#blue friend <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[irusanw4]

Uhhh pinned time ig? I see it a lot so why not

Yo! Call me IrusanW4, mutuals can call me Iru but please don't if we're not mutuals. I use strictly they/them, and I'm asexual and aromantic. I'm autistic and I love things A Lot when I love them, so... fair warning? Read more has details on me n stuff. Don't wanna clog dashboards or anything :3

I don't have a specific DNI but like. Don't hurt people. Don't have a joke for that just don't hurt people. But! DO interact if you are strange, peculiar, freakish, cringe, or otherwise throw social norms to the wind!

I'm always open to civil good-faith discussions about what I've done wrong!

Things I care about too much for my own good: Death Note, My Hero Academia, Chonny Jash, Dungeon Meshi, Pokemon, Digimon, Slay the Princess, the Stanley Parable, Warriors, Wings of Fire, Risk of Rain, Slay the Spire, Portal, psychology, animals, linguistics, space, my place in the universe, death as something to be studied, and much much more.

While I won't do much acknowledging sex (as in the act) myself due to personal discomfort surrounding the topic, I do support the right of people to have sex and have fun so long as all members consent to it!

Also, I do art and writing! I'm IrusanW4 on ao3 too, so feel free to be nosy! I don't share much art outside of Discord, sadly, but yknow! I'm always open to questions about my writing and art, be it original or fan content!

Social justice:

Abortion needs to be accessible to everyone with a uterus. The death sentence shouldn't exist in any way shape or form. A criminal justice system focused on punishment rather than reform should not exist. Capitalism is by existence a system of oppression and must be replaced. The American education system is thoroughly fucked. The genocide of anyone is inexcusable, no matter their origin, and those who fund the slaughter and/or exploitation of Palestinian, Congolese, or any other people are further beyond immoral than I have words for. All cops are bastards.

Miscellaneous:

Vehement supporter of found family. Indie game lover. Indie music lover. Example of gifted kid to burnout who's somehow still gifted just deeply exhausted pipeline. Cat owner. Lover of music. Noodle enjoyer. Asker of questions. Furry. Therian. Mediocre Pokemon player. Registered member of the Satanic Temple. Believer in improvement as a person as a necessary part of life. Friend hoarder. More always to come.

I'm a bad tagger but here's notable tags:

#blorbo street, where I put all my favorite characters together to interact.

#ouroboros universe, a collection of my writing that's all technically within one continuity. I might add more tags specifying which instance, but so far, it's all lumped together.

#scrunchy friend <3, most of my @therewillbenoromance interactions bc he's scrunchy to me.

#blue friend <3, most of my @nevermeanttoknow or @mapleejay (same person diff blogs) interactions bc. he's blue. yeah that's it

#the whole world au, a cccc x warrior cats crossover au

#summer solstice au, a cccc au where heart dies in apathy

Other blogs: @different-picture-daily and @gimmick-sniffer

[house-of-slayterr]

@bluecoolr-main tee hee 🥺🥰🫀

[skatinginfinitelywithyourmom]

Donna Noble and 14th Doctor in "Wild Blue Yonder" 🫂

[javiersprincess]

your tags. do you want me to die be honest

nooo but you would think nagi does with how spoiled he acts after you take his first kiss. when you are hanging out in public he’ll tug at your sleeve and just say your name softly with a half sleepy half expectant look on his face until you rise up on the tips of your toes to give him a peck on the lips - and then another one when he looks at you like that again. its worse when you are alone together, the feeling of your lips is so addictive to nagi. he never once thought kissing could feel good, avoiding making your teeth clank against one another or having the right technique for it always made it seem like such a hassle.

but its different with you - or maybe it’s different because it’s you? nagi doesn’t quite know but he finds he doesn’t care with how he corners you on his bed and kisses you, hands on your waist creeping up your shirt. or when he presses you up against the kitchen counter when you are trying to get a snack to press his tongue against yours and learn the shape of your mouth. or when he’s holding the back of your head while he sucks on your tongue feeling his mind go blank with how nice that feels, to have his mouth occupied with something.

[kazuromi]

i just love that there's a fandom for a lot of kids shows down here. gives me more fandom lore to follow. i especially love the ones where the shows like for preschoolers and this one madman comes along and makes a whole in depth au for the show where everyone has a non canon compliant angsty backstory and stuff.

[irusanw4]

BIRDS!!!! I LOVE THEMMMMMM IM LITERALY MAKING A MIND OWL RN ITS ONE OF MY CROCHET PROJECTS

wait whic howl species is that hold on

Definitely not long-eared, but it has ear tufts. Face shape is all wrong. Could be great horned? Much too long for short-eared. Definitely not a screech-owl, the patterning is all wrong.

It's definitely down to the great horned owl or the eurasian eagle owl, since the striping is horizontal (more common in great horned owls) but there's no darker line distinguishing the edges of the face plate and the two are highly similar. I think Mind's a touch too stylized to get it down to one of the two.

Also no I will not be identifying Soul or Heart's exact species. Those are a parrot and a pigeon, not owls.

actually

Heart's a feral pigeon.

Soul might be a parakeet? I'm less versed in parrots than pigeons or owls by a long shot. The head shape is odd for a macaw, but it's hard to find comparisons to be certain, and I don't know enough parrots to narrow it down if it's not a parakeet.

are they stupid

[bruhstation]

seventy-nine magnificent years

[demonic0angel]

a mermaid anger management idea:

"Damian's orca is back," Jason deadpanned, looking at the black face in the water. The orca didn't really belong to Damian, but the boy had befriended it by feeding the thing fillets of fish before the sinking of their boat.

Jason tuned out Bruce's refusal for any more pets as the orca noseyed its way over to Damian's raft.

"Shadow," a voice whispered called from the water, sending the bats into high alert. The orca chirped in response and turned to look at whoever called him.

