#i NEED someone to be mundane and plain with

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[quarterlifekitty]

Had this thought… Simon who starts dating reader but her son 14-18 (older teen) is hella protective of her. Simon sees himself in the kid and is incredibly proud of the boy, caring for his mum and being all “You have to get through me to get to her.” So Simon’s gotta win the kid over first THEN the reader? 👀

I love this idea because like

Regardless of her own shortcomings as a parent, Simon’s mom still tried. She wanted his life to be good. And he definitely saw her, on more than one occasion, bawling even though she tried so hard to never let him see. Because she wanted him to be a baby boy for just a little longer— she wasn’t ready to see the weight of the world tearing him down by the shoulders. She cried because there was never enough. Not of anything. Food to put on the table, money in the bank, his father’s patience, time to keep the house and raise her boys, the energy to do the simplest things in the world. Not enough of herself left to give away to those she always put first.

So yeah, if you badmouthed Simon’s mom when he was in school? You’d be lucky getting away with a black eye.

And if there’s anything Simon loves, it’s instinct. He likes your son. He really does like that your son sees him as a potential threat, as a point of caution. Simon probably barely got out a “Not tryna replace your da-“ before your son was like “I don’t give a fuck about that. You stay away from my mom.”

He doesn’t like that you’ve been hurt before. That you have a son that thinks he needs to protect you— that he’s had to live a life on edge because he’s seen so much happen to you. But he can relate. And he’s happy you had someone to depend on. That your son doesn’t lack the courage to stand up to people for you.

And honestly? Loyalty goes both ways. I’ve always found that trope in movies, where a parent is going to remarry someone their kid doesn’t like, to be strange. I think for most single parents, if the kid doesn’t like you, it’s a non-starter. Do you know your son is probably a little overly defensive? Yes. But you also love him before anyone else. If there’s a man he really can’t abide? That’s not gonna be the man for you.

I think Simon wins your son through the mundane. Doing things that are just plain not fun, but necessary parts of life. Just taking things off of your plate. Filling your forms, making appointments, picking up groceries, fixing things around the house— the very ordinary and unromantic parts of cohabitation and long term relationships.

It starts chipping when Simon drives to pick up your son from a friend’s house after a sleepover.

“Why’re you here?”

“So your mum could sleep in today.”

That shuts him up right quick.

He’s gone through life seeing people take from you until barely anything was left for yourself. Spoonfuls of honey taken from your soul until you were empty. So he starts to soften when there seems to be a man ready to give you some of himself without greedily taking more of you.

[satorurize]

Love me, love me, love me, love me more!

Pairing: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Warnings and Content: MDNI (I'll haunt you, seriously), yandere themes, implied consent, stalking, obsession, murder, gore, sex, delusional satoru, he's unhinged and does not care about consequences as usual, creampies (lots), gojo has a breeding kink, masturbation, perv gojo, sex, fingering. Dead dove.

Plot : Megumi has a new nanny and Satoru is so so..lovesick.

Yandere!Satoru knew he fumbled the moment he fell in love with Megumi's nanny. He had hired you because he couldn't provide for the time and sufficient emotional care that a second grader needed to be a normal person. After all that the boy went through and then being under care of someone like him, Satoru didn't think that his Gumi-chan would ever be normal.

But then he met you, you were everything he was not. Gojo Satoru was impulsive, eccentric, the strongest, he shone so brightly that the sun was put to shame. And you were so normal, so mundane, you simply seemed to blend in with everyone like a lovely, plain chrysanthemum that could mix in with every bouquet.

there was truly nothing special about you in comparison to him.

Perhaps that was why he found you so beautiful. You weren't complicated, you were too simple and perhaps this absence of simplicity was what made his fast paced, glorious life so lack luster.

He knew he had to have you.

One thing you realised about Yandere!Satoru is that, he is a child in a grown man's body. You had seen him being much more petulant than Megumi, but with time your surmises around him had reduced and your edges had softened. You would see the flash of tiredness in his eyes sometimes, something about those azures in those moments would tell you a piece of his story. You didn't ask a lot but you knew. He was tired.

Being a full-time nanny to Megumi also meant, keeping meal preps ready. It had become a habit to put together a few extras after noticing that Gojo would often make it a point to eat them. He probably ate it, dead in the night when he was back from his daily missions. No one witnessed his joy of eating a homecooked meal at 3AM.

Yandere!Satoru who would take the advantage of your softened demeanor towards him and flirt with you shamelessly even after seeing the ring adorned on your pretty little finger. He kept affirming to himself that it wasn't real and whatever he would imagine, would materialize to be true.

"You do a terrific job, looking after Megumi you know?" He'd muse, in the usual teasing tone of his as his hand trails to your chin, gently tipping your head up so you'd look into his eyes and his eyes only, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"I can't help but wonder if there is room in your heart for me too~"

But then his playful demeanor would drop away when his eyes would fall onto that pathetic, miserly looking gold band after you'd tell him to stop flirting with you with finality in your tone. That ring wasn't even high in carats, it was an alloy and yet you would it wear it such pride. It would tug at his heartstrings, his darling deserved so much better.

"I see, didn't realize that, miss.." He lied through his teeth with such insouciance and a smirk, masking his disappointment as if even a petite speck on your arm would be amiss with his six eyes

Yandere!Satoru, who was never religious but started obsessively manifesting you after learning about your husband. What a hassle. Why couldn't he just have you, like everything else in his life?

Yandere!Satoru who would think of you riding him to tears, closing his eyes to conjure the lewd image of your tits bouncing as he fucked you upward, anchoring his large hands on your waist. All while zestfully fisting his cock, wrapped like a gift with your cute pink panties that he quite subtly stole when you were staying over to care for Megumi for a few days because he had to fly somewhere else to tackle off a special grade curse, substituted for the warmth of your velvety walls. For now.

Yandere!Satoru who knew you had no clue that he teleported from the location far away just to steal your panties.

Yandere!Satoru who also knew that you had no idea that he had tapped in your phone, having his hawking watch over who you texted and talked to.

Yandere!Satoru who couldn't be nonchalant anymore the minute he saw you texting your husband as you watched over Megumi, on how badly you wanted a baby after being a nanny to the young boy. That was his job, you were his, afterall.

Yandere!Satoru who felt angry and stupid because manifesting you didn't work. He knew he could never trust the higher powers with the people he loved so he took the matter in his own hands.

Yandere!Satoru who stood over your husband's dead body, ripped to shreds when you returned home. The worries of your husband not texting you back for hours now washed with horror and pain.

His handsome, angelic face was unnervingly calm and composed, his blue eyes amalgamated with mania and hollowness while he held her husband's filthy heart in his bloodied hands, a scowl of disgust washing over his face as he looked at the organ, darting his eyes at you almost pitifully, crushing it in a glimpse before walking to you.

"What a shame..your husband was quite bothersome, wouldn't you say? I had to take out the trash, y'know..got sick of him getting in the way" He'd speak in a smooth, saccharinely affectionate tone that you knew was empty. He ignored the shock laced on your face, the paleness of your skin, the fear in your eyes and your flinch which he found oh so..adorable, as he caressed your cheek with the strong metallic scent of crimson lingering.

"Let's play a game!" He brightly smiled, clapping his hands together which made you furrow your brows, a dry gulp going down your throat. The room only filled with the momentary sounds of his footsteps and your shaky, palpable breathing.

"The game is...name things you love about Gojo Satoru!!" He chimed, so happily that it sent a shiver down your spine, insinuating nausea.

"S-stay away..."

He frowned, titling his head as his empty eyes bored into yours.

"Wrong answer darling..the answer is Satoru, isn't it..?" He leaned in, cupping your face and tenderly kissing your lips.

Yandere!Satoru who teleported you two immediately to his estate as he pulled away from the kiss, your back hitting the silk sheets that screamed luxury.

Yandere!Satoru who would see you giving in to his gentle kisses all over your body, who'd feel your pulsating guilt and shame in your eyes while your pussy pulsated with pleasure having his fingers in your gushing cunt knuckles deep.

"Why did you say no to me, hm..? You're milking my fingers baby..fuuuck...I love you so much.." He whispered while his face nuzzled into your cheek. His hot breath mingled with phrases of love felt so gross, so filthy, so sinful but you saw yourself liking it, even after seeing your husband in such a state.

Yandere!Satoru, who'd dump his cum again in your oozing pussy even when his cock felt raw after kissing your cervix so many times, painting it white. Now finally pulling out with a squelch, he immediately replaced his two thick fingers to push his load back in.

"You're gonna be such a pretty mama baby..I will make your wish come true.."

©𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

Plagiarism not authorised. Please consider reblogging and liking if you enjoyed the content :)

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[babydoll372]

Creeper

Pairings: stalker!wanda maximoff x reader

Word count: 1945

Warnings: wanda is really creepy, filming without permission, photo taking without permission, masturbation (r), nude videos, degradation, slight humiliation kink, stalking, obsessive behavior

Some may call Wanda a stalker, some may call her absurd and obsessive, but all she did was embrace her passions. She adored photography, she loved sketching too, but most importantly, she worshiped the very idea of you, and what better way to spend her days than to combine all three? You didn’t know her well, Wanda liked to believe you did but truthfully you barely even knew her first name. The two of you shared an art class at your college, but that was it. What did you know about Wanda? Nothing. What did she know about you? Everything from your name to your home layout.

While at a community college, you lived with your parents in the home that you grew up in, just like Wanda did. Except you two lived five towns away from each other, but she didn’t care, she drove out every single evening to ensure she caught sight of you. When you were sleeping, she’d either ascend into your bedroom and take photos, or she’d linger outside your window and do the same. She had a box beneath her bed at home complete with captivating love notes she wrote to you without ever sending. Photos, artwork, envisions for your future, and so on filled this box. There was no distrust in Wanda’s mind, she had to have you.

She planned her arrival to class that next day, following you from a distance so she could get to class at precisely the correct time to sit next to you. That way she could finally talk to you or simply look at you closer up. Today you were wearing jeans and a cardigan, she couldn’t blame you considering the more frigid fall weather. At one point you removed the cardigan to reveal a plain white t-shirt that was tucked into your pants, making her bite her lip as she obscured her phone by her leg to take a picture and then feigned to use the device to text someone when in reality she was staring shamelessly at you. She had to ask to use the restroom merely to get a breather, and once she returned she vowed to herself that in the next forty-three minutes left, she would muster up the courage to at least emit a word to you. And twelve minutes later, she did.

“That looks really good.” She shyly confessed, peeking at your artwork. If anyone else saw it they’d think it was mundane, but it came from you; it was a jewel to Wanda. You looked over and beamed at her, and the woman swore she nearly fell over in her stool at the way your teeth were just barely detectable, your lips flawlessly plump, and your eyes ostensibly gleaming in line with hers.

“Thank you! What are you making?” There was now a flow of dialogue, just what Wanda needed. She tinkered with her paintbrush as you leaned over a bit to look, and she could get the remotest whiff of your perfume. She didn’t know how to describe what she was making without sounding insane, without telling you the entangled bodies she was painting were meant to resemble what her mind pictured most periods out of the day with you.

“Oh, uh, it- it’s..it’s meant to be a symbol of love between two, uhm..two women..” She tested the waters, wanting to see how you reacted to that information.

“Wow, I would’ve never thought of something like that…can I take a photo once you’re done?” She blushed, quickly bobbing her head in a form of agreement as she truly presumed she saw you look her up and down out of the corner of her eye. You must have, she knew there was a connection between you two.

That night Wanda again left with her camera, setting up in the bushes near your bedroom very uncomfortably, but none of that matters when she witnesses your body via your window. Your room faced layers of woods, trees were the only things that could be found for miles, you thought you didn’t have anything to worry about besides possibly an animal seeing you, which you couldn’t care less about. Little did you know the girl you just spoke to for the first time today was what you had to look out for. She snapped hundreds - thousands of photos as you undressed and got into pajamas. She then watched as you reached into your drawer, grabbing an item you held close to your palm. She furrowed her brows in confusion, observing you set up your laptop as you lay comfortably on your bed and lowered your shorts, displaying a bullet vibrator to be the culprit. She quickly turned the camera on record and didn’t move for the next half an hour as she watched you grow frustrated from a lack of orgasm, and ultimately give up. She was a bit disappointed to not see you reach that stage, yet it only fueled her desire to assist you in getting there.

Her drive was full, all of these photos being transported into the printer for her to store in her secretive box, and the videotape for her to keep in an album in her computer software. She had an entire album dedicated to videos of you - photos too, nothing could be put past her.

On the coming Monday in her art class, she had never been more elated to see you. The prior week the Professor informed the class that the next project would be paired, involving a sketched design between two people, and she had been preparing herself to ask you. She went out and bought some of the perfumes she saw on your nightstand in hopes you’d identify the scent and be lured to her, and she brushed her teeth four times this morning to ensure you weren’t turned off by a foul breath.

“Hey, Y/N!” She internally cursed herself, remembering last class she didn’t ask for your name. She hoped you’d pass it off and, surprisingly, you did. “Do you have a partner yet for the assignment? T-the paired one?”

“Oh, no, I don’t. Do you want to be mine?” You asked with a lifted brow and a slight grin, and for a moment she felt like you could read her every thought; she felt skittish but yet thankful.

“I’d love to! Uhm, maybe we could work on it outside of school? You know, to make sure we don’t fall behind..” She heard a tiny chuckle from you and feared the worst, clasping her lips together as she was ready for rejection.

“Yeah, whatever you think will help us pass. Any day works for me, we’ll go to my place, okay?” She didn’t challenge you for one second, and that proved to be the right move when a few days later she was actually walking into your house in broad daylight for the first time. This time, you were awake, fully conscious, and aware of her presence. She met your parents briefly, ate the food they made, and even went into your room with you - the same room she watched you masturbate in a few nights ago. She couldn’t help but glance at the bed and wonder what else you had done before. Wanda rested her laptop on the soft mattress as she sat alongside you, the two of you pondering between different concepts for the design.

"Can we use your laptop? Mine's dead and charging it will take forever." You groaned at just the reminder alone of the lack of battery you had, and Wanda agreed, although uncertain as she opened the screen and quickly closed all tabs beside one. She held her tightening bladder while you sat next to her, simply just to feel your arm barely grazing against hers, long enough for you two to find the ideal reference. She finally asked to use your restroom and instructed you on how to save the photo. As she left the room you skimmed the 'recent' section of her files to find it, only to click on the wrong PDF. Your eyes widened as you found a photo of you taken from outside of your room, your breasts on display as you were stretching a shirt over your arms. You glanced up to ensure Wanda was still in the bathroom directly across from your bedroom before clicking to the next image, and the next, and the next. Then came a video. You remembered the exact moment recorded, it came from just the other night. When your project partner came back in, her small voice sounded out as she closed the door behind her.

"Did you figure out how to save it?" She sat back down with a small plop, glimpsing over to eye the screen only to quickly haul it away when she recognized what was on it. She was standing again, holding her laptop close to her as her pupils were blown in shock behind her glasses, her face reddened. "I- I can explain, I swear!" She proclaimed, yet nothing followed it. She heard your scoff and lowered her head, ready to be scolded and forced to leave, reasonably so.

"You dirty little perv...I would've never suspected such a sweet girl to be so nasty." She swallowed shakily, slowly peeking back up at you when she saw your body move to be mere inches away from her.

"I really am sorry, you were never meant to find this." She mewled, wiping one of her eyes quickly as you cooed mockingly.

"Oh, I know, I know. You just planned to get off while being a little creep, stalking me while I was naked- while I was fucking masturbating. Were you hoping I was thinking of you, hm?" She slowly nodded in mortification, biting her lip as her mind reeled with the reminder. She could visualize the day you'd lie in front of her, purposely and knowingly, reciting the acts as you moaned her name.

"I just want you to like me too, Y/N..." She couldn't justify her filming, her photography, her deep obsession - all she could do was beg for you to allow her to stay, to move past what she did.

"...You're lucky you're cute, Wanda."

That night she went home with a kiss on her cheek and a large, mindless grin on her face, your lipstick print just barely evident. She didn't dare erase it, even after her twin brother teasingly pointed it out so that her parents would ask hundreds of questions. She ignored them, going to her room and sighing happily as she tucked herself into bed - pausing when she received a notification from an unknown number.

'For your little collection ;)' The text read, and she opened the video attachment with furrowed brows, her volume button instantly being attacked so no one could hear the loud moaning from your end, the whimpers, the groans. She heard her name multiple times, and her eyes couldn't decide between focusing on your pulsing clit vibrating against your toy, your tight hole greedily accepting two fingers, or your plump breasts slightly squished together by your arms. Previously, you couldn't reach your needed orgasm. However, Wanda felt drool pooling around her bottom lip as your legs shook violently, your body twitching as a result of the overbearing pleasure you were feeling. You slowly eased your fingers away from your hole after the vibrator came to a stop, and the woman on the other end let out a small moan as you licked the digits clean, wishing her a goodnight in your raspy, cultivating voice.

She was going to have a good night indeed.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

VISAGE

PREVIEW: She thought she had it all within her grasp, with Sylus by her side, she is practically untouchable. However, there had always been a thought lurking in the back of her mind ever since Sylus had gotten himself acquainted with a deepspace hunter. For someone who is as mundane as y/n, with no skills and power, what would happen if she were to allow those fears to manifest? It burrows, it festers, rots her from inside out and perhaps, just perhaps, Sylus will no longer be her safe haven anymore.

WARNINGS: Heavy angst that makes your blood curdle, reader is not mc!, suggestive themes, heavy gore.

P.S: Yes I know darlings, it has been a long time since I have been updating my works on here. Work and a lack of motivation got to me T-T. Introducing the debutante for this piece, the daddy himself Sylus! This piece is heavily inspired by those storylines that involves romance and also somewhat slightly related to Howl's Moving Castle vibes? I dunno heh I have some weird ideas cooking in my brain sometimes, hence the lack of frontal lobe growth I guess :,) And yes, there shall be a part two to this but I needed to get this spat out first! Dividers sourced from here!

There is always a saying that whenever one wakes up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning, thus marks the start of a beautiful, sunny day ahead. However, that is not the case for y/n when she wakes up to Mephisto trying his best to do 'chirpings' but ends up cawing like a dying bird. Y/n sighed, pushing herself off of the plush bed to invite whatever the weather has to offer to her. Mephisto is not a bird and it cannot sing, so it sure as hell cannot predict the weather. The curtains are drawn close, a reminder of her intimate sessions with her lover in the bed last night, privacy shielded behind two drapes of heavy fabric.

