#hehe space dog

[suru-sketches]

was finding something to post and found this Dazai drawing that I sometimes don't really like, but other times I'm like, hey it looks fine??

[mellohiizz]

Omg what about mapicc/planet? I think if they teamed mapicc would lose 70 years off his life because planet is just the biggest victim of natural selection. He has the survival instincts of a rock when he isn't locked in /aff

oh, wait, yes! i like them a lot, actually. i need think about them more, i think i already thought about those two together before.

[canis--familiaris]

Played in the hose today!!! Sprayed it up in the air and let it rain down all over me!!! Super fun (and helped with the summer heat)!!! ∇≧ω≦∇

[silly-audio]

Finally posting my Laika playlist :D

[definitely-not-bees]

My Tumblr app is finally letting me post pictures and I've finally been on an art kick after a very long time of Not™ so here's some art I did recently that I'm very proud of

I know the left head is pretty wonky but I'll fix it in the future when I feel like it

Had a hard cry about Laika the space dog the other day so I had to make some art about it immediately. Super stoked how it came out (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

"I have editing work to do… Ya know that, right?" Looking down at the large feline curled up both within his lap, and up across his chest, Minato asked a rather rhetorical question. The blonde knew he wouldn’t get an answer, of course— but still, he couldn’t help wanting to ‘question’ the cat regardless.

One of the rare visits he’s made to Shizuma’s place, and after making the mistake of relaxing on the couch before trying to get work done, he’s now stuck beneath one serval out of the pair that’s usually causing some sort of trouble… Sighing as golden hues shut for the moment, it seems the blonde was set to accept his fate for the time being— bringing an arm up to pet the feline’s head and rub behind their ear.

[phagodyke]

went to the gym in the end it was so much fuuuunnnn woohooo :D

[darlinhutchence]

Michael Hutchence on the set of Dogs in Space (1986).

[sknyuz]

prompt — “i’m so undeniably screwed for this woman.”

pairing — woozi x reader

genre — fluffy fluff, opposites attract, tiny bit of woozi’s inner turmoil but in a cute way

warnings — light swearing, mutual pining, woozi being emotionally constipated but adorable about it

word count — 600(?) i literally planned longer but my brain farted

note: nonchalant woozi + sunshine reader <3 thank you for this request hehe.

masterlist

he’s watching you again.

not in a weird way. not in a creepy way. probably.

it’s just—you’re laughing. again. and it’s the kind of laugh that bursts out of you like soda fizz, bright and sparkling, and it fills the whole studio. and he’s just—well...

“hyung,” seungkwan says, walking past with his laptop and a raised brow, “you’re staring again.” he sing-songs, rolling his eyes.

woozi blinks, caught.

“i’m not,” he replies, flatly.

“sure,” seungkwan sings, disappearing down the hall.

woozi sighs and sinks further into his chair. you’re sitting cross-legged on the studio couch, scrolling through your phone, earbuds in and completely oblivious to the absolute chokehold you’ve put him in.

and that’s the problem. you always are.

you’re warm, expressive, a walking serotonin shot. you light up every room you walk into and talk with your hands and cry over dog videos and compliment strangers’ outfits just because. you're the type of person who remembers birthdays, texts people good luck before big meetings, and bakes cookies on random tuesdays "just because you felt like it."

and woozi?

woozi is the guy who pretends not to hear compliments because he doesn’t know how to take them, he expresses love through perfectly mixed vocal tracks and buying your favorite snacks and pretending he’s not checking his phone every two minutes waiting for your reply.

and yet you’re here all the time.

you come by the studio even when he doesn’t ask. you bring coffee and snacks and once a tiny plush keychain because "it looked like you and i couldn't not buy it." you ask about his day like you really want to know. you hug him goodbye even though he never hugs back (not properly, anyway).

and sometimes you sit quietly beside him for hours, just vibing, while he works on music. humming under your breath. asking questions about things he thought no one ever noticed. like the way he softens the instrumental under the bridge to highlight the vocals. or how he layers harmonies to make the chorus sound fuller.

you notice everything—and it’s driving him insane.

because he’s not supposed to feel this soft. not when he barely knows what to do with his feelings half the time, not when you smile at him like you know something he doesn’t, like you’re waiting for him to catch up.

“you okay?” you ask suddenly, pulling out your earbuds and tilting your head at him. he startles slightly, coughing. “yeah.”

“you were spacing out,” you grin. “thinking hard, genius?”

he huffs a laugh, turns back to his screen. “something like that.”

you shuffle over and peer at his monitor, chin on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe. you’re close enough that he can smell your shampoo. something citrusy. fresh. “is this the new demo?” you whisper, like it’s a secret.

he nods.

“can i hear it?”

“it’s not done yet.”

“i don’t care.” you whisper, leaning in close to his ear.

and he sighs, already knowing that he’d lost to you with just one look. he hits play and pretends his heart isn’t doing backflips while you listen with that furrowed brow and soft smile. you always listen like this—like the song is a person you’re trying to understand.

when it ends, you turn to him, eyes wide. “woozi. that’s so good. it sounds like falling in love.”

he snorts, ducking his head. “that’s not what it’s about.”

“still feels like it,” you shrug.

he glances at you, a little helpless. you’re too close. too real. too much.

“you always say the dumbest stuff,” he mutters, but his voice is weirdly fond. you grin at this like you know you’ve won something. “you love it.”

and that’s the thing, isn’t it?

he does.

god help him, but he does. and his grumpy disposition falters as he rubs his palm into his eyes.

“i’m so undeniably screwed for this woman,” he mutters under his breath, almost too quiet to hear.

oh, but you hear it.

you blink, going still. lips part like you’re about to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you stare at him with an amused look on your face.

his eyes widen slightly, and for the first time in a long time, he feels his composure crack.

“…shit,” he curses, throwing his head back. “did i say that out loud?”

you blink again. then smile, slow and warm and soft enough to melt him right there in the chair.

“yeah,” you say. “you did.”

a beat passes. he opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

“…okay.” he pathetically mumbles,

and then you’re laughing. again. that same fizzy, unstoppable laugh, and you bump your shoulder into his and say, “about time.”

he stares at you, and you stare back. then you reach over and take his hand—gently, casually, like you’ve done it a hundred times—and squeeze.

“don’t worry,” you whisper. “seems like we’re both in trouble, then. you make me feel like i got a few screws loose, lee jihoon.”

and woozi, ever the calm, composed, nonchalant musical genius that he is—completely short-circuits.

join here!

if you liked this, i appreciate a reblog as well :3 it helps my works and writing spread to other ppl very effectively !!

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu

[bruisedboys]

hallo! i loved your tmr fics and your ones for jacob n saw u were asking for reqs? ^^ was thinking about jacob if he would love back scratches or having his hair played with! like the way he’d melt…. ouagh

anon how did you know I’ve been thinking about exactly this!!!! he is merely a dog of a man

jacob black who’s a total sucker for physical affection!! he likes giving it (all the damn time, whether there are people around or not) but he loves receiving it. especially because it’s you who’s doing it!

he gets home from a long night of patrol and you’re already asleep in his bed — the sight of you makes his chest ache with fondness. he slides in next to you and you stir, “jake?” you mumble, half asleep but no less fond, reaching for him in the dark. jacob hums, “yeah it’s me, babe.” you curl into his side, kiss his shoulder softly and then your hand finds it way to his hair, carding through the strands still damp from his shower, scratching lightly at his scalp with the tip of your nails. you seem to do it without thinking, and that makes it worse, because you’re not even trying and you’ve got jacob’s heart racing. he melts and goes very still so as not to disrupt your affections. you both fall asleep tangled up with one another and with your fingers curled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

he’s sitting in a pack meeting at sam’s and he’s stressed, his patience stretched thin and seconds away from snapping. everyone’s talking over one another, no one can agree on anything, and he’s sick of it, he just wants to go home with you. then you appear behind him, and you must be able to tell he’s grumpy, because you push your hand across his back in what he thinks is a comforting rub, pushing the heel of your hand into his tense muscles. jacob melts and forgets to pay attention, worse when you start scraping gently across the fabric of his t-shirt with the very tips of your nails, scratching slow semi circles into the space between his shoulder blades. he’s pretty sure he passes out, or falls asleep, or something, because he forgets the rest of what happens in the meeting, and doesn’t utter a word for the remainder of it.

he’s sitting in the garage, busy working on his bike while it pours down outside, and you sidle up behind him, hands sliding over his shoulders. at first he thinks you’re just watching what he’s doing, but then you start pushing your hand over the dip between his shoulder and neck, and up into his hair. you might be doing it absentmindedly, but jacob doesn’t think so — you get bored when it rains (which is most of the time), and when you’re bored, you’re trouble. it’s only when you start twirling chunks of his hair around your finger that he gives in and turns around. “did you want something, sweetheart?” he asks, quirking a brow. you smile at him sweet as honey. “no,” you say, but you don’t give up, you just keep touching him until he can’t stop himself from dropping what he’s doing and pulling you into his lap, guiding your hands to his hair again while you giggle, then smothering your laugh with a deep, warm kiss. it turns into a full on makeout session — you get exactly what you wanted, though jacob would be lying if he said he didn’t want it, too.