Jason followed its line of sight and spotted a flash of red moving in the water, "I think he brought a friend."

(A tear fell down my face when I saw this ask. I LOVE it when I can tell that people look at the stuff that I post. It got long bc I got so excited lmaoo)

Damian gasped. "Is that your name? Shadow?"

The newly named Shadow gave a soft cry. Then it turned and began to leave. Damian nearly fell out of the raft to follow it, which caused Jason to grab him by the waist before he could leave.

Shadow paused and then turned to look at him. Damian gave a grunt, elbowing Jason in the gut, before beckoning Shadow closer. "C'mere! It's okay, we won't hurt you. You can bring your friend too."

"Damian," Bruce groaned. Jason couldn't help but snicker at the exhaustion in his voice.

Shadow trilled and then swam closer again, allowing Jason to let go of Damian, who happily stroked the orca's snout and fed him more fish.

The red blur came moving back and then stopped underneath the raft. Jason stared at it, tilting his head thoughtfully before he said, "Hey, you can come up too if you'd like. We don't hunt anything but fish."

The red blob in the water seemed to have heard him, but didn't react. It wasn't until Damian repeated the same thing that it finally moved and swam up, breaking the surface of the water with a splash to drape itself over Shadow's back.

"Shadow, I told you to come," a sweet voice said and Jason's eyes widened at the large female Mer that was now gazing at them all with sharp turquoise eyes.

Shadow chirped, but everyone (but Damian, that crazy brat) flinched backwards and clapped their hands over their ears.

Mer were beautiful, humanoid creatures with beautiful singing voices that often lured humans to death. They were different from sirens, whose favorite food were humans, but they were no less dangerous when provoked.

This Mer looked large and long, with pale skin hidden under wet layers of crimson hair and a bright, turquoise tail. She stared at Jason blankly before looking at Damian.

"Little one, are you feeding Shadow?"

Bruce lunged forward to grab Damian, who was still at the edge of the raft, but Damian answered before anyone could stop him.

"Yes. They're really cute," Damian praised, rubbing at Shadow's nose again. "Would you also like some?"

The Mer blinked her wet eyes at him and then beamed. "Thank you." Damian fed her a sliver of fish and Jason nearly bashed his head over the raft's edge. How could his little brother have so little survival instincts in the face of a creature?!

Damian then asked, "Could we ask for help from you?"

Jason blurted out, "Damian! Do not!"

"Do not talk to her!" Bruce ordered.

The Mer turned to look at him and Bruce with a blank stare. Then she turned to Damian and nodded. "Of course. Shadow likes you, so I don't mind at least hearing you out."

"Our ship sank from the storm a few nights ago. Would it be alright if you helped us get to land? Preferably near a city."

The Mer hummed. "And in exchange?"

Jason grit his teeth and spoke up. "We can get fish for you. And I've heard that Merpeople like collecting the metalwork that we have. We can get you other things as well."

The Mer smiled. "Deal." She flicked her tail, scattering water droplets all over them. She looked at Jason and said, "You will help attach the raft to me."

Jason couldn't help but raise a challenging eyebrow. "You can pull the whole boat by yourself, princess?"

The Mer slid off of Shadow to swim over to him with a small smile. "I will have Shadow help me. And you will call me Jazz, little man."

"Jason," he said, gesturing to himself with a smirk, "And nothing about me is little." Jazz gave a little melodic laugh, narrowing her eyes at him.

They both stared at each other with intense gazes before Jason snapped out of it with a start, face reddening as both Damian and Bruce stared at him with completely identical looks of disgust and disbelief. Jason coughed.

"Uh. What do I need to do first...?"

Jazz chuckled, making Jason's face heat even more, and then she began to give orders around. Even Bruce sucked up his protests as he helped out. Damian didn't help for awhile as he just petted Shadow, but when Shadow left to be strapped to the raft as a lead, Damian stood up to help around.

Soon, they would be back on land.

[vinestaff]

what being in class does to an artist

[ghoulgeists]

sfx: sound of clattering spoons

[kenyummy]

DEVOID ꒰⚘݄꒱ YUKIMIYA KENYU

[NSFW] SYNOPSIS : you and yukimiya kenyu are fuck buddies. even the term friends stretches the relationship you two have... or so you think. it seems all this time spent together wasn't so devoid of feelings after all.

note: guys im going to be dead serious with you all right now this is 4k words of complete and utter FILTH this is like horrid. purely smut theres little to no plot... um... motivation to post this was from FINALLY getting the yuki bot to love me guys we all cheered in unison. YUKIBEL CANON!!!

Yukimiya crashes his lips against yours with so much ferocity you wonder if this is truly the cool headed, kind pretty boy that everyone seems to fawn over. His glasses bump into your nose but you don't pay it any mind, and you can't help yourself. You kiss him back with just as much intensity, fire licking in your stonach and spreading down to the tips of your toes.

The way his tongue slips against yours—he almost feels experienced, with how easily he swallows the whines you let out and how simply he groans against your teeth. You don't like the thought of that, so you don't entertain it. All you want to think about is right here, in front if you—Kenyu Yukimiya, who's currently kissing you like it's his last time to do so.

The way he kisses—so firey hot and overwhelming, you knees buckle when his tough fingers find their home on your waist, blunt nails digging into your clothes and squeezing the fat around your hips.

His knee was placed right between your legs, from where you're pressed up against the cool, slightly dusty wall of the soccer storage room. He jerks his knee upwards with his tongue runs against the smoothness of your teeth, and your breath gets caught in your throat. Fuck.

He's criminally good, you deduced. His hands run along the side of your body—along your school shirt and skirt, hard and rough like he was waiting for his moment. The thought makes your heart race.

Your fingers thread through Yukimiya's brown locks and you tug, hard, when you need air. He groans hard, deep and sultry, against your lips, and pulls his tongue out of your god damn throat to pull your lips apart, ever so slightly. There's barely an inch of a gap between you two, but you still greedily gasp up all the air you can get, panting against his mouth like a damn mutt.

