. Partially because he cannot, with any self-respect, entertain such a monstrous butchering of his name, and because you were entirely too close to him. Close enough that he can see the pores in your skin and the pupils of your eyes, and the glittering liquid in your waterline.

So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love,

He catches the exact moment you notice it too, the proximity. Your gaze flits somewhere lower, and though he would like to flatter himself, Viktor resists the thought that comes. He hears your breath falter, tripping before correcting itself, your lips parted slightly.

Another thought, loud and overwhelming. Much harder to resist. Much harder to think past. So he doesn’t—think, that is. Doesn’t speak. Lets the silence and your confusion stretch on for a few more moments as he takes you in.

“You’re acting a bit strange,” You say, voice and eyes low. It sounds divine.  He could listen to it all night. “You wanna go to bed?”  

As fast thy virtue bends that love to good:

Viktor shakes his head. There’s never been anything he was surer of. Perhaps he should feel a bit guilty that through your profession of your morals, your defense of your values, he could only think of stepping closer to you. Of taking your breath away. Of, perhaps, taking care of you, for once. Repay you for all your favours. Perhaps he should feel guilty that instead of engaging with you intellectually, he could only think of softness, in your hair, your lips, your skin. But then again—

He recalls dimly the poem that started this all, its lines blurring past him to the beat of his own heart.

But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"

He could do it. Step closer, quiet the tidal waves in his mind that left him so mute. There was a ninety-five percent chance you wouldn’t mind, a similar chance you would enjoy it.

It wouldn’t feel like a forest fire, he could imagine that much. A hearth, perhaps. Steady and warm and comforting, the warm space between your lips where your breath mingles with his—peppermint and coffee, the taste of the chocolate you’d been nibbling before a palimpsest he could trace with his tongue.

He could do it.

Could he?

[princeloww]

This probably won’t be very eloquent, it is 3 in the morning, but I wanted to make a little (slightly more serious) new years post, because there's something I want to talk about.

I have got to meet such wonderful and brilliant people this year. Life is hard — the world is a terrible, terrible place — but those people, friends, mutuals, seem to make it worthwhile. I wanted to thank everyone who has been a part of my life this year, no matter how frequently or largely. Without you, without connection (even over the silliest, stupidest of things) I don’t know how I’d cope. Thank you for being part of this year. I hope, next year, we can stick together — no matter how hard things seem. No matter how rough the world gets. We will always have each other, and, in the end, that’s all there really is.

I also wanted to take a moment to highlight the people — person — we’ve lost this year. I did not know Tori, @dtmsrpfcringe, very well. We hardly ever interacted. However, when we did, it was unbelievably clear how bright and passionate she was. Even if you disagreed with her, with her takes or opinions, it is undeniable just how caring she was. She poured time and passion into the things she cared about, and used her time, her valuable, useful time, to defend others. She fought, even in small ways, for what she believed in. If that isn’t admirable, I don’t know what is.

Again — we didn’t know each other particularly well. She once shared kind words with me, but aside from that, we never really spoke. Despite it, I find myself thinking about her very regularly. She meant a lot to a lot of people. She brought brightness and wit into an otherwise drab world, and fought on — despite the cruel words she often received. 

I don’t think it matters whether or not you agreed with Tori. I think, regardless, her passing is a devastation and a huge loss to our community (or whatever you wish to call it). She was a loving, friendly, and passionate person who cared until the end. This must be an unbelievably hard time for the loved ones she left behind. The children. The family. In this time, in this period, my heart is with them. My thoughts are with them. I hope yours are too, as we push on and inevitably keep going.

It’s cruel, the way it has to go. It hurt, watching that queue slowly end. I know the people close to her, her dearest friends, must really be struggling. My thoughts are also with them. Grief is a horrible and strange creature. Sometimes it never goes away. Despite not knowing her, not personally, I don’t think I’ll ever forget Tori. The small impacts she made on my life. The large ones she made on others’. 

I remember reading, once, a horrible ask she received. Somebody told her they wished her new-born baby would die. I think about that quite regularly too. I think about the horrid, miserable person you have to be, to send a message like that. To think it up, and think it socially acceptable to send to someone. To tell anyone — let alone an exhausted mother with a new-born baby. 

I don’t know who sent that ask. I probably never will — that’s just how things go. But I hope, somewhere, wherever they are, they learn to wake the fuck up. Even if you disagree with someone, you never know what they’re going through. There is never, ever, an acceptable situation to say that to someone. Would you walk up to a mother in a hospital and tell her you hope her baby dies? I’d hope not. What makes it different? Is it because your name isn’t attached? You feel invisible, labelled as anonymous? It’s, frankly, really pathetic. I hope whoever sent that, even if just in the tiniest way, takes something out of this tragedy. I hope, at the very least, that they feel an ounce of regret. 

That’s probably being far too polite. I hope they wake with regret. I hope they struggle to shake it — but they probably won’t. Some people are just horrible. It’s a horrid, rotten truth of the world. It’s the reason Tori fought. The reason she kept posting, sharing kind words and challenging what she thought wrong. 

I think we all, sometimes, need to challenge the things we disagree with. Speak out. Give others, those too shy, a voice. But at the same time, I think we need to realise that these people are human. Is empathy really that difficult? Behind every comment, there is a human being. Someone who thinks, someone who breathes, someone who feels things just like you. How is that so hard to understand? How could you type up a horrible message, a message like that ask, without an ounce of perspective? 

It’s really baffling. I don’t mean to be negative — but I really think we should take something from this. Realise just how human we all are. I mean, some of these things we fight over are petty as fuck. That’s, unfortunately, the reality of it.

When it comes to admittedly silly things like fandom discourse, I think we should take a moment to remember just how fleeting this really is. Fight for what’s right, speak your thoughts, funnel that passion into something useful — use your voice to speak for others’, to share your kindness and make someone’s day, but also remember that, underneath it all, we’re just people. People who think. People who feel. People who used to play stupid games as children and learn the same things. 

If you disagreed with Tori, on anything at all, I don’t want to hear it. Not on this post. You’ll be blocked, immediately, if you do. There’s a time and a place. This is not that time and not that place.

Going into this new year, into this new part of life, I just hope our thoughts can remain with Tori. She was such a bright, caring person, despite whatever she might have been going through.

Children are without their mother. That will always be hard. Devastating. 

I just hope, maybe, we can try to have a bit of perspective. Remember those that we love, those that we’ve lost, and that everyone, underneath it all, is just a human. 

I’m beyond grateful for the people I’ve met this year and had the privilege to interact with. This includes Tori. She will be missed — infinitely, I’m sure — but she will also be remembered. 

Send someone a nice message. Ask how they’re doing. You never know what will happen. 

Happy new year. May we push on together. 

[sillystarwrites]

Caught - Daisuke x GN! Reader

Type: silly fluff!! Gender neutral reader, as usual. lil bit of cursing too.

Summary: reader & Daisuke go out to steal sweetener packets, but somebody catches them red (or pink ig??? The sweetener IS pink) handed. They’re (possibly?) cooked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were resting after a long day of work on the Tulpar, letting your bed practically swallow you and your exhausted self whole. Until you heard light knocking at the door to your quarters, which got a bit rougher as the person out there called your name.

“Y/N! Y/NNN!!! Come on, get out here!” Daisuke whisper-shouted. It was that time again. Your weekly sweetener raid. It was more for him rather than you, but you indulged in the snacking sometimes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” you groaned, adjusting your pajamas as you stepped out of bed, opening the door to reveal your partner in crime. He was also dressed in pajamas, but predictably wore his Hello Kitty ones as he usually did. 

“You’re so slow!” he playfully complained.

“You’re just impatient.” you clapped back.

“Oh whatever!” he grabbed your hand, carefully dragging the two of you to the ship’s kitchen, careful not to make too much sound while going down the halls. 