Yawning, she waved her hand in the air and Mephisto leaves the room as if on cue, not wanting to be punished by his master for having a peek at what belongs to him. Y/n pulled on her silk nightgown, the material cooling to her skin and touch and she waddled out of the room. The smell of breakfast immediately wafts into her nose, it smells like buttermilk pancakes and she is sure that he is the one that is preparing the breakfast as there are times when Sylus would cook himself rather than having the chef prep the meals.

The man himself owns a big kitchen, but his sheer height and built makes the kitchen feel mid to his size. Y/n quietly sneaks up behind him, watching him humming while manhandling the pan, flipping the pancakes with ease. As she was about to attack him with her hands, the man had already beaten her to it, his evol stopping her hands from touching the sides of his torso and he turned, hair messy from waking up but still as good looking as ever. "Good morning, y/n." Voice still raspy, he retreats his evol and leans down to peck her lips softly. "Your sneak attacks are too predictable."

"How did you even heard me coming? I made sure I am extra secretive this time." She pouted, bottom lips jutting out and arms crossed over her chest. She watched as the man turned from the stove to the counter, serving the slices of pancakes onto the plain white plates. The image of soft, jiggly pancakes set onto the dark marble countertop, framed within the kitchen of mostly dark colours made it stood out awkwardly. But given the opulent kitchen exhales nothing less of elegance, perhaps, a plate of pancakes is all that it needs to breath a sense of life and humanity within this nearly aphotic abode of Sylus'.

"The moment you stopped snoring is the moment I knew you were going to wake up soon enough." His taunt got her gasping in return, embarassment littered all over her face. Offended, she slapped his taut arm and he chuckled in return. "I admire your effort, but next time, it would just be better if you were to greet me normally and lessen your failure rates." He swiftly wrapped his arms around her small waist and carefully guided her towards the dining table, with a plate in his other free hand. "Here, have some of your favourite."

He walked back towards the kitchen to grab his plate and seated himself next to her. "Did you taught Mephistos on how to chirp?" She asked him as she was cutting into the pancake. Then, that marks the start for their seemingly mundane daily conversations. Chuckles and teasing jokes filled the atmosphere of the once sterile looking kitchen.

Back in the days, this man would never be the type to say yes to making meals of any kind for nary, let alone waking up at the crack of dawn to make breakfast, Sylus yields to nobody. One might also wonder how did she even got associated with him in the first place? As she is only a mundane and the furious leader of the N109 zone was never the type to lay eyes on someone who poses no utility to him. Or so that was what he had once strongly believed in.

Since the day he had laid eyes upon her, in the basement of another clan, tied up against a pole in a mangled fashion, his aether core ached, a cord so tight that it tugged against every fibre of his being. He had never felt this way about anyone, let alone a hostage like y/n. She looked frail, sick and is scared of everything and anything except for the darkness. Sylus recalled the time when he grabbed her arm and she started kicking with all of her might, her wails coming out in low moans, kicks that barely does any damage to insects. She is dying, but Sylus felt like he could not leave her alone. The undulating thumps of his aether core in his eye, was a rare occurence that it overthrew his logic of killing her to ease her of her pain.

The initial idea of bringing her back to nourish her back to health was perished when Sylus realised that he had slowly started to be smitten with her. Within the hollow and scrawny shell of hers, she still possesses a fighting spirit and it is only applicable when she thinks that her life is hanging off of the balance. Although at first Sylus had detested her, warning her multiple times that he only took her in out of pity. However, she had only thanked him, either it would be via verbally or physically, no snap backs, no retaliation, she is just plainly grateful to be alive even if she were to be held up in another unfamiliar place. She would prefer anything else than to be tortured back in that dank basement.

With a little digging, Sylus had only retrieved information about her lineage and everything about it seemed all too mundane for him to be suspicious of anything. On the day he had fished her out of that hell hole, he brought her straight to his handyman to get her checked out for any core abnormalities. There must be a reason why she would be held hostage, kept alive only to be tortured. Sylus likes a challenge, but this challenge holds a mystery that remains unraveled when the handyman came back with a reading that denotes her to be nothing special. When asked about how she was kidnapped, her pallor suggested that she probably had her memory wiped clean amidst the torture or due to extreme post traumatic stress disorder.

After a couple of weeks being around his abode, she had found out a method to thank him and it involves cooking. However, her cooking is absolutely horrible, but Sylus still eats it to uphold his sense of politesse. It took some courage and serious toilet trips for him to finally decide that it is time to get an in-house chef for meal preps. The chef's first day to work was met with a confused y/n, standing at the front of the door with a big kitchen knife aimed towards him.

After explanations were given from the threatened chef, she realised that Sylus did not enjoyed her cooking and that led her to sulk. It went on for days, masked behind her dull appearance and it forced Sylus to use his evol on her only then he realised that this girl had already gotten a grip on him. The leader of the N109 zone had softened up a lot, wanting to know what she has to think, what was going on behind her blank expressions.

The pity for her faltered day by day, and it was slowly replenished with infatuation towards this mundane that he had stayed with for months. Luke and Kieran also teased him sometimes, stating that the unwavering leader of theirs now has a soft spot. Sylus had stopped denying it to a certain extent, it was like the man had lost all sense of rationale when it comes to discussing about her. "Boss, you do like her don't you?" One of the twins would urge, Sylus can clearly imagine their wriggling eyebrows underneath those masks.

"That is none of your business." The leader would scoff, feigning ignorance towards his underlings when they would boo him for not being truthful to himself. As much as he enjoyed their curiosity, he does not feel the need to continue this conversation, as he is a man of few words. "I suggest you both find something to do before I lose my patience." And that sent the both of them careening out of his room in full speed.

"You said you have something to tend to tonight, so I suppose I will not be expecting you for dinner?" Cocking her head aside, a small, curious smile hung on her curved lips. Sylus catches her gaze, the woman he is looking at now being a whole different person than who she was when he first brought her back. Her eyes now gleamed with excitement whenever she sees him, her smile and laughter both contagious, and her heart only directs towards him and only him.

The man nodded. "Yes, I will be out with the hunter tonight." He laid down his fork and fetched a napkin from across the table. Afterwards, he leaned towards his lover slightly and rubbed the napkin across her lips, muttering under his breath about the slight brown tint of maple syrup she had left sitting on the corners of her upturned lips. "Is there something the matter?"

Y/n hesitated, not sure if she should be telling him about her opinion. Ever since she had gotten here, she had learned that voicing out opinions are allowed here and that she could have a say in anything she is unhappy about. With enough courage, it started out with rejection, then it went on to providing her own opinions and now it's time for her to be honest with her feelings. These are values that Sylus had taught her about, and being the stubborn man he is, he does not expect himself to be repeating his words.

"It's just, you had been spending a lot of time with her, Sylus." She blurted out, lips becoming numb after the sentence when she expected vituperation from the crimson-orbed lover of hers. Not that he had ever cursed at her, or had been abusive with her, but it was the probability of him doing so is what scares her. Furthermore, it is clear that she still harbors malicious memories of her past. Just the mere thought of being stuck in that basement had gotten her wincing uncomfortably.

"You mean that hunter?" His eyebrow curved upwards, head slightly tilted as he tried to get a better look at her. He could sense her hesitation, her regret after the end of her sentence. Swiftly, Sylus traced a finger down her temples, trailing downwards and leaving goosebumps in its trail till it stopped beneath her chin. He tilted her head upwards so that her gaze would be aligned with his, yet she was staring at the walls right behind him. "The hunter and I are tending to a ruckus that had happened downtown and she is helping me with the investigation."

His explanation although was to soothe her, it only got her feeling on edge, teeth chattered as she struggled to think logically. She had never felt this sort of emotion; one closely related to jealousy, possessiveness and envy. "Why her?" Her fists tightened, hidden beneath the table cloth. "I can be of use to your investigations too." Couple of blinks to push back the tears, she looked into his gaze, to search for an answer she was expecting. "Why does it have to be her?"

The man sighed, not being the type to want to overexplain issues and he stood up from his seat, collecting his plate at the same moment. "You are not exactly useful when it comes to an actual battlefield." Voice although calm, but words of his pierced through her, reminding her of the reality she is really in. Sylus finds no use in her other than her existing as a pretty little thing next to him. Like an eccentric jewel on display on a pedestal but could never get off of it because she is not 'useful'. An angered y/n stood up, her chair screeched against the hardwood flooring and she angrily stomped off, her usually hushed footsteps resonated through the ornated hallways and leaving Sylus sat alone in the kitchen.

If one were to wonder over what the man thinks, he also spoke of facts. He sees her not being an object to aid in his investigation, but he only views her as someone that he wants to protect, and wants to come home to. A prized possession of his, if one dares to admit. Sylus too got up from his seat and started to tail behind her, watching her outline from behind, disappearing into their shared chambers. He watched her plopped face down onto the pillow, her actions almost comical. "Y/n." He called out her name but received no response. As expected. "I do not find any means to utilise you." He approached her, finding his seat next to her outstretched legs. He then places his hand onto the back of her thigh, thumb drawing aimless circles. "In fact, I do not want to use you at all."

"Just get out." Her voice was muffled but her tone seethed with anger. "Just go and do whatever it is that you wanted to do with the hunter if she is much more worthy on the battlefield with you." Her voice cracked unintentionally at the end and Sylus sighed, hand leaving her thigh. He could tell that he had messed up, said something that he had failed to filter and caused her to be so upset. As much as Sylus would like to stay behind and to comfort her, the hunter and his mission awaits. A mission that he is dwelling into for the sake of y/n. A mission that would ensure her safety once and for all.

“I have to go now, but I promise that I will make it up to you later.” With a quick kiss to the back of her neck, she could only hear the heavy footsteps of his disappearing after the clicking shut of the door. A part of her did not want to be jealous just because he is doing business with another female counterpart. Another part of her however, shaped like a devil, whispered sinful nothings into her ear, coaxing her to be jealous, to practice distrust upon her relationship with Sylus just like how she never had the courage to trust anyone. Dissolving into her pillow, her tears blended into the mix of polyester and cotton, her sobs quiet but reverberated within the four walls of their shared room. Mephisto landed on a branch directly outside of her window, guarding her but quietly and patiently stayed outside whilst accompanying her with the whistling winds.

Sylus’ meet up with the deepspace hunter was supposedly to be nothing more than just business. After the raid where Sylus had rescued —much like kidnapped— y/n, deepspace hunters were on a hunt for y/n and a particular deepspace hunter stumbled upon a lead on Sylus being the raid leader and without fear, she confronted him only to land a deal between the both of them. Sylus did weighed on the deal, whether was it worth his effort to involve someone from the government but he knew that her database would come in handy for him to continue conducting raids on the gangs that had any connections to the capturing of his lover. You see, there is one thing that still bothers the white haired man from the day he got her back. Now, with the deepspace hunters on the hunt for her, it only further proved his suspicion and he is planning to utilise the deepspace hunter’s database to get to what he is actually seeking for.

So far, is Sylus impressed? No, because he knew that he could easily do that with the amount of moles he has in this undercity but he needed something to give the deepspace hunter a sense of purpose, to trail for a sense of achievement before he gets what he needs from her and then he shall disappear within the bat of an eye. To Sylus, it just makes the chase more interesting, especially with a deepspace hunter right within his grasp. A mere deepspace hunter like her poses no threat to him afterall. “Still nothing?” His voice rumbled through his chest as he stepped onto bits of broken glass, to get to the entryway that leads to the basement. They are currently at an abandoned motel, in search of the supposed gang members. But Sylus is here for another reason. A reply came from below and he hastened his steps to make it to the bottom.

“I found a safe here, but there are only some sketches, and maybe some formulations or reports for something technological?” The deepspace hunter’s voice hesitated, standing up and showing him the papers that she had found. “Why would these be in a safe? It seemed to be something out of a nightmare.” Sylus took the papers from her hand and studied them. The creature sketched onto the papers with charcoal resembled somewhat of an uncanny human being. Messy, seemingly rushed handwritings were etched onto the side to form notes. ‘DANGEROUS, UNSTABLE AND UNCONTAINABLE’ were the words that he was able to make out while the rest of it are scribbled formulations for who knows what. The creature was drawn out roughly, with hollow dark eyes that bled with tar black substance, elongated and bony body proportions, alongside with a forced smile to make up its final look. The ends of Sylus’ lips twitched as he stared at the drawing. It seemed almost…familiar to him but he just could not quite catch what it resembled.

“Have you ever thought maybe because it is nightmarish hence they would keep it in a safe?” He retorted, a sigh leaving his lips when he realised that common sense may not be equipped within the brains of some deepspace hunters. He folded the papers and shoved them into the pockets of his leather jacket, the deepspace hunter however, held out her hand and beckoned her palm at him, wanting the papers to be within her grasp. “It is better for me to hold onto it as it may not impose any usage for you deepspace hunters.” Seeing her unyielding palm, he continued. “If I received news about this creature you will be the first to know so you may report it back to your HQ.” Her pupils lit up at his suggestion, a sign of agreement.

Stepping out of the abandoned motel, they headed towards their respective vehicles. As they were about to hitch onto their rides, shots were fired. “Duck! We are getting ambushed!” The deepspace hunter shouted and then they both ducked behind their motorbikes, trying to cover themselves from bullets and to sought out the shooters amidst the dark. “There, behind the trees!” Right when she said that, another bullet ricochet and then followed a searing sizzle. Sylus took the opportunity to jump onto his bike and he roared the engine to life, twisting the handle and throttling the bike towards the deepspace hunter.

The wheels screeched in rejection against the tar road and he angled the bike towards the road. The fizzling sound of the broken exhaust notes a ticking time bomb for the bike. Sylus fuelled the bike of his and it started lurching forward, propagating him towards the road. Along the way, he grabbed the deepspace hunter by the neckline of her leather jacket and he heaved her onto his bike with the strength of only an arm. The female squeaked in surprise but quickly reacted by grabbing hold of his bike’s seat and hoisted herself up onto the back seat. Securing her arms around his waist, they both faded into the covers of the darkness as the bike they left behind went off with a deafening explosion.

“Where are we going?!” The deepspace hunter called out from behind, the wind beating against her rubicund cheeks as he shifted the gears to turn a sharp corner. Home. That was all the man could think of. Leaving his lover behind in shreds, with tears depicting strokes of her loneliness, rolled up in bundles of borrowed warmth from satin sheets is not the last scene he would want to encounter upon departing onto a mission. He felt like he had somewhat betrayed her, perhaps even, made her felt unwanted. This man now reeks of self guilt, silently cursing at himself only within the confines of his own mind. There, he left the woman behind him in obsolete silence. Yet, the direction of his motorbike suggested another location he had in his mind.

Y/n's chest felt tight, an unbearable weight pressed against her small body as she struggled to break free from the grasp of an unknown force. A voice travelled through the void, calling out for her. "You're sinking in the mire of your own twisted fate." The voice panned onto her, and her restrained wrists started burning, making her wince in response. "Love was never an option for you, bereft suits you better." An amorphous outline formed, bulky and large, symbolising nary of a man but more of a beast. Two orbs formed at the top of the silhouette and y/n recognised those eyes anywhere, the bright crimson orbs are hard to miss. "If you do not remember, fate always reminds." And a jaw snapped opened, darting straight towards her and she screamed.

Snapping herself awake in bed, y/n could feel her heart slamming against the walls of her chest cavity, begging to be set free. Her wrists still scorched, a memory she had never really freed herself from that dank dungeon. Her tears pierced the back of her eyes, vision blurring in the progress. There were no signs of Sylus in the room and the deep maroon walls swallowed her plangent cries. She could hear the voice echoed in her mind, muttering imprecations repetitively to put her under a trance. Y/n grabbed the roots of her hair and started to tug brutally, aching to pull off her scalp if she was given the chance to.

Luke and Kieran dashed in, horrified at her actions and they both did not hesitate, for they knew if Sylus comes back to this, they are both as good as cadavers. "Y/n!" They both shouted in sync, jumping onto the bed to restrain her but it only agonised her, her body hunched forward and tears spilled onto her clothes. None of the twins knew of her nightmares, how Sylus would sometimes wake up to her crying in the middle of the night, how the word 'somnambulist' was not just another fancy nickname their boss picked up from the lexicon to address her in a teasing manner, and how sometimes she would showcase uncontrolled enmity towards herself in the covers of the night by holding herself at gunpoint. It was also at times Sylus thought that bringing her out of the dungeon may just be the worst decision he has ever made but that did not stop him from wanting to pursue her, to put on the veil of a saint not just to quench his ego for a hero complex, but to hold love for someone who he used to love. The man may have been hurled at life multiple times, reincarnated into different lives and different statuses in different times, but one thing he knew for sure, is that in this life, he met a gaze that he could never forget even if his memories were wiped. For she, held that gaze. The linger that made him see himself, the linger that reminded him of every lifetime, that there is that someone that gave him the warmth that he could never quite grasp, a feel that he has to seek for in every parallel life of his.

"We have to call boss!" Kieran exclaimed, his hand kept rubbing her back in hopes of soothing her as she wailed into her palms. None of the twins knew what to do and Kieran had decided that patting her back could be the best way. Luke careened out of the room hastily, in search of his phone. His hands trembled with every press of a button and he pressed the phone to his ear when the dial tone goes through. However, the call did not manage to get through and Luke stumbled back into the room, his footsteps the only sounds heard throughout the empty manor and it made him wondered if Kieran had done some sort of voodoo magic to calm her cries down. "Luke, no!" Kieran's voice echoed from the room and there goes a deafening blast, sending Luke flying through the air and landing onto the floor like a cordless puppet.

Sylus wasted no time in arriving at the location of a secret auction. One where he knows that he would be able to find the man whom would bear the fair description of non compos mentis, a mad scientist who owns adulations for his 'creations' that shall be witnessed at this auction tonight. The hunter beside him craned her neck upwards, her mouth moving, hushed whispers followed. "Is this where we can find that crazy guy you mentioned just now?" She had been forced to change into an exquisite attire and was given a last minute identity to fit the occasion.