The sight of you-he thanks God that he brought his glasses with him, with such a wonderful sight—all red-faced and panting. Tell me, [name], who's the fool now? He smiles, wide, and he's sure you can feel the pull of his facial muscles with how close you're pressed together, as if leaving a gap between you both would kill you.

At this point, with his shorts straining against his hardening cock, he thinks it would kill him. You're burning hot, like a wildfire that he should not dare touch—but Yukimiya's always had a knack for going against the weak man's route out.

If he were a weaker man, perhaps with less self control, he'd have you crying on his dick already, babbling nonsense and clutching his shoulders like he was the only comfort you could find during these harsh woes. The thought does sound appealing to him—Yukimiya was never a liar—but he finds far more enjoyment in this process, rather than the result.

This process, the one that would lead to you begging for him—a warmth blooms in his chest—was one he was sure he'd enjoy, immensely.

"Yukki..." Your voice is light and airy, like you're already on the clouds—and you haven't even done anything yet. You're pathetic, desperate and needy, and Yukimiya loves every part of it. Feeling like, for once, he was in control-the brash, confident persona had disappeared, and all that was left in its place was a whiny girl who doesn't have the energy to get herself off. "Puh... Please..."

You don't even know what you're begging for—but with this unquenchable thirst bubbling in your throat, you know you want more.

"What?" He smiles-not his strained, clearly—pissed-off smile, but his model-worthy, drop dead gorgeous smile that is so rarely ever shown to you. From the way he's twinkling right now, teeth pearly white, it's so abundantly clear that he's enjoying this.

"T..." You swallow thickly, removing your nails from his scalp and grabbing onto his larger hands, pressing them right under your chest. "Touch me... please..."

Fuck. What a fucking asshole. He's getting hard from you asking this. You can see his soccer shorts straining upwards, and his cock is practically outlined in the material. Those shorts were always a bother to get off, anyway.

Yukimiya doesn't let your mind wander any farther, and slips his deft fingers underneath your white button-up. First, his lined fingertips trace your stomach, flitting over any odd lines and creases. The gentleness of his touch makes your heart leap in your chest.

He trails his fingers up until they come into contact with the lace of your bra. His brows furrowed slightly, a motion you find cute, and he wastes no time in slipping his arms around you and unclasping your bra, so swift and smooth you're sure he's done this before.

"You're a real pro at this," Your stomach twists in anticipation when he sends you a smile. He allows you to shimmy off your bra and quickly unbutton the first few of your shirt. Your cleavage is on full display for him, and his eyes practically sparkle behind his glasses' lens.

"Always so pretty," murmured Yukimiya under his breath, greedy fingers digging into your shirt and tugging your tits out the dip in the front, kneading and squeezing the fat once he got a good hold of them. "Pretty face n' tits," he shines you a pearly white grin once more.

You feel your face grow hot. The room must have gone from ice cold to at least thirty degrees hotter, with how your breath fogs slightly and a bead of sweat drips down the side of your face.

His pointer finger and thumb start to tweak at your nipples—shooting sparks of electricity down your veins, fingers trembling against his wrists. Your nails dig into his skin-perhaps marking him as yours, and Yukimiya can't complain with that.

You let out little gasps and whines that go straight to his dick-he can hardly feel how hard it is, though, when his entire, undivided attention is focused solely on you. How could he not? Your mouth is parted slightly in heavy breaths, and you have some sort of angelic glow to you that's impossible to ignore.

His lips meet yours once more, swallowing your breathy voice and entangling his tongue with you. Yukimiya can't get enough. He isn't sure he ever will.

After feeling your nipples grow hard and pebbly within his touch, he finally pulls away his assault and you can finally breathe again. At the same time, he also leans his head back from the breath-taking kiss, orange eyes flitted downwards at where your skirt creases just above your mid thigh.

Before he can do anything, however, you grasp at the ends of his shirt and tug slightly—the thought that that's all you can manage in this state somehow fuels his ego—with a pout on your reddened, thoroughly kissed lips, "Take... it off... please."

Yukimiya's no stranger to people liking how he looks-he is a model, after all—but the thought of you loving his looks so much your whiny voice is pleading for him to just take it off—it makes his cheeks grow pink. His heart churns in his chest when he shoves the end of his shirt over the head and slips it off with ease, revealing his slim, yet toned body to you and your eyes. It feels oddly romantic.

Yukimiya wastes not a single second, after slipping his glasses back on his nose, in dipping his head back down and kissing you once more, softer now. With feather-light kisses that make you feel like you're on a cloud, it almost does its job in distracting you from the hand that inches beneath your skirt.

It's embarrassing—practically humiliating to say—but you're seriously soaked. Yukimiya realises this when he rubs his pointer finger over your underwear and feels the wetness pooling—he smiles, wide.

All of this is because of him.

It somehow makes him a little more confident knowing you're just as aroused as he is right now. Sure—it was pretty obvious, but confirmation is always nice. He knows this better than anybody.

His fingertips grazes against the fabric covering your clit and the sound you let out is downright sinful—a broken, wanting moan that fills his eardrums-he thinks its about the prettiest sound he's ever heard.

"You're so insatiable," He grins, like a Cheshire cat, and lithe fingers slide your underwear to the side. Slowly, he traces the wetness that drips around your hole and clings to his fingers—dipping in the two middle fingers on his hand slowly, but surely.

Stretching you out was always an activity Yukimiya enjoyed. He dips his two fingers even furthur inside you, relishing in each hitch of your breath as he slowly pulls them out—then back in. It doesn't take too long before your whimpers pick up in both frequency and noise, when he starts scissoring your cunt open and touching every soft, squishy spot that makes your head spin.

You're so lost in the pleasure Yukimiya is gracefully offering you, that you don't even notice when he drops down to his knees—digging into the dusty floorboards of the soccer storage room—and tucks his head safe underneath your skirt, and pulls your panties down so they pool around your ankles.