It looked like it was really space in there, the void nearly endless down the corridors. You saw the area outside the kitchen illuminated in blue by the massive night screen in the living room. “Shh, quiet down!” Daisuke whispered as you entered the small kitchen area.

“I didn’t even-“ 

“Shhh!” He had to be messing with you, or just stupid. It was the former, by the way. “Anyway,” he attempted to fidget with the packet dispenser as you leaned against the counter, “you remember the code for the packets, right?”

“No? Why would I?” You responded, “This is mostly for you anyway.”

“Oh. Well damn,” his voice flattened, “I don’t remember it either. It’s probably in that book thing though, right?”

“Already there.” You beat him to it, leaning down in front of the book, flipping until you found…right. “We need the code scanner…”

“O-kayyy!” He responded with obviously fake optimism, “We can just guess, right? Or break it.” He spoke, jokingly or not.

“I mean you can try, I’m not sure if-“

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You’re screwed. Three wrong guesses and the machine thinks there’s a burglar or something.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He panicked, desperately trying to turn it off, but what did he need now? The code scanner!!!!!! Because of course you two did. What else would you two need? “Man, I’m never gonna get a good reference with this!” and he still worried about that.

“Fuck.” now you were panicking too, as what you assumed to be Captain Curly’s thudding footsteps rang down the hallways, “Best thing to do is face the music, like Swansea always says, right? He‘ll still be mad, but proud of us for facing it, right?” You tried to calm Daisuke, knowing him to stress a bit easily.

“You’re like- totally right now that I think about it…that makes sense I suppose.”

“What are you two doing?” Curly interrupted the small moment, groggily walking towards the kitchen.

“We were gonna get some sweetener packets, but uh, neither of us remembered the code…” the intern sheepishly admitted, leaning against the counter in an attempt to seem casual.

“Really? That’s it?” Curly yawned, “I think I remember the code to turn it off, just let me…” he trailed off, walking behind you two and fiddling with the machine for a moment before silence filled your ears.

“Thanks, Captain.” You mumbled, still a bit embarrassed.

“Of course, kiddo,” he turned to you two, “just…don’t do that again, okay you two? I’ll let it slide this time, just be more careful.” He handed the both of you one sweetener packet, tiredly smiling, “And get some sleep while you’re at it, yeah?” he suggested, before heading back to his room.

“That went…a lot better than I thought.” You said.

“Same, I thought he’d like, totally get mad.” Daisuke agreed, still a bit shaken.

“You can take my packet by the way, I’m not hungry.” You handed your pink packet to him. 

“Oh, thanks man! You’re the best!” He hugged you briefly, “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight.” You yawned, watching him jog back to his quarters.

You took a seat at the couch, admiring the nighttime screen for a bit, before exhaustion got the best of you, forcing you to drag yourself to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I love writing for my boy Daisuke sm…someone request more of him. Or Anya. I like Anya too.

[ghostgirl-22]

stanford era art having a bad day (maybe he failed a test or something, nothing too serious) but he gets really upset (like he’s gonna cry) so when he gets back to his dorm patrick is there (cuz he’s visiting) and patrick wants to take care of art, see what art needs but art is like “please just fuck me” or something along those linessss

Hello my love, thank you for the prompt <3 This got crazy long for some reason. Just needed Art wandering about feeling sorry for himself lol

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

—-

It’s frustrating, he’s never ever failed a test before. Particularly in math. It’s not like he wants to be a math major or an engineer or anything but he’s been in advanced math since he was 14 years old, he should be able to handle this.

He tries not to cry as the professor goes over the results of their calculus based physics exam and the other students in the class are answering questions, demonstrating their work like it’s easy. Meanwhile he’s struggling to understand it. He talks to the professor after class and the professor is understanding but he explains, “these are the basics, the class is only going to get more difficult. So I suggest you withdraw and retake it after you take a more fundamental calculus course?”

Art nods and forces a smile, his throat burning as his professor pats him on the arm.

“It’s okay, plenty of students go that route and still become architects and engineers. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Art is barely aware as he treks back to his dorm. He’s never flunked out of a class. And yes, math is one of his more challenging subjects but he’s always been able to work hard enough to figure it out. Working hard is his one talent. It’s how he ended up as one of the best students at Mark Reballato, salutatorian. He used to be the one to tutor his classmates. He aced every AP and Honors course. He’d studied so hard and done so well on the SATs and yet these kids at Stanford are actual child prodigies and geniuses…and for some of them it’s like… it’s like they don’t even have to try.

By the time he gets back to his room his eyes are full of tears. Why can’t he fucking excel at anything? Why can’t he be the prodigy for once? Why does he always have to try so fucking hard?

He knows his roommate won't be home until evening and he’s so ready to throw himself on his bed and sob like a loser but as he pushes open the bedroom door he remembers Patrick is visiting. He’s there on Art’s bed watching The View, of all things, and talking on the phone with his sister.

He waves, grinning but pauses when he sees Art’s face. Art can’t even hide it, it’s too late. Tears spill from his eyes and he drops his book bag in his chair.

“Hey Tor I’ll call you back,” Patrick says, into the phone.

Art wipes the tears away quickly, angry that they’re there in the first place.

“Hey! What’s wrong?” Patrick asks.

Art shakes his head. “Nothing.”

”Seriously? You look like a kicked puppy. Come on, tell me what’s wrong. Is it your grandma… or… or tennis?”

”No Patrick, you just… you wouldn’t understand.” He knows Patrick wouldn’t take this seriously. Patrick’s just another prodigy. All their coaches telling him how brilliant he’s been at tennis since they were 11. And Tashi too, a once in a generation talent, that’s what they’re calling her.

“Try me,” Patrick says. Art stares at him. He’s lying across the width of Art’s single bed, back resting up against the wall. He’s in his boxers still, legs open, his muscular thighs spread out. Hands folded inside the Stanford t-shirt he borrowed from Art. His penetrating gaze is resting on Art and he looks concerned. And so fucking hot.

Art rubs his eyes again. He’s frustrated and angry but now he’s feeling… horny. He probably should’ve thought twice before having sex with his best friend. Everything is all silly now. He’s not sure why he did it. Well actually, he was trying to fuck with Patrick, see if he could ruin his relationship with Tashi.

He didn’t even think Patrick would go for it, just mentioned it casually on Patrick’s birthday but he came back a couple days later with all these different kinds of lube and condoms and they spent a long rainy afternoon trying to figure it all out. Exploring different positions, techniques, playing with each other. Now they're doing it all the time and the whole thing backfired because Art’s the one craving it. He walks between Patrick’s legs. “Can you fuck me?”

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

Art shrugs.

Patrick sits forward. “Yeah. Sure.” He says, the ghost of a smirk on his mouth. “It’s so early for you. You usually like it when I buy you dinner first.”

Art digs the heels of his palms into his eyes as stupid tears drop down again.

“Art, seriously…are you okay?” Patrick asks, tentatively. “I can help… tell me how to help.”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” Art says, and he climbs onto the bed. Straddling him. “Just fuck me.”

Patrick grips him by the waist. “Mmkay, I can do that.” He says, unzipping Arts pants. He tugs Arts jeans down over his thighs and Art steps out of them. Then he’s lifting his t-shirt over his head and climbing back onto Patrick’s lap.

Patrick touches his face, rubs a thumb along the wet space on Arts cheeks. “Did someone hurt you?” He asks softly.

“No, Patrick please, I don’t want to talk about it.” Art whines. His brain is freaking out because of the tenderness and the last thing he needs is to freak out over his feelings for Patrick too.

“Alright,” Patrick says and he kisses Art. And kisses him again. Art licks at his lips and pushes his tongue inside.