"No more questions from now on." Sylus' brusqueness tied the hunter's lips and she could sense his irritation radiating off of him. He offered his arm to her and she wrap one of her arms around it as they approached the grand entrance of the manor. The manor is gigantic, spanning probably a few acres of land, with patterned bonzai tress and manicured bushes lining the front yard and two large golden statues signifying a nude man and woman guarding the main door. The manor seemed to be a casting location straight out of a cult movie. A footman stood at the entryway, a clipboard in hand.

"Hello, welcome to the Prescott Manor." The footman probably around in his twenties spoke, his voice a welcoming baritone. "May I get your names please as this is an invitation ONLY party."

"Sylus," He replied swiftly and his gaze followed the footman's, landing on the female counterpart next to him. "This is my partner for the night." The footman nodded and trailed his pen on the piece of paper on the clipboard, reading through names before stopping at the alphabetical S and he ticked a small check box next to it.

Smiling, he greeted the both of them and ushered them towards a row of safes located next to the coat room. "Welcome Mr. Sylus and Miss MC to the Prescott Manor. Before you head in, we would like you to kindly surrender your electronic devices and any sort of weapons into any of the locker of your choice here." Seeing the slightly raised eyebrow of Sylus', the footman swallowed and quickly followed up with an inept explanation. "This is a charitable night and we have children around. It is to ensure the utmost safety of all of the guests tonight."

Both Sylus and the hunter started shedding themselves of their electronic devices and weapons. The locker slowly piling up with all of their belongings. "Miss, that includes that claymore tucked in your thigh holster." One of the footman's eye gleamed an unusual cerulean, indicating he is equipped with X-Ray vision to conduct body scans. The hunter scoffed and grabbed the claymore out of her thigh holster and chucked it into the locker, the clang of metals made the footman grinned in satisfaction.

The huge doorway welcomes guests into the expansive hall, chandeliers crafted out of translucent protocores hung high above the ceiling, shimmering and refracting patterned lights across the polished marble floors. One may be in awe at this view but Sylus is too used to this, not to mention he himself is an owner of a manor himself. The hunter however, was in a state of shock, her throat tightened as she struggled to not vomit. Glass cabinets arranged all over the hall displayed preserved creatures, not human nor beasts alike. It closely resembled a sick combination of genes from humans and wanderers.

"I am going to excuse myself." Hand slapped against her mouth, the hunter scampered off to the nearest toilet available while Sylus just rubs his nose bridge and sighed in disappointment. He certainly did not expect a hunter to have a weak stomach given the nature of their work.

A shadow loomed beside him and he was quick to snap his neck over. "Fancy seeing you here." The man of the hour, Dr. Prescott stood next to Sylus, height on par with the Onychinus leader. His piercing grey eyes, hidden behind a pair of sleek glasses pranced with curiosity as he wondered why the leader of Onychinus would appear at this auction for illegal hybrids. "What brings the most feared individual in the N109 zone to my humble abode?" His voice, smooth and commanding makes one hard to discern his true intentions.

The enigmatic doctor has always been one to operate in the shadows, always conducting experiments that makes life and death a blurred maze. In the zone full of villainy, Dr. Prescott stands out not just for his freaky science experiments, but also for his twisted advocation for 'bio-weapons' that shall reform warfares in the future. And that, makes even the nefarious Sylus look like a novice. However, it is his perilious experiments that grants him the trademark, and makes him an easy target.

Sylus adjusted his cufflinks then finally meet the eyes of the man standing next to him. "I came here for answers." His eyes narrowed. "Answers that you would be able to provide." Dr. Prescott, bemused with the demand, tilted his head upwards and started weaving through the crowd. Sylus followed in suit, his senses are heightened when he started noticing the crowd had their glances set on him. "However, I'd like to say, it's very daunting of you to step into my territory with that deepspace hunter."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! Can i request for reader x batboys where they’re dating but reader doesn’t know they’re vigilantes. One day they ( as vigilantes) flirt with her then reader tells them that she’s happily taken. Thank you!

I’m only doing dick and Jason cuz my brain doesn’t know what to put for Tim or Damian. And this is probably a boat load of words that make no fucking sense when reading it, so I apologise.

Jason

‘You look lost sweetheart.’ You heard from above you only to see the silhouette of the vigilante red hood.

‘I can assure you I’m not.’ You replied straightforward, wanting nothing more to get home and cuddle up to Jason in your shared bed, after all it had been a long day and you weren’t in the mood to be chatted up by anyone, you were loyal to Jason no matter what.

‘I’m only trying to help.’ Red Hood tells you as he dropped down from the roof and landed safely in front of you before standing up to his full height.

‘I understand that but when you added sweetheart I’m naturally going to assume you’re attempting to hit on me.’ You said with your arms crossed over your chest. ‘I’m more than happily taken by the sweetheart man I’ve ever known.’ You added as a boast because it was more than the truth, and you could spend the entire week talking about how much better Jason was then any other man in existence.

Jason could feel his heart melt when you said that and was half tempted to rip his helmet off to kiss you senselessly, but he decided to be cheeky and milk this for all it’s worth if it meant hearing you speak about him in high praise. ‘Oh yeah? Does he treat you right?’ He asked as he leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, reading himself to hear whatever you had to say.

‘He treats me as though I made the stars in the sky and looks at me like I did too,’ you began smiling as you remembered the fondness in Jason’s eyes whenever you did something mundane, ‘I could just be standing there in a plain shirt and a pair of his boxers, looking like absolute shit but he would still tell me I looked stunning.’ You added as you felt the smile stretch further across your lips.

God you loved that teddy bear of a man so much you didn’t know where to put it most of the time.

You noticed that Red Hood didn’t say anything but that was because beneath the helmet Jason was fighting through urge to hold you in arms and never let you go, smother your face in kisses because of how fucking cute you were being without trying, however he knew that he better get back home before you did if he ever wants to do any of that and so he clears his throat and says. ‘It’s good that he does treat you like that, you deserve it more than you know, I bet he’d be devastated if something were to happen to you, go to war even.’

You furrowed your brows as Red Hoods words before shrugging. ‘I mean…yeah I guess, he’d do anything to get me back. I hear him whispering it when he thinks I’m asleep.’ You add as you felt a sense of familiarity from the vigilante but decided to brush it off when you checked the time on your phone and winced. ‘I should get going and I’m sure you-‘ you went to look over to where you saw the vigilante last, only to be greeted with the sight of nothing. ‘-do too…’ you trailed off before shrugging your shoulders and continuing on your way home.

Unaware of the fact that Jason was still watching you from the rooftops above, knowing damn well that he would indeed go to war for you, his beloved little chipmunk.

Dick

‘What’s someone as pretty as you doing in a place like this? It’s dangerous you know.’ Nightwing practically purred.

‘I’ve walked through here multiple times before and I can tell you it’s safer than most in Gotham.’ You told him, crossing your arms, unamused.

Nightwing raised his hands in defence. ‘Just trying to look out for a cutie like you is all, no need to bite my head off.’ Dick had a feeling that something might happen on your walk home tonight and decided to keep constant tabs on you the entire night as Nightwing. He could tell you were tired and just outright done with everything but he’d rather you be safe on your journey home than not, regardless of how safe your route home was.

‘I’m pretty sure there’s other people you could be saving instead of flirting with me. I’m taken for your information, and happily so by the most prettiest and albeit goofiest man alive.’ You told him with a smile as your mind drifted to imagining Dick sitting in your shared bed with Hayley in his sleepwear, snoring loudly despite trying to stay up for your return.

‘Pretty? How so?’ Nightwing asked as he eagerly leant in forward to hear you. Dick just wanted an excuse to hear you gush about him without knowing that he was right in front of you.

You sighed at the aspect of having to spend even more time with a vigilante that seemingly didn’t take the hint. ‘He’s got a smile that could light up an entire city for future generations, a laugh so pretty and addicting that you’d be more then willing to make yourself look like an idiot just to hear it again, and he’s got a beautiful set of eyes that you could get lost in no matter what because they’re just so…enriched in colour.’ You finished, the image of Dick’s gorgeous eyes embedded into your mind that left you feeling seen and loved.

Dick couldn’t help but smile at your words, not knowing what to expect when he asked you about how pretty he was, now that he had he could feel a burst of warmth within his chest that now encased his entire body. You were too sweet and kind for your own good and Dick just wanted to keep you safe from everything that Gotham represented, whether it was out of his innate selfishness to keep you for himself, to keep a bright light of his own in a twin as dark and depressing as Gotham he wasn’t sure but all he knew was that he wanted to keep you in his life as long as he possibly could.

‘Sounds like you love him very much.’ He says after a brief period of silence.

‘I’m more than anything.’ You replied without hesitation. Your hand reaching into your coat pocket, thumb caressing the cute charm Dick had bought you to add onto your keys, it helped you calm down in certain situations because it meant that no matter how far apart you may seem you still had a piece of Dick close by. ‘Which is why I really want to get home, so I can see him and our darling dog Hayley.’ You add with a smile when the blue staffy came to mind.

Dick remember where Hayley was before he left to watch over you, fast asleep on your side of the bed, which meant that when you came home you’d have to cuddle up to him as it was proven difficult to wake Hayley up when she had made herself comfortable. However if this meant that Dick got the chance to hold you close to his chest, he’d gladly let Hayley sleep on your side of the bed more often, and he did on multiple occasions.

‘Then I best let you go, don’t wanna keep either of them waiting.’ Nightwing said and you couldn’t help but feel ecstatic at the thought of finally getting to go home to your little makeshift family. You didn’t know how much longer you were willing to stand there when you knew Hayley was waiting for you impatiently with a boat load of face licks with your name on it.

‘That’s probably for the best because both of them can tend to get a little whiny when I’m even a second late.’ You laughed to yourself as dick couldn’t help but internally pout at this, he didn’t get whiny when you were late did he? He pushed this thought aside and smiled as he watched you walk away, keeping his eyes on your for a couple seconds longer to make sure you were okay, before realising that he should better beat you home before you find him not there in bed and quickly rushed up to the rooftops and ran like his life depended on it.

He wanted to keep his secret safe for a little while longer before admitting everything to you just yet.

[yandere-romanticaa]

An idea that I really like is Ratio falling for someone who is his complete and total opposite in every way imaginable.

He is the kind of person that operates on pure cold logic and facts. He believes in what he sees in front of him with his own two eyes and yes, while it may be fascinating, perhaps even a little entertaining, to philosophize about various unimaginable concepts they are all indeed just that.

Concepts. Ideas. Things made up from the bottom of the bored human psyche.

Veritas Ratio is a man who is able to grasp many, dare he say, possibly every concept he has ever encountered. He loves a challenge but hardly anything is challenging to him because he is such a genius. He devours books that are over a thousand pages long, the most complicated equations of any science are finished by his hand with such ease that many people might mistake him for a machine rather than a man of flesh and blood.

That's what makes it so fun to see him fall for an airhead. A person who probably doesn't care, or doesn't have the mental capacity to care about such things. This person would rather spend their days dallying away, picking flowers, baking, just doing things that are so mundane and plain (to him). If they do decide to read, it is some trashy romance model, maybe even just straight up written porn if they're just that shameless.

And this is the person who has Ratio grabbing his head in frustration.

He's shaking with anger in his room, golden eyes wobbly as he watches you walk up and down the space ship. You got lost, again. How much of an imbecile are you? Do you truly need someone to guide you through everything? With a huff, the scientist grabs his head made of plaster and makes his exist. He puts the mask on and in no time finds you, all lost in the hallways. You hear his upcoming footsteps before you see him and once you turn around, you are greeted with that bizarre mask you've grown so accustomed to.

You greet the man cheerfully, to which he just huffs. With his arms crossed, Ratio gives you a long and detailed lesson on how you ought to be more careful and aware of your surroundings, that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. You are not a child and should stop acting like one.

Tears swell in your eyes but none are shed as the two of you turn back, him being a few steps ahead of you. Two pairs of footprints sound incredibly loud in this long and dark corridor. Veritas hears you quietly weeping and he feels the slight inkling of guilt pulling his heartstrings.

... Perhaps he was a smidge too harsh with you.

You are a clueless creature, sure. But maybe, he sometimes reveled in that fact. It was wrong and he would never admit it out loud but his heart whispered it clearly to him - you like this.

Veritas watched you carefully through the reflection of the window, the plaster head concealing the expression on his face. With your lips in a full pout and eyes watery like fresh morning dew, he couldn't help but to be just slightly charmed.

He scoffed to himself as he pressed onwards. He figured he had better standards for himself but that was not the case, clearly.

And just like that, he had escorted you back to your room. He could hear you mumble out a quiet thank you, which he acknowledged with a polite nod with his head.

He's not that cruel. Or rude for that matter!

With the situation now swiftly dealt with, Ratio figured it was high time he went back to his studies. He has already wasted far too much precious time on this, he isn't even sure when he'll finish that -

His train of thought is broken when he feels a pair of arms gently embrace him from behind, the warmth welcoming and dare he say sweet.

Veritas stilled, his body like the statue which some saw him to be. You still could not see his face but his anger could still be felt.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he spat at you, his tone cold but venomous.

He felt your face being pressed against his broad back, fat tears caking his fine clothing. Just as he was about to pry your hands off him, he heard you finally speak:

"Thank you for helping me. Really..."

Your tone was soft and remorseful. You did not want to disturb him but despite that, you did just that. He was willing to accept your apology and have this situation be over with but what you said next simply knocked all of the air out of his lungs.

"You see, I... I wasn't sure how I could get your attention. I just wanted you to notice me, to talk to me..."

.... Goodness.

He was used to people trying to get his attention but to act like such a pathetic damsel in distress was new. He had to give you credit for your creativity, at the very least.

"I want to be your friend. I also want you to teach me all sorts of things-"

Ratio stopped listening to you mid sentence, his mind running hundreds of laps in thought. Perhaps you weren't the idiot he saw you as. Your little ploy worked, clearly. And if he took you under his wing, who knew what would become of you.

He could turn you into a diamond with his own two hands.

It was embarrassing just how giddy the thought made him.

The shadows of curiosity and some other emotions took over his mind as he analyzed the situation. There really was no harm in taking you all for himself.

Besides, if you were capable of this deceitful plan, who knew what else you could do?

He was eager to find out.

[canine-witch]

What Omens Have You Missed?

With the New Year comes new energy, and also new omens to look for. I recieved message that some of you have been getting omens, visions, or symbols that you have either failed to heed or ignored entirely. In the chaos, we can often forget to notice and be grateful for what we have. This reading is to tell you and show you what you have missed, and reveal the information you need to know.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Group One ~ Gray Clouds

You haven't been noticing the omens in nature, seeker. The world may seem mundane at this moment, but there are signs for you. Watch for omens in living and dead creatures, especially foxes and moths. Dead flora and fauna may indicate a warning, perhaps for some negative energy, infighting, or bad luck coming your way. Living flora and fauna, especially ones that seem out of place, indicate good luck and prosperity on the horizon. You may be looking up at the sky more, this is your sign to watch for omens through the clouds, stars, and birds above you. Farms and feasts may be symbolic. Your angel numbers are 111, 555, and 777. Listen carefully seeker, the blessings may be promised where you least expect them. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Two ~ City Clouds

You have been misinterpreting your omens, seeker. There may be many strange omens around you, which may initially frighten you. Depictions of monsters, especially those which look like serpents or goats, may carry good omens. Keys, raging stormy waters, chains, and grapes may also be popping up in your life. For some of you who work with mirrors, you may have seen an image in the mirror, or became frightened by something in your mirror. These are all symbols of your journey reclaiming yourself. The demonic or scary images you've been taking as bad omens, represent recalling something of yourself others took from you, especially in romantic relationships. You are recalling your appearance, your identity, and your destiny, and you are not a monster for doing so. Your angel numbers are 111, 333, and 666. Don't be scared of yourself, seeker, you are blessed and protected. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Three ~ Twisting Clouds

You don't want to hear what the omens are telling you, seeker. The situation you are in right now, is something you are either reluctant or unready to give up. You have been ignoring the signs in normal life, for signs given to you in social media or popular culture. You are drowning out the truth with targeted content that cannot apply to you. Dogs, birds of prey, sea animals, and horses may be important to you right now. You may be hearing wind chimes or strange whispers. You may be crying a lot, as purging. You may be ignoring the number 11. The omens are telling you it is time to move on and let go, and even though change is hard, there is promise of freedom on the horizon. Your angel numbers are 222, 444, 555, 888, and 999. You will be okay, seeker, your guides will never let you go without blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Four ~ Above The Clouds

A person you least expect has delivered you an omen, seeker. This may be a person you distrust, have argued with, or someone you are not close to, but they have verbally delivered a message to you, which you have doubted and chosen to ignore. But, this message is a promise of a new beginning. This person may have been standing in a doorway or under an arch. You may be looking out the window more, or spending time on your porch. You may be seeing people give to charity and do good works. Leaves or feathers may be symbolic to you right now. Fairy circles and rolling plains may be images or places you are drawn towards. You may be noticing hands holding money. This person probably is not the vessel of your good fortune, but they delivered a sign and a promise to you. Don't turn your nose up at them. Think about what they have said, and remember forces work in mysterious ways, even in places you may never expect. 222, 333, 444, and 777 are your angel numbers. Never judge a book by its cover seeker, this person is a test to see if you are ready to recieve your blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Thank you for joining me seeker, I don't normally channel energy in this way, and I hope I have been of service. Blessings be to you, as I have said, so mote it be.

[blitzyn]

prospect

toji fushiguro x m!reader

request: none

a/n -> sighs and explodes i need this man injected in my blood right NOW. nobody will be able to convince me that this man doesn’t have a breeding kink. sometimes i forget im writing for real people on a real platform and it jump scares me when people comment on my work. but in a good way ofc i love seeing people’s thoughts on my stuff. ANYWAYS. REQS.

wc -> 4.7k words of filth LMAO

cw -> anal fingering, anal sex, spit as lube, throat fucking, using “pussy” and “cunt” as a synonym, mild impact play, breeding kink, mirror sex, finger hooking, bondage, begging, brief gun play, when i say “little” i mean that in a condescending sorta way and not bc the reader is described to be petite and tiny, not beta read obv

"You're a tricky one, I'll give you that," is the first thing the man before you said. It'd been quite a while since the first time the two of you met in a dingy bar hidden in the sketchier parts of town. He hadn't been trying to kill you then - he was but a fellow patron eager to ruin his liver. Originally, he had a strange gut feeling about you. Like a pretty thing like you wasn't all it seemed, but he shrugged it off after a well-placed look from you offering to buy a couple more rounds.