He nearly drools when he sees the string of slick that connects his fingers to your pussy when he pulls them out. He can't see your face right now, from where his head is covered by the fabric of your school skirt—but he can practically envision the cute, confused expression you must have. He loves those expressions that you make—when you're at the peak of your pleasure and you're about to come, he doesn't think any sight in the world can compare to that.

That's why Yukimiya dips his head further and licks a flat, kitten-lick across the dip of your pussy. He hears you whimper—it makes him grin when he realises you can't even predict what he's going to do next because you can't even see him-he only feels you lightly grab the top of his head with your nails, still separated by the thick fabric of your skirt.

"Such a pretty pussy," He murmured, seeing your hole clench around nothing and making him smile. He absolutely loves it when only his words have such a big effect on you. "I could die down here."

Yukimiya nudges his head up, and presses a light kiss to your clit. He can feel the twitch of your legs when he does so. He does it again. Then again. Then once more. He's enjoying your small, minuscule reactions to his teasing. Until, you jerk his head forward with your hand—his nose is forced to nudge into your clit and his lips are practically buried in you already—and you groan, through heavy breaths.

"Yukki... stop bein' annoying! I'll punch you if you don't do it already, so stop—!!!"

Your words die in your throat when he immediantly starts eating you out like you're his last meal without any form of warning, tongue dipping against your hole and fingers moving upwards to help you get off. The cacophony of whimpers that leave your mouth fuel Yukimiya's want to just make you cum already, and the way you leave such a taste on his tongue is so addicting.

With his head buried underneath your skirt and the breathy moans that escape your bruised lips—it's abundantly easy to tell what's going on in here if anybody happened to walk into the very un-locked soccer storage room, but all it did was give you a sense of excitement.

You had to be quick, otherwise someone might walk in, and see you moaning like a cheap whore while Yukimiya, the popular, perfect pretty boy, has his head underneath your skirt and nose dug into your cunt.

Your stomach tightens like a coil, and your breathing suddenly intensifies. Your legs feel all jittery and your recognise this feeling just as much as Yukimiya does—you grasp onto the back of his head and dig yourself farther into his face, "I—I'm...!!! C... Close... !!!" You can hardly finish your sentence without a breathy yelp interrupting.

Thankfully—it seems Yukimiya knows your body just as well as you do—he speeds up his subtle ministrations and thrusts his fingers inside even deeper, thighs clenching around his head and you're rocking your cunt into his face and his glasses are all foggy so he can hardly see—he moans against your pussy from the overwhelming sensation, free hand gripping the fat of your ass.

You're unfathomably embarrassed that his deep moan was enough to set you off, coil snapping instantly and sending a flurry of pleasure coursing through every part of you. You're tearing up, lips trembling and you're babbling absolute nonsense, but Yukimiya slurps up every bit of the clear liquid that spills out of you. The lewd sounds make you slap your hands over your burning hot face.

You finally realise, after you ride out your high and slumped against the wall—you're not too sure Yukki has air down there, with how hard your thighs are clenching around him. You peer down when he slowly starts trying to stand up, skirt fluttering against the front of your thigh when he removes himself from the haven underneath your skirt.

You snicker weakly, hand slowly reaching up and covering your mouth, "You... okay?"

He looks like he just came himself. His face is burning hot and red, his perfectly styled brown locks have been tousled everywhere—stands falling all over his forehead and cheeks. His glasses are tilted to the side—sliding down his nose bridge and are completely foggy and hot. You wonder how they didn't fall off once you practically started riding his face.

"Great, actually." The charming laugh that escapes his lips doesn't match the wild expression on his face right now.

His pupils are dark and wide and blown with mind-numbing pleasure, sweat drips down his perfectly smooth face and his entire lower mouth to jaw is drenched in what seems to be a mix of your juices and his own drool. A thin line of it still trails out of his pink lips, and with how pathetic he looks right now, you can't help the smile that creeps up.

He looks so, so happy, you can't help but indulge him, just a little. When he sticks his drenched fingers into your mouth, you obediently suck them, tongue swirling around his fingertips and closing your lips around the base of his knuckle.

"You're gorgeous," he presses a light kiss to the top of your head, and removes his fingers from your lips with a pop. "My pretty, pretty girl..."

He's never felt so loving towards you before. It almost freaks you out. He wipes the wetness off of his face with the back of his hand.

You hate how much his nicknames have an effect on you. You can feel yourself clench around nothing—even though you just came-and Yukimiya easily notices the way you rub your thighs together underneath your skirt.

"Already?" He raises a brow, but looks evidently pleased. You don't wish to say a word, so you keep your embarrassment to yourself. "You're perfect."

He strokes the side of your face so lovingly—as if an apology of some sort for the harsh way he grabs your tits once more, kneading so hard it almost hurts in his palm.

"Mmm..." You hum—clearly in content, but wanting more—pushing back at his wrists. "We don't... have much time before they'll start looking..."

Right. For a good second, Yukimiya truly forgot where you two were. In the middle of the soccer club's storage room, after school hours and if you stay any longer you'll be practically asking for his teammates to find you two here.

Yukimiya sighs, like he's disappointed. "Alright. We'll go quick." He says the word with so much disdain. "But you'll have to keep it down."

A confident, knowing tone—god, does it piss you off, but you heed his warning with a roll of your eyes and begrudging nod.

Sucking in a deep breath, Yukki finally reaches down and slips a thumb underneath the waistband of his soccer shorts. He pulls the last piece of fabric he's wearing down, alongside his boxers, and just enough so that finally, there stands his painfully erect, pretty dick.

His cock is so pretty, just like he is. Pre practically drooling and flushed a cute pink at the tip—there's a freckle you love to kiss when you give him head and make him all starry-eyed. Despite how slim Yukki was, he did not lack one bit in this kind of thing.