He can feel Patrick getting hard underneath him as they make out. It’s so much and it happens so fast, Arts dizzy for it. “That’s a neat trick,” Art whispers. Grinding his hips against the sensation.

“That’s what you do to me,” Patrick sighs against his lips.

Art smiles. Maybe he sucks at math now but at least he’s still good at this.

“Need you lubed up,” Patrick hums. Art gets up and crawls over to his bedside table. He can feel Patrick’s large palm rubbing on the swell of his bottom as he’s bent over. Art’s got all this stuff he has to hide when his parents are in town now. He pulls lubricant out and while Patrick’s putting it on his cock Art lingers on the bed, playing with his waistband, watching while the ladies on The View are arguing about something.

“You can turn it off, my sister wanted me to watch Phil Collins perform or something,” Patrick says, distractedly.

“Okay fuck me while he performs or something.” Art says.

Patrick smirks. “Fuck, you really need to cry don’t you?”

Art takes a breath.

“Okay sorry,” Patrick says gently, “Can you lay down?”

Art settles onto his back. Keeps his legs open as Patrick crawls between and takes his boxers down. “Mm, what time does your roommate get back?”

“Later,” Art says.

“I don’t have to keep you quiet then,” Patrick smiles.

Art chews on his thumb as Patrick lines himself up to press it inside. He’s all lubed up but Art is just used to the fact that it’s always going to feel like a lot at first. He breathes through the stretch and watches amused as Patrick rubs his at Art’s pelvis. He always does that, trying to feel his own cock penetrating from the outside. “You’re always so fucking tight for me baby. Feels like I didn’t even take your virginity.” Patrick says. It’s all for his ego. He moves down to rub Art’s cock and Art moans. Wraps his legs around Patrick’s waist, wiggling his hips.

“I know, relax, I’m gonna fuck you,” Patrick breathes. He starts sliding it in and out and out and in. Patrick’s had him in so many positions but this is Art’s favorite, he can feel Patrick sinking so much deeper inside him this way. Sees stars on every other thrust and his head empties out quickly. Once he came so hard he swears he had a second orgasm two minutes later. Patrick says he just wasn’t done.

This time it feels blindingly good. He’s feeling so good, he bites down on Patrick’s shoulder to relieve some of the tension. He wonders if Tashi ever notices his marks, the way he notices hers. Sometimes when he’s really turned on he bites where she scratches.

After a few minutes he thinks he’s listening to Patrick moan but realizes belatedly that it’s him. His mouth is watering so much that he’s drooling. Patrick is grunting as his hips slam into Art at a ridiculous pace. Art feels so fucking full, he loves the feeling of Patrick warm and solid inside of him, breaching him. His body lit up like a raw nerve as Patrick hits that delicious tender spot over and over and over. He’s gonna pass out. It sounds so fucking obscene over the sound of the bed springs squeaking and Phil Collins in the background.

Art loses it first, sticky ropes of pearly white shooting out of his cock, covering Patrick’s stomach, dripping back down onto Art’s body. And then it’s too much, Art can feel everything and he’s squirming trying to get away as Patrick picks up the pace.

“No, no don’t run away… two fucking seconds stay here,” Patrick groans, gripping him tightly. It feels insane. It feels so fucking good but it’s too much and his eyes are watering again. Art swears he can honestly feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He’s coming again, he knows he’s coming again as Patrick finishes inside him, filling him with wet, heated, sticky cum. Art clenching on him. Keeping him inside.

Patrick’s shivering. “Fuck,” he whispers, collapsing on top of Art like a warm heavy sticky blanket.

“Mm,” Art sighs, rubbing Patrick’s back gently, to calm him down. Patrick groans and rolls off of Art onto his side right next to him. He curls his fingers into Art’s hair.

“You feel better?” Patrick asks, softly.

“Yeah,” Art says quietly. He didn’t really do anything but put it out of his mind for 30 minutes. And now he’s coming back to the reality that he’s only in his second semester of college and he already has to drop a class.

“Feel like telling me what’s wrong?”

Art rolls his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. “It’s stupid. I failed an exam. I studied so fucking hard and I just— everything on the test looked like it might as well have been written in a foreign language. I thought the whole class would have done poorly but it was just me.”

”What class?” Patrick asks.

“Calculus for physics,” Art sighs.

“Sounds really fucking hard,” Patrick says. “You should tell them to fuck off and come with me on the road.”

“I knew you wouldn’t get it,” Art mutters. “You don’t take any of this seriously. I’m not as good at tennis as you are. I’m not fucking good at anything. Like the one thing I thought wouldn’t be difficult which is school work and I can’t even fucking do that properly. I’m gonna have to drop and I’m not even done with my first fucking year.”

Patrick doesnt say anything for a minute, he’s still fingering Art’s curls. Then he takes a breath. “You’re good at a lot of things, Art. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up. I mean… I get it. You were top of your class in high school but all these dorks at Stanford were the best in their high schools too. I was one of the best players but now I’m on tour facing off with the best players in the world and a lot of them are fucking kicking my ass. Just… you know… Tashi always says to have a little perspective. You’re here for a fucking reason. Don’t psych yourself out before the game is over.”

Art hadn’t really thought about that, Patrick has been having a hard time on tour, Art feels a little softer for him now. He rolls over to face him wrapping a leg over Patrick’s thigh. “You think I should stay in the class? Prove them wrong?”

Patrick smiles. “No, what the fuck do you need calculus with physics for anyway?”

Art laughs a bit. “I mean… if I decide to go to med school I’ll need a physics and a calculus class… but I guess I don’t really need this specific course unless I was going to become an engineer.”

“I’ve heard you talk about being a doctor before, never an engineer.” Patrick says, “Fuck that class, find something better to do with your time.”

“Yeah…fuck it,” Art says thoughtfully, he can play with his teammates on the indoor courts in the mornings. He feels so much lighter actually. Patrick is right, he really doesn’t need this course at all. He was just so used to high school, thinking everything put in front of him was something he needed to ace. In college, none of it mattered except for what he needed for his major. Patrick’s tracing circles idly along Art’s thigh. “Mm, something better to do with my time….” Art says, smiling, “You think we can fuck again before my roommate gets home?”

Patrick smirks, “Oh absolutely.”

[crazylittlejester]

Hey Jes could you pretty please give me a thorough rundown of the cannon Hyrules Warriors events

ie the actual stuff that happens in game.

Bc I really want to write stuff for HW and Lu as well as make theory posts for it but idk much of anything abt HW

Jes this is a free invitation to fucking yap to an extreme about hyrule warriors

Cause all I know is the first 10 minutes of it, Zelda has bad dream, we see link fighting, battle happens , link fight and got brunt by Volga he is now the hero and that’s it

So pretty please tell me abt HW

so the thing about hw is you can understand like 80% of the plot from JUST the cutscenes, and someone put it together like a movie on youtube and this is only like an hour long:

admittedly i have not played this game in a while and i forgot some of the smaller things about it, so my apologies if any of this is wrong but in summary:

the game starts with the war coming to the castle and then Link, some random ass soldier, runs into Volga on the field and Volga is genuinely kinda like “can you get your unimportant ass out of the fucking way good lord” and he tries to kill Link (and Impa too i think) and this awakens the triforce or something and then boom: Link is revealed to be the hero and everyone’s kinda like “oh good we found him!!” while Link, mid battle, is like “oh what the fuck…” and at the end of this first battle Zelda goes missing (they find her next battle, but she’s Sheik and they don’t know that)

Ganon was split into like four different pieces and he was Not too happy about this so he decided to corrupt this sorceress and she got split into two people, Lana and Cia, and Ganon basically promised Cia Link as like a war prize if she helped him basically put himself back in one piece and the pieces of Ganon were stuck in different timelines so that’s why all these portals get opened, because the bad guys need to get all of Ganon in one spot but this ALSO allowed Link to get allies from said times, like Midna and Fi

basically the first half of the game is them trying to close these gates to other times IN said other times so shit can go back to normal and for all of five seconds yay the war was over, but then what ends up happening is the Ganon Pieces get unstuck and he forms a whole dude again and he’s a little pissed (and i think this happened because the master sword was pulled and that’s what was holding back the fourth piece of Ganon? i don’t remember its been a hot minute) anyways Ganon takes Zant and Ghirahim and steals the ENTIRE triforce, and Link finds a way to kick his ass anyway, which is CRAZY and not enough people talk about the fact that Wars beat a fully triforced Ganon

Edit: JUST AN ADDITION, but im pretty sure he is canonically just a commander, not a captain (my dear mutual @hyruledwarriorr probably knows more than i do about that one, and also he might have things to add to this he loves hw alskkdkd)

[creampuffqueen]

Not to Plan

Korrasami Week 2024 - Free Day

Summary: Korra accidentally mixes up her schedule, leaving her on airkid babysitting duty the same night she's meant to go on a date with Asami. Chaos ensues.