So when he's given another job, the first thing he does is laugh. He didn't really mean it at first, but really, the irony was hilarious. The guy he nearly got to fuck was his current target: [Name] [L.Name], a rising Jujutsu Sorcerer. He obviously wasn't as strong as the esteemed Gojo Satoru or Geto Suguru, but he was advancing a little faster than many would've liked.

"Thanks. I tried," you replied, seeming much too relaxed for a man about to be assassinated. You were currently stuck on the floor with your arms tied behind your back and your legs bound together by plain, old, ordinary rope. You were a little embarrassed, truthfully, to have been caught by such a mundane trap like this.

You struggled against your restraints a bit, sighing in defeat when you only served to remind yourself just how stuck you were. "These are pretty secure," you started, giving the man before you a laidback smirk. "You experienced?"

Toji gave you a quizzical look for a moment before breaking out in an amused grin, resting his handgun against his shoulder. He definitely wasn't expecting his target to start flirting with him instead of pleading for his life like he was used to. But he'll entertain you for a while. "You could say that."

You huffed through your nose, your eyes lazily flitting around the room. You were making your way back inside the abandoned building you chose to hide in when you suddenly found yourself tied up. It took you a moment to realize you couldn't move when he appeared in front of you, but even less to recognize him as the man you almost got to sleep with. "I would've loved to have you tie me up back then, but this wasn't really what I was thinking about."

"Your phone's a real cockblock, huh?" He chuckled lightly, in an almost mocking manner from what you managed to detect in his voice. "Can't even begin to imagine how long you've had to go without gettin' laid."

You rolled your eyes like he wasn't only there to kill you and get his money. "Don't get me started. There's always something new I have to kill every fuckin' second. My boss thinks it's great training to go out whenever I can."

Right. Technically, you weren't a fully-fledged Sorcerer. You had more of a vigilante-esque vibe to you. You hadn't attended either Jujutsu High School in Tokyo or Kyoto as well, only taught by your family and experiences. Not that that really mattered anyway. You fought, you got strong, and now someone put a hit on you.

You sighed, shifting your body to a more comfortable position before tilting your head back against the wall. “This is the part where I beg for my life, right?” You questioned rhetorically, with an almost bored expression on your face before your eyes lit up with an idea. “I’m not too good at that, but I am good at begging for something else.”

Toji raised an eyebrow in intrigue, unable to fight off the grin at the obvious implication. He didn’t stop you from shamelessly checking him out, but he cut your ogle session short regardless.

“Yeah? Care to elaborate?” He made his way closer, crouching in front of you to get a better view of your face. He knew what you were asking for. He just wanted to know if you’d follow through with it.

Maybe it was the adrenaline making you bold, knowing that he could easily kill you with the pull of a trigger—or maybe it was just because he was really fucking hot. With a quick, obvious glance to his crotch (you could see the imprint of his dick through his sweatpants), you spoke clearly. “I want you to fuck me.”

He liked how forward you were, how unafraid you were to say what you wanted. He swiped his tongue over his lips and nearly laughed at how your eyes darted downwards to watch it. “You call that beggin’?” He taunted, raising his arm to press the tip of his gun against your chin to tilt your head up. “Do it right.”

A shudder ran through your body at his demand, leaving a trail of heat that settled right into your groin. You felt hyper aware of everything—of the cool metal on your skin, of the faint gunpowder scent emanating from the barrel, of your heartbeat thrumming so hard you briefly wondered if he could hear it.

“Oh, please, Mr. Fushiguro,” you whined, staring up at him through your lashes pleadingly. You tried to squeeze your thighs together as you squirmed, attempting to provide your hardening dick friction. “Please fuck me. I’ve been thinking about this whole time. I need it so much.”

“Well, aren’t you a confident little thing,” he remarked with a thoughtful hum, carefully inspecting your reactions. “But what makes you think I won’t just kill you and get my money?”

“Because you haven’t yet,” you replied with a smug undertone in your voice, like you figured him all out. Although, when he dragged his gun up towards your lips, a brief wave of fear washed down your body, settling deep in your chest.

“Really? That’s all you’re going off of?” He tilted his head, watching you through the dark curtain of hair that fell over his piercing eyes. “That’s cute.” He held his finger over the trigger, teasingly flexing it before relaxing just as fast. He found it funny how your confident facade slipped away the moment you remembered that you weren’t talking to a casual friend—that the Sorcerer Killer himself was staring you down the barrel of his gun. But, apparently, that’s what got you all hot and bothered.

“I didn’t think you’d be this desperate.” His scarred lips curled upwards in a predatory grin as he nudged the tip of his gun against your mouth, prying it open. You fought the urge to squirm when he pushed it further, jaw straining, but you tried your best to comply. “You seemed all mysterious ‘n’ unassuming back at the bar. What happened to that? Got me feelin’ like I got the wrong person with the way you’re actin’.”

You tried to shake your head while a garbled noise left your throat, but he kept you firmly in place as he pushed it as far as he could go. Even as you squinted, it was hard not to practically eyefuck him where you sat. Your watery irises trailed over the length of his arm, tracing the bulging veins that patterned over his forearm, dipping back underneath his skin before reappearing in his thick bicep. His shirt did little to hide his chest, squeezing in just the right places to render any woman jealous.

You couldn’t stop your gaze from wandering down, down towards his legs, zeroing in on the dick print he so obviously flaunted like a trophy. Your mouth watered, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. You slid your tongue over the rough metal, imagining that it was his cock stretching your eager throat wide open; imagining the salty taste of his precum, of the scent of his musk, of—

“My eyes’re up here, pretty boy,” he interrupted, pressing the gun up against your palate to snap you out of your stupor and avert your gaze. “If you’re gonna deny bein’ a slut, at least act like it.”

He pulled it out of your drooling mouth, wiping the string of saliva off on your cheek before setting it on the floor with a dull thud. Your face was messy, chest heaving up and down as you panted, expectantly waiting for him to continue like a lost puppy.

“You’re so damn easy,” he commented teasingly, reaching down to palm his cock through his pants. It throbbed under his touch, leaking precum and straining against the fabric. “If I’da known all it took for you to get all nice ‘n’ compliant f’me was a dick down your throat, I’d have my money by now.” There was a hint of honesty to his voice that you couldn’t even find in yourself to protest.

“Please…” you breathlessly whined, trying to writhe out of your binds, but it was tied too tightly around your body to free yourself. “I want it. Stop messing with me.”

“I know.” He reached down to shift you onto your knees, steadying you with a firm hand on the back of your neck. You watched him slide his free hand under his pants to pull his thick cock out, eyes fixated on the leaking tip. He wrapped it around the shaft and leisurely jerked himself off, the wet sounds of his precum sliding along the shaft mixing in with your labored breaths and his quiet groans.

Finally, after what felt like decades, he shuffled forward just enough to press himself against your lips, finding little need to nudge his way inside when you so eagerly parted them for him. You let out a pleased noise at the taste of his precum, beginning to squint and fight the urge to gag when he refused to stop until your nose was buried in his pubes. He held you there for a moment, enjoying the sight of your throat bulging to accommodate his cock.

“You’re takin’ me in so easily,” he purred, sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of your tongue tracing over a prominent vein, making him twitch in your mouth. “Is this what you do? Use your body to live a little longer? 'Cause I gotta say, whatever you're doin' is really payin' off."

You visibly preened at his praise, feeling your dick strain against the fabric of your pants. He let you move at your own pace, watching you hollow your cheeks and slide and bob your head up and down. He was thick and long and made your jaw ache in the best way, utterly infatuated with his scent, with his taste, with the way he let you go at your own pace—but you knew better. You knew that he could easily take that control away from you and fuck your face.

You kind of wished he did, honestly.

With a bit of effort, you pulled away from his cock, breathing heavily. Your voice was shaky but it was firm, determined to get what you wanted. “Fuck my throat,” you demanded, staring up at him through your lashes. He gave you an intrigued smile, clearly pleased with your eagerness to be used like a toy.

“You sure? ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ til I cum,” he warned. He hardly gave you enough time to reply before he held the base of his cock, gently tapping the tip against your slick lips to get you to open up wide again, obviously unconcerned with your response. “But if you really insist, then who am I to say no to a pretty thing like you?”

He adjusted his stance, towering over you with both his hands atop your head. He allowed you to take a deep breath before pulling you to him just as he shoved his cock back down your throat. You were still unused to him, nearly choking at the sudden movement, feeling tears pool along your lashes. You could’ve sworn his musk was an actual aphrodisiac. It was all you could smell, filling up your nostrils to render your mind a pathetically fuzzy mess.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he drawled out, staring you down with enough heat in his eyes to practically glue you to the floor. You weren’t even sure if you’d get up and leave if he gave you the chance to. Probably not, frankly. Not with the way his strong hands so easily kept you in place, nor with how he strained your jaw—infatuated with every inch and vein and his salty precum. “Take it all, baby.”

He chuckled to himself, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice. “But I didn’t need to tell you that, huh? Is this muscle memory takin’ over?” Despite his words, his brows were furrowed, focused on thrusting his hips, stoking the rising fire in his abdomen. His rhythmic groans were music to your ears, mixing in with your wet gags and the faint sound of his balls slapping your chin.

“Fuck,” he panted, taking one hand off to wipe your hair off of your forehead and get a look at your watery, unfocused eyes. It sent a heat down his spine that made his cock jolt at the sight of your blissed out face. “You’re so damn tight… gonna make me cum.”

“Is that what you want?” He grunted, digging his fingertips into your skin. “Y’think it’s what you deserve?” For a moment, you were worried he was going to stop. But he didn’t really, instead he kept you still, holding you at a distance to make sure you didn’t accidentally pass out. “I wanna hear you beg for it.”

You blinked your tears away and looked up at him, squinting, confused when he hadn’t let you go yet. It took you a second to piece together what he wanted of you, and felt the burn of embarrassment trickle down your spine and settle into your chest when you did. He wanted you to beg with his cock in your mouth. You were quiet, unsure how to respond without choking and coughing into next week.

“C’mon,” he persisted, his scarred lips lifting in a grin. “I know a little slut like you can do it.”

With a deep breath, you attempted to get your words out through muffled sounds that very vaguely sounded like sentences. It was humiliating—letting him use you to entertain himself like this, but it was an exhilarating feeling that made your cock twitch and throb, aching to be touched.

“Sorry, what was that?” He questioned mockingly, expression laced with faux concern. “Do you mind repeating that?”

You paused, staring up at him pleadingly, but when that didn’t seem to work, you tried again. Drool seeped out the corners of your lips, trailing down your chin. It was hard to breathe and form coherent thoughts. Your cock throbbed and ached to be touched, finding your pants to be uncomfortably suffocating.

“Was that so hard?” He questioned rhetorically as he tugged your face close again, savoring the feeling of your throat squeezing around his dick before beginning to fuck it. He groaned when he felt you run your tongue over the veins, the vibrations of your voice sending heat through his body that he eagerly chased.

He swore under his breath, panting, focused on the tightening coil in his abdomen. “Shit—I’m about to—fuck—cum.”

You moaned when you felt him still, pressing your face into his pelvis to make sure every drop of his cum went down your throat. It was difficult to swallow, letting your eyes flutter shut until he was finished. Your vision was a bit blurry when he finally decided to pull away, leaving you gasping and panting.

“I want—I need you to fuck me,” you slurred, desire flashing brightly in your eyes. Your voice was raw and hoarse and raspy, but there was no hiding your desperation. “Please. I need it so bad it fucking hurts. Please, Fushiguro.”

“I just got done cumming down your throat and you’re already askin’ for more?” He chuckled condescendingly, reaching out to swipe the pad of his thumb along your chin to gather the mix of saliva cum. He brought it to your lips, watching you wrap them around his finger and suck the fluids off his skin. “You needy whore. You’re lucky I’m not in any rush right now.”

With a swift hand, he untied the rope holding your legs together to lead you to a different spot, confident that you wouldn’t make a break for it. Not that you could nor wanted to, anyways.

The mirror before you was dusty and cracked, but it still served its purpose well. He kicked your legs apart and brought you back down to your knees, lowering himself behind you with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You nearly came on the spot when he squeezed your aching cock, hips jerking needily, but he let go in the blink of an eye to unzip your pants and bring them down far enough to expose your ass. He brought two fingers to your lips and dipped them inside your mouth with his other hand, coating them with your saliva rather haphazardly.

He swiftly brought them back down, running them over your balls and perineum teasingly, grinning at your sharp intake of breath. He slid the pads of them over your hole, just barely pushing them through to feel the resistance give way before pulling them back out.

“I swear to god, I’ll—“ you tried to threaten, only to be cut off by a whorish moan that Toji managed to tear from your lips when he shoved his fingers inside you. They pressed against your prostate, firm and unrelenting, rubbing it just the slightest bit to keep you reeling. The sudden stretch fucking burned as you clamped down on him like a vice, wincing and groaning.

“You’ll what?” He urged, eyes fixated on your face, watching every single muscle twitch, noticing the way your cock spurt a fresh stream of precum down the throbbing shaft. “C’mon, don’t get all shy on me now. What were you saying?”

He thrust his fingers in and out slowly, emphasizing the wet squelching sounds of your asshole. You could feel his breaths brushing against your heated skin, sending shivers up and down your spine that ended in your fingertips. Your knees ached and your arms were growing numb from being tied back for so long but you figured you could ignore it for a little while longer if it meant you’d get what you wanted. His dick, namely.

“I’ll—agh, fuck—I’ll…” you trailed off, hardly able to form a coherent sentence with the way he massaged your prostate so perfectly. “Just… just shut up,” you muttered finally, breathless and unfocused as you stared at the spot you connected from the reflection in the old mirror. A subtle feeling of embarrassment settled in your heaving chest when you heard the raspy sound of his chuckle.

“Is that it?” He taunted, locking eyes with you. His free hand slid upwards, teasing your nipples through your shirt to watch you squirm. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight. I’m startin’ to question whether or not you’re really some hotshot Sorcerer.”

It was hard to refute him when you looked the way you did—all messy and disheveled and desperate, hard for the man supposed to kill you. You were completely unlike yourself hardly half an hour ago, but you barely gave a shit. How could you when the hottest man you’ve ever seen was behind you, fingerfucking your eager hole? Chances like these don’t come often to you, that’s for sure.

You shivered and moaned, leaning back against his chest. Your hips practically moved on their own accord, thighs flexing to keep yourself upright as you tried to fuck yourself on his thick digits. Toji could see the way your eyes unfocused and glossed over with understimulated tears, frustrated and horribly pent-up.

He gave your prostate a quick jab, firm enough to intensify the heated coil in your belly, but too fast to savor. He wasn’t planning on giving in to you so easily as he avoided your sensitive spot, instead moving his fingers in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

“God—stop doing that,” you pleaded. You felt like an open book, unable to stop yourself from furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance or conceal the painstakingly obvious glint of hunger in your pupil-blown irises.

“Quit whinin’ and maybe I’ll consider it,” he murmured gruffly, enraptured by the way you writhed and squirmed and looked just downright pathetic. You both knew he wouldn’t, not when all the others he’s fucked couldn’t hold a candle to your pliant little body. You knew why he was there in the first place, but still, you remained there on your knees even when he untied them.

You nearly let out a sob when he curled his fingers again, offering you the barest of touches to your prostate that sent liquid fire coursing through your veins.

“Fuck, please,” you begged, yet again. You didn’t know much of this you could take or how long it’d be until he caved. God, was it so much to ask for a man to fuck you stupid?!

“I want your cock inside me so bad, fucking me fast ‘n’ hard ‘n’ deep,” you slurred, hardly able to maintain even the barest shred of dignity. You looked into his deep, green eyes through the mirror’s reflection, hoping he’d relent.

“Yeah? Y’want me in this slutty pussy?” He purred, sliding his slick fingers out of your twitching hole to give it a sharp slap. You jolted just as a spurt of precum slid down your hard cock, leaking onto your clothed, heaving abdomen. He chuckled breathlessly as he leisurely rubbed your puffy rim with the pad of a finger. “You should’ve just said so.”

He wiped his fingers off on the back of your shirt, offering you an oblivious shrug when you glared at him through the mirror. Your knees ached when he had you lean forward a little, placing your more of your weight on the poor joints as he reached down to quickly jerk himself off before tapping the tip of his dick on your asshole one, two, three quick times.

It felt like he was splitting you apart when he finally decided to push through after spitting on your hole, groaning at the way you squeezed around him tighter than a damn virgin. It hurt like a bitch. Of course it did—you made him rush and he was using less than ideal lube, but, God, you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t feel so fucking good.

You watched him lean back a little and hold you by the ropes binding your arms together, rolling his hips experimentally, only to grind his cockhead into your prostate so deliciously you saw stars. A searing heat enveloped your body, blinding you with white that took you far too long to come down from. Opening your eyes (you didn’t even realize you closed them), you instantly spotted your twitching cock drooling cum onto the floor. Fuck. He didn’t even start and you came.

“That was so damn fast.” He couldn’t be bothered to stop the hint of a laugh from leaving his throat. With his free hand, he reached down and gave your throbbing dick a squeeze, stroking it with a tight grip to milk out the rest of your cum.

You shuddered and trembled, biting your lip to stifle your moans. He let go to stuff two of his slick fingers in your mouth, careless with how deep he forced them in. Not that you really minded as you swirled your tongue around his skin, readily cleaning it off. You locked eyes, keeping your expression firm in a weak attempt to regain even a sliver of composure when he suddenly moved, giving you a quick, harsh thrust that nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

He shifted his fingers, curling them as they pulled on your cheek, tugging at the flesh until he forces your mouth wide open. You couldn’t stop your tongue from lolling out, jaw slack as you drooled and whined and cried every time he rammed his thick cock into your eager fuckhole. He was relentless—pounding into you fast and hard and deep, just like you begged for so prettily.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, digging his fingertips into the flesh of your hip hard enough to leave bruises, arms flexing to yank you back as soon as he pulled out. “Your pussy’s so damn tight,” he panted, brows furrowed in focus, relishing in the sound of his hips slapping your ass and your whorish moans. “M’gonna make sure your messy little cunt remembers my cock by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Uh-huh, mhm,” you nodded, hands itching to grab onto his biceps, his back, something to ground yourself while he churned your insides to mush. It was nigh impossible to think or breathe or speak, but it felt so fucking good.