You waste no time in reaching your hand down and cupping his cock in your palms-he hisses through his teeth and you smile at this. Finally, even if just for a moment, you feel as if you've gained the upper hand.

"Just..." He sucks in a deep, shaky breath. "Lemme..." He removes your hand-though, it seemed with much hesitation—and pushed you even harder against the pale blue wall.

He flips your skirt up and sneaks a hand underneath your thigh—lifting it up and you instinctively wrap it around his waist, like so many times you had before—he leans his hips forward, and his tip makes contact with your clit.

It makes you jump, and him smile. Yukimiya grabs his cock in his hand and guides it down the slit of your pussy—using your slick as makeshift lube and wetting his dick. With each stroke, his head caught on the hood of your clit and made you gasp.

Fuck. You're not too sure you can hold out for much longer without jumping him and sitting on his dick yourself.

Luckily—perhaps some higher being blessed you—Yukimiya finally deems you ready enough, and with one shaky sigh, he slips his tip into your flexing hole, making your stomach twist.

"Y... Yukki..." You pull him closer, so that your chest is pressed up right against his.

"[name]..." He mumbles, lips right next to your ear. His voice sounds like a soothing melody compared to the hotness between your legs that slowly made you unable to think. "Can I keep going... ??"

What a gentleman, anyone who didn't know him as well as you do would think. In reality, he just wants to hear you say it yourself, Yes, Yukki, I want you so bad, just put it in me already.

Well, unluckily for him, you're a strong, independent woman who won't bend to anyone's will except her own—

"Yes, God, I need you, Yukki..." Your voice comes out in a breathy whine while you stare up at him, eyes half lidded and hazy from lustful pleasure. Your words make him smile shiftily, pleased with your response.

As a reward for your obedience to his unspoken request, Yukimiya does exactly as asked and slips his cock in further and further until your hips are pressed right together, and he's bottomed out.

In this way, you and him have never felt closer. You've never felt such love bursting out of your chest when staring so deeply into his amber eyes. They sparkle, and it makes you wish to glimmer in his eyes, too.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when he gives a shallow thrust, testing the waters. "Mmm... Yukki..."

The way you say his name—lazy and drawn out, something so unlike you—drives him crazy. It gets him worked up enough that he gives a harder, more put-together push into your cunt.

It elicits another whine from you, so he keeps going. It doesn't take too long before he's set a steady pace and you're pushed back against the wall with each hard movement of his hips.

In and out of you—you think you may as well explode here and now. Your face is flushed so red and your lips are parted in a constant cacophony of moans, "Yukki...!" Is the only word he can coherently make out with your blubber of noises.

You're so quiet now—he thinks you should be like this all the time.

Well, not exactly quiet—but he likes these noises a lot more than the passive-aggressive insults, anyway. You sound so pretty—if he could, he'd record your singing for him and listen to it every chance he gets.

Yukimiya Kenyu is so undoubtedly, unfathomably infatuated with you that it scares him.

So, he chooses not to think about the underlying feelings that he may feel towards you—and instead, let himself get lost within this pleasurable feeling of you—and pretend for a second, you really are his.

He leans his forehead down and presses it against yours, eyes closed with grunts escaping his reddened lips. You're getting louder. The whines pooling out of your lips are like honey—but he can't possibly allow those that are unworthy to bear witness to them.

So, he does the only viable option, and presses his lips against yours—swallowing your moans and they reverberate down his throat. You're barely even kissing him—your lips are parted wide open even as his tongue slips between them. Drool pours down the side of your mouth and it's so messy and gross and Yukki can't get enough.

"Y—Yukki...!!!" He can barely hear you whine from the way his lips muffle yours. His lower stomach starts to tighten and he can feel your thighs tense up around his waist. You're close. He is, too.

It's as if instinct takes over and suddenly, he's groaning so heavily, pulling away from your lips and leaking down to connect his mouth in the crook of your neck.

He sucks bruises into your skin—purple blotches decorating the smooth expanse of your neck, but it only makes you louder. Yukimiya can't even find it within himself to care anymore. He wants to hear your voice blessing his ears—he couldn't care less if one of his teammates heard.

At least then, they'd back the fuck off.

"Yukki...! I'm so.... ugh...!! Yukki..." You repeat his name countless times, each time sounding sweeter as he approaches his soul ripping orgasm. His thrusts grow less precise and more sloppy—he's practically rutting into you while chasing his high.

You don't even get a chance to scream when his hand is abruptly shoved down your skirt and he starts rubbing at your clit. Your lips parted in shock and you're panting like a dog in heat—he rubs ferocious circles on your sensitive nub and it leads to the elastic band inside your stomach snapping upon contact.

Suddenly, the short-lived silence is shattered and you're mewling into his ears, tears streaking down your cheeks so pathetically that he removes himself from your bruised neck to kiss them away.

Salt stains his lips, and his brain when he realises what he's doing.

Fuck.

It hits him, hard. Both his orgasm, and the realisation that dawns upon him.

He's in love with you.

Yukimiya Kenyu is terrifyingly and irrevocably in love with you.

He thinks this as white spurts from the tip of his cock and shoots inside you—his thrusts grow rapid and eccentric as he desperately chases his high.

You feel so good—so warm, so snug, so you-that it makes his head spin with warmness and he can't help the words that utter out of his lips alongside heavy breathing and whorish whines that do not suit such a perfect boy like Yukimiya Kenyu, "I love you—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouloveyou—"

He can hardly hear himself as he fucks his own cum back into you—dragging you both to the edges of overstimulation-but he can't stop. You sob even harder—you can't tell whether from his words, the confession that came with it, your painfully pulsing pussy or a combination of all three, "I love you! I fucking love you, Kenyu—I love you, I love you!"

The words spill out of your lips so naturally, like you had said it a hundred times before. This seems to calm his erratic mind, and he sucks in a deep and heavy breath of air.