Word count: 4613

----

“Hm…” Korra brushes her fingers through her hair again, lower lip pouting in concentration. “Do you think this is too much?” 

From her perch on her bed, Ikki shakes her head emphatically. “No way. You look so beautiful, I bet Asami is gonna pass out when she sees you!” 

Korra grimaces a bit at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think making her pass out is exactly the kind of impression I’m going for, Ikki.”

The young airbender ignores the comment, bouncing off the bed to stand at Korra’s side. She spends a long moment examining Korra’s outfit every which way, before stepping back and stroking her chin thoughtfully – not unlike the way her father strokes his beard in the same motion. “Actually, you could probably use something more.”

“More?” Korra snorts, “Really? I feel like this is already a lot.”

“No, trust me, you need more,” Ikki replies, pushing Korra backwards and forcing her to sit down on the bed. “I know these things. Aunt Kya let me help her get ready for her date with Chief Beifong the other day. I know just what you need!”

Korra isn’t entirely sure if she should be putting her date night appearance entirely in the hands of a twelve year old, but the swirling in her stomach won’t let her relax. She and Asami haven’t seen each other in days, and haven’t had a proper date in weeks. She knows Asami won’t mind what she wears, but her girlfriend always looks so stunning when they go out, and Korra wants to try and make her feel the same way.

“Here we go!” Ikki, who had used the time Korra was lost in her thoughts to rummage around in her dresser, now triumphantly brandishes a large makeup palette in both hands. “I knew Asami left one of these over here at some point.”

Korra’s stomach flips again. “Makeup? I don’t know, Ikki, I’m not very good at that stuff, not the way Asami is –”

“You’re not putting it on by yourself,” Ikki admonishes. “That’s what I’m here for! Now, close your eyes and let the master work…”

A quick glance at a nearby clock confirms another one of Korra’s fears: she’s running out of time. Arguing with Ikki will take too long, so instead she braces herself for what she might see in the mirror afterwards, and closes her eyes.

The chatterbox airbender falls silent for the first time all day as she works, gently blotting and swiping different powders onto Korra’s face with surprising precision. A few strokes over her cheekbones, some soft taps against her eyelids, a smear of gloss over her lips, and…

“Done. Do you like it?”

Korra’s eyelashes flutter as she parts them, peering back at herself in the mirror. She looks… good. Really good, actually. 

Ikki glances up at her, eyes wide, still silent. She opens her mouth to speak, but Korra sweeps her into a hug before she can. “It looks fantastic, Ikki. Thank you.”

The clock on the dresser chimes for the half hour mark, breaking their embrace. Korra stands up, brushing her dress off in an attempt to keep it as smooth as possible. “Alright, time to go. Thanks again for helping me get ready.”

Ikki vaults off the bed, voice restored. “No problem! Let me get my shoes and then I’ll be ready to go too!”

“Go too – wait, what?” Korra tries to call after her, but Ikki is already out the door, sprinting down the hallway to her own bedroom. “Ikki, what do you mean, go too?”

“Mom and Dad’s meeting with President Moon is tonight, remember?” Korra bites back a shout of surprise, whirling around to stand face to face with Jinora, who has seemingly appeared out of thin air.

“Meeting with the president…” Her stomach drops. “Oh no.”

Jinora’s mouth tightens into an awkward grimace. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Korra responds with a grimace in kind, voice panicked and soft. “I did.” Things have been so busy lately, keeping her away from her girlfriend, that she jumped at the offer of a date without bothering to check, well, the date. And now she’s double booked herself. 

“Are your parents still here?” Korra asks desperately.

“They left half an hour ago,” Jinora replies.

“What about the air acolytes?”

Another wince from the teenager. “Dad gave them the night off because you said you’d watch us.”

“Jinora, Asami and I have a table for two booked at Kwong’s Cuisine. How am I supposed to fit four more people there? Not to mention, it’s a date.”

“I can stay behind if you want,” Jinora offers, voice a bit too even for Korra’s liking.

She narrows her eyes. “Didn’t Kai just get back from a relief trip yesterday?”

The blush on the younger girl’s face gives her away instantly. “Maybe.”

Korra sighs, placing a hand on Jinora’s shoulder. “Nice try, kiddo, but not a chance. If your dad found out I left his fifteen year old daughter unsupervised on the island with her boyfriend… I think you’d have to start searching for the next Earth Avatar.”

“That’s not fair, though!” Jinora protests, “You’re getting to spend time with you partner, why can’t I?”

“Because I am an adult,” Korra reminds her, “And you are not. Besides, with you four around it’s not like we’ll get to spend any time alone. Speaking of - Ikki, Meelo, Rohan, let’s go!”

Jinora huffs, crossing her arms in the universal symbol of teenage frustration. Korra lets her, remembering how she was doing the same thing only a few years ago. The other kids emerge from their rooms at her call, thankfully looking put together enough that she can haul them over to the ferry.

Or, wait – Rohan’s shoes are untied.

“Is everyone ready?” Korra asks, heading over to the youngest of the airbending children to help with his shoe situation.

“I gotta tie my shoes first,” Rohan pipes up, plopping himself onto the floor and grabbing at his laces.

“Here, let me help –”

“No Korra, I can do it by myself!” The five year old insists. Korra bites the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her cool. Normally she wouldn’t have an issue waiting for Rohan to tie his own shoes, but they’re on a time crunch tonight.

“Rohan, we need to go. Let me just tie your shoes real quick.”

“I can do it!” He repeats, scooting away from Korra’s grasp. Slowly, moving at what must be a tortoise-slug’s speed, he pulls his laces tight and begins the delicate process of making a neat bow. 

Korra watches intently as Rohan ties his first shoe, and then starts on the other. The second shoe seems to pose more of a challenge, the boy sticking his tongue out in concentration, fingers clumsy and tangling. They’re going to be here all night at this rate.

“The right shoe is always harder,” Rohan complains, and yet when Korra offers once again to help, he rejects her outright, once again demanding he be allowed to do it on his own. 

Then, to Korra’s utter devastation, the horn of the ferry waiting at the dock trills – once, twice, signalling the boat pulling out to make its journey back across the bay.

The three older kids wince in unison. Korra wants to slam her head against the wall, regretting every decision she’s ever made. She missed the ferry. There won’t be another for a few hours. Making it to this date is seeming less likely by the minute.

“Got it!” Rohan cheers, breaking the tension. He launches himself upwards and kicks his feet, showing off his shoelaces: two perfect bows, tied all by himself.

“That’s great, Rohan,” Korra praises weakly. The five year old beams, surging forward to grab her hand, none the wiser to the dilemma now facing her. 