-

(I am 100% going to be expanding on that last bit because it deserves a proper blurb!! stay tuned hehe)

[aventurineswife]

so if the sahsrau and sagau characters made it to our world what would be the first thing they'd do would they try to find the reader or would they erect (hehe erect) some sort of statue or museum for you and your art also how would they treat the reader and assuming that the reader is like most people at the moment how would they react if the reader was living paycheck to paycheck?

If the SAHSRAU and SAGAU characters broke through into our world, it would be absolute chaotic worship meets reality check energy.

First Thing They’d Do?

They’d 100% try to find the reader immediately.

Their divine GPS (aka terminally over-romanticized sense of direction + desperation) would kick in. Most of them would tear through space and time like "WHERE IS OUR CREATOR??" while others like Welt or Nahida might be like, “...maybe we should get a lay of the land first.” But nah—Reader comes first.

And if they couldn’t find you right away? Expect a museum. No—a cathedral, actually. Statues, murals, and literal light shows. They’d start collecting every piece of your art, vent-post, old doodles, angsty OC lore, and unfinished works like they’re holy texts. (Even your high school sketchbook? Priceless artifact. Protected in glass.)

How Would They Treat the Reader?

Like you were the sun and the sky and the stars rolled into one.

Yanqing (or older male character if you don't want the kids here) would bring you tea and kneel like an ancient knight trying not to show his blush.

Acheron would speak in soft metaphors, treating you like a sorrowful dream made real.

Albedo and Silver Wolf would take apart your phone and try to understand how it connects to you.

Jing Yuan and Zhongli would treat your words like prophecies—“...the Creator said ‘I’m broke,’ which must be symbolic. We must fix this imbalance.”

Boothill would try to fight your landlord or job manager or whoever.

Dan Heng and Xiao would just silently keep watch over you like tired guard dogs with severe trauma and too much reverence.

Ayato, Blade, or Kafka might take a more... personal approach. You’re overwhelmed? You need someone to take care of everything for you? Consider it handled, sweetheart.

If You Were Living Paycheck to Paycheck?

First they'd be horrified. Like genuinely shaken. Because in their eyes, you're a divine being, the Source of Worlds, the One Who Created Them—and you’re living in mortal drudgery? You’re suffering? You're stressed about rent?

Oh, no no no.

Aventurine opens seventeen credit lines in your name and maxes them all out immediately to get you out of debt and into a comfortable apartment.

Nahida or Raiden Ei might try to completely overhaul modern society for your convenience.

Neuvillette and Bronya would go to your employer and issue divine litigation.

Childe just: "Let me fix it. Let me fix everything."

Pela and Cyno are putting your boss on trial.

Even someone like Kaveh would offer to live in your place for a week while you recover and maybe even cook for you. (You don’t know where he got the ingredients but it’s the thought that counts.)

And if you ever say: “I’m fine, really…”

They’d just be so quiet. Hurt. Like: “You shouldn’t have to be fine. Not alone. Not ever.”

Basically:

You’d go from paycheck-to-paycheck to gilded-idol-worship-meets-overprotective-cult-leader-found-family in the span of a single tear rolling down your cheek.

Would you like the world remodeled into a utopia? Because that's what they'd try to give you. And maybe... just maybe, you'd start to wonder if letting them stay was really such a bad idea after all.

[justwinginglife]

So another request hehe but this would be my last one (for the meantime) since I don't want to flood your inbox.

I'm thinking about Hoshina with a Lieutenant reader that has a Disney Princess ability, like ya know the animal whisperer sort of thing. The reader is known for being loved by animals by the third division, so they called them a Disney Princess. They always saw the reader with a random animal in the middle of the battlefield and since then the whole division had a bet on what would be the animal they will be seen every time they enter the battlefield, or how many. One time they got attacked by a Wolf Kaiju, they thought they already killed all of the Kaiju's but Okonogi kept on saying there's still one left, and the reader is missing. When they found the Kaiju, they also found the reader who's now giving the Wolf Kaiju a belly rub.

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ -requester

I swear this request has been in my inbox so long it literally, actually collected dust and for that, I'm sorry. Thank you for your patience. Hope you like this!

Crushes and Crowns

Approx Word Count: 3800 Tags: idk, something like, "Hoshina is a silly brat but you love him anyway" and more Third Divison Shenanigans

“Evening, Princess!”

“Rough day, Princess?”

“See you later, Princess!”

You shook your head, laughing to yourself, as you made your way through the Third Division’s halls. Despite your protesting of this new nickname you’d earned, the soldiers continued to use it anyway (overuse it, really), and it’d started to grow on you (though you still found it rather silly.)

You still remembered the day you’d been dubbed, “Princess.” It was your fourth time in one week, bringing home an animal to the base, and it wasn’t even your fault. Your entire childhood, animals had been drawn to you, and it seemed that none of that had changed in your adulthood. It wasn’t like you purposely brought them along with you, they just…followed wherever you went. The first day you’d settled into the dorms, you’d tracked bees inside. No one had thought much of it at first, as you had brought flowers to brighten up your living space. The second time, a raccoon had trailed in behind you, eager to make its home beneath your bed. The third time, you’d come home with bags upon bags of clothes from your latest shopping spree, and when a bag slipped from your arms, a stray dog had caught it and walked it back to base for you. Soon, it became a running joke that the next time you tracked in an animal, it’d be a horse, as the animals you attracted seemed to be getting bigger and bigger in size. Or maybe this was how they discovered unicorns really existed, was when it sauntered in beside you after your next outing. 

It was honestly a wonder how you hadn’t been crowned “Princess” sooner, when your Defense Force exam was only made memorable because a flock of crows had suddenly flooded the arena during the test, working to distract the Kaiju while you took them out, one by one. It was even more peculiar that crows weren’t local to that area, and even if they had been, that would not have been the season to see them. 

Either way, as bizarre as these events were, you had never deemed them a result of any particular skill on your part. You just assumed it was pure coincidence that animals were drawn to you. Maybe you had an attractive scent; that couldn’t be helped. 

It wasn’t until you started showing up to battle with an animal by your side -completely unprompted- that you thought to yourself, maybe you were what they called an animal whisperer. You could coo to the birds and call them to your aid, you could click your tongue and the moles would burrow out of the ground, you could whistle to the wolves and they’d bound to your side, even the snakes (as stubborn and self serving as they were) answered to your every beck and call. At this point, it seemed there was no beast alive that you couldn’t tame. Or man, for that matter.

And recently, you’d had your eye on one Vice Captain Hoshina of the Defense Force’s Third Division. 

While you had eventually, begrudgingly accepted the title of “Princess” (after weeks of scrunching up your nose and wrinkling your brows at the name), you’d never had any real desire for the name to grace your ears. That is, until you fell in love with the Vice Captain, the one person who did not use your ridiculous nickname. And now, after having been accustomed to the pet name (being smothered with it, really), you developed a sudden longing for him to one day take you by the hand, look deep into your eyes, and whisper to you lovingly, “Princess,” as though it were a name only he could bestow. It was all you could think about. He was all you could think about.

It wasn’t difficult in the slightest to fall completely and totally in love with him. Not at all. While you had long proven yourself an asset to the Defense Force, you still remember the days when your every achievement was attributed solely to your animal help on the field. Hoshina was the first person to acknowledge that, while you’d had help, it’d been due to your skill and your skill alone that you achieved what you did. Making an impossible shot, your bullets piercing through a kaiju core with exact precision, even despite the flock of animals crowding around your shot- that accomplishment was the result of your tireless effort and dedication to honing your craft, and the recognition and rewards for such a talent belonged to you and you only. The animals may have done their part, but at the end of the day, it was you firing the shot, you ending the fight before lives could be lost, you saving the day. And you were invaluable to him. 

 Of course, you longed to be more than just an asset to him. 