“Awh, look at yourself,” he cooed, his voice slightly jumpy as he let go of your mouth to roughly pat your cheek, forcing you out of your stupor to make you stare at your reflection. “Are you out of it already? Should I stop?” He questioned, his raspy voice laced with faux concern.

“No! N-No,” you stammered, finding it difficult to comprehend what he was saying until moments later, alerted by the word “stop”. “Don’t stop! Ohh, oh god, please don’t stop!”

You’re so, so sensitive and so full, and you can feel him losing his rhythm. His cock is heavy in your stomach and you swear through your addled brain it’s weighing you down as a trail of precum connects your heated bodies together, frothing between your thighs and his balls.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunted, gritting his teeth. He could feel the burning coil in his abdomen intensify with each passing second, and suddenly he’s speeding up, pistoning into you with loud and sloppy thrusts. His green eyes are locked on your swollen and puffy hole sucking him in with a vice grip, watching his cock slide in and out, in and out, over and over again until you’re cumming hard, shaking and convulsing.

“That’s it,” he growls, the sound low and deep. It went straight into your stomach, sparks lighting up under your skin as your hips jerk, unsure whether you want to endure the building overstimulation or move away. “M’gonna cum so deep inside your pretty little pussy I’ll knock you up,” he murmured in your ear, dragging a canine down your neck to clamp his teeth down on the flesh. “Y’want that? To be my breeding bitch?”

You sobbed, unable to answer, but he didn’t need one. Not when your body spoke for you.

He fucked the air out of your lungs one, two, three more times, feeling his balls tighten until he finally came, spilling his cum so deep inside you, you were sure it’d stay there for weeks. You moaned, savoring the warmth that spread through your body with each spurt of his cum that coated your velvety insides, trying to catch your breath before you had to move.

Toji sighed in satisfaction, pulling out after a few moments. He watched your fucked-out hole clench around nothing as it leaked with his seed, spreading one of your asscheeks to get a better view before giving it a final pat.

You didn’t realize he cut the ropes holding your arms behind your back until you nearly fell face-first onto the floor, catching yourself with your numb hands.

“Ow… fuck,” you cursed at the sharp stinging sensation that ran up your arms, shaking them uselessly in an attempt to restore the blood flow faster.

“You were better than I thought you’d be,” he hummed, getting up to fix his clothes. He grabbed his handgun from off the ground, holding it against his shoulder as he stared you down. “But you have three days. Make ‘em count.”

You weren’t oblivious to know that he was giving you a three-day recovery period before he began hunting you again. Even then, you couldn’t stop the shiver of excitement from running through your spine at the prospect of seeing him again.

You grinned, breathless and shaky but confident nonetheless. It was unlikely he’d fuck you once he found you, but a man could dream. "I will."

cross-posted on ao3

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —TEN

↳ A/N Thank you all so much for the growing interest in LLOID! You're always more than welcome to leave comments or send in asks about the universe...your thoughts, questions, and anything else <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 5.6k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, nsfw, borderline exhibitionism/risky, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk (with very minor degradation if you squint), slight hair pulling, spit, it gets a little messy...

George was wearing pleated grey dress slacks that morning. The expensive fabric stretched down the mile-long trail of his legs in a pristine straight cut that landed just at the top of his polished black loafers. They fit him like they were tailored right to his body, moulding around the muscle of his thighs and around the curve of his ass, sitting precisely around his waist by a black leather belt with a silver buckle. Rosaline wondered if he was wearing another pair of Tommy Hilfiger boxer briefs underneath. 

He addressed the class with his usual gravitas, arms moving in broad strokes through the air of the lecture hall, piece of chalk in hand, the fabric of his tucked-in plain white button-up creasing and wrinkling with his every move. Rosaline’s eyes flickered between him and her laptop screen as she furiously typed her notes, desperate not to let the fact that she knew what he looked like under all those clothes distract her from her studies. 

The sudden poke of her arm had her startling, turning to the classmate beside her with an expression she tried not to make appear so guilty. She wasn’t even sure when he had appeared since the seat beside her had been empty since class had begun. Probably yet another careless student sauntering in late…and now asking to borrow a pencil like he couldn’t show up to university prepared. Rosaline tried not to appear visibly disgusted when she watched him absentmindedly chew on the end of her pencil as the lecture progressed. 

College boys, she thought as she focused back on Professor Russell and his enticing maturity, they really were all the same. 

Rosaline’s second class of the day was canceled which allowed her to finally be able to join Tabitha and Max for lunch. She found them in the New College dining hall, situated at the far end of one of the lengthy communal tables. Gold framed portraits of scholars and headmasters past peered down at them from the wood trimmed wall at the head of the great room, likely judging Max’s neverending critique of British cuisine. 

His grumpy ramblings were interrupted by Rosaline’s arrival as she set her tray down beside Tabitha with a clatter, muffled by the sounds of the lively dining hall that echoed the students’ chatter right up to the rafters of the impossibly high peaked ceilings. Tabitha shifted herself over a little to give her room. 

Rosaline took her seat with a tired sigh and a breathy, “Hey. What did I miss?”

Tabitha answered for them, her arms folded on the edge of the table as she nodded her head towards a frowning Max, “He’s throwing a fit over today’s menu.”

Max looked over at her with an even deeper frown, the furrow between his brows strengthening as he pressed, “I am not throwing a fit. I am simply stating the obvious that British food is the worst cuisine on planet Earth and this sad excuse for lunch is proof.”

Rosaline was quick on the defence as she opened her can of soda, “I doubt Dutch food is any better.”

Max’s head nearly whipped in her direction, eyebrows so high in disbelief at her statement that they were nearly clean off his forehead, and his index finger raised from the table top as he said seriously, “Actually—”

“Okay,” Tabitha laughed, strained and tired, and pushed Max’s tray closer to him as if to encourage him like a toddler, “you’ve been on this for fifteen minutes now, mate, can you please just shut up and eat?”

Max grumbled under his breath but picked up his fork. Rosaline contentedly dug into her own lunch; thankful for something more than a bagel with cream cheese that she normally would scarf down between her classes. In the brief moment of quiet amongst their trio, behind the white noise of the bustling dining hall, her mind wandered back to her morning class and Professor Russell in those slacks. 

It was still hard for her mind to process that she knew what he looked like under them; every arch and valley of his muscle, the hair of his thighs, the mouth-watering shape of his cock. The sounds he made when she touched him still echoed in her mind even four days later. The worst part about this whole ordeal was not being able to talk to him outside of their scheduled office hours, not being able to throw herself over the rows of the lecture hall to kiss him when he spoke a particularly beautiful line of prose. Oh, God, his lips were so incredibly—

“Hello?” Max’s hand was suddenly in her line of vision as he tapped his fingertips against the table top in front of her to get her attention.

Rosaline looked up at him and then over at Tabitha, realizing both had been staring at her expectantly. She mumbled a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Max repeated himself, “I said: I can’t believe you made us wait until today to update us on how your night with the rich kid went.”

Tabitha spoke up, “To which I said: Charles isn’t here. We can’t get updates without him.”

“Sure, we can.” Max waved off her concern, “I’ll update him tonight.”

While Max picked at his subpar lunch, Rosaline updated her two friends on the goings-on from Friday night. As always, she kept the identity of her lover a secret, but spoke down to almost every other detail what had transpired. The drinks, the kissing, the exploring…making him come. She kept her voice low so as to not have her voice be carried through the peaked ceilings and to every other student in the dining hall, the trio leaning towards each other across the table as if in a top secret meeting in broad daylight. 

Rosaline found herself rambling on about how she couldn’t stop thinking about Friday night, how she craved him more than ever before. It was a feeling unlike any other; all encompassing and infuriatingly unquenchable. She hadn’t done much of anything yet but the sureness she felt in wanting more made it feel like she was already miles ahead of where she was. 

Max had a simple solution, delivered with his usual deadpan expression of sincerity, “Go and surprise him then.”

Rosaline was taken aback for a moment, blinking at him, before finally, “Just like that? What if he doesn’t want it?”

“He’s a guy, is he not?” Max pressed like it was obvious, “He’s gonna want it.”

It wasn’t like Rosaline to so willingly accept Max’s unwarranted advice but maybe it was the lust that was still hot in her veins that had her thinking that he might have had a point. What did she have to lose?

At 1pm sharp the very next day, Rosaline knocked on the frosted glass of Professor Russell’s office door. She held her usual file folder in her arm, housing another short story written in haste the night before for his eyes only. She stood for the few seconds it took for the door to open anxiously anticipating their meeting and the progression she hoped it would take thanks to the meticulous plan she had crafted from Max’s little idea. 

The door swung open, and to Rosaline's surprise, it wasn’t George on the other side. Instead, there stood a man slightly shorter than him, donning an awkwardly obvious half-bald, half-grey wig and a poor imitation of a Shakespearean costume—right down to the puffy breeches, tall white socks, and heeled black boots.

Rosaline blinked at him, momentarily speechless.

“Good morrow, fair maiden,” he announced in a theatrical tone that sounded oddly more Australian than British, despite his best efforts. With a sweeping bow, he bent at the waist, arm draped across his chest, completing the ridiculous image.

Rosaline didn’t know what to say, staring wide eyed at him.

“Daniel.”

Rosaline’s eyes flicked past the strange man to find George standing behind his desk, smoothie bottle in hand, an unimpressed expression on his face. 

“Please stop traumatizing my pupil.”

The unfamiliar man stood up straight again and turned to George with a playful huff and a finicky readjustment of his fake salt and pepper wig. Despite his feigned exasperation, his face housed a wide toothy grin framed by a tidy and very real salt and pepper beard. In a voice that was solely Australian and no longer housing that horrid attempt at an old-timey British accent, he chided his friend with a, “Ah, come on, mate. All in good fun.”

With a pointed glance in the direction of Daniel, George then turned to Rosaline and gestured her in with a calm smile, “Come on in, Miss Kent.” 

Rosaline—who had not anticipated someone else in the room and thus was incredibly caught off guard—shuffled past Daniel and took a few steps farther into the office. She naturally gravitated towards George with her folder clutched protectively to her chest.

“Is it the breeches?” Daniel looked down to the puffy pants he was wearing, pinching the excess material between thumb and forefinger and giving it a little ruffle, “Are they intimidating?”

“They’re ridiculous.” George corrected him smoothly with a peak of his brow, setting his smoothie bottle back on his desk, “Don’t you have a class to teach about now?”

Daniel lifted his arm up to check his watch, “Mm, I have a few minutes to spare but I should probably head out. I have things to set up still.”

“Alright. I’ll see you around, Danny.” George waved him off, lifting his smoothie bottle from his desk again.

Daniel pulled another dramatic bow, one pointed boot crossed behind the other and everything, “I will bid you both adieu.” 

And then he was straightening up with a beaming grin at his own hilarity and turning for the door.

“Close the door behind you, Shakespeare.” George called after him, his voice light and amused and only slightly exasperated. 

In silent agreement, the office door was shut but they could still hear Daniel’s boisterous laughter fading down the hallway, his loud voice greeting some other faculty as they passed by. George smiled to his desk and took a sip of smoothie before capping it and setting it back on his desk as he settled in his chair. 

Rosaline must have still looked a little dumbfounded and a little confused as George explained to her casually, “Daniel teaches History of the English Language. Apparently it’s his Shakespearean English lecture today…hence the ridiculous getup.” 

“I see.” Rosaline chuckled softly.

“But enough about him,” George folded his hands together on the top of his desk and looked up at her still standing on the other side. He gestured to her usual seat across from him, “shall we get started?”

He was so good at pretending nothing was going on; so easy to fall into the routine of professionalism in these meetings. Rosaline appreciated his dedication to his craft but, at the same time, as a woman, she yearned to see him outside of their Oxford bubble. Friday night was a taste of what it would be like. She wanted more. She had to somehow tell him that she wanted more. 

“Well,” she cleared her throat and looked down at the folder still clutched to her chest, “I actually brought a short piece of writing for you to review today, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course.” George agreed, leaning back from his desk to relax into his chair more comfortably and he held out his hand towards her to accept the pages. 

The smile he offered her as she passed over the thin stack made her heart skip. He rested back in his chair and opened the blue file folder to reveal the first page, always meticulously laid out in a proper MLA title page format with her name, date, and his name as recipient. Rosaline pulled over one of the chairs to sit beside him. He didn’t bat an eye; their closeness was familiar now. 

George turned to the next page, immediately put into the heart of the smut within the very first line. His eyebrows raised in surprise at the content but his eyes didn’t leave the page, finishing the first paragraph before glancing over at her with a sly smile.

“Someone’s been busy.” he noted playfully.

Rosaline merely shrugged, leaning towards him with a matching bashful smile, “I’ve just been feeling inspired…since Friday.” 

“Mmm.” George offered a half nod as he looked back to the open file folder in his hand to continue to read. Without tearing his eyes away from the narrative, he moved forward to rest the pages down on top of his desk. Rosaline moved with him, scooting her chair a little closer too. 

She just stared at his profile for a moment as he read, his chin in his hand, fingers resting against his lips, elbow balanced on the arm of his desk chair. His eyes flitted across the page in consistent strokes chalked full of concentration and, when he flipped the page to the next one, he continued right where he left off. Rosaline drifted her gaze from his handsome face to his angular jawline and, finally, down to the collar of his pressed button up shirt. He was wearing a tie that day—he didn’t often—and she caught herself staring at the way he hugged his thick neck snugly.

Max’s words echoed in the back of her mind: “He’s gonna want it.”

Rosaline leaned closer and, in a fit of bravery, pressed her lips to the line of his jaw in a soft kiss. She could feel his surprise intake of breath at her action���and maybe it was her imagination but she could have sworn he shivered a little too. 

“Rosaline.” George nearly purred, a small breathy chuckle laced in his tone.

“What?” she replied sweetly, pressing another kiss just under his ear. 

“Mm, are you trying to take advantage of me here?” he teased, dropping his hand to rest on her knee as he turned his head to look at her. 

The look in his eyes was intoxicating; full of desire. She leaned in again, this time to press a kiss to his lips. George reciprocated almost right away, pushing back against her kiss with need of his own, his hand moving to cradle her face. Their lips met and parted in practiced ease, the office welcoming the quiet sounds of their kisses, Rosaline growing more and more familiar and comfortable every time they found themselves in such a position.

“Okay,” George chuckled warmly after a few seconds, pausing just long enough between thoughts to kiss her once more, “that’s enough.”

Rosaline licked away her smile and watched him turn back to her writing still laying open on his desk. His hand lingered on her knee. 

Her eyes skimmed down his body as he sat beside her in his office chair, the crisp ironed material of his slacks hugging his thighs tight and almost pulled snugly over his groin, creased and drawing her eye in. The same thoughts from the previous day returned to her, thoughts of his body and what she knew he looked like beneath those classy and expensive clothes and, specifically, how much she wanted to get him out of them again. 

Without a word, she slowly slipped off her chair and sank to her knees on the floor in front of him, hidden slightly by the shadow of his desk. 

George’s eyebrows raised astronomically and he sat back from his desk in shock at her unanticipated move, “Rosaline.”

She smiled sweetly up at him, resting her hands on his thighs as she situated herself between them. 

“Rosaline, darling—” George stammered, a nervous laugh slipping from his lips as his eyes flicked over to his closed office door. But the feeling of her hand resting purposefully against the front of his slacks had him looking back down at her with a shaky warn, “Rose-”

Her palm rubbed slowly over the front of his pants, her eyes focused upwards at his face, asking an innocent, “What?”

George let out a heavy sigh through his nose, slouching back in his chair a little more as his eyes dropped to her hand. He didn’t answer her at first, as if he were torn between right and wrong for an uncountable time since they had solidified their agreement. But he didn’t need to say anything because Rosaline could feel him getting hard under her hand. She would never outwardly admit it but Max was so right.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip to bite back her smile as her fingers started working at the buckle of his belt, unpinning it and sliding the leather out. George didn’t protest, merely shifting his chair to get more comfortable and giving her room to do as she pleased. Rosaline watched carefully as she unbuttoned his slacks and tugged the little zipper down, rising up onto her knees a little more to see.

George tuttted as he lowered a hand from the edge of his desk to gently stroke her hair, “You want to explore a little more? Friday wasn’t enough for you?”

Rosaline’s gaze flicked up to his face with a bashful smile and a shake of her head, “No.”

“We shouldn’t do this here though, darling.” George reminded her in a breath that sounded entirely unconvincing, “Too many variables…”

Instead of being deterred by his warning, she tugged open his fly some more and then pulled down the front of his underwear. He didn’t make any move to stop her. With a careful hand, Rosaline reached in to carefully pull his dick out all the way, her gentle fingertips on the shaft feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch and the way he was stiffening up little by little. 

Her eyes—wide and wondering—were locked on him, her tongue darting out to dampen her lips. George stroked her hair again, his other hand resting aimlessly on his desk, his attention easily having moved from her short story to her the moment she dropped to her knees in front of him, hidden away salaciously under the shadow of his desk. Rosaline gently moved her fingertips up the length of his cock and back down. 

“Darling…” he exhaled, his body succumbing to her ghostly touch against his will. 

He stiffened up even more under her barely-there touches until he was entirely hard, his dick standing up from his body and pesteringly needy for more. With a strained huff, George shifted in his desk chair again, hips faintly rising off the seat barely a millimeter before reconfiguring. Rosaline watched his every movement in near awe. Then, in some sort of lust-stemmed bravery, encouraged by his lack of stopping her, she reached into his slacks again and gently lifted out his balls too. 

George let out some surprise noise that sounded like he tried to cover it up by a breath. His hand tangled into her hair just a little. His thumb caressed the base of her scalp and her eyelids fluttered at the feeling. With a hum, she slowly moved her fingertips over the length of his cock a few more times, barely touching him, before her hand drifted lower to graze over the flesh of his balls. Dotted in coarse brown hair, her fingers traced the shape of them, taking note of every shudder of his breath. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. He wasn’t stopping her.