“Maybe I should just call Asami and reschedule,” she mumbles. Nevermind she hasn’t laid eyes on her girlfriend in nearly a week.

“You can’t reschedule!” Ikki gasps, “You spent so much time getting ready!”

“I know, but we’re already late and –”

“We can take Pepper,” Jinora offers quietly, lifting the visage of teenage angst for a moment. 

“Yes, yes, let’s take Pepper,” Ikki agrees. She grabs Korra’s free hand, tugging her and Rohan along behind her. “Besides, I read in this magazine that ladies should arrive to dates fashionably late. The writer said it’s good to build tension.”

“What magazines?” Jinora probes, “We don’t get magazines here.”

Her little sister pointedly ignores her. Korra holds her breath for the inevitable spat, but thankfully Jinora decides to just ignore her in kind. Thank the spirits for that, at least.

Somehow, in the first stroke of good luck she’s had all evening, Jinora’s bison is already saddled up and ready to go. She chooses to ignore the obvious reasoning behind it, instead focusing on making sure her clothes stay clean on the flight over. 

“You should let Asami make you a wingsuit,” Meelo suggests as Jinora yip-yips her bison into the air. “Then all of us could have just flown over, no bison required.”

Korra sighs, leaning back against the saddle. “Maybe next time.”

Meelo nods sagely, advice given. He sticks a finger into his mouth, playing with a wiggly tooth. “Do you think Asami could pull this thing out with pliers? I’m a bit strapped for cash right now.”

“Airbenders don’t have money, Meelo,” Jinora calls over her shoulder. When she turns around again the ten year old sticks his tongue out at her, making a face.

“She won’t have her toolbox with her at dinner, so I doubt it,” Korra tells him. “What do you need money for, anyway?”

“It’s never too early to start saving for retirement,” Meelo replies nonchalantly. Korra honestly can’t tell if he’s joking. 

Though the flight into the city is short, Korra still can’t help the anxious tapping of her foot that starts up as the minutes tick by. And then keep ticking by, as Jinora searches for a place to land her massive sky bison in the middle of the Republic City Downtown. 

By the time Pepper is secured on the outskirts of a park, Korra is nearly ready to pull her own hair out. “Okay everyone, time to get a move on!” She hoists Rohan into her arms as she starts a strict pace, trusting the older three kids will follow.  

They tumble into Kwong’s about ten minutes later, sweaty, flushed, and messy. Korra can feel blisters beginning to form on her heels from her fancy shoes, and she dreads coming across a mirror and having to face her reflection looking like this. Truly, it’s a miracle that the doorman actually lets her inside the restaurant. 

“I have a reservation for Sato,” Korra gasps out, attempting to wrangle a squirming Rohan. 

The host raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Of course, Avatar. However, I remind you that your reservation is only for two diners.”

“Can’t you just pull up a few extra chairs?” She replies desperately. “This one can sit in my lap, and the others –”

“I can sit in my own chair!” Rohan interrupts, his tiny round face aghast. 

“I know you can, Rohan, but…”

“Korra? I thought I heard your voice!”

A sense of relief washes over her, muscles relaxing, face crinkling into a smile of its own accord as she turns to look at the one person she’s been dying to see all evening. Asami.

Her girlfriend looks utterly gorgeous, as expected. Hair pinned up in a way that leaves it flowing over one shoulder, jewelry glittering beneath the candlelights, red dress hugging her sides – at this rate, Korra might be the one passing out from her beauty.

“Asami!” Ikki and Meelo trill, nearly tackling her in a hug. Asami oofs as they barrel into her, but catches them and holds them both close with a smile.

“Hey guys, what are you doing here? Korra and I weren’t expecting company tonight.”

Before Korra can attempt to explain, in the most tactful way, that she’s been relegated to the role of babysitter for the next few hours, Jinora steals her thunder with a decisive “Korra forgot she was supposed to watch us tonight.”

“Uh, forgot, is not, um, exactly what I’d call it –”

Jinora rolls her eyes. “You forgot.”

Korra smiles sheepishly in Asami’s direction. “Okay. I might have forgotten. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“‘Sami is so pretty,” Rohan agrees from his perch in her arms. Asami, still locked in a double embrace from Meelo and Ikki, positively beams.

“Well, thank you both. How about we go sit down?” She pins the host with a pointed stare. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem to move us to a larger table with more seating.”

The man sweats beneath Asami’s gaze. Dabbing at his neck slightly, he nods hard enough that Korra wonders how his head stays on. “Of course, Miss Sato, right away.”

Meelo tilts his face upwards to glance at Asami. “I need you to teach me your ways.”

She laughs at that, somehow far more okay with this entire situation than Korra would expect anyone else to be. “Maybe another time.”

Asami manages to wriggle out of her hug-trap, coming close to twine Korra’s fingers with her own. “You also look beautiful, Korra.” She emphasizes her compliment by pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Korra could melt from it.

“And your makeup – did you do this yourself? It looks amazing.”

Korra chuckles, shaking her head. “I can’t take credit for any of this, honestly. Ikki all but dressed me herself.”

Asami gives the younger girl another dazzling smile. “Well, I guess I’ll have to thank you then!” Pink tinges Ikki’s cheeks as she looks away, suddenly bashful. 

The host comes to announce that their new table is ready, and Asami ushers them all to follow after her. Rohan begins to squirm again in earnest, little arms outstretched in earnest desperation. “I wanna be with ‘Sami!”

You and me both, kiddo, Korra sighs internally. But, to keep things running smoothly, she sets Rohan back onto the floor to let him sprint to Asami’s side and cling to her hand. All Korra can offer is yet another apologetic glance. 

They attract more than a few stares as they settle at their table, each less subtle than the last. Korra can feel their eyes burning into the back of her head, making her begin to sweat. Oh spirits don’t let me start sweating here. She cringes to imagine what she must look like at this point.

“This place is so fancy,” Ikki murmurs in awe, staring enraptured at the small chandelier above their table. 

“Yeah, yeah, but is the grub any good?” Meelo asks, snagging a menu from the table. He props it in his lap so he can read and wiggle his tooth at the same time. Korra doesn’t have it in her to chastise him about putting his fingers in his mouth in public. 

Thankfully, she and Asami have managed to be sat next to each other, and her girlfriend turns to kiss her cheek again. “Anything in particular you’re hungry for, love?”

Korra bites her lip before she can reply with the first thought that comes to mind, all too aware of the little ears sitting nearby. “Um. Not sure yet. Definitely something with meat though; I’ve barely left Air Temple Island these last few days.”

Jinora tosses her menu onto the table with a long-suffering sigh, pulling their attention in her direction. “The vegetarian options here are shit.”

Her younger siblings gasp in unison, utterly affronted. “You can’t say that!” Rohan all but shrieks, Ikki and Meelo quickly repeating the sentiment. 

Asami glances at Korra, raising an eyebrow in a clear question of should you do something about that?

Korra just sighs, leaning in close to whisper in Asami’s ear. “She’s trying to get a rise out of me because I wouldn’t let her stay back on the island with Kai.”

Not that Korra isn’t empathetic towards the teenager’s need to let off some steam and test a few boundaries in the process, she can’t help but wish Jinora chose any other night but this one. This dinner is already going to be tough to get through without her angsting in the background the entire time. 

“Best to ignore it for now,” Asami whispers back in agreement. Beneath the table, she grabs Korra’s hand and squeezes, a silent support. Korra squeezes back, grateful for the backup.

Somehow, with their combined forces, they manage to find a meal that each of the children both can eat and want to eat. Jinora’s assessment of the vegetarian options was correct – they really are shit. 

The wait for their food passes in a blur. Korra can barely get more than a sentence to her girlfriend, their conversation constantly interrupted. Ikki’s babbling questions. Meelo’s current obsession of would-you-rather scenarios. Rohan’s excessive storytelling that never seems to have an endpoint. Korra wants to sink into the floor in frustration.