If he wasn’t interested in you, it wasn't for lack of trying on your part. You noticed he always got up early to go for a run, so you’d join him on his runs. Every single day, without fail, you’d jog up to him, saying, “Fancy meeting you here,” like it was pure coincidence that you just so happened to be up at the crack of dawn even though you’d never woken up so early in your entire life, and you just so happened to run along the same path as him at the same time as him and the same pace as him. He’d laugh. Play along. Every single day, without fail, “What a coincidence,” He’d say with a grin. Some days, you wouldn’t talk much. You’d simply keep pace beside each other, enjoying the crisp, fresh air as your breaths painted clouds of white into the morning sky, and it’d be enough. Other days, he’d acknowledge that he knew you were coming. He’d hand you an extra bottle of water because he’d brought two. He’d pull out his portable speaker because you kept asking him what he was listening to on these runs. Sometimes, if you were late, you’d find him stretching on a nearby bench, and when you’d ask him why he hadn’t started his run yet, he’d raise an eyebrow to you like it was only obvious. He was waiting for you. Of course he was waiting for you. But was it just because he was used to you? Being his running partner didn’t mean you were anything else to him. 

So you’d snag seats by him on the transport to the battlefield. Ask if he’d gotten a chance to eat lunch or dinner before the alarm had gone off. If he said yes, you’d tease him for not sharing. If he said no, you’d slip him a snack. He’d nod his head in thanks, and tell you, with a playful grin, that he’d protect your gift with his life. You’d tell him to worry about protecting himself. Tell him that if he slipped up in combat and you ended up having to go on your morning runs by yourself, you’d strangle his ghost. He’d give a little chuckle, and then make his lighthearted promises to you that he’d do his best to remain in one piece. You wondered if he’d ever promise you anything else. 

But life went on, your relationship with him progressed at a snail’s pace, and the Third Division remained as rowdy as ever. You discovered that their latest source of entertainment was a betting pool. About you. 

It’d become common knowledge on base that wherever you were, the animals followed. Even if you made a trip overseas, they were sure that some sort of whale or shark or dolphin would accompany you on your journey. So they began to place their bets on what animal would make their appearance during your next march into battle. 

Haruichi mused that perhaps you’d appear with a fox by your side. 

Iharu swore that a fox was too meager, and you were more likely to show up with a bear bounding behind you. 

Ichikawa ruminated that it was possible a peacock would be your next companion. 

Kafka bellowed with laughter, telling them all that they were thinking too small. He was sure you’d find some way to will dragons into existence and bend them to your command. 

Platoon Leader Nakanoshima chided them all for being childish, but inside, she was hoping you’d bring home a kitten next time. 

Everyone had their guesses and though you found them outlandish, you were curious to hear what Hoshina’s prediction was. 

“Any thoughts, Vice Captain?”

He raised an amused brow to you. “Thoughts? On the betting pool? You’re really buying into what everyone is saying? That you’re some sort of animal goddess with the power to commune with nature?” 

“No, of course not!” Your cheeks burst into flames. “That….that would just be stupid…” You grumbled to yourself, a slight pout on your lips, as you turned away from him. 

He leaned into your field of view once more, head cocked, a cheeky grin dashed across his face. “I see, I see. So you were hoping to be some sort of deity after all.”

“I would never-!”

“Pufferfish.”

Your thoughts halted in their tracks. “A what??”

He grinned slyly. “You heard me. Bring a pufferfish next time.”

“To a BATTLEFIELD??? On LAND???”

He shrugged innocently, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. “I dunno, maybe you could blow it up big and hang it on a string, like it’s a balloon, or something,” 

“You really are just teasing me, Hoshina!” 

“I would never.”

“You told me that you found a shortcut on our little running trail the other day and led me straight through mud.” You made a show out of glaring at him. 

He burst into laughter, shoulders quaking as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d believe me! We’ve run that path so much, I thought you’d know there was no shortcut. And besides, that’s more of a prank and less of a tease, so your argument is invalid.” 

You would’ve fired back at him. Would’ve combat his teasing with a witty rebuttal. Maybe you would’ve even feigned upset and pretended to give him the cold shoulder just so he’d beg you to understand that he was just joking and he would never be so careless with your feelings. But you never got the chance to. 

The red alarm went off.

Hoshina’s lax demeanor instantly went rigid, solemnity crossing over his face as he popped his comms in to receive a report of the situation. You zipped up your suit as you watched him nod his head in response to the report. He gestured for you to follow him as he made his way to the door. 

“Honju. Ruins outside of town.” He mouthed to you.

You kept pace with him as he began speeding towards the transport, tying your hair up into a ponytail on the way. Along the way, the two of you collected soldiers, updating them on the situation as you all rushed to pull your gear together. 

The atmosphere should’ve been tense, the adrenaline buzzing, the fear of death lurking around the corner, the fear of failing your country looming in the air. But it wasn’t. Not when you were around. Your fellow officers raced to catch up to you, whispering to each other, “So did you bet on cougar or coyote this time?” They’d snicker to each other as they made their arguments on which situation was more likely. 

Even Hoshina couldn’t help but notice the lighthearted environment. “That’s enough chit chat, everyone in your vehicles now. And besides…I’m betting on a phoenix.” He winked and then hopped in the truck.

A phoenix??? Now he was on team mythical?? You groaned to yourself as you slunk in beside him. “You’re really setting the bar high, you know that?” You grumbled under your breath.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “If anyone can do it, it’s you... Princess.”

Your heart choked on its own rhythm, stuttering to a stop. He said it. He really, actually, truly fucking said it. And by god, you were not prepared in the slightest. Was the room spinning? Was the air increasingly thin? Had the sun filed in behind all the soldiers and made camp in this truck? Why were you sweltering and shivering all at once? 

He bit back a laugh, opting instead to clear his throat into his fist. “Cat got your tongue?”

“P-pufferfish.” You mumbled meekly. “Thought you…wanted a pufferfish.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest shuddering, as he attempted to swallow down his own laughter. You were adorable, how else was he supposed to describe it? And how the hell was he supposed to contain himself? And in a truck full of people, no less. He was lucky they were all distracted with placing their bets, because he couldn’t help sneaking a look at your rose-tinted cheeks and it sent his heart into overdrive. 

He might’ve reached out to caress them or pinch them, anything to touch them, and soothe his sanity. But then the truck stopped.

“Time to move out.” He ordered.

The soldiers spilled out of the car, and you were left to stumble behind them. Hoshina glanced back at you, suddenly aware that he’d left you all too dazed, and he immediately regretted teasing you so close to battle. He instructed a Platoon Leader to take you into their care, assigning their squad to the very back of the line. On any other day, you might’ve felt offended that he was benching you. But today, you hadn’t even noticed. How could you, when your heart was sprinting in dizzying circles in your chest? Could you even remember how to breathe? Did you remember what oxygen was? Sheer muscle memory allowed you to lock and load your gun, but your heart had no previous practice with gallivanting through sunny meadows and rainbowed skies. By the time you even realized what platoon you’d been assigned to, Hoshina was long gone. 

He had rushed to the front lines, as he often did, slashing a path through his every foe with ease, until he reached his designated target. There it stood, hulking and howling, a Honju with a wolvish appearance- a beast among beasts. Hoshina noted to himself that it must have been the Alpha of the pack, as every bark and grunt appeared to be individual commands given to the Yoju that were currently swarming his comrades. He’d be sure to take it out quickly; he had to disrupt their chain of command. After all, he’d never forgive himself if even one of them caused any harm to you. Even as the last line of defense, you were still much too close to the battle for his liking. He trusted your skills, but he rebuked himself for the state he’d left you in. He’d be sure to finish this battle soon, and rush back to your side for a celebratory beer.

But even with all his talent, Hoshina was reminded that there was no such thing as a sure victory in battle. When he had decided to engage the Honju in battle, he had expected it to react much like a Kaiju would. He would attack and, having nothing but primal instincts to guide it, the Honju should respond in kind, bearing its fangs in retaliation. And, of course, it did at first. Hoshina’s blades clashed with its claws, weapons that somehow rivaled his own in both integrity and ferocity, and for a moment, it appeared as though it were anyone’s battle to win, with both sides equally as charged and tenacious. But it quickly became evident that Hoshina was stronger. And after a couple of fiery exchanges, the beast made the decision to retreat, its more animalistic nature winning out over its monstrous nature. Wolves, after all, hunt in packs and, even as the leader, a lone wolf is smart enough to know when to withdraw. 

Hoshina pursued its quickly fleeing figure but it was to no avail. Even tracking it did no good, and he eventually made the decision to rejoin his officers in the field, clearing out the remaining Yoju. By the time the battle was over, he had almost been able to forget the humiliating draw between him and the Honju. That is, until Okonogi chimed in on his comms.