Rosaline shifted on her knees in front of him, leaning a little closer towards his lap. Her eyes never wavered from his cock right in front of her, angled out of his open slacks and so deliciously hard. Her heart was racing, feeling like the room was spinning with how badly she wanted this. With one more lick to her lips, she dropped her tongue out and ever so cautiously, pressed the tip of her tongue to the tip of his dick. 

George took in a sharp gasp in surprise, legs flinching slightly on either side of her, huffing out a strained, “Rose-”

The foreskin was still pulled over the soft pink tip, leaving only the slit of his cock peeking out the top. Her eyes were trained in on it, the thrill filling her veins, desperate to get more of a reaction out of him. She leaned down again, giving him another barely-there lap of her tongue over the thin protective flesh over his dick. 

“Holy shit, baby.” George exhaled, “Are you sure you want to—”

Rosaline leaned in again for another little lick, then another, and then dragged the flat of her tongue right over the slit in his cock before sitting back on her haunches again. She licked her lips, trying to taste the ever so faint salty taste of precum that her tongue had touched. It was not a lot—only the tiniest amount—but enough that she could taste something. It was thrilling. Her hands caressed his parted thighs over the fabric of his slacks, eyes trained in on his dick and balls pulled from his open fly. 

When she leaned back in tentatively for another little lick, his dick involuntarily twitched away from her mouth almost instinctively, as if her teasing had been far too much to bear. She glanced up at him in surprise but then they both shared light, breathy laughter. George’s hips flexed slightly as if chasing her touch.

With a cautious hand, Rosaline reached out to take his dick in a gentle but sure grasp so it couldn’t flinch away when she leaned in again to give it another testing lick. When she pulled back, a small string of spit connected her tongue to the tip and it broke almost as quickly as it was formed. George pet her hair again, comfortably lounged in his office chair and letting her explore as she pleased. It was their agreement, afterall. 

Rosaline started to gently move her hand downwards, carefully pulling back the thin foreskin away from the smooth head of his dick. She could feel her mouth watering at the sight of it, a pathetic ache growing inside her, an ever-present need to discover everything he had to offer. So she leaned in again, gingerly dragging her tongue along the underside of the head in another testing lick.

George pulled in a tight breath and his fingers tangled into the roots of her hair at the back of her head. When she glanced up at him after another little lick, she soared with pride at the sight of his long eyelashes fluttering over lust-blown eyes. His bottom lip was momentarily caught by his perfectly straight teeth as he stared down at her and when he released it, it was a slightly pinker shade that made him all the more alluring. 

Rosaline kept those sweet little kitten licks to the tip, just underneath, along the slit, until he was almost squirming in his chair. His hips discreetly pushed up against her hand, chasing more of the warm wetness of her tongue…her mouth. She knew he’d never push her for it and that everything she did was of her own free will even if his natural instinct to chase that pleasure was causing his body to move towards her. He was offering himself up to her. 

Her hand stroked him slowly, moving with the ease of his foreskin beneath her soft palm, and she spoke to him in an angelic voice, “Don’t you want to keep reading?”

George blinked at her for a moment, his eyes hazy, trying to recall what she was talking about for a moment. Then, his brain waves finally connected and he glanced over to the top of his desk where her short story was left open, his mouth forming a soft ‘o’. He cleared his throat, shifted a little, “Right, of course.”

As he focused his attention back on her salacious story she had written for him, Rosaline kept up the timid strokes of her hand and those incredibly taunting kitten licks. But, this distraction she offered him was enough to allow her a moment to gather her racing mind into a coherent thought. Finally, she leaned down towards his lap once more and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock. 

George flinched so hard in surprise he almost knocked his knee on the underside of his desk, gasping out a tight, “Jesus—”

Rosaline kept her lips around him, her eyes raising up to his just as he looked down at her with unmissable shock all over his face. The look in her eyes was so unintentionally innocent, staring up at him with his cock in her mouth like she had no idea what she was doing. On the contrary, she had written plenty enough to know exactly what she was doing. 

To hell with reading, George’s entire attention shifted down to her instead as his body slouched down a little more in his office chair to spread his legs wider to welcome her closer. Rosaline, with a watering mouth, leaned in and sank lower down his dick with her tongue gliding along the underside before pulling back just as slowly. Tentatively, testingly. The shudder of his breath had her heart soaring. 

She lowered her hands down to the hardwood floor to help steady herself as she let her mouth do the work, starting to find a cautious pace up and down along the length of his cock. George had one hand resting atop his desk and his other resting on the arm of his chair, clutching onto the leather as if to hold himself back from doing something to brash in the face of lust. She could feel his eyes on him and for a moment she kept hers closed as if meeting his gaze would be too much to bear in such a situation. 

“Ohh, my God, Rose—”

George’s thick voice was like heaven to her, forcing a moan from her throat to vibrate around the shaft of his dick where her lips were wrapped. His hand dropped from his desk to rake through her hair, pulling some of the strands away from her face to grasp back in his fist, sharing in her sounds of pleasure with a shaky groan of his own. 

Her eyes finally raised to his, her insides swirling with lust as she watched the pleasured expression on his handsome face; the heaviness of his lashes, the flush on his cheeks, the tightness of his jaw between panted breaths past swollen lips. As if by its own mind, her mouth moved faster, bobbing her head into his lap a little more insistently. 

George tightened his hand in her hair, staring down at her and the way her face was in his lap, his cock snug in the warm wet confines of her mouth. Her movements were fueled by physical inexperience, unfamiliar in the motions with just a bit of teeth getting in the way, but with an underlying knowledge of exactly what to do like she was doing it by the book. A clever girl, well read and well written in all the most salacious of texts. 

“That’s it, darling,” George all but purred, his voice as rich as velvet, hip hips ever so faintly bucking up towards her mouth, “Ohh, yeah, that’s it.”

Rosaline lifted a hand to rest on his leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of his thigh, while her other wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick. She kept her eyes up his body and trained in on his face as she kept going, her mouth only growing wetter as she drooled around him and the lewd sound of every down-push of her mouth filled the air around them. 

“Look at you…” George exhaled, guiding her motions by his hand in his hair, “Beautiful girl on her knees…knowing just how to suck dick…don’t you, my delightful little contradiction?”

Rosaline’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment as the heat that burned within her sent an unbelievable ache right between her legs. She pulled off his dick with a small whine that she hadn’t even realized was brewing in her throat, spit trailing from her lips and connecting her to the head of his cock. Her eyes felt heavy, dreamy, her mind hazy and almost out-of-body. She licked her lips free of spit but only pursed them as George guided the head of his cock along her cupid’s bow, back and forth. 

She blinked up at him from her spot on her knees between his legs, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue to let him rub his dick all over her. George groaned low in his chest, watching her just sit there and take it even as he smeared her spit and his pre-cum over her lips and cheeks.

“Look at you,” he repeated breathily, “such beautiful eyes behind those pretty glasses…fuck, I want to cum all over those glasses…cum all over your face.”

Rosaline audibly withered, clenching her thighs together on the floor in front of him, absolutely drunk on lust. She had never felt so erotically pathetic before; completely void of thoughts except just wanting his dick back in her mouth, to give him what he wanted, to make him come as much as he wanted. 

Before she could, however, a sharp knock sounded at the office door, followed by its immediate opening—too quick for George to react. Rosaline froze, still on her knees, mercifully shielded by the large walnut desk, her heart hammering. George barely had time to shove his chair forward, concealing the fact that his entire cock and balls were out of his pulled open trousers, before Daniel strode in, fully dressed in his Shakespeare costume, utterly unfazed.

“Hey, Georgie.” Daniel greeted him casually, the door closing behind him as he surveyed the room, seeing that it appeared George was now alone, “Sorry to bother you. You’re done with your meeting with your mentee already?”

George cleared his throat and tried to look as casual as he could as he shuffled the loose pages of Rosaline’s erotica across his desk to hide them back in the file folder, “Yep. Yeah, she’s not here.”

“Clearly.” Daniel snorted, traipsing closer to help himself to the single remaining chair across from his desk. He stated, “Fast meeting. You’re that good of a mentor, huh? Just in and out.”

With a snap of his fingers to finish his lighthearted point, Daniel let out a laugh.

George’s laugh sounded almost painfully strained but perhaps that was just because Rosaline knew he was hiding something. He was hiding her. In desperate need to help Daniel with whatever he wanted that made him just let himself into his office, George asked, “So what do you want?”

“Ah, nothing particular, mate. Just wanted to chat. My class loved my Shakespeare getup, by the way. Was a complete show-shopper, really.” 

“That’s great, Danny.” George replied, fiddling with his pen in his hand as if to make it look like he had been doing something important.

While Daniel went on about how his lecture had gone—entirely clueless as to what had been going on milliseconds before he barged in—Rosaline could see George’s leg bouncing restlessly under his desk from where she was frozen. She barely breathed, barely moved, still tucked half under the large desk right beside George’s chair. Her knees were starting to burn from how she was kneeling on the wood floors in one spot for so long, an uncomfortable ache radiating up into her thighs.

Moving as cautiously as she could, she set her hands behind her on the wood floor to shift off her knees and onto her bum. The old floorboards creaked under her movements. She froze and glanced up at George. He didn’t acknowledge her, simply shifting a little in his chair to play it off like it was him who caused the sound. Perhaps Daniel was too busy talking to even realize anyway. They couldn’t be too careful. 

When Daniel had finished his story about his class and George had responded with required pleasantries to make him feel heard, George followed it up with a, “Always lovely to chat, mate, but I am swamped right now.” 

He shuffled a few papers on his desk to sell it a little more, fiddling with his pen in his fingers. 

“Alright, I get it. How could I forget; you always put your work first before anything or anyone else.” Daniel sighed dramatically, although there was no real heat behind his tone. The old chair creaked slightly as he rose out of it. “Are we still on for tonight though? Drinks and the Bills game at mine?”

George let out almost a reluctant sigh.

Daniel jumped right in again, “You can’t cancel on me! You’re coming.”

“One of these days can we watch proper football?” 

“Mate, what are you on about? You can’t—” said Daniel, his voice nothing short of exasperated as he let out a huff, “We are not having this conversation again. Just come over, alright? 8pm.”

“Okay, yes, okay.” George relented.

“8pm!”

“8pm. Got it. Thanks so much.”

The office door closed with a click. George physically and audibly eased into a heavy sigh, his head dropping back against his chair for a moment, raising a hand to press against his heart. Rosaline shifted in place still hidden behind his desk, peering up at him from the grimey floor.

“Holy shit.” she breathed out in relief. 

“Okay, that was too close.” said George seriously, pushing the chair away from his desk a little so he could tuck his now pathetically soft dick back in his trousers and zip them up, “We can’t keep doing this on campus. The library was close enough but this?”

Rosaline’s racing heart and her veins filled with cortisol had her agreeing without argument from the floor.

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[kit-williams]

Yandere Magnus, Fulgrim, Corvux, Khan and Mortarion... please?

So uh I'm probably going to look at some of my earlier Yandere Primarchs (and Abbadon and the Emps) and redo them just so that everyone gets a small blurb

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

Yandere Magnus: I've mentioned somewhere that Yandere Magnus is a less intense version of a Yandere Emperor. He will still use the same tricks as his father no doubt. Shapeshifting into something alluring and pleasing to you... using his psychic gifts to find out everything about you. How you came into his notice... it could have been the most mundane thing you accidentally brushing up against him when delving into the immaterium if you are a psyker... if you are not perhaps it was just a thought you held onto tightly that just danced on by his gaze and he followed it back to it's source.

Regardless of who you are or how you caught his attention... he's looking now he's now interested! You might not have been in the dating market because things weren't going your way and the stress of trying to eek out a living was stressful enough. But soon enough things go your way and you feel like you might try to date again... and then suddenly this handsome man seems to waltz into your life... you're certain you saw him in a dream.

It practically makes your head swim with how much he knows and understands you! Fights seem to fizzle out as you've hardly met someone willing to talk through arguments like him... just everything feels so dizzingly perfect so perfect you can't help but feel blindsided when the ruse is up but by that point it's too late... but it was already far too late as you had sealed your fate with that first smile that reached your eyes as he gazed into what he considered a beautiful mind.

Yandere Fulgrim: Depend son when he is acting like a yandere... under the influence of the Leer blade is the most likely time he would indulge in those feelings he's been bottling up; that or he's always been one and each of his wives were each a darling. Fulgrim is going to try to slip a collar around your neck and hold that leash tightly so you can't leave him all while he just sweet talks you into submitting to him. All his wives had similar features to your own... they all held passion in their hobbies something you've only been able to recently indulge... You're going to LEAVE him just like they LEFT him! It wasn't fair! Why did you all have such horrifyingly short lives!

How DARE YOU! How dare they all wrap his hearts up with kisses and love and adoration holding it in their hands and EACH AND EVERYTIME THEY DIED IT DROPPED. His heart shattering every time his wives died. He swore off marrying again! But you oh his beautiful rose... he was willing to make an exception for you. Perhaps he didn't need to tie the knot in that way again he was a Primarch he could easily seduce you and just have you as his paramour... but that felt so beneath him... and unfair to you. People talk oh how they would TALK about how you would be nothing more then his fucktoy if all he did was use you for sex.

Fulgrim clenched his jaw as it was unfair you had such short blazingly BRIGHT lives. He considered killing you and preserving you so that you would never leave him. But then there would be no more smiles from you... no more soft laughs... no longer giving him the look as he gently explained things to you... you were odd...Fulgrim liked odd. Normal was overrated anyway... He could feel himself getting worked up more and more into a manic state.

Till your voice pierced the haze and he smiled at you as his mind was rolling... watching your lips move with each syllable you clearly spoke... his eyes flicked to the plain robes... those no longer would do... he'd dress you up in the prettiest of dresses and jewels like a perfect doll. "I might need to update your outfit my dear." He interrupts whatever banal thing you were telling him, "Won't you allow me to see how pretty I can make you look." He says stalking closer... oh yes he liked you... oblivious to his intentions... just the way he liked.

Yandere Corvus: He stalks as his primary method of getting close... he yearns and he silently pines for you to look at him with the same gentle looks as you give your friends and family. But the shadows are his friend and it comes less and less of yours... as you feel like you're going crazy... you feel like someone has been following you... like you're always being watched. Perhaps you shouldn't have fed those birds but its not the feeling of being watched that is driving you mad.

You can feel it in the dark... that someone else is there in the shadows... running hands over your body no matter how tightly you pull your blanket close to you at night. You feel fleeting touches in your hair, strands catching on something but there is nothing there to catch your hair... the worse one is the feeling of kisses on your skin. The whisper of your name sometimes it feels like something is trying to get your attention... other times you hear it moaned.

You even dared to get yourself checked out to see if you were a psyker but no you were not which you feel is much worse. You feel things start to slip through your fingers as you feel like you're going crazy... till you wake up one night to see something over your bed. The scream dies in your throat as you just feel so afraid to make a noise as lips ghost over your cheek "Shhh relax" is all he whispers before you pass out afraid. And unfortunately for you... you'll wake up somewhere new.

Yandere Khan: The Khan is hard to yandere because he's so normal... he's funny, he's polite, he's a bit of an ass as well, but he's also ruthless. But perhaps that's what makes him something that his brothers probably aren't... he's a successful yandere. He's successful in keeping his darling in the dark... successful in keeping his darling close all while in the background and out of sight his perversions are played out.

He holds you so tightly when he wants to be affectionate... the way he at times can drown you in affection that it's almost too much but the primarch tells you that he can't help it as his hearts get so full that he has to just show you how much he loves you. Other poetic motions that can easily hide the red flags that speed on past your eyes.

Yandere Mortarion: Sickly sweet until you try to pull away and then his selfish side comes out and you will be like a rabbit caught in a wire trap where the wire squeezes your neck tighter and tighter. Of course most of what he grows will be used to make chemical weapons but you can't help but be enamored with the beauty of the deadly garden. Though perhaps the caretaker of this deadly garden is enamored by you. He wants something nice... something soft... something sweet... and he starts off with giving gifts. He's not blind to mortals customs of courtship having more often then not been the companion that would listen to his friends, Calas mostly, tirades of not knowing what they were doing wrong and yet somehow it was himself that could point out the obvious.

It was the fact he wasn't to the standards of his fellows; apparently he was intimidating... he was ethereal... just what he would learn that there was apparently being far too attractive for your own good... at least for him on Barbaras; he knew he was skin and bones. But he liked to give you gifts from his garden... the wreaths he would weave of flowers that spoke of the depths of his love for you... how he would treasure and cherish you... how he wouldn't let you go... toxic flowers woven in as this was all done in the Barbarasian flower language. As sometimes his mind would fixate and he would realize a whole wreath was of one type of flower practically screaming out his feelings in that moment. Though he did his best to weave sentences but sometimes just he got stuck on how much he felt. Other wreathes he did not send were of all toxic and poisonous flowers... speaking of dark promises of rejected love and should another try to court you.

You were such a sweet and curious thing... smart as well but far too curious for your own good. It was really far too easy for him to lure you close with pretty flowers. Lure you in like a predatory plant... you were far too pretty to be some common insect far more like a mouse... prey too big for many to think to be caught by a plant. And yet you're lured in close with eyes wide open... and the jaws snap shut around the prey as you reciprocate with your own gift.

Just don't try to pull away... lest the vines start to suffocate.

[emiqip]

ok so my ability to write anything consistent has been temporarily siphoned away from me but i NEED to share a vision with you guys.

after a few months of traveling with the apocalyptic family, Orion discovers he apparently has developed some feelings for the very big very handsome guardian in charge of the group of feral children. And who can blame him, really? Tall, rich and a Father! Zoowe-mama!! Too bad he most likely has no chance to begin with like c'mon he's sooo out of his league it's not even funny...

Shockwave wants to bag that human and he wants to bag him NOW! Running into Orion had been a particularly pleasant surprise: having someone to aid him in managing ten rambunctious kids while traversing the apocalypse, was a very welcomed thing- and that someone being exceptionally endearing was just an addition to it all! But alas, he and the human come from two very different worlds- two souls forever cursed to never truly vow their love for one another in fear of painful rejection *clutches her pearl necklace*

The children are so fucking done- the only two adults believe they're good at being subtle about their feeling for each other when they're clearly painfully NOT! God, they might be children but they're not stupid- Skids suffers the worst of it all being the only reliable translator between mer and human language and trust me you don't know how awkward it is not only watching your parents clumsily flirt but being the one who's in charge of making that communication happen!!