There’s a brief respite when the food finally arrives, with everyone eagerly digging into their plates. However, it’s only for a moment; Korra soon has to dedicate her attention to making sure Rohan chews with his mouth closed and Meelo uses his napkin. 

And then the kicker comes.

“Korra, I need to use the bathroom.”

The waterbender barely suppresses her sigh. “Can you hold it for a bit, Rohan? Everyone’s almost finished, and then we can go home.”

The young boy shakes his head gravely. “I can’t hold it. I drank too much water.”

“Okay then. Let’s go potty real quick. Come on, I’ll take you.”

Rohan hops up from his chair, and it quickly becomes evident how dire the situation is – he’s squirming in place, rocking back and forth, bouncing from foot to foot. 

Korra offers her hand. “The bathroom’s this way, Rohan.”

Despite his obvious potty-dance, Rohan still takes the time to point at Asami. “Can ‘Sami come too?”

“Asami is gonna stay with your siblings, buddy.”

“But I want her to come with us!”

Korra takes a heartbeat to pray to any spirits around for a bit more patience. “Do you want Asami to take you instead?”

A firm shake of his head. “No, I want you and ‘Sami.”

There really isn’t any time to argue, if the speed of his wiggling is anything to go by. “Fine. Asami, will you come to the bathroom with us? Jinora, you’re in charge for five minutes and five minutes only.”

“Nobody’s in charge of me!” Meelo protests, but Korra drowns him out, gesturing for Asami to follow as she nearly drags Rohan to the bathroom. An accident on these nice carpets is the absolute last thing she needs tonight.

Inside the bathroom, Rohan’s independent streak is still going strong, the five year old insisting he can do everything himself. For this, Korra hopes he’s right. With Rohan finally inside a stall to take care of business, she gets a second to lean against the counter and just breathe.

A soft hand twines with her own. Asami leans on the counter beside her, resting her head gently on Korra’s shoulder. “Well, tonight has been interesting, to say the least.”

“I’m so sorry,” Korra apologizes frantically. “I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen at all, and now I’ve ruined our first night together in weeks. I’m going to make this up to you, Asami, I promise.”

Asami leaves the counter to face Korra directly, green eyes alight with amusement. “Korra, you don’t have to apologize. Sure it’s not what we planned, but I love any time we spend together. Even if it’s not exactly perfect.”

Her hand comes to rest on Korra’s cheek, stroking it softly. “Besides, if tonight’s chaos means I get to see you like this… I’d say it’s pretty worth it.”

Korra blushes at the compliment, though she doesn’t look away. Asami grins wider, eyes flickering down to her lips. They lean in together, noses brushing, and –

“Finished!” Rohan announces from his stall, causing the two women to jolt away from one another, ending their kiss before it even starts.

Korra steps from Asami’s arms, smoothing her dress again. “Alright, come on out and wash your hands so we can get back to the table.”

There’s a pause. “Can you help me wipe?”

Asami smacks a hand over her mouth, muffling her sudden giggles. Korra can feel her face falling in devastation.