“Vice Captain, picking up one remaining Honju on the field, sir.”

He shook his head in frustration. “System must be acting up, Okonogi. I watched it retreat myself. It’s long gone by now.”

“No, sir. The readings are accurate. It’s still on the field.”

Hot blood surged through his veins. “Where?” He demanded. 

“Sector Bravo.”

In an instant, his blood ran cold. Bravo. That was your sector. The end of the defensive line. “Okonogi, get me a sitrep on all officers in Sector Bravo. Is everyone accounted for?” His heart thundered in his chest as he sped through alleyways and burst through ruined buildings, all the while, listening to her rattle off each individual officer’s status. He couldn’t very well tell her that no one’s status but yours mattered. 

“And finally, Officer L/N. Vitals normal.”

His breathing evened.

“But she appears to be secluded from the rest of the officers.”

His chest tightened. “She what??”

“For some reason, she’s in an abandoned part of the map.” Okonogi reported.

What on god’s earth were you doing out there alone?? His already-rapid pace increased even further. “Get me a status on the Honju.”

“It’s…oh. OH.”

“Okonogi-” He hissed.

“It’s closing in on her as we speak, Vice Captain-!”

She’d barely finished her sentence when he rocketed ahead, renewed strength and renewed desperation propelling him forward. 

No, no, no, no. He hadn’t even asked your favorite genre of music, hadn’t asked if you ever minded always listening to his. He hadn’t asked you if you wanted to go with him to see the new, upcoming movie. He hadn’t asked you if you even liked animals or if you just somehow always got stuck with them. He hadn’t asked your deepest fears or your sincerest wishes. He hadn’t gotten to know you as well as he’d wanted. And most importantly…he hadn’t told you how he felt. 

Right now, all he felt was panic. Terror. Anxiety. 

He heard that familiar growl again and it sent his stomach spiraling into a knot. Why wasn’t he faster? Why wouldn’t his feet obey him? Why couldn’t he simply sprout wings and fly???

Then he heard your laugh.

He stumbled into the clearing just in time to see you, rubbing the wolf’s belly. 

“Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are. Yes, you are! You’re not so scary now, are you? Just a lil hungry. Just a lil hungry baby. Have something for you, sweetie pie.” You yanked a nearby, rusted stop sign out of the ground and waved it back and forth. 

Eyes lighting up, the Honju lunged forward.

Hoshina’s feet reacted before his mind did and he was at your side in a split second, swords at the ready, eager to spill the Kaiju’s organs all over the pavement.

But the Honju didn’t attack you. He simply gnawed on the “stick” you’d given him as a treat. 

“Oh, Hoshina, you’re here. Hey.”

He blinked. ‘Hey?’ That was all he got? He literally broke the sound barrier, rushing to your aid, and he got a simple, ‘Hey?’

“Hoshina- meet Spot. Spot, meet my Vice Captain.”

His jaw dropped and shattered on the ground. “You NAMED it??”

You gave a sheepish laugh. “Well…I couldn’t very well kill it. Not when he’s being such a good boy for me. Aren’t you?”

As if in response, the wolf flopped onto its back once again, eager for more belly rubs, its wagging tail stirring up dirt. 

Hoshina waved away the dust, coughing. “He’s not a ‘good boy.’ He tried to kill me.”

“But that was then. This is now. Can’t you just let this one Kaiju off the hook?”

Disbelief, shock, and indignation warred within him. But in the end, he fell victim to your glimmering eyes and your perfectly pouted lips. He sighed. “I…I suppose the… the Captain has her own kaiju pet so…it wouldn’t be completely inconceivable for you to…also have one.” His shoulders slumped in defeat.

Your eyes lit up like fireworks. “Really?? Oh- you’re the absolute best, Soshiro!” Excitement overtaking any sense of rationality, you threw your arms around him and squeezed him tight. 

It wasn’t until he was properly snuggled into your embrace that you realized the gravity of what you’d said. And done. 

“S…Soshiro?” He asked weakly.

Your arms froze around his waist. “I…I meant...Hosh…Vice…I…”

His body began to quiver and you wondered if you’d really upset him to the point of being so shaken with rage. But then he rested his forehead against your shoulder, laughter tumbling out of his lips. “You really just skipped straight to first names like it was nothing,” He gasped out in between fits of laughter. 

You bit your lip, having no choice but to endure the shame and humiliation.

He finally stopped laughing enough to pull back and look at you, amusement painted clearly across his features. “Cat got your tongue?” He repeated his earlier words. “Princess.”

And there it was again. That same, overwhelming flood of crimson that rushed to the surface of your skin, enveloping every inch of your face. This time, even the tips of your ears had begun to dye themselves in the similar shade of rouge. 

“Aww. How cute. Fearless in the face of monsters, but speechless when it comes to me. Why is that?” His voice danced with that familiar, teasing tone. 

You attempted to shrink away from him but he caught you by the waist. 

“No running away from me now, Princess.” His tone suddenly dropped, his words a low purr. “Tell me. What’s got you so worked up?”

“If you’re asking me things like that, you already know.” You grumbled in complaint. He chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ll have to enlighten me.” 

“I like you. Stupid Soshiro.” You crossed your arms emphatically.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said you’re stupid, Soshiro!” 

He pressed his lips to yours, his taste intermingling with yours as he deepened the kiss.  “And…” He pulled away, leaving you entranced, “What was it you said before that?”

“...like you. Stupid.” You repeated meekly.

“Could’ve done without the stupid,” He grinned, “But I like you too. My princess.” He dipped his head down to smother his whispered words against the soft swell of your lips once again. And then he kept kissing you until your lips were chapped, until there was no question about his feelings for you. 

You’d never been too fond of your nickname before, but somehow, someway, whenever he murmured it the way he did, in that sickeningly sweet tone of his, as he buried his lips in yours, somehow- you felt like royalty.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[luffington]

hello i love ur works!! i hope ur doing well! :D for law can i request a law with a f!reader who doesn’t like him at all at first but has an uncharacteristic absolute soft spot for cute things (ie bepo) and he uses that to get closer to her? thank u!! ☺️

➤ pairing: trafalgar law x gn!reader

➤ word count: 1.1k

➤ warnings: alcohol use

this is such a cute concept thank you for suggesting it!! i'm exactly like this and i wanna hug bepo so badly ᕦʕ •ᴥ•ʔᕤ

i'm still not confident in the way i write law so i hope you like this!

Law's heart skips a beat the moment he meets you. That’s very unfortunate for him. 

His social skills are adequate at best, since his awkwardness unintentionally comes off as rudeness, but they get infinitely worse around people he’s attracted to.

Plus, you're a Straw Hat, so you're already seeing him out of his element. Luffy's (unintentional) insistence on ruining all of his carefully planned schemes leaves him perpetually frustrated, uncomfortable, and grumpy.

You frown when his voice comes out harsher than he meant it to. Roll your eyes when he gets upset at your crewmates again for doing what they always do. Mumble something snarky under your breath when the man frantically tries to get his plan back on track, somehow still not realizing that everything works out for Luffy. 

Oh, you must hate him. Law knows it. He tries to give you space to avoid making the situation worse, but that only upsets you more.

But Bepo? You’re obsessed. 

Constantly clinging onto him, rubbing your cheeks against his fur, giggling about how soft and round he is until the poor bear's snowy white face is tinted bright red.

His first mate nervously cries out "Captain!!", clearly flustered but secretly enjoying your praise. You pout, wondering why the cutest Mink you'd ever met is sticking around with an asshole like Law.

It’s not just Bepo – you love everything cute. Chopper always ends up in your lap, happily wrapped in your embrace. You feed stray cats, stop to pet every dog you see, and gush over the Tontattas in Dressrosa (especially Princess Mansherry!). Somehow, you cry more than Franky does at heartwarming stories. 

Law doesn’t understand how someone as adorable and kind-hearted as you could become a pirate. He admires your emotional vulnerability and childlike whimsy as much as he’s terrified of it. 

The poor guy can't win. He can barely talk to you like a normal person, much less have a full conversation with you. It leaves him lying awake in bed at night trying to think of something to say that doesn't make him sound like a dick. 

(Maybe he should read that book Chopper gave him – 'healthy ways to process trauma’ or something stupid like that.)

His crewmates know about his predicament, so Shachi suggests expressing his feelings in a way that doesn’t involve words. 