Finally, after his cock softens inside you, he pulls out—a trail of his white cum drips out of your empty hole. It feels gross when you lift up your damp panties and slip them on. You shiver, but to say you hated the feeling of him being inside you would be a lie.

Yukimiya is silent as he bends down and picks up his discarded shirt, tucking himself back in and fixing up his shorts while you readjust your skirt.

After a little while of you twiddling your fingers like an idiot, you finally speak, "So... You wanna... talk about that? I mean... a whole lotta feelings were poured out there..."

The awkward tone you set instantly vanished when a boyish chuckle escapes his lips, and it makes you smile at him fondly. "Guess so."

His post-orgasmic glow made him look even more ethereal than ever before, and the thought that you would be the only one to ever see the perfect pretty model like this makes you feel all warm inside.

"Not very devoid of feelings anymore, is it?" Yukimiya manages to crack his first light-hearted joke towards you, and it positively melts your heart. "You... feel the same... right? You weren't just saying that... because you were feeling everything too much...?"

He sounds so scared. You wrap your arms around him, uncaring you're both sweaty and that the room smells of sex, it's a loving action that he immediantly reciprocates, "Duh. Why else would I say it, stupid? I didn't know... if you really meant it..."

I was scared you didn't.

"Of course I do," He presses a kiss behind your ear. It feels so intimate, even more than how he fucked you. Such a small action, yet it felt so meaningful. "I think... I always have."

You reach up, and clear the fog that's gathered on the lens of his glasses. He smiles at the gesture, and says, "Let's go. Our teammates are probably worried sick."

"Probably heard how good you were making me feel, actually," And there it is—the snarky, dirty comment he was anticipating yet not prepared for—and the evil smile on your thorougly-kissed lips confirms his thoughts. "I mean, gosh, I didn't even know I could be that loud. Just proves how good that dick is."

He stomach squeezes and his face grows red. "Fuck..." He groans, eyes half-lidded and clouded with a familiar emotion. "Why do you have to talk so filthily? Do you want me to take you again?"

The devilish—yet strangely innocent gleam in your squinted eyes say much more than words ever could. His cock twitches in his shorts—and all it takes is some languid rubbing and more vivid descriptions on how he made you feel, and Yukki is fully hard once more.

The sight makes you grin wickedly.

You reach your hand inside his shorts, deciding this time, you're going to take the initiative, while he can sit back and look all pretty.

Feelings can come later, all you can focus on right now is fanning the burning need within you—that can only be satiated by the whimpering man right here in front of you.

© KENYUMMY 2024

[aplainmeresimp]

In the Blue Hours of the Morning: Chapter 1 - Compete Against the Stars

Summary: You're in your final semester at Piltover’s University, and in your endeavors to revise one of your final papers, you meet Professor Heimerdinger's assistant. He’s quick. Intelligent. And surprisingly charismatic. A last minute friendship forms as you ask for his help to have the best chance to graduate on time and become a scientist yourself. Things are looking up for your studies…Until your stress mixes with some unpredictable feelings.

Story tags/warnings: pre-season 1, no use of y/n or real world language, strangers to friends to lovers, fluffy, acts of service as viktors love language, academic weapon reader, viktor pov chapters, sky pov chapter, eventual nsfw. unrequited love towards sky :( random oc created for the sole purpose of being a side character. not a song fic, chapters names are just inspired by song lyrics. the only thing viktors insecure about is him being an assistant, he knows he’s fine.

Word Count (Chapter 1): 2.3k

Chapter 1 of 21

Read on AO3

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Four years. Four years of university were almost over. And yet there wasn’t time or room to slack off, especially not now. You needed to turn in final projects, write essays, and take your final exam. Not take it… Ace it. Demolish it.

Every day was almost always the same. You woke up, dressed yourself, and adjusted your vest with its two pairs of diamonds, and headed to class. No matter how tired you were, you had one goal in mind: success.

And damn, you were getting there.

You were among the top three students in your class, always shifting between number one, two, and three. It hadn’t been easy, especially in science and engineering. One doesn’t make it that far without a system. You had a list of rules for yourself:

Do the homework the day it’s assigned.

Study the homework.

Read ahead.

Borrow books to read more about every subject. 

Attend every class. No absences even if you were sick.

No distractions. No parties, no leisure time if an assignment is due. Work first. Always.

Annotate everything that the professors say. Even the small comments.

Study at least three days before a test.

And the most important one:

Don’t let anyone see you fail. Not once.

Perfection was key. Inside and outside of the classroom alike. 

Except… it was draining; you couldn’t deny that. This wasn’t in your nature. Maybe it wasn’t in anyone’s nature to try so much. You cherished the moments when you rested in the middle of the gardens in spring, with the birds softly chirping and the grass rustling in the wind. Nothing was better than being right in the middle of the semester, with nothing to do and nothing to turn in. You’d go out to lunch with some friends, maybe read a book or something. Whatever it was, the choice was yours.

That bliss would come again, and soon. Just as soon as you pushed through for one final time to earn your third pair of diamonds.

You could not fail. Not when your parents worked their tails off to leave the undercity and raise you in Piltover. Even when they were still alive and well, they always told you to be the best for yourself. They screwed that into your head ever since you were little. More so when they both got sick from the fumes they had inhaled their whole life. It was the fate of a large chunk of people living in the underbelly of Piltover. Especially people like you who were born in the lower parts of the entresol level. Your parents managed to scrape together enough to rent a small shack on the outskirts of town near the cold and uninviting harbor. Having daily access to sea air over toxic fumes gave you much better odds. 

Seeing them cough up blood, lose mobility, and losing them to illness gave you the final push to be self-sufficient.  You got into Piltover’s University yourself. You filled out the dormitory paperwork so you wouldn’t sleep on the streets like they once had to. You applied for weekend jobs to feed and clothe yourself during university.