To put an end to it all the kids start hatching a plan: raid an abandoned high quality clothing store and steal some suits (they're all clearly too big for any of them- but it only gets ridiculous when Blue tries his own and gets completely drowned by it + the twins sharing one jacket like two racoons in a trench coat situation). Next they find a half destroyed restaurant and try to tidy up a bit to set the right atmosphere (TC and Soundwave end up being the two in charge of this).

Without revealing anything they manage to ambush Orion and get him to wear one of the more fancy clothes they found in hopes to fix whatever fashion catastrophe has hit this man. After they sort of forcefully get him to a secondary location- aka the restaurant (no it's not kidnapping if you live in a sunken lawless city) where Shockwave is waiting for them at a table that looks comically small compared to him.

Orion just computer crashes for a minute because maybe it is the atmosphere, maybe the moon and the stars are twinkling brighter this evening or maybe it is the background lull of the gently crashing waves, but tonight- tonight the mer is a beacon of radiating beauty and he- little plain simple old mundane Orion- is the sole focus of those crystalline blue eyes...

The evening is a success, of course!

Blue became their waiter, even putting on a very bad french accent and using a piece of algae as a fake mustache. The food tasted horrendous but it was totally worth it saying the smiles on their kids faces after finishing their plates.

And if at the end of their date, after the kids ran off to bed- basking in each other company they shared a silent kiss nobody was there to witness it besides the quite starry sky.

ah i love them they remind me of this image /hj🩷

au belongs to the lovely lovely @keferon :D

[lightlycareless]

I found a picture of Naoya playing the piano and want to show it to you. My fav scene where naoya teaches his wife piano. I love the scene sm 🤭🤭

HIIII how are you!!!!??? Thank you for patience 🥺

Omg thank you so much for sending me this ajkghajgajgs Naoya is a man of many talents, and him using them to brighten your day is 🥺 I'll always hold that scene close to my heart, them bonding together is just 😭 oh, I wish we could have more moments like that.

And we can... I mean, I wrote a little something, like a deviation from what I have planned lol a what if, if you must 😏

warnings: none. fluff. it's based on this fic. now that's a whole can of worms. proceed with caution.

Imagine you deciding to continue your piano lessons after growing somewhat genuinely interested in learning.

After a few sessions you’ve began to show improvement. Sure, you still struggle with certain things, such as jumping from one octave to the other, but anyone could easily admit you were not the same amateur from before.

And yet… there seemed to be something holding you back from taking the next step. You were already a master of twinkle twinkle little star, so why couldn’t you move onto something a bit more difficult?

Well, it was plain simple. Quite obvious, actually, for an outsider that is. Naoya was too blinded by his role as a teacher to even notice.

It was all intentional, made from your desire to keep him close, enjoying the way he’d place his arms around you, his large hands over yours as he guides you into the correct position to play even if you already knew how.

All to keep feeling his breath on your skin, the cologne you now solely associated with him, and you suppose his attention too, especially when you played the shy, tense student that desperately needed the guidance of her sensei.

To voice such ploys made you feel silly, if not selfish, but you didn’t know how to voice your need without feeling embarrassed. You didn’t want to appear needy before a man that is always busy, and yet, here you were, acting as if you’d never seen a piano in your life.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Naoya loves spending time with you, even though seemingly mundane activities. But even he was getting a bit… frustrated with these lessons that were quickly growing repetitive. His perfectionist temperament demanded he’d do everything right, or at least strive for it, naturally extending to you. Obviously for you, the woman whom he wanted to please more than anything in this world.

You showed enough promise, a talent that could be polished if pursued, so why weren’t you advancing?

Was it… him, perhaps? Your actions consequence of his failure as a teacher?

Maybe. Naoya isn’t known for being a particularly good listener, less of an educator. There’s enough witnesses to asses to it.

Your husband just hopes his incapability doesn’t push you away from wanting to learn piano, Naoya would rather die than to cut short these already scarce moments with you.

Though it’s more likely that he’ll do that anyways, a well-prepared teacher appears to be a better alternative.

“… but I don’t get it. Maybe there’s something I’m not seeing.” Naoya frowns, adjusting his position near you and taking your hands with him once more, hoping that it’ll come to him. The solution to your problem.

He sighs when it doesn’t. For the nth time. Maybe he is a bad teacher after all.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll be able to teach you anymore.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I’m just having a tough time figuring out how to help you.” Naoya laments. “I may have underestimated my skills.”

You know what they say, the best way to check if you know something is by teaching it to someone else. Something like that, or so he’s heard.

“Don’t say that I think you’re doing great!” You encouraged, looking over to Naoya and his deep frown, evidence of the frustration your little ploy has inflicted on him. Had you known he would be so affected by it you would’ve gone easier with your obliviousness…

And yet, it was endearing to see your impact on him. How hard he was trying to make things work for you—you still couldn’t believe how much of an influence you had on him, even if he’s already proved the lengths he was willing to go to make you happy.

…Like the protective husband he swore to be on your wedding day.

“You don’t have to mock me, mochi” Naoya insists. “I think you’d be better off with an actual teacher if you still want to learn.”

You do, but…

“…I want you.” You murmur, so lowly, so… sweetly, that Naoya had to double check he heard you right the first time around, quickly swirling his head onto your direction, frozen the moment your doe-like, hypnotizing eyes, those he could never get enough of, landed on his, with such intensity that let him know it was all true.

The purpose you were attempting to convey many lessons ago instantly becoming clear to him. The intentions you were too shy to speak out loud, but not enough to sway you from trying, an unknown edge of yours that had him both impressed and absorbed.

One never stops knowing their partner, do they?

What an enthralling thought to have.

“Is that so?” He murmurs back, leaning closer to you. “You’d be fine with someone like me as your teacher, princess?”

“I couldn’t think of anyone… better.” You blush. And though intimidated by his piercing gaze, you persisted. When you once cowered away, you now wished to be the only person his eyes saw.

“Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

Maybe it’s because he was within your reach, or because you had enough of going around in circles, whatever it was, you couldn’t hold back anymore; and with the noise of your heart deafening your ears, you lean closer to him, removing the gap between the two and placing your lips over his. Gently, sweetly, like it was your first time, and took him in—sealing your newfound sentiments with a kiss he’s long been dreaming of.

So much that he’s almost in disbelief, remaining still as he tries his best to both contain his excitement, heart ready to burst through his chest, hands itching to pull you closer and keep you there, afraid that the moment he peels away you’ll disappear, just as he’s forced you to through the beginning of this marriage.

Naoya too felt like it was the first time he’s ever kissed anyone—perhaps kissed anyone with love. With that soft warmth he could only label as true love. What he feels for you now, has always been so, and hopefully, you too.

After a few seconds, much to Naoya’s dismay, you’re the first one to separate, slowly pulling away and opening your eyes to the sight of your flustered husband, the adorable face of a man that has dreamed of this day for god knows how long, giving you the impression (alongside a sense of guilt) that maybe you should’ve been a bit more direct with your actions.

Though how everything came to be… wasn’t that bad.

“You didn’t have to go through all that, you know?” Naoya teases, his attempt to cool down the heat on his cheeks. “If you just wanted to kiss me, you just had to say so.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you joke back, and he smirks, letting out a chuckle. “…But I guess I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“Being with you is no waste of time.”

Now it’s your turn to grow speechless, face red, perhaps even more than Naoya’s, due to the vast, unexpected sweetness of his words, and the overwhelming embarrassment it provided you, leading you to cover your face with your hands and making him laugh even louder.

“You don’t need to act this way with me, love.” Naoya says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “We’ve done more… heated things, after all. This is nothing.”

“Oh, stop it! Is that your way of comforting me?!” You gasp, burying your face deeper into his chest.

“It is the truth, love. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“You know well I wasn’t referring to that” you murmur. “…but… do you really feel that way…?”

“I’d give you the whole world if you asked.”

But even if you didn’t, he was going to do so, because he has long sworn in his own life that he’d do everything in his power to make up for all the wrongdoings he’s inflicted upon you. His best to erase the vile acts he did when he called himself your so-called husband.

For as long as it takes, all of his lifetime if so needed, and the next one, and the next one.

“I think I’ll be happy just to hear you play the piano for now.” You eventually add. “If you don’t have anything else to do.”

“I’m all yours today—”

“And...” you interrupt, Naoya blinks.

“And?”

“If I can kiss you again.” You say, shyly looking up to him. “If you want…”

“Hm, I don’t know… you’ll have to convince me.”

“How do I do that?” you tilt your head.

“By giving me a kiss for each time you had me going around in circles.”

With unprecedented speed, you quickly grabbed his face and begging to pepper kisses all over his face, Naoya more than happy that you were, and a bit startled too.

“Wait, Y/N—did you even want to learn how to play??” He rightfully concludes.

“A bit, I guess.” You giggle. “But really I just wanted to be with you.”

Naoya immediately succumbs to your gestures soon after that, putty on your hands as he lets himself be appreciated by the woman of his dreams, the love of his life—the owner of his heart.

Your heart squeezes with longing. Who knew Naoya could be this… adorable? So sweet, you didn’t have the heart to deny him—

Nor would you, setting to live out the rest of your life as his wife.

For good, this time.

I always liked the idea of you being able to feel Naoya's heart. Like, how fast it is beating because of how happy he is with you 🥺 Thankfully I do have another prompt with that exact same situation, though it's a HS au. Also, this is not their fated kiss I owe y'all, I think what I have planned is much better 😏 (or so I hope)

Now, thank you so much for waiting for my answer 🥺 I'm still slowly but surely working through them requests :> I always appreciate whenever you send me something (so don't be afraid of sharing more hehe)

Take care and hope to see you soon!!

[mrs-kmikaelson]

06| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: While you busy yourself with making sure the deal with the witches runs smoothly, Klaus occupies himself by trying to figure you out. Warnings: none Words: 4.4K

Masterlist | Part 7

I walked into my house, throwing my keys on the side-table next to the door and shrugging off my jacket. I checked my watch: 2:01 PM, so Davina was still at school and wouldn't be back 'til she was done practicing with the witches. 

I just got back from lunch with Elijah where we went over the Mikaelson's terms in more detail. Genevieve had sent a witch to the Abattoir earlier like a carrier pigeon with an outline of their requests.

Pretty dramatic, if you ask me, but she was like just resurrected. She probably doesn't know how to text yet, so whatever.

After Elijah and I talked over everything, I left, telling him I'd type up the contract myself. As an immortal with plenty of time on my hands, I've gone to law school and pursued numerous careers, as I'm sure Elijah probably had, too, so there was no need to hire (compel) someone else to write this contract for us.

I made my way to my room, passing Davina's on the way which was filled with boxes and a few things placed haphazardly on the ground. My room looked a little different: pretty plain, bed parallel to the door. Normal, basically. 

I walked into my adjoining walk-in closet which was probably the most interesting thing about this room. At first glance, it looked mundane; there were some eye-catching statement pieces, but this closet otherwise just looked like a closet.

Unless you knew what to look for.

I closed the closet door for good measure and turned to the back wall, waving my hand and muttering, "Invisique saeclum." Instantly, the illusion of the wall disappear and another, smaller, more compact room was revealed.

It was lined with shelves, books stacked on top of each them. I walked closer, going to pick up the book closest to me. My grimoire. Like the rest of the books in this closet, it was dusty. I haven't needed to look for a spell in a long while. 

I placed it down on the island in the middle of the room before turning to find the other book I needed. Under a few other books, I found what I was looking for: Amelia's grimoire.

I put it down next to mine, staring at both of them. Strong nostalgia came over me. I hadn't looked at her grimoire in long time, or even my own, for that matter. Both of them should have been worn down now after all these years, but a simple preservation spell kept them in pristine condition, looking just as they had when I was younger.

My lips quirked up as I ran my hand along their covers, memories flashing before my eyes of my childhood. But as quick as the happiness came, it disappeared with the thought of how that very childhood was stolen from me.

Enough with memory lane.

I switched my focus onto the purpose of even grabbing these books, opening my grimoire and flipping through it until I found the page I was looking for. 

Illusion spells.

While I was very familiar with this type of spell, the one I wanted to perform was a little different. It was similar to the average cloaking spell, but I wanted a physical manifestation of an object: a decoy.

I wasn't stupid. I was never going to give Genevieve my aunt's grimoire. The only reason the witches wanted something so powerful was for leverage, and they weren't gonna get it. I knew all this last night, so instead of actually giving them Amelia's grimoire, I'd give them a copy.

But this copy had to feel real, tangible. Its energy needed to be able to be sensed in the same way it was with the real thing. They needed to feel like they could trust us, even if the Mikaelsons—or myself, for that matter—didn't trust them.

The thing with magic was that it worked through energy. Witches have their own special type of energy that enables them to perform spells. That's why you could practice magic without incantations; so long as the intent was there and it was strong enough, then your spell would work.

The reason why we often do use incantations is because words hold power. The history behind them holds enough energy to basically back the spell up. So, if you were using spells that weren't your own, then you would also want to use the chant because, without one, your own intent wouldn't be strong enough for the magic to pull through.

That's why I was going to change the incantations written down altogether.

At first, I was gonna exclude certain pages from Genevieve's copy completely, but then I realized that, without the powerful spells, she'd be less likely to trust us. So then I just change them so that they still made sense, but wouldn't work.

Without the written incantations that Bennetts had chanted in the past, these spells would be useless. If the words didn't hold any significance, then they were pointless.

Which was exactly my goal.

I hovered my left hand over Amelia's grimoire, hovering the other over blank space on the island. I closed my eyes and began, "Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical. Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical." After repeating this a few times, I felt the emergence of energy into the room and opened my eyes to see a book identical to Amelia's under my right hand.

I picked it up, flipping through it and stopping every once in a while to alter a spell, muttering incantations under my breath so the words on the page would appear as if they were Amelia's handwriting.

When I was done, I set it down on the island to compare it to Amelia's real grimoire. It was almost impossible to tell the difference unless you actually knew her. There was only a slight difference in the energy emitting from each book, but I knew this was fool-proof.

With a grin, I returned mine and Amelia's grimoires to their spots, bringing the cloak of the wall back. I grabbed the fake and stuffed it into my bag, tossing it onto a chair in my room. For now, I'd go type up the contract, then I'd walk over to the compound to give it to Elijah.

With that, I walked over to my office.

THIRD PERSON, THE NIGHT BEFORE

Klaus stood off to the side while his brother and his latest fixation spoke to the witches. He was silent; Elijah already warned him earlier not to cause a fuss, and the last thing he wanted was a fight with a Elijah. He had enough to deal with, this agreement included.

This evening, however, was not something he wanted.

Klaus couldn't care less if the factions tore each other apart in the streets. All of this was Elijah's doing, and so Klaus was only there to oversee it. Truth be told, he wasn't even going to show until Elijah told him Y/N was going to be there.

That caught his interest.

He couldn't figure it out, but there was something about this girl that pulled him to her. She looked familiar; he just couldn't pinpoint where he knew her from.

It seemed that others found her just as fascinating. For some reason, she had the trust of the Quarter's residents, but she wasn't going to get Klaus' trust so easily.

There was something off about her, something far greater than familiarity. And he was going to figure it out.

No matter what.

His attention was drawn away from Y/N when Genevieve cut her off. The words that came out of her mouth had stunned him.

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire. We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire."

Elijah's request for peace this evening suddenly went over his head. He scowled, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire. After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Klaus stopped, turning to look at Elijah. His jaw clenched when he saw the look on his brother's face. He calmed down slightly, glancing at Y/N, wondering how she was going to talk her way out of this one.

Even as he glowered at Genevieve, he couldn't help but feel smug. There was no way out of this, and the oh so special Y/N would fail.

Or so he thought. 

Y/N declined her request, as he predicted. Genevieve went to pull out of the deal, as he predicted. What he didn't predict was what Y/N said next.

"I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." His head snapped in her direction. His eyes met Elijah's who looked just as surprised as him. He glanced over at the witches who luckily didn't notice their reactions, too engulfed in shock of their own. "It's yours, so long as you accept."

The rest of the conversation became muffled to Klaus, as if he were underwater. He could tell she wasn't bluffing—that, or she was a really good liar. He suspected that both were true. So many thoughts ran through his head at once.

While he thought she must have won Elijah over with that save, this only deepened his own distrust in her. A Bennett's grimoire was extremely hard to come by. They were guarded as if they were the holy grail. If he, the Original Hybrid, wasn't able to get his hands on one, then how did a mere vampire acquire one?

And why was she giving it up like it was pocket change?

He tuned back into the conversation when all parties stood up, Y/N and Genevieve shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries that he didn't care for. As Elijah walked the witches out, Klaus didn't glance at Genevieve once, even though he felt like glaring at her whenever he saw her. Instead, his glare was directed to Y/N.

Their eyes locked, and Y/N only continued to surprise him by staring right back. She was confident, and assertive, and unfazed with every comment he threw her way. He kept trying to shake her, but she appeared to be rooted to her spot every time. This only annoyed him.

He was so focused that he didn't even notice when his brother walked back into the room. Elijah thanked her, making Y/N look away to respond. Klaus had an inkling that Elijah wouldn't bring up what just happened, so he had no choice but to be the one to do it.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" He interrogated, suspicion audible in his voice. Elijah gave him a look that was ignored.

He watched Y/N's body language as she responded, looking for any signs of a lie. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

She must take me for a fool, he thought. The nerve of her to think he'd believe that. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?" He enunciated each word slowly as if to emphasize his point.

A Bennett witch leaving something as valuable as her grimoire to a member of the species they hated was unheard of. 

Y/N gave an excuse, saying the witch wasn't close with her family at the time, as if that made it any more believable. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

She showed no indication that she was lying, and if her story was real, then her excuses were reasonable. Perhaps if the story were coming from someone else, he would've rolled over and believed it. But this was coming from Marcel's supposed 'best friend,' the woman who so happened to be there the night Hayley was almost attacked, who had his brother so interested in her that he forced him to allow Marcel back into the Quarter all for the sake of a deal. This was coming from the woman who reminded him so much of a ghost from his past.

So, no, Klaus did not believe her.

Elijah, on the other hand, didn't look as vexed. He cleared his throat and changed the subject, thanking her again. Y/N turned around, making plans for another meeting. She didn't look back at Klaus once, but he was staring at her until even after she walked out the gate.