Law fights off embarrassment and walks into a toy store, looking incredibly out of place. He ends up picking out a black-and-white puppy plushie. (it’s Snoopy hehe)

Anxiety nearly overwhelms him while he waits for the perfect moment to give it to you. When it finally feels appropriate to pull you away from your crewmates, he leads you into an empty room on the Sunny. 

Law can barely look you in the eyes as he hands you the stuffed animal and mumbles, “I got this for you.”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “Oh, Law…” The long stretch of silence causes him to panic internally, suddenly regretting everything and thinking of ways to explain himself.

Before he can come up with a flimsy excuse, you gladly accept his gift and hug it tightly. “It’s adorable, thank you! It even matches your hat!”

A blush spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. He wasn’t thinking about that, he swears! It’s the same color as Bepo! Yes, he loves black and white, and maybe he subconsciously wanted it to remind you of him, but he didn’t do it on purpose!

At breakfast the next morning, Shachi asks if you like your gift. Deciding not to question why he knows about it, you nod enthusiastically and say it’s so cute that you spent the entire night cuddling it. Law sputters and spills hot coffee on himself.

But now you feel bad. Everything about Law’s behavior made you think he disliked you, but he clearly cares enough to notice your interests. You don't know anything about him.

The next time your combined crews split up, you make it a point to join him and spend alone time together. He’s obviously overjoyed, and he’s already thinking about more gifts to buy you.

Once you get past his awkward exterior, you realize he's actually pretty cute. He has his own nerdy interests, and he genuinely cares about Bepo and the rest of his crew.

He’ll show you his if you show him yours… Obviously that means his limited edition Germa 66 comics box set and your collection of cute trinkets, with the puppy plushie he bought you sitting proudly on your pillow.

When he sees a cute animal or something he knows you’d like, if you’re within Room range, he Shambles you over to him so you won’t miss it.

“Law, what the hell? Why am I three blocks away from where I just was?” With a straight face, he points and says, “Cat.”

Bepo’s also a great wingman. He helps you see his captain’s soft side by telling stories about their adventures together – even embarrassing ones Law wishes he left unsaid. You eagerly listen to everything the Mink has to say and become even more comfortable around Law.

Law realizes you can be soft and strong at the same time. No one doubts Sanji’s strength even though he caves whenever he sees a woman – why shouldn’t that apply to you and your interests?

At one of your crew's famous banquets, you get super drunk and won’t stop clinging to him. Law is completely sober and tries to push you off of him, attempting to prevent you from doing anything you'd regret the next morning. 

But then you tell him you think he's adorable and giggle cutely.

He's stunned into silence for a few moments. "...You think so?" (He'd rather be seen as manly, but he's more than happy with any perception as long as you like him.)

You nod and move to kiss him, and as much as he’s dying to reciprocate, he holds you back. Instead, he half-carries you over to where a group of both of your crews are mingling. You're asleep in Bepo's lap in less than a minute.

Hungover and sleepy the next morning, you timidly apologize for your behavior. Law shakes his head and assures you that it's fine. 

"I still wanna kiss you, though," you murmur quietly. 

So his lips press against yours in a slow and gentle kiss, eventually escalating until your fingers are tangled in his hair and you’re straddling his lap, one tattooed hand gripping your hip and the other holding you tight against him.

Bepo and Shachi’s eyes widen when they see their captain’s flushed state a while later, hair messy and hickies on his neck. In typical Law fashion, he just thanks them with no further explanation.

[dwaekkicidal]

𓆩Mochi Boyfriend Channie𓆪

gn!reader | he was top of the poll :3 Lix's will be posted tomorrow and then I will only make more if somebody requests other member versions <3

Mochi Channie who introduces you to the boys pretty early on, mainly because they begged to meet their new parent but also because they are his whole life, so it's important to him that you all get along. Their opinion is important to him so when they all approve of you instantly (and you handle them well), he’s through the roof

Mochi Channie who is shy about skinship, especially in front of the others, but will tank through it just to see the smile and blush covering your face (as if his ears aren't bright red)

Mochi Channie who encourages you to allow him to spoil you and eases you into it with smaller things like buying you small snacks, then ordering your favorite food after you’ve had a long day and showing up unannounced with it and your favorite treats, then finally will ease you into accepting brand name jewelry/clothes or any gifts that are generally expensive/valuable

Mochi Channie who puts everything (that he can) on pause to answer your texts and calls, even cutting himself off mid sentence when he sees your contact show up with a distressed message

Mochi Channie who calls you every morning and night when he's on tour, even when he's exhausted and doesn't want to do any talking. He'll sit there and listen to you talk about your day and falls asleep to the sound of your voice and the comfort of seeing you beside him once again

Mochi Channie who gives you secret sneak peeks into their latest endeavors, 1. so you know what he is doing at all times and 2. so he can see your eyes sparkle at events you find particularly interesting

Mochi Channie who gives you sneak peaks into songs like he did in Chan's room, only giving you a second or so of noise and then being a tease and leaving you hanging

Mochi Channie who, if you puppy dog eye him at a particular demo that sounds interesting, literally can not resist you and will show you as much of the song as you want/as he is comfortable with

Mochi Channie who, over time, opens up more and will eventually start taking your compliments to heart (Christopher you WILL love urself. 🔫<3)

Mochi Channie who is a fast learner: memorizes every little thing about you within a week of figuring out. New favorite food or drink? Knows the exact order and your preferred store of purchase. New favorite song or movie? Always plays it whenever he can.

Mochi Channie who indirectly asks stay for opinions on gifts for you. Goes on Bubble to send a picture of some items and a message along the lines of "Which do you want? haha." he reads through the replies and tallies them, using the final count to make a decision

Mochi Channie who may be inexperienced at first, but again is a very fast learner. So much so that by the 3rd or 4th time you guys are having sex, he knows your body to the same degree as, if not better, than you

Mochi Channie who has every spot that makes you squirm, every angle that makes you cry out, and every kink that makes your legs weak engrained in his head

Mochi Channie who won’t hesitate to fulfill your needs of him being rougher. also not hesitating to sit you down to discuss specifics and put rules in space

Mochi Channie who researches new positions, trying the most interesting out in order to figure out which one feels the best and has you shaking the fastest

Mochi Channie who gives you whiplash the first time he's rough with you. He wine and dines you while being his usual soft and lovey dovey self.. until he's not

Daddy Chris who pins you to the front door the second it's closed, pushing his thick lips against yours in a sloppy make out session

Daddy Chris who spends over an hour on just foreplay (mainly edging hehe), wanting things to be perfect and wanting you to be as relaxed as possible before he loses control

Daddy Chris who eases himself into you gently, like he normally does, but gives you whiplash when he starts to fuck into you meanly

Daddy Chris who "You asked for it, so just fucking take it. You promised you would be good for me, remember baby?"

Daddy Chris who does nothing but smirk and thrust harder when you cry out about how good he feels and how close you are despite the fact that he just started fucking into you

Daddy Chris who likes to put you in doggy so he can sneak a hand in your hair to pull you back-to-chest with him, giving him free rein to whisper filthy things in your ear while keeping you close

Daddy Chris who goes back and forth with his words. One second telling you things like how “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Taking me so well” and the next second saying things like “Aww it's too much? Good. Take this fucking dick, baby. It's made just for you."

Daddy Chris who pulls as many orgasms from you as he can before he's finished, sweet talking you through every. single. one. so he can watch you squirm below him with the biggest smirk on his face

Daddy Chris who only ends the night after you're overstimulated out your mind, tears running down your face and drool sliding down your chin

Daddy Chris who cleans you up, pressing sweet kisses to your temple and whispering soothing words to calm you down. He holds you close in the shower and at first just lets the hot water fall onto your skin before he washes you both

Mochi Channie who goes on like normal the next day, as if he didn't fuck you within an inch of your life the night before

Mochi Channie who still gets red in the face when you two show any skinship in front of the boys, but is more confident now that he realizes how deep in you both are <3

[aggresivemenace]

Requests open? Right as I start noticing there isn't much fic for Dorn? Emperor preserve me.

Rogal Dorn being the big protector he is would NOT allow any space between him and his partner while they're having sex. I mean he's just holding onto them for dear life. Front to back, front to front, front to side, no matter what he's just got a bear hold on them so they can't even think about doing anything but taking it. Same when they sleep. He's the safest place for them and he fucking knows it. When in public it's hands off but the second that door shuts to their room, reader isn't going anywhere.

(ps love your writing, it's so good and I look forward to more of your work! \(´∀｀)/)

Rogal Dorn is clingy as FUCK.

His love language? Touch.

All touch. Constant touch. All the time.