You did that. You, your perseverance, and nobody else. 

And gods be damned if anyone thought you would slack off a month before the final exam. 

The long corridors went on and on as you swept through them, trying to keep your papers in your notebook. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hope he’s in his lab right now. You thought.

You needed Professor Heimerdinger to look over your paper for one of your classes. Normally, you wouldn’t have asked for his help, knowing he had much more important matters at hand. But he had offered help to anyone in one of his classes you took. So, you had to take his word for it. You didn’t have the time to guess if you had done the homework right. 

It was due in two days. If there was something wrong, you needed to know. Stat. These kinds of equations were so unforgiving when you put a decimal one space more than it needed to be. With sleep deprivation, any mistake was possible.

Once you made it to his lab, you straightened your vest, sleeves, and organized your pages. Then, with three swift knocks, you made your presence known. The professor's voice echoed through the lab and grew closer with little tip-taps of his feet. The door opened inward, and you looked down. 

There he was, short as always and his fur covered in dust. “My! If it isn’t one of my best pupils! Come, come. Come in!” He stepped aside to let you in with a smile. Sheepishly, you skulked in, having never entered his lab. You followed him toward the back of the room to resume what he was doing. It looked like he was organizing and cleaning up the lab. Papers lay scattered, and screws were sprinkled all over the place.

It was amazing. 

Its walls stood tall with elevated bookshelves filled to the brim with books. At the far left were three large windows that would let the incoming sunset in. So many gadgets and contraptions were everywhere, big and small. Some finished, some open and in the middle of repairs. And by Janna, the sketches. Endless notes and sketches of invention ideas pasted on walls.

“Apologies for the mess! You know how it is with the end of the semester. Cleaning out old ideas in favor of new ones!” You could have looked at it all day until the professor brought you back to the moment, “what can I help you with today?”

“Oh, well. In the last class of this semester, you said if we ever needed help with anything, we could come to you for help, right?” You pulled the papers out of your notebook. “And I need it. I really do—"

The soft hum of the lab door stopped your words and another student waltzed inside in a hurry.

“Professor Heimerdinger! I’m here about the funds for the library improvements. The student body wants to hand over the list of expenses to you and the council so we can get approval.”

“Oh yes! How exciting! Come! Come in!” Professor Heimerdinger skipped past you and took the stack of papers from the student. He skimmed through them and looked back at you. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

“It’s fine," you said, putting your hand up. "I can wait."

“Thank you, I was waiting for this visit– Actually, let me call my assistant." He looked up from the papers and called out. “Viktor! Could you assist me here for a minute?” He smiled at you from below. Professor Heimerdinger was your favorite by far; he was always so kind. His short stature likely contributed to the friendliness he gave off.

Wait. Is someone else in the lab?

Soft metal clinks came from the hidden part of the professor’s lab along with some footsteps. Your ears searched for the sound’s origin, but your eyes beat you to it. They landed on a tall, slender stranger with nicely combed brown hair along his angular face.  The stranger seemed pretentious and intimidating with his golden cane wrapped in fine maroon leather.

Until he spoke.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a softness as he passed his cane to his other hand to greet you. Your mind looked through its catalog of faces. Had you seen him before? It wasn’t a face you could recall on the spot. Maybe you’d know if you hadn’t sequestered yourself in your studies for the past four years.

“Have you met?” The professor asked.

“I don’t think so.” You shook his hand firmly as the professor said your name to him. 

Professor Heimerdinger handed him your seven equation-filled pages. “This is Viktor, my assistant. My right hand, if you will!” Viktor seemed to count the pages as the professor continued. “I’m going to have him look through your paper, if it’s alright with him. And you!”

Another student checking your homework made you feel nervous. What if he missed a crucial error? A thousand what-ifs filled your head and you pushed them out with one logical thought.

If he’s the professor’s assistant, he must know what he’s doing, right?

Between all your mental chaos, you gave a simple answer. “That’s fine by me.”

“It’s not a problem, Professor. I remember this project.” Viktor straightened the papers out, "it'll be a refresher.” 

As soon as he said the word 'refresher', you noticed his three sets of diamonds on his vest. It meant only one thing. 

He had already graduated.

Not an upperclassman. This is going to be so embarrassing if it’s wrong. The thought ate at you. You hoped it didn't show on your face.

“Oh goody! I’ll be done in a minute.” He hurried over to the student.

Viktor’s head tilted towards the back of the lab. "We can sit if you’d like.” A small table with four chairs near the tall windows waited for you, covered in papers like the rest of the room.

“Yeah, that works.” You followed him, still gazing at the immensity of the lab. So many books for the professor to have on hand. One could only dream.

Arriving at the table, you reached for the chair in front of you, but Viktor had placed his hand on it.

I should’ve waited for him to pick a chair first.

He pulled it out and motioned for you to sit.

Oh. 

You sat and adjusted your vest. “Thank you.” 

He soon followed, placing his cane on the side of the table and clearing his throat. Without another word, he started looking through it. His gaze focused on the problem at the top. He looked intimidating again with his thick brows cinched together. 

Your eyes wandered through the silence. Well, almost silence. The shuffling of your project paired with the professor’s voice made your nerves skyrocket. Still, you had to sit still like nothing was wrong. Otherwise, you’d be pacing around the room with your arms crossed. You decided to break the quietness. 

Be polite.

“Thanks for looking through my project." You huffed, "I’m about to graduate and I don’t want to repeat the class. Ever.” 

No, seriously. That was the worst class you’d ever been through. Sleepless nights and dark eye bags were the prize every student had after taking the class. Professor Penmark was the filter for graduation. Condescending to absolutely everyone, so it wasn't personal towards you.

“It’s no problem. I graduated a year ago. I still remember this class. That teacher isn’t lenient, huh?"

“Not at all.” You chuckled, still keeping your posture rigid and proper.