“No problem,” She mutters, heading into the stall. “No problem at all.”

~~~~

It’s clear there’s some sort of issue at their table before they even reach it. Korra can hear the raised voices from the moment they leave the restroom, carrying over the quiet chatter of the other patrons. They’re attracting stares again. 

Korra and Asami share a glance when they hear another cry of anguish and increase their pace, hurrying back to their table full of unsupervised children. 

The sight that greets them isn’t too pretty. Meelo is sobbing, tears and snot both pouring down his face. Ikki and Jinora are somehow arguing with each other even louder, pointing accusatory fingers over their brother’s shaking shoulders. 

“What is going on?!” Korra demands, rushing to their sides.

“I SWALLOWED MY TOOTH!” Meelo wails, another round of fat teardrops leaking from his eyes. 

“You what?!”

“Meelo swallowed his tooth!” Ikki repeats, voice panicked. 

“And it’s Ikki’s fault!” Jinora adds, scowling.

“It is not my fault!” Ikki shrieks, loud enough that Rohan, still standing with Asami, covers his ears. 

“You challenged him to see who could eat their food faster, and he ate so fast he didn’t notice his tooth fell out when he was chewing! It is totally your fault!”

Meelo cries even harder. Korra is at a loss for words.

“The – the tooth spirit isn’t gonna be able to leave me any present because I swallowed it,” Meelo hiccups, cheeks reddening.

“You should make Ikki give you her next tooth,” Jinora suggests, completely unhelpfully. That option only starts another round of tears and another round of yelling.

“All of you, QUIET!” Korra shouts, finally fed up. The three children pause, eyes wide. Meelo’s sobs soften out to sniffles, and the girls’ expressions quickly shift to ones of guilt. 

“How about I go grab the check?” Asami offers, scooping Rohan into her arms. “I think everyone’s done eating. I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?”

Korra nods in agreement, thankful for the help in wrangling the unruly mob currently disguising itself as children. She steps over to Meelo’s seat, lowering herself onto one knee – a bit awkwardly, due to her dress.

“Hey. Look at me, buddy.” Meelo sniffs again, wiping his nose. “I promise you, the tooth spirit is gonna know about your lost tooth. They’re a spirit; they don’t need to see your tooth to know you lost it. But if you want, when we get home, I can help you write a note just to make sure. How does that sound?”

Another sniffle. Meelo nods slowly. “That sounds good.”

Korra smiles, gently ruffling his hair until she sees the start of a giggle. Meelo situated, she turns to Ikki next.

“Ikki, it wasn’t your fault Meelo swallowed his tooth on accident. You couldn’t have known it was loose enough to fall out that easily. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it, I swear,” Ikki promises earnestly. “And I’m really sorry that you swallowed your tooth, Meelo.”

“There we go, that’s what I like to see,” Korra encourages. “You two, go catch up with Asami at the front while she pays the check. Jinora and I are gonna grab Pepper and come pick you guys up.”

With all the younger kids gone, Korra can focus her full attention on the teenager in front of her. But rather than try and force her to talk, she just gestures to the side door. “Come on, let’s go get your bison.”

She and Jinora walk side-by-side, completely silent. They reach Pepper after only a few minutes, and climb up the saddle together. Korra no longer cares about the fur or messing up her dress, so she makes sure to give the massive sky bison extra pets for her hard work. 

Jinora, sat on Pepper’s neck, slowly turns to look at Korra, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Korra. I haven’t been exactly… helpful tonight. I know you were looking forward to your date with Asami, and I’m really sorry if I’ve ruined it.”

Korra thinks back to Asami’s words in the restroom – how was that only twenty minutes ago? A soft chuckle escapes her lips. “It’s anything but ruined, don’t you worry.”

Jinora sighs. “Still. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been really annoying.”

“Listen to me,” Korra replies gently. “You are one of the most special, talented, important teenagers in the entire world, Jinora. But you’re still a teenager. I think we forget that sometimes – me included. So sure, you weren’t on the best behavior ever tonight. We all have bad days. There’s nothing you’ve said or done that can’t be fixed, I promise.”

Jinora surges from her perch to wrap Korra in a hug so tight she hardly breathe. “Thank you.”

Korra pats her back weakly, wheezing slightly. “No problem, kiddo. You know I’m always here for you.”

They linger in their hug for a few more moments, then Jinora finally releases her to grab Pepper’s reins. The sky bison makes the journey back to the restaurant in under a minute, then hovers outside until Asami and the other kids finally emerge from the front doors.

“There’s nowhere to land!” Asami calls into the sky, hands cupped around her mouth.

Korra peers over the edge of the saddle, grinning. “Not a problem. Hold yourself steady; I’ll air-spout you up!”

Ikki, Meelo, and Rohan create small whirlwinds of their own to propel themselves upwards, each of them landing expertly into the saddle. They join Korra at the side, watching her next moves with eager anticipation.

Asami is far better at being air-spouted than Mako ever was, even in her fancy dinner dress. The wind whips around her as Korra spirals her arms, and when her black locks tumble into her face she just pushes them aside and keeps smiling.

The air built up, Korra flicks her wrist, and Asami’s feet leave the ground as the air-spout carries her – right into Korra’s waiting arms. 

“Stuck the landing,” Asami giggles, wrapping her arms over Korra’s neck. Jinora gives another yip-yip, and Pepper takes flight for Air Temple Island. 

“You know I’ll always catch you,” Korra replies, letting herself get lost in Asami’s green eyes. 

“Kiss!” A small voice demands from their side. Korra breaks their gaze to glance downwards, finding Rohan clinging to her dress, chubby cheeks parted around an excited smile.

“Yeah, kiss!” Ikki joins in, bouncing eagerly in place.

“KISS, KISS, KISS!” Meelo chants, pumping his fists in the air. The other kids quickly join in, even Jinora, from her place at the reins.

“I don’t think we can deny them,” Asami laughs, the faintest hint of pink flushing over her cheeks. 

“I don’t think we can, either,” Korra agrees, a laugh of her own bubbling up from her chest. 

They lean in together, eyes closed, noses brushing. Their lips find each other like magnets, drawn together helplessly. Asami sighs into the kiss, and it’s the most beautiful sound Korra has ever heard. 

She kisses her back with the same excitement, heart fluttering. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only this. Only Asami. 

Their date night hasn’t been ruined. Not by any means.

----

thanks so much for reading! this will be posted on ao3 as well.

hopefully i was able to properly capture the chaos that comes with watching children lol

@korrasamiweek2024

[strawberriemarswrites]

Could I request what would happen if yandere Doflamingo were to encounter a person that reminds him of his mother or Corazon. Like the reader is young(well younger than him I’m talking like they are mid to late 20’s) humble polite innocent person visiting dressrosa because they come from a wealthy background so they have deep pockets and just like traveling around so in one of their trips they ended up there. The reader can be gender neutral or female whatever you feel like writing for.

Honestly, I think Doflamingo would be conflicted about that kind of thing. Maybe it's my own taste clouding my judgement, (YKINMKATO) but as someone with siblings it's not really attractive when someone reminds me of them. Maybe if it's just incidental things and I'm already attracted to the person outside of those incidents, but I'm less inclined to be interested in someone if they remind me of someone I've lived my whole life with.

Let it be known though that I'm willing to try writing most anything. Most.

Yandere!Doflamingo x GN!Reader who reminds him of Corazon

Rating: T Warnings: Gaslighting and Manipulation Words: 249

So, I think Doflamingo would be conflicted in a similar aspect, but also a fucked up cocktail of guilty and endeared toward you. He'd keep a close eye on you for sure, convincing you to join his little family in an attempt to fill the void that Cora left behind (despite the fact that Doflamingo created that void, hence the guilt).

The yandere aspect would manifest more as like, now that you're part of the family you can never leave it. Doflamingo's loyal to his family, and certainly would hate to see anything come to harm it, but he has faith that most members can handle themselves.

Thus it's not like he's immediately jumping to your “rescue” or anything, but he does frequently make it clear that, again, you can never leave. Something he doesn't do with the other members of the family.

Being similar to Cora, you are by extension just as clumsy. Doflamingo finds this funny as hell.

He is also, however, paranoid that you'll betray him like his brother did. So he keeps closer tabs on you.

He'd probably find and force you to eat a devil fruit. Something he knows will benefit him, and also using that as a way to keep you at his side like “aren't you grateful that I gave you power?”

Eventually it’d turn to gaslighting. You’ve been part of the family all along, haven’t you? Don’t you remember being there from the start? Why would you ever want to leave?

[its-time-to-write]

happy new year, ig

don’t hold me like you know me

“Remember when you broke up with me and suddenly my instagram feed was all about how you fucked a model?”

Jamie grimaces. “Do you have to bring that up every fucking time we’re together?”

“Yes,” you reply. “It’s funny to me. And it’s my revenge for you being stupid.”

“Pretty sure you and mum are the only two who find it funny,” he grumbles.

You snuggle closer to him. It’s cold outside, but you’re both bundled up and under two blankets. Plus there’s a fire going and sure, it’s warmer inside where your families are, but it’s quieter out here.

You say, “Nah, Simon thinks it’s hilarious too,” and Jamie groans. 

“I’m a fucking idiot, okay? I get it.”

Your mum looks out the window and you pretend like you don’t notice. Yeah, you probably shouldn’t be out here with him. But she’s the one whose friends with Georgie and she’s the one who made the plans to spend Christmas together knowing full well what you and Jamie had been up to for the past year.

So she can’t really say anything.

It’s stupid. 

It’s so, so stupid. You swore off situationships but apparently Jamie is the exception and you rationalize it by saying you know exactly what you’re doing so it’s fine.

It’s fine.

You’re only here a few days and then Jamie’s going back to training and you’re going back to work.

“Got any plans for the year?” you ask. Jamie shrugs and it moves you around.

“Nah, got some brand deal shit Keeley’s set up but mostly just keep training. Got the fuckin’ World Cup this summer, so…” he trails off.

What he doesn’t say is, so I’ll be near you. You let it hang in the air.

Instead he says, “What about you?”

You watch the flames from the fire curl into the sky. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on, I guess. Mostly work. And I’m moving to London in the fall.”

Jamie makes a noise. “Don’t read into it,” you warn before he can say anything. “It’s not for you.”