Elijah sighing broke him out of his trance. "Must you be so difficult, Niklaus?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "If you want to turn a blind eye to all of this, then by all means. But this woman is so obviously hiding something." He reached for his scotch, downing the rest of it in one go.

"Niklaus, please-"

He cut him off, "No, Elijah—you can't honestly be telling me that you don't see what I'm seeing. She acts as if she's guilty of something-"

"Innocent until proven guilty."

Klaus scoffed. Elijah's immediate impulse to see the best in everyone could very well one day be his downfall. For some reason, he was defending Y/N, even though they both knew the only reason they really brought her in was because he saw the same things Klaus did.

Klaus shook his head. "She's not who she says she is." This time, Elijah's response didn't come as quick. He only silently maintained his stare. Little did Klaus know, his brother had doubts of his own.

Elijah's response never came. He closed the book on the conversation completely. "Good night, Niklaus." Elijah walked way, patting Klaus' shoulder as he passed him before going up the stairs. The hybrid cursed him in his head. How could he be so stupid, he thought.

He knew you were hiding something. 

And he would make it his personal job to figure out what it was.

FIRST PERSON, PRESENT

I closed my laptop, having just printed out the contract. With Marcel, contracts were never necessary; you would just trust the other person's word. But, in this new society, trust could not be guaranteed. 

I sighed, checking the time. Davina should be home any minute now.

Right on cue, I heard a knock at the door. I furrowed my brows. Didn't I give her a key?

She must have left it her by accident. Not thinking anything of it, I got up, walking to the door absentmindedly. "Hey, Dav-" my words died down in my throat once I opened the door. Standing in front of me wasn't Davina.

It was Klaus.

He coyly smiled. "Hello, Y/N. May I come in?" For a quick second, I was stunned. I wasn't expecting this at all. How did he even know I lived here? I wondered before dismissing the thought. He's Klaus Mikaelson; of course, he knows where I live.

I quickly composed myself, reciprocating his smile, only hoping that mine didn't look as fake as his. I held the door open wider. "Of course." The act of Klaus stepping over the threshold into my home almost made me sick, but I didn't dare show it on my face.

"Lovely home you have here," he said, looking around, but I doubted he was just looking out curiosity, and that compliment felt nothing like a compliment to me. What the fuck is he doing here?

I thanked him, resisting the urge to cross my arms. I learned in the few psych classes I attended that it was a sign of discomfort. I instead tried to make myself less stiff, asking myself how a normal person would act in this situation and then trying to behave that way.

"Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, Brandy....?" 

Klaus shook his head, declining. He still wasn't looking at me, continuing to stare at my house. He seemed to be searching for something, and I had an idea what it was.

Well, he wouldn't find it.

I skipped over the like five other questions I had, asking, "What brings you here?" I kept my voice light, even though he probably knew that I knew what he was doing. I was already gonna be heading over to the compound later where he would've seen me. He had no reason to be here other than to look for some sort of flaw.

Finally, Klaus looked over at me. "Elijah's currently preoccupied, so I told him I'd just come here and get what you were supposed to give to him." Bullshit. But I'd play this game. I've won far harder ones.

I reminded myself of the pact I made to myself when I left the compound yesterday, of everything I've endured over the course of my life. If I went through what I went through, then I could go through speaking to my father.

I faked nonchalance. "Right, the contract. I'll go get that right now." I went to my room, grabbing the stapled pages and Amelia's grimoire out of my bag, ignoring the fact that the hybrid could've done anything in the less than thirty seconds I left him alone. However, when I got back, he seemed to be in exact same spot, waiting patiently for my return. 

"Here," I said, handing them to both to him. He hummed, flipping through the pages—though, I doubt he was reading anything, even though the contents of the folder I just gave him were only drafted in attempts to save his city.

But I didn't have to have known Klaus long to know that this wasn't about saving anything for him. Men like him didn't save; they destroyed, and my mother raised me well enough to make sure I never forgot that.

When he closed the folder, he looked at the grimoire with a serious stare. I would've been worried that he was trying to see past my glamour had I not been as strong as I was. Nobody could see past my illusions other than myself; it's always been that way, and it'll always be that way.

Instead, I could bet he was questioning its authenticity or even my authenticity. The white lie I gave the other night was convincing enough to get me out of the compound, but since Klaus was looking for any reason to support his distrust in me, he obviously still had reservations.

Before I could continue with my train of thought, Klaus looked up at me and abruptly questioned, "Where are you from?" My brows went up. Out of all the things he could've said, that was on my list of least expected.

But I wasn't expecting any of the other things that'd happened in my life since I returned to New Orleans, either.

My first instinct was to respond, why do you ask? but that felt defensive and that was the last thing I wanted to come off as to my father. I told him what I told most people who asked. "A little bit of everywhere, I suppose." I shrugged for effect. "I was travelling at a young age due to conflicts around my family, so I was all over Europe as a child."

The suspicion Klaus so eagerly showed me the other night was tucked away. Instead, he only hummed again, but clearly he didn't believe me; otherwise, he would've left it alone, but I could never be so lucky. 

"And how old are you? If you don't mind my asking," he added, as if he cared about whether not I minded.

I didn't hesitate. "About five hundred years old, give or take."

He hummed in response, adding to my irritation, but I was much better at hiding what I was thinking than he was. Not that he was trying. "Well, I suppose I should've assumed so since the Bennett witches had fled to America around that time period." He stared me dead in the eye, a smug smile on his face but a much more serious look in his eyes. 

He was pretty close to me, close enough that I could see his eyes—and I mean really see them. They were blue with twinges of green and brown that I hadn't seen from far away before. And even though almost nothing scared the crap out of me more than the fact that his eyes looked like mine, I stared right back like I had no fears at all.

"Yeah, that's true," I agreed, but I didn't offer anything further. The only other things I could've added to this conversation to convince him I wasn't lying were facts from my personal life and that was information I wouldn't soon give up. 

I didn't know how well Klaus knew my mother before they conceived me, if he knew her best friend's name or even her own, for that matter. So there were some details I just had to keep to myself; revealing certain things may have had the ability to help me, but they could also hurt me just as easily.

That was a risk I wasn't going to take.

Klaus just kept staring at me, and I almost thought he'd never look away until the door opened. We both turned to see Davina in the doorway, keys in her hand.

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes darting between me and the Original in our living room. Said Original broke the silence. "Ah, if it isn't the little witch."

I watched Davina swallow but still manage to glare at him. "Klaus."

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, that same "friendly" smile on his face that was anything but. "Relax, love. I come in peace." He then looked back over at me. "I was just leaving." With that, he walked toward the door. Back still turned to me, he uttered a thank you for what I gave him and wished us a wonderful night, patting Davina on the shoulder on his way out.

The teenager barely waited until Klaus was out the door to close it, looking over at me with incredulous eyes. Just as her mouth was about to open, I brought my finger to my lips, silently shushing her and pointing to my ear.

She got the message, exasperatedly sighing and running a hand through her hair while I used my hearing to listen to Klaus walk away. Once I could no longer hear his footsteps, I let my finger fall. Davina instantly let her questions loose.

"What the hell was he doing here? Why'd you let him in- no, how did he get in? What was that stuff he walked out with and why did that book look like a grimoire? Oh my God, does he know that you're a-"

I cut her off, "Davina. Slow down and I'll explain." At my interruption she paused, taking a breath. I couldn't help but be amused at her worry, even though the Devil himself had just been standing in my living room.

Once she was calm, I elaborated, summarizing the deal I'd made with Elijah and then the deal we'd just made with the witches. Although I trusted Davina, I gave her the same story I gave Klaus when it came to the grimoire. There were some things just better kept secret and, for now, Amelia Bennett and my family fell under that category.

After I'd explained everything, Davina nodded to herself, soaking it all in, muttering under her breath, "That must've been what everyone was talking about today, a deal with the Mikaelsons." She pursed her lips. "Yeah, I heard Genevieve and some others whispering something about a Bennett witch, so it must've been that."

I nodded. "Yeah, and as for Klaus being here, I let him in myself. Don't worry; the protections are fine." She finally seemed to calm down after that.

"Okay, I guess I'll just go do my homework now or something. See you, Y/N/N." I ruffled her hair as she walked past me, getting a faux angry pout that didn't last long before a smile started to form on her lips. Like her happiness was contagious, the corners of my lips upturned, too.

It was good to see her happy, busying herself with things like homework. That's what teens should be doing, not hiding away in attics, isolated from humanity. Death shouldn't have even crossed her mind but I knew that, living in the world we lived in, that wasn't an option.

In spite of that, I would do my best to preserve her childhood for as long as I could. There was no one there to do that for me, and I'd be damned if I would just stand by and watch as hers was stolen from her.

Davina meant too much to me to allow that to happen, but even so, there were still things about me that she didn't know. There were things about me that no one knew, no matter how close to me they'd gotten.

No one knew I was Klaus' daughter, no one but Amelia, my mother, and the person who killed her.

At that thought, my mood became sour, but instead of drowning in my own self-pity, I blocked the thoughts completely. I couldn't afford to be in New Orleans with Klaus Mikaelson watching my every move and to also think about that part of my past.

So I pulled out my phone and dialled until Cellie's voice filled my ear, "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, let's go out. We can hit up that new club downtown. And call Cami up, too; we can all go and just have fun."

"Not that I oppose this in anyway, but what brought up this spontaneousness?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I just want to have a night-out on the town. C'mon, Marcel; don't be boring."

He gave in, "Alright, alright, fine. I'll call Cami."

I grinned. "Great; meet at my place." Before he could say anything else, I hung up on him. This was just the sort of thing I needed, to go out like everything was normal.

I rushed to go get ready, pushing all thoughts of Klaus and my past to the back of my mind. For one night, just one, I wanted to feel like myself again.

Ever since I got back to New Orleans, I've felt like this shell of myself. Around the Originals, I felt like little-kid-me. All of these memories and thoughts that I've worked to repress have just been resurfacing, and so, for one night, I just want to feel like myself again. That'll help me get it all together.

I was gonna go out tonight, not as a Mikaelson, but as a Y/L/N.

And after that, I was gonna bury Y/N Mikaelson for good.

Taglist: @scrynexxtins @thisnameistaken1234 @honestlycasualarcade @xlittlestarling @thatgirljas13

[kerizaret]

Something about Tsukasa, the most show-off character ever, who always stands out and has so many of these flashy card, getting a fes card that's surprisingly... simple. Domestic. ""Plain"" even, in comparison to what we were used to (mostly the trained version but some could argue the untrained as well)

I know we were expecting something grand like Tsukasa himself and I see a lot of people being disappointed but honestly... I think this fits a lot actually. This might've just been the best choice for Tsukasa' fes

Because really, under all that attitude and boldness and showing off, Tsukasa's dream and feelings are kind of... simple. To make people smile. To be a world famous star, yes, but that's only the means to the goal of making everyone around the world happy

This is one of the most important developments of Tsukasa from how he was in the main story. Being a star is NOT just being a great, famous actor to him – he's proven it countless times. It's obviously a very big part of it, but if it was just about acting then why does he also constantly reference to being a "star" in more "mundane" situations unrelated to acting?

A star inspires. A star makes his sister smile. A star doesn't worry those around him. A star helps those in need. A star guides those who are lost. A star would choose to save the amusement park that makes everyone happy and means the world to his best friend instead of trying to win a contest to gain fame. These aren't exactly things related to being an actor or a celebrity

It's more as if a part of being a "star" is... being like a big brother?

Tsukasa's whole dream stemmed from just him wanting to make Saki smile; shows were just what proved to be something that could achieve it. Is it really such a surprise then that this is what his goal revolves around as well? What he believes a "star" should be when they're not on a stage? And what his fragment SEKAI bases on?

Not on being a flashy, famous star in the spotlight. But on being the person you can rely on that will take care of your worries and turn your frown upside down. Someone you will look at and think of home. And that's something so simple and domestic, and something I feel like is reflected really nicely in his trained fes

Hell, his outfit is called "Kind Brother" too. Because that's who Tsukasa is first and foremost, to himself

If that isn't enough proof than idk what else is

[noowayybroo]

Give the dog a bone😏(Part 1) (SFW)

Characters: Dogman!Leon Kennedy, GN!Reader (Part 2 will be NSFW F! Reader)

hi ik we're all a bit horny and busy here! We on that grind (in more ways than one!) so I'm trying to keep the story short and sweet I LOVE YOU ALL

Warnings: FIRST PART IS SFW AND GN! READER AND IG SOME FLUFF OR A WEIRD STORY?? PART PART 2 WILL BE Smut and NSFW, Leon and reader are initially friends / colleagues. Set after RE4. Lazy writing because I'm too busy and hate writing no cap. dogman anatomy. Hunnigan exists but is irrelevant.

Irrelevant blabbering that you don't have to read: That title is NOT from The Squeeze's "Cool For Cats" Hi guys! Guess who's a university student now! And guess who's unbelievably even MORE busy than they were when they actually stopped writing fics. It's me! Thank you SO SO MUCH for the well wishes and kind words and general love and support I recieved, even when my blog was dead to the world. It means the world. This fic idea has been gnawing at my insides, as has the shame and guilt that has come with wanting to write it. Thanks for reading. Thanks for being here, you rock! you slap! I love you! And I'm still making stuff on Etsy if you're interested (shameful plug, sorry.)

It'd been entire weeks since Leon had embarked on his mission in Spain. Whilst this didn't sound like a lot, his trips usually took a few days, and were packed with back and forth correspondence (via Hunnigan, of course.) The last time you'd heard from possibly him was a few days ago, when late at night you'd received a message on your personal phone.

"Hey, It's me, I'm coming home." - Unknown Number - 22:34 pm.

Your heart sang. After apparent radio silence for days (unless they were keeping you in the dark) it had to be him. He had to be coming home. You were excited, glad and thrilled all at once. You hadn't lost your friend. Yet, at least.

Days passed. Worry seeped back in. It gnawed at the corner of your mind as you replied to the number for the fourth time, hoping SOMEONE would reply. You wanted to run the number by someone in your team, maybe they could find out where it was from, but then again, you wanted to respect Leon's privacy.

6 days had passed since that message. 6 whole days... Was it actually Leon who'd messaged you? On a particularly drizzly Wednesday afternoon, you sat at your desk fiddling in a vain attempt to rid yourself of your guilt and anxiety. Perhaps Leon needed your help. Maybe, you should stop being so selfish and show the higherups that message. Maybe it wasn't him... Maybe that message wasn't even for you. Maybe someone else needed someone else's help.

Frustrated, you sigh and throw your head back. The ceiling is plain, it's calm. A soft grey, just like the sky outside. And the mundane-ness of it all somehow distracts you. Leon's just a friend, nothing more. He sits next to you in your office, so what? It's not like you're going to get married. He goes on these missions all the time. He'll be fine.

You lower your gaze back to your desk. At least you would, if it weren't snagged by the sheepish figure standing in the doorway to your joint office. There he stood, Leon Kennedy, in the flesh. Bandaged heavily, but he stood there. He was dressed strangely. He wore a hoodie, choosing to keep the hood up, and baggy sweat-pants. His sleeves were far down, covering almost his entire arm, and his mouth was awkwardly screwed shut as if he were worried to open it.

His eyes dance around the room, shyly greeting the few people who'd stayed late to meet deadlines, which you just so happened to be one of (the worry had been killing your productivity.) Once they land on yours, he gives a soft smile and stumbles forward a little, letting go of the doorway which he clung to so tightly. He looked so... sick.

More than concerned, you stand to meet him, arms gently wrapping around him as he just about stops himself from falling into you by grabbing the desk. He's warm, so warm, shivering slightly, and he smells good, to your relief and surprise. You figure he must have returned from his mission a while ago. He had time to clean, apparently, but not to rest. Dark bags lined his bright eyes, cuts and bruises adorned his pale face.

You're in too much awe and shock to even feel the tears pricking your eyes, but you sigh into him in response, hugging him close, relieved. He returns the gesture, head falling into your shoulder as he lets out a deep sigh, far too content to take note of the many eyes on you now. You, however, are very aware, and promptly pull away, but not before registering the deep breath Leon takes in as his head rests by your neck.

Somewhat reddened, you offer him his chair, and he obediently sits with haste. His cool blue eyes never leave you as you sit before him, his throat bobbing in anticipation.

"I've missed you" he rasps, entirely undeterred by the few eyes that still linger, for some reason finding this interaction more thrilling than their stacks of paper. You certainly believe his words. Leon's eyes are wide, pupils blown as if he's trying to take in as much of you as possible. Perhaps he's just glad to be alive, you think. Whilst you're shy, you must admit that that hug was wonderful. And you'd maybe want it to last longer or go further if prying eyes weren't laser focused on you.

"I've missed you too" you breathe, still in disbelief. "when did you get back??" In response, Leon tells you (in quiet whisper) about his whereabouts. He doesn't go into much detail at all, but you learn that he's been to Spain, and actually got back from Spain 5 days ago. Since he got back, he was actually being held in a Government facility, where they ran tests on him and 'made sure it was safe for me to see you all.'

He swallows again.

Concern fills you: Why wouldn't it be safe? What happened to him out there that he doesn't want to tell you? Is he actually alright? And most importantly...

"Why are you dressed like that?" you giggle, trying to curve your overt frown. Your eyes drift over his toned form briefly as he sits before you, comfortably manspreading and leaning oh-so-slightly into your space. You weren't trying to check him out. He was your friend. However, despite the baggy clothing doing its best to deter your sights, you couldn't help but take in his plump thighs and toned arms. His large hands flex as he runs them through his fringe a few times, clearing it from his eyes. He lets out a deep exhale.

"It's... a long story." He huffs, seemingly not too eager to show and tell. You return his huff, slightly tempered this time, eyes drifting up to the hood he wore. He catches your gaze and narrows his eyes, a playful warning. Although you didn't dare go into detail, Leon could tell you'd worried about him and eagerly awaited his return. He knew he meant a lot to you, and you to him (though he wasn't sure if you were aware of that.) He knew you were worried about the tests, and he knew your sudden playful persona was in spite of every other emotion he'd guiltily put you through.

That being said, he wasn't able to match your mischievous guise as your hand slowly and gently raises up to touch his hood. A strong hand grabs your wrist, gentle yet firm. He doesn't hurt you