He’s always got a hand on you, half the time without even noticing.

Walk past him? Hand on your waist or shoulder.

Stand too close? Fingers brushing gently along your back, just low enough that no one else sees.

Feeling bored while he’s working? Congratulations, you’re now sitting on his lap. That’s just your spot.

The thing is: he just really, really likes you.

He never actually wants to be apart from you if he can help it.

Even in public, he slips sometimes - showing affection a little too openly.

It's never vulgar or obscene, but the look on people’s faces when they realize that cold, emotionless Rogal Dorn is actually a loving man is priceless.

They’re used to a stoic slab of ceramite, not a man who visibly melts when you so much as glance at him.

He’s easily one of the clingiest among his brothers.

His only real rivals in that department are Russ, Vulkan, and don't ask Curze.

(Yes, Curze can and will latch onto you like a bat onto a cave wall. It’s terrifying, and weirdly adorable)

But Dorn’s clinginess?

It really shines in bed.

When you're having sex, he’s always holding you.

Not just touching - actually holding, clinging, like you might slip away if he lets go for even a second.

He loves positions where he can keep eye contact.

For him, sex isn’t just a physical need (even though, spoiler alert, his sex drive is high) it’s something sacred.

A way to feel close to you. A way to tell you over and over again how much he loves you — without even needing words. Another opportunity to express his deep feelings.

And when you're sleeping?

You have two options:

1. You’re lying on his broad chest, his arms heavy around your waist or hips.

(His morning wood? Sometimes it’s not just because of the morning. Hehe.

2. You’re the little spoon.

He's curled up behind you like you're the only warm, soft, living thing left in the galaxy.

Because you are. To him, you are.

You’re the dog. Dorn is the burr stuck to your fur.

There is no escape. Nor should there be.

[koiukiy-o]

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 006. the phenomenologist.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 4.4k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: they exchange emails. i repeat. they exchange. emails!!! potential double update because the next part is 80% finished, hehe <3 i also wrote this chapter when i was on painkillers (and i still man) so if i sound like a DUMBASS in some parts i. it was not on purpose i swear. -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

Lunchtime rush has taken over the cafeteria. You sit tucked into a corner with Kira and Ilias, your tray pushed halfway aside, your drink sweating onto the wood between you.

Kira’s been nursing her tea for the past ten minutes, eyes half-closed, listening more than speaking. Her food sits untouched. Ilias, meanwhile, is attacking his fries like they insulted his ancestors. There’s a kind of intensity to it—surgical, almost reverent.

“Did they change the oil in these?” he mutters. “They taste like shit.”

You glance at him. “Then stop eating them?”

“Don’t tell me how to process pain.”

Kira snorts.

A clatter near the door draws your attention—trays, muffled apologies, the scuffle of shoes against tile. You glance over. Mydei and Phainon stand just inside, scanning the crowded room with the mild disappointment of people who’ve made peace with the fact that they’re not going to find a quiet spot.

There are no empty tables left.

Mydei catches your eye first. His gaze holds yours, half a question in it. Before you can think better of it, you lift your hand slightly in a wave and gesture to the open space on the bench beside you.

“There’s space here,” you say.

Phainon perks up like a dog hearing its leash jingle. He nudges Mydei forward with the edge of his tray, clearly done pretending to be patient.

“You’re sure?” Mydei asks, already sliding toward the end of the bench without waiting for a response.

Kira shifts slightly to make room, offering Mydei a small smile. “You’re not usually out here.”

You glance between them. “You guys know each other?”

“We share a class,” Phainon says, almost too quickly. “Philosophy.”

“Oh,” you say. “That sounds… interesting.” 

Kira stifles a laugh, shrugging. “It’s not that bad. Once you get past the dread.”

“We had to spend an entire week arguing whether perception is a primary act or a constructed one,” Mydei adds, glancing up. “Phainon wrote his midterms in poetic verse.”

“He rhymed ‘intentionality’ with ‘banality,’” Kira says.

“And you gave it a B,” he points out.

“She peer-reviewed it,” Mydei says, jerking her chin toward Kira.

You blink. “Wait—students grade each other?”

Kira nods, twirling the packet between her fingers. “Sometimes. It’s part of the methodology. Subjectivity and all that.”

“That sounds fake.”

“No, ontology sounds fake,” Phainon says without missing a beat.

“They sit behind me,” Kira says, “and keep having whispered debates over whether Merleau-Ponty would’ve survived group work.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Phainon says, solemn.

Mydei picks at the corner of his sandwich. “He might’ve thrived.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you don’t mind them talking behind you?”

Kira shrugs. “I correct them when they’re wrong.”

“He finds it sport,” Mydei murmurs, flicking his straw wrapper at Phainon.

“I would die for neither of them,” Kira adds after a moment, “but I would cite them.”

“High praise,” Phainon murmurs, looking genuinely touched.

There’s a beat of quiet, the kind that usually signals someone’s about to break into a joke—except Ilias doesn’t. He’s staring at Kira like she’s hung up the moon, eyes soft, brow faintly furrowed in something like awe. 

You glance at him, then back at her. She’s busy poking at the ice in her drink, oblivious.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re hypnotized.”

“I am not,” he says, way too quickly.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m… admiring her academic rigor,” he adds weakly.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” 

Ilias groans and hides behind the menu. Kira, still completely unaware, crunches a piece of ice and asks if anyone wants to split dessert.

You're about to say yes, please, when a shadow falls across the table.

A flicker of awareness down your spine. Some instinctive ripple that tenses your shoulders before your mind even catches up.

You feel it before you see him.

Your head turns—too fast, on reflex. Eyes already landing on the figure passing between tables.

Professor Anaxagoras.

Your heart kicks once, too high in your chest. He’s not in his usual long coat. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, collar slightly open, and the book in his arm looks worn at the edges. The woman walking beside him—elegant, composed, and unknown to you—matches his stride like they’ve been walking in step for years.

She moves like a dream you only half-remember—gliding by his side, wrapped in soft earth-toned fabric that shimmers faintly when the light catches it, like morning mist through tree branches. Her voice, low and melodic, curls around her shoulders, spilling down her back in lazy waves, pinned with something that’s shaped suspiciously like gold-tipped antlers, and her scent—something like old paper and wildflowers—lingers long after she’s gone. There’s a stillness to her, a gravity that pulls your attention without ever asking for it. She doesn’t need to raise her voice or call for silence—she could just look up, and the room would fall into reverent hush. And when her mouth moves, you almost forget that she—

Ilias lets out a low whistle under his breath, not loud, but pointed. “Damn.” Kira glares at him.

You don’t respond. Can’t, for a moment.

Anaxagoras walks past without pausing, the conversation between him and the woman low and self-contained. You catch a word or two—nothing sharp, nothing you could hold on to. 

“Who was that?” Kira murmurs, eyes still following their backs.

Phainon, who hadn’t seemed particularly alert, straightens faintly. “Cerces,” he says, tone low but certain. “She used to guest lecture. Phenomenology.”

Mydei doesn’t look up. “She was supposed to take a position here last year. Didn’t.”

It starts like a pinprick, something almost too small to name. 

You glance toward the table where they’ve just sat—tucked near the back, partially shielded by a wooden column. 

She’s speaking, but her tone is too quiet, and Anaxagoras doesn’t look like he’s listening, so much as… enduring.

A slight shifting in your chest, a tensing in your jaw. Your gaze drifts—too often, too long—toward the corner table where Anaxagoras sits with her. Cerces.

Kira murmurs. “Are they… friends?”

“Not unless you count hostility as a form of bonding,” Mydei says without looking up.

“They hate each other?” Ilias asks.

“They disagree on principle,” Mydei replies. “She called his lecture on spatial memory ‘a diluted myth disguised as hypothesis’ once.” 

Phainon lifts his head slightly, blinking at the table. “Is that not flirting?”

You give him a look. 

Ilias snorts at your reaction.

Phainon shrugs, resting his head on his arms again. “Just saying.”

Anaxagoras isn’t smiling. Cerces never does, apparently. 

You glance back over to the corner booth, where Anaxagoras and Cerces are still sitting, barely exchanging words but clearly in some sort of intense standoff. She speaks with measured precision, and Anaxagoras listens—almost too intently.

Like he’s hanging on her every word.

For some reason, you can’t stop looking. You’re not sure why, but something about it bothers you. Anaxagoras, as unreachable as he is, sitting with someone else like that—it doesn’t sit well.

(Why doesn’t it sit well?)

You don’t even notice how your gaze hardens until Ilias speaks up.