He sighs. “The fuck are we doing? Shouldn’t be this hard. We both fucking like each other. What if we tried again?”

You laugh. “Jamieee. Absolutely not. We barely made it out last time. I’m actually not sure we did, to be honest. And our mums would be fucking pissed if we messed it up again.”

He’s quiet at that. Too quiet.

“How’s Roy Kent?” you ask in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hairy old prick,” Jamie mutters out of habit. “Wants us to fucking win the Prem and the Champions League, like we ain’t fuckin’ trying.”

You laugh. “I’m assuming he’s also thinking about the World Cup?”

Jamie groans. “Don’t fucking remind me. I want to win all that shit too, but Royo’s sadistic. Got us training extra. Beard isn’t any better, either. Always got his nose in some fucking book.”

He’s complaining, but you know he doesn’t mean it. He loves this shit. And you’re glad the team’s stable from Ted’s move back to America.

“Got you something,” he says after a few more minutes of silence. He gently pushes you off him so he can reach into his pocket. 

You take the box from his hand and open it. It’s surprising. You’d already finished opening gifts, nothing particularly extravagant, and you certainly hadn’t expected anything else from Jamie. And definitely not as direct as this.

“Jamie,” you breathe, “how did you know?”

He grins as you look up to meet his eyes. “Asked around,” he replies. “Knew you’ve been wanting that bracelet forever and you’re too fucking stubborn to get it for yourself, so.”

He motions for you to hand it back to him, and you do. He takes it out and you extend your wrist. He fastens it gently. “You’ve gotta do more shit for yourself, yeah? Promise me.”

“Maybe,” you whisper, and he gives you a look. “Fine. But Jamie-”

“Kid,” he sighs.

“Don’t call me kid,” you warn. “You’re younger than me.”

“That’s why it’s fucking hilarious.”

“Jamie,” you try again. “Do you actually want to keep doing this? We see each other at the most random, inopportune times then we… you know…” you trail off.

“Fuck,” he interjects and you smack his arm. 

Ow, he mouths.

“Look. You never date anyone. Everyone’s always speculating about it, and you never do. And I just wonder- I mean, I don’t want to presume but it seems like-”

“It is,” he says. “Can’t fucking be with someone else when I think about you all the time, can I?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Jamie Tartt. That is the stupidest line you’ve ever pulled.”

He’s already shaking his head before you’re done speaking. “Ain’t a line.”

Georgie looks through the window and smiles at the pair of you. It’s getting colder, and you’ll have to go inside soon, but you want to finish this conversation. You aren’t sure when you’ll have Jamie like this again.

“Why did you break up with me?”

He looks away at the fire, the sky, anything that isn’t your face. “Dunno.”

“Liar.”

He looks back. “You need someone better. I got scared. Same shit as always.”

You wrinkle your nose again. “That’s shit. Try again.”

Jamie toys with the bracelet on your wrist. You should slap him away, you should.

You don’t.

“I did get scared,” he says again. “Fucking… terrified. Been in love with you since I were eight and following you around, weren’t I? Everyone says shit like I don’t know what I’m doing, I fucking need to play the field or what fucking ever, and I guess I… listened. Then felt fucking guilty as shit.” 

Neither of you are crying. It’s not that type of conversation.

“So.”

“So,” he echoes.

“We’re getting married,” he comment when you don’t say anything more, and that makes you laugh.

You push yourself out of Jamie’s arms and head to the door. “That’s ridiculous of you to say. And I’m cold. I’m changing and then I’m going out, want to come? Luiza texted.”

Jamie looks at you, and you can tell he’s debating his options carefully.

“Sure,” he finally says, the words puffing out of his mouth into the freezing air. “Sure.”

[insomniadreamzz]

Hii can you do a jinx smut where the reader has a disability where she can’t walk properly and has to use a cane or wheelchair. Whatever one you want. Soft stuff 💚

True love

Jinx x Fem!Reader

Mentions of physical disability, smut (soft), fluff

(Little Flashback)

You can still remember the moment you first met Jinx. She saved you from some Enforcers who probably must have mistaken you for someone else. The way you layed helplessly on the floor in pain, already saying goodbye to your life and then suddenly she appeared, shooting them down in seconds you couldn’t even process how quick she was, the thing you couldn’t see clearly though were her pink eyes, the little light string they leave whenever she moved swiftly, she was beautiful and strong.

„Come on don’t lay there like an idiot and go away before more of them will come to get ya. I am not your personal bodyguard, I just had a good moment so…better run before my bullet reaches between your eyes.“ The blue haired girl said and you frowned as you leaned up on your hands. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t even walk properly without any helping gadgets. And even if you had a cane you were just ashamed about your own disability, you liked your wheelchair even though you could at least walk a little but besides the embarrassment of how it looked you were in pain when you tried to walk. But now when your eyes glanced over to the broken wheelchair, little tears formed into your eyes. „I can’t…“ You said with a soft voice, Jinx looking at you with a confused expression. „What? Do you want to get shot?“ She asked again and you shook your head with a frustrated groan. „Ugh no! I mean it. I can’t walk. They destroyed my-…my wheelchair.“ You pouted, trying to hold back your tears and somehow the blue haired girl felt sorry for you. She knew how it felt to be different even though her differences weren’t physically. „Oh damn…I didn’t know that.“ She mentioned before stepping closer to you, glancing to the broken wheelchair and then back to you again. „Well you are lucky I am in a good mood today.“ Jinx mentioned before scooping you up into her arms, the way she could lift you up so easily, her muscles flexing as she did so, it was kind of attractive to you, making you blush.

„Thank you…“ You mumbled. „It’s okay. Tell me where’s your home I will take you there.

(End of Flashback)

Since then you and Jinx became very close. She made a new wheelchair for you all by herself, of course having her signature drawings all over it with neon paint. Every now and then she helped you walk for at least a few steps to keep your muscles intact. She cared for you so sweetly sometimes it made your heart ache of how sweet it was.

Today was one of your bad days. You felt the pain again even though you took your medicine, just one of those days where you can’t do anything but lay down in bed. Jinx knew those days and she was never leaving your side on those days, staying with you all day until you feel better. „Her hand was gently caressing you as you both cuddled, her closeness always made you feel relaxed. You just loved her but you never told her.

„Thank you Jinx…I am happy I have you with me.“ You whispered softly, making her hand hold your gently. „I am happy too. I found someone who understands…how it feels being different.“ Jinx mentioned and you blushed a little bit, feeling the same. „Same here. You like me just the way I am and never treated me like I am a weirdo only because of my…disability…“ Your voice lowered, making Jinx shift a little bit before lifting your head up by your chin, making you look into her beautiful pink eyes, she looked so serious though.

„No I don’t like you. I love you. I love you just the way you are. You don’t have to be able to walk or even run with me. You do show understanding for my own differences from others, my own disabilities, my craziness. You accepted it all. This is so much more important.“ She said, veing serious and honest for once. You kept on staring at each other before you both followed your feelings, closing the gap between you and finally your lips touched, kissing each other deeply and lovingly, both of you feeling butterflies in your stomach.

The kiss deepened as soon as Jinx noticed you returned her feelings, hovering above you as she slipped her tongue inside your mouth, her hands slipping under your shirt to caress your body. You didn’t know how but you totally forgot the pain. You felt so light and save with Jinx, everyone would think you are crazy for that but Jinx gives you so much safety. All that time you knew each other you never felt not save around her. Maybe she was a little bit possessive around you but that was okay according to her past. You understood her and honestly you didn’t mind. You loved how she wanted to show people you are hers.

She slowly pulled back from the kiss to breathe, now her gaze being filled with lust and you felt the same. „I love you too Jinx. Please never leave me.“ You said and that made her reach for your cheek, gently caressing it with her thumb as she tried not to cry. „Oh toots…I would never leave you. I love you way too much. Besides I need you just like you need me.“ She said before crashing her lips against yours again, making both of you moan softly into the kiss, getting lost into a heated and passionate kiss.

After your make out session both you you wanted more. She traveled down your body, leaving wet kisses on your bare skin until she reached between your legs, helping you to adjust your legs a little more comfortably as she spread them so she had a better view at your dripping heat. Before anything she looked at you, her gaze already driving you to the edge. „Are you sure you want me to…“ She started and you blushed, nodding eagerly. „Yes. Yes please Jinx I want it.“ You hummed, biting your lip as soon as you felt her tongue moving, licking along your wetness and playfully flicking it over your clit. She kept on kissing and licking you hungrily, gaining soft moans from you as you felt shivers go down your spine, the good feeling only getting more intense as she started to suck your clit, sending more shivers of pleasure through your body. You never thought you would experience something like this, the way her hands gently caressed your thighs while she was eating you out so good, it felt amazing.

„Mhh…does my girl want more huh?“ She mumbled softly, as she looked at you with a lustful gaze, you having a hard time to look back at her, your cheeks flushed red. „Y-Yes please.“ You really wanted more and Jinx will give you more as she used her finger, easily slipping it inside since you were so wet, gaining another moan from you as she slowly pumped it inside of you, you throwing your head back into the pillow when she added another one, fucking you with her fingers meanwhile her mouth was busy taking care of your clit. The sensation driving you over the edge once she curled her fingers inside of you, hitting your sweet spot.

„Oh…god-…I am so close…please…“ You whimper softly, encouraging her to ho faster and she did, groaning softly when she felt you clenching around her fingers and cumming hard as you arched your back, moaning loudly.

Jinx removed her fingers, wanting a taste of your cum as she used her tongue on you, making you whimper, feeling so sensitive at this point. When she was done licking you clean, she sat up, smiling at you before crawling up to you, placing a soft gentle kiss on your lips. „I love you so much…“ She whispered and you couldn’t feel happier at this point, hugging her tightly against you. „I love you too…thank you. Thank you so much for being with me.“