His face relaxed, “I remember how the class gasped when he said that this homework–project-thing… was going to decide if you passed or not." Then his eyes widened. "Fun.” He kept flipping through the pages quite swiftly. Was he even looking through it? “Looks like he made it more complicated this year. Not impossible, but—" Viktor looked up. “How long did this take you?”

“Six hours. With breaks.”

“Hm.”

Viktor went back to the pages and looked intimidating again because your fate of passing the class was in his hands. A few short hums, or huffs, came from him. That made you worried. A hum or a huff could only mean one thing: a mistake.

Let’s say it was wrong. That meant it was back to square one. The teacher gave you three days to complete it. You were already one day down. If it took you six hours and it was wrong this first time, you had another seven tries at the most to try again. You sat there, praying to whatever would listen that your calculations had been right, with every symbol correctly switched and—

“So, what’s wrong with it?” His voice cut off your train of thought.

All you could muster up was a measly, 'what?' 

“You brought it here to fix any mistakes, no?” He looked up from your papers, looking terribly confused. More confused than you, actually.

“W-wait. Is it correct? The whole thing? Are you sure?” 

There’s no way.

“Well... Yes. What’s the issue?”

You didn’t know what to feel. Satisfaction, anxiousness, relief? You figured out the problem on the first try? Clear? No repeats, a clean sweep?

“No, that’s what I wanted to know, if it had no mistakes,” you took the paper when he handed it back to you. “Oh my—I can finally rest.”

There was a brief moment of silence before the professor’s voice became louder, “yes, very well! I’ll make sure to let them know! Check the corrections I gave you and come back!” He escorted the person out and came back to you both in little steps, "oh, I’m terribly sorry, you two. I was caught up in some council duties, but now that that’s out of the way, did Viktor look over your project?”

You sprung from your chair, “yes! It’s done. No mistakes.” 

“It’s to be expected; you have a knack for numbers!” He looked up at Viktor. "And with a talent like this boy's, it’s inconceivable that it’s wrong!”

"It never hurts to be extra sure." Your hands kept fidgeting with your papers.

“I suggest turning it in right now! You don’t want to end up forgetting!” The professor walked to the door as you followed. Thankfully, the project was over and completely correct. Now you could finally take a small break.

Wait.

How could you forget to say goodbye?

How rude of me.

You turned on your heel and waved, "it was nice to meet you!"

He was already standing up before you called to him. For a second, he was taken aback. 

Then, he replied. "Likewise."

[azfellschild]

you must know, right?

you must know I'm not that evil

or: crowley holding the last and only feather from his angel wings that didn't turn completely black 💔

[stealingpotatoes]

Oh my GOD I've fallen down the rabbit hole of your glorious skywalkers apart AU and quite apart from being ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED, I have to know if my boy Cal is around in it?!

yes but i never really developed it!! ok we all know i'm never gonna finish that comic script i'll just tell u guys -- in said script, after leia and anakin free Padme, they find out Luke was taken somewhere else which, after a family recon mission, they find is FORTRESS GODDAMN INQUISITORIUS! (which they assume is bc luke tried to use the force to stop the initial arrest, big mistake huge)

anyway all this to say cal's involvement was a tiny-mentioned cameo to explain why anakin knew how to infiltrate nur (the exact line i wrote in the never-finished-script was "we met this jedi survivor a few years back" + comments abt said survivor inflitrating nur 10 years ago yes it was that unsubtle) -- the idea was they had run into one another on a short mission in the past and then gone their separate ways!

[f0x-meets-w0lf]

contrary to what's expected of them by nearly everyone in henrietta, skov and swan clean up their act just enough to fumble their way into their mid-20's. they begin to build a decent life for themselves — in part it's out of necessity, in another part for their own good, and lastly to honor their beloved late friends. they've been made acutely aware of life's delicate nature, and with no dream-thief-king left to remedy their mortality as he once did for his favorite forgery, they treat their existences accordingly.

they still enjoy getting rowdy from time to time, of course; skov is still too much of a stoner for his own good, while swan's in grad school and has always been the one to take his education most seriously, so he's more sparing about it (which isn't to say he's at all immune to a lazy-limbed heavy-lidded blue-haired boy sprawled out on their bed, his mouth holding secondhand smoke and the promise of hazy, handsy makeouts).

for the most part, though, their days are more relaxed, and they luxuriate in the simple things: the small intimacies of their joined morning routines, cooking a meal together, going to the gym or the park or the library. they treasure their time spent chatting and cuddling and kissing on their couch; jiang comes by, sometimes, to spend time with them and bask in their collective warmth, abundant with joy and comfort and love that they extend beyond the veil in the hopes it might reach k and proko. it feels good.

[firenati0n]

feeling your heart beating, wondering what you're dreaming

by firenati0n on ao3

M | 5.7k

tags: alternate universe, childhood friends to lovers, only one bed, alex pov, brief ellen pov, brief henry pov, sleeping together, cuddling, tipsy love confessions, first kiss, arthur fox lives and is a wonderful parent, mutual pining, 5+1 things

But Friday nights are just for them. People no longer make fun of Henry’s accent the way they used to in elementary school—they look at him now. It’s weird, and it makes something in Alex’s jaw hurt. “Oh shit, it’s late and I know we have Bea’s piano recital in the morning. Should probably go to bed, yeah?” Alex pulls his shirt off and slides under the covers before yanking it down on Henry’s side for him, an invitation. Henry doesn’t move, though—instead, he’s chewing his bottom lip and staring at the floor, pointedly not looking at Alex.

Or, five times childhood best friends Alex and Henry share a bed platonically, and the one time (of many) they do as something more.

xoxo roop

my @flufftober fic for day 17: only one bed! :)

tagging the rest of the collection crew: @thesleepyskipper @theprinceandagcd @caterpills @kj-bee @exitariel000

@shesfromboston @msmarvelouswinchester @dani-dabbles @jafffacakess