“I thought you were the only one he bantered with,” he says suggestively, though there’s a sharp edge to his voice. It’s off-hand, but the tone feels pointed.

You snap your attention back to him, eyes flicking to Ilias, then to Kira, and finally to Mydei, who’s still half-focused on his andwich. It’s not what he says—it’s how it feels, like he’s digging his finger into a gaping wound in your chest.

“What?” you say, the word coming out a little more defensive than you’d like. "What do you mean?"

Ilias raises an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with a bit of mischief, but he looks like he’s holding back a comment. “Oh, nothing. Just that—well, I thought it was kind of your thing with him, y’know?”

Logically, of course, it’s not just you. It never was. Anaxagoras is a professor, and a professional one at that. He interacts with plenty of people. You were never the only one. But why does it bother you so much now? Why does seeing him there with Cerces feel like something you were supposed to have? Hell, you’ve only been his student for a couple weeks.

Then, from behind you, Phainon’s voice breaks the silence, casually chiming in. “You know, you and Anaxagoras would be a good match.”

Your head snaps around to him, eyes wide, caught completely off guard. You try to catch your breath, but your heart suddenly seems to be beating a little too fast. What did he mean by that? The words feel heavy in your chest, but you can’t quite explain why. You shake your head, trying to brush it off, but you can’t stop the small pang of unease that bubbles up.

Mydei, sitting beside Phainon, glances at him sharply, narrowing his eyes, but the clueless guy keeps munching on his food, completely unaware. 

Ilias brightens. “That’s what I’ve been saying!” 

Kira, meanwhile, shifts in her seat, a thoughtful smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. “I can see it, actually,” she says, leaning toward you and giving you a look that’s half-encouraging, half-teasing. “You two would have that whole academic rivalry thing going on. Very couple energy.”

Her smirk grows as she watches you react. The comment is light, but you can feel the sting of it.

And of course, Ilias adds to it. His grin is too wide, too knowing. “Late-night debates and discussions on the meaning of the universe... sounds like a dream weekend to me.”

Your pulse picks up speed at the thought, and suddenly, you’re on edge, wondering why this is even a thing now. Your mind races with thoughts that you can’t quiet: why is it bothering you? Why is it bothering you this much?

Is it bothering you? 

You shift in your seat, trying to keep your face neutral, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “It’s not like that,” you mutter, your words defensive, even to your own ears. You don’t know why you feel so worked up.

Ilias notices the shift in your tone, the subtle defensiveness in your voice. His grin widens, and he leans forward, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s stirred up.

You’re too aware of the heat rising in your face. “I’m not—” you snap, perhaps a little too sharply. “You’re being illogical. We’re students, he’s a professor. Our professor. And he’s not even my type—”

Ilias, clearly enjoying this, leans back in his seat with a dramatic flourish, one hand raised as if making a grand announcement. “You know,” he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “I think I’ve figured it out.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Figured what out?”

“You.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment, before leaning in closer, his grin mischievous. “I don’t think it’s Professor Anaxagoras himself. Oh no, no, no. You’ve fallen victim to something far worse.”

You cross your arms, giving him an exasperated look, but choosing to play along. “And that is?”

“You’ve fallen for his mind,” Ilias says, lowering his voice as if he’s revealing some deep, untold secret. “That black hole of academia. The more you resist, the more it pulls you in. You, my friend, are powerless against the seductive pull of his— of his lectures!” He pauses for dramatic effect, letting the silence linger. “It’s inevitable. You’re already caught in his gravitational field.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face, but it’s hard when he looks so pleased with himself. “Ilias, you really need to stop watching sci-fi movies. You’re starting to sound like—”

He ignores you, continuing on in full dramatic flair. “I’m telling you, it’s like you’re destined for this. Like some tragic hero—fated to fall for the untouchable professor.”

You squint at him. “Ilias—”

“Star-crossed lovers, of course that’s what you are.” He raises his hand dramatically, as if making a proclamation. “The one who must suffer in silence, tortured by their own growing attraction while the object of their affection remains completely oblivious!”

You stare at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Okay, Romeo, calm down. I’m not falling for anyone, especially not Anaxagoras. He’s our professor.”

“Oh, please,” Ilias scoffs, flipping his fries around on his plate. “That’s the classic denial phase. It’s always like this. First, it’s ‘He’s a professor, this isn’t real,’ and then it’s ‘Oh no, I’m just interested in his intellectual prowess.’ And the next thing you know, you’re writing him anonymous love ;letters about the meaning of life.”

You choke on your drink. “What?!”

Ilias leans back smugly, clearly relishing your reaction. “That’s the part I’m really looking forward to,” he says, completely unbothered by the chaos he’s creating. “The dramatic confessions of forbidden love. You’ll be at the front of the lecture hall, staring at him with those eyes—the ones you don’t even realize you’re doing—until one day, you slip and—bam!—an accidental ‘—Because I love you!’ in the middle of a class discussion.”

You nearly spit your drink out at the absurdity of it all. “Oh my God, Ilias, shut up. That is not—”

“Oh, it will happen,” he says confidently, nodding like he’s just cracked the code of your life. “I can see it now. ‘Professor Anaxagoras, I can’t live without your...philosophical insights...’"

Your face burns even more now, and you throw a napkin at him. “You are insufferable.”

Ilias catches it mid-air and theatrically wipes his brow, pretending to be exhausted by the sheer drama of his own predictions. “Oh, I know. But it’s all part of my genius,” he says smugly. “You’ll thank me when you end up in a tangled, academic love triangle involving forgotten artifacts and ancient texts.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “Not gonna happen.”

“You say that now,” he says with a smirk. “But I’ll be here when it all goes down. You’ll come crawling to me for advice on how to handle the tension.”

You eyes automatically glance over at the table where Anaxagoras and Cerces are still sitting, and without meaning to, your stomach tightens just a little. 

Ilias notices the shift in your expression immediately, his grin widening again. “Oh! What’s this? A little moment of clarity? I can feel it! Your heart’s racing, isn’t it?”

“No,” you mutter, looking away quickly, but the playful glint in his eyes makes you want to strangle him.

“You can’t hide it forever, my friend,” he says, tapping his finger against the table. “The romance is coming. The fated love between the professor and the student, like something out of a tragic novel. And when it happens? Oh, I’ll be the first to say ‘I told you so.’”

Kira, who’s been quietly listening to the whole exchange, smiles at Ilias in that quiet, amused way she does. For a moment, her eyes are soft, entranced by his antics.

Ilias doesn’t notice, of course. He’s too busy reveling in the thought of his own brilliance. “And when you’re finally ready to confess, I’ll be there. Right behind you, cheering you on. I’ll be your emotional support coach. Don’t worry.”

You groan, slumping forward. “Please stop.”

“Fine, fine.” Ilias leans back, clearly not done but pretending to be. “But you know the truth, deep down.” He lowers his voice to a whisper again. “You’re already halfway there. And when the sparks fly... don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You fight to keep the smile off your face, but it’s impossible. “You’re unbelievable.”

Phainon, who’s been slumped halfway over his tray like a cat napping in a sunbeam, lifts his head at last, amused. He says lazily, “Ilias managed to build an entire three-act tragedy in the time it took me to finish my sandwich. I’m surprised.”

“Don’t encourage him,” you say flatly.

Phainon ignores you. “So what’s the title? Ode to a Lecture Hall Affair? Or A Treatise on Yearning, Featuring Poor Life Choices?”

“I like that second one,” Mydei says, without looking up. “Could be a bestseller if it comes with footnotes.”

Ilias snaps his fingers at both of them. “Finally. Some cultured taste.”

“You’re literally projecting an academic romance onto the person least likely to pursue such a thing.” Mydei deadpans, still not looking up.

“That’s how all the best ones start,” Ilias says with a wink. “Tragic self-denial. Emotional repression. That’s the good stuff. You think I want this story to be healthy?”

Phainon tilts his head at you, tone suddenly a little too calm. “So. Do you like Naxie?”

You nearly choke. “What?! No— …N- Naxie?” 

“Mm,” Phainon hums, as if making a mental note, completely ignoring the question in your tone. “That sounded like a lie.”

You sit up straighter, voice too quick. “It’s not a lie. I don’t have feelings for him.”

Ilias finally looks up with a beaming smile. “You only get that loud when you're trying to convince someone, and in this case, it is yourself!” 

“I am not loud,” you snap. “And I am not trying to convince myself of anything. There is nothing to convince myself of.”

“You’re so flustered right now it’s almost poetic,” Ilias says, grinning ear to ear. “Like watching  tower of logic collapse in real time. It’s beautiful.”

Mydei hums thoughtfully. “I wonder what Anaxagoras would say if he heard this.”

You freeze, throwing your head back to look at his table.

 Kira bites back a laugh. Ilias gasps dramatically.

“Oh please,” he says, clutching his chest like he’s just been shot. “If he heard this? He’d probably just blink in ancient Greek and then spend fifteen minutes dissecting the philosophical implications of desire as a failed mode of cognition.”

Phainon wheezes, practically howls at that, “And- and he’d do the thing,” he adds, his voice breathless, “Where he raises an eyebrow and smirks at you and then pauses for exactly four seconds.”

Kira giggles quietly. Ilias points like he’s struck gold, practically screams— “Exactly! The pause! The man weaponizes silence like it’s part of the syllabus.”

As if on cue, from the other side of the room, Anaxagoras shifts slightly in his seat—one subtle glance cast toward your table, recognizing the voice. Not long. Just a flicker of movement, but it’s enough. His eyes land on Ilias—still half-mid-monologue—then slide to you. 

He nods in acknowledgement. 

You nod back.

He smirks.

 And looks away.

Cerces doesn’t glance over. She sits serene and unaffected, like her presence was never meant to interact with the world around her.

You’re too aware of the sharp prickle under your skin. You feel wrecked, utterly wrecked, even after he looks away.

Ilias notices. Of course he does.

Your eyes widen at his face, and you contemplate dragging his drama-ridden soul into the nearest chalk circle and trapping him there with nothing but an introductory ethics textbook and a looping recording of Anaxagoras’ driest lecture on epistemological drift.

Or maybe you'd just pin him to a whiteboard and force him to define “romantic projection” in front of the class while Kira holds up increasingly incriminating flashcards titled Things You’ve Said Out Loud.

 “You’re not even subtle,” you mutter, eyeing him like you’re mentally selecting a power drill.

Ilias grins, unbothered. “Subtlety is for people who don’t have prophetic insight.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a visionary,” he corrects, reaching for another fry with the smugness of someone who just cast a match into a very flammable bush.

You make a low noise, possibly a groan, possibly the sound of his spirit exiting his body. “If you keep talking,” you say without lifting your head, “I will hex your shoes to squeak every third step.”

“I’ll do it,” Mydei says. 

Ilias throws his hands up. “You’re all just mad because I’m right.”

You glare at him. “I’m mad because you’re loud.”

Ilias points at you like he’s presenting a final thesis. “And yet—flushed cheeks. Shifty glances. Heightened vocal pitch.” He sets his hands down with finality, attitude dripping in his gaze. “The data is there. I’m merely analyzing it.”

Kira sips from her drink with the serene expression of someone watching a documentary on slow-burning disasters. “I think you should be very afraid,” she tells him lightly, smiling. “I think they’re planning your downfall.”

“Please,” Ilias says, waving a hand. “If they wanted me gone, I’d already be framed for something weirdly specific.” He raises his voice for the rest of the table, almost announcing, “Don’t be surprised if I wake up one morning and am suddenly framed for impersonating a tenured professor in order to smuggle a haunted relic into the archives!” 

Before Ilias can spiral into another dramatic reenactment of his imaginary academic crimes, a quiet hush rolls over the table.

You look up.

Professor Anaxagoras.

He stands just behind Ilias, hands folded neatly behind his back, a ghost of amusement curling at the corner of his mouth like he’d been standing there long enough to hear something he shouldn’t have. His gaze flicks briefly over the group, then settles on you—warm, sharp, and startlingly direct.

“I must admit,” he says lightly, voice like dry parchment curling in a fireplace, “that’s disturbingly plausible.”

Kira makes a sound—half choke, half squeak—and Ilias nearly drops his drink. Mydei straightens just slightly. Phainon blinks up at Anaxagoras like he’s not entirely convinced he’s real.

You forget how to breathe.

Anaxagoras raises an eyebrow at you in mild inquiry. “When are you turning in your application?”

Your confusion must show, because his brow lifts just a fraction higher, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He waits.

You blink. “I’m not applying. Professor.”

It’s quiet for a beat too long.

His eyes widen—only slightly, but enough to notice. Then something more subtle shifts in his expression, as if the air around him has rearranged itself. He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing just a fraction. Then—unexpectedly—he smiles.

Not the cold, amused smile he offers to half-baked arguments in lecture, or the small polite one he reserves for administrative nonsense.

This one feels different. Quiet. Introspective. Like you’ve said something that has genuinely surprised him.

“Would you excuse us for a moment?” he says, addressing the table but looking only at you. “A word.”

Kira glances at you, and Ilias makes a dramatic slicing motion across his throat like he’s already composing your eulogy. Phainon props his chin on his hands, watching with all the intensity of a wildlife observer about to witness a rare predator interaction.

Your heart kicks up hard, then stumbles.

 You stand slowly.

“Sure,” you say, not sure at all.

Anaxagoras steps aside, letting you pass, his presence folding into the space beside you with such unassuming weight that the rest of the world suddenly feels quiet.

Behind you, Ilias mutters, “He pulled the ‘a word’ move! I’m going to eat this fry solemnly, in case it’s the last one I ever share with them.”

Kira shushes him with a swat.

You walk just a few paces before he speaks, voice low and deliberate.

“You’re not applying,” he repeats. Not a question. A repetition for clarity. For the sake of confirming it aloud.

“No,” you say softly. “I’m not. I was never going to.”

That gets his attention. His eyes cut back to you, something almost imperceptibly shifting in his posture. “No?”

“Studies on consciousness isn’t my field of study,” you say, level. “And I’m not interested in pretending it is for the sake of a symposium.”

He considers that, expression unreadable. “A reasonable position. If a narrow one.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I’m not sure being selective with my time is narrow.”

“Selective,” he echoes mildly. “Or avoidant?”

You exhale through your nose. “I just don’t see the value in wasting my time on something I don't care about in a symposium I don’t want to attend.”

He tilts his head. “Cerces is one of the most rigorous thinkers in the field. Even those outside her discipline benefit from her lens.”

You squint at him, not bothering to mask the skepticism in your tone. “I thought you didn’t agree with her methods.”

There’s the briefest pause, the lightest shift in his expression. Then, without missing a beat:  

“Disagreement doesn’t preclude respect.”

“Right,” you say flatly. “That’s what everyone says about their academic rivals.”

His mouth twitches at that—barely. “Have you been reading up on me?”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in tone. His voice is playful—but there’s a glint of challenge there. You recover fast.

“No,” you say, a little too quickly. “One of her students brought it up. Just now. In passing.” You clear your throat, glance away, and add on awkwardly, “—Professor.”

He doesn’t comment. Just watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“You might change your mind,” he pauses, “I’d like you to read a few papers.” He says with a finality.

You cross your arms. “You’re suggesting I read Cerces?”

“I’m suggesting, you examine the argument before rejecting the premise.” He lets the words settle for a beat. “I will send you a couple. You can draw your own conclusions.”

There’s a pause. One breath. Two.

You hesitate. “Fine.”

“I’ll need your email.”

You rattle it off without looking at him, the syllables falling out in practiced order, a thin attempt at professionalism. He offers his phone without a word, calm and unreadable, and you take it before you can think twice.

You type—carefully, trying not to fumble—but your pulse stutters anyway.

When you hand it back, his fingers brush yours.

Barely. A blink. A breath.

But it jolts through you like static, immediate and stupidly vivid. You freeze, absurdly aware of how warm his hand is, how close his attention suddenly feels even though he’s barely moved.

It was nothing. Just skin.

But your brain short-circuits like it’s something else entirely, and now you’re hyper aware of everything—the silence, the distance between you, the way your stomach tightens for no logical reason whatsoever.

You don’t look at him. You refuse to look at him.

He takes the phone back, and his voice is quiet. “I’ll forward them tonight.”

You nod, hoping he doesn’t notice how tense your shoulders are. “Okay,” you say, and your voice comes out a little too soft.

You hate how your face feels warm.

“Thanks.”

He gives you a sharp nod, turning back already.

His eyes flick back to you once—just once—before he returns to the booth, slipping back into the conversation with Cerces like nothing ever happened.

You stay where you are, steadying your breath.

What the hell?

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette @hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom @yourfavouritecitizen @sugarlol12345 @aspiring-bookworm @kad0o @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mavuika-marquez @fellow-anime-weeb927 @beateater @bothsacredanddust @acrylicxu @average-scara-fan @pinkytoxichearts @amorismujica @sandwichkun

(send an ask or comment to be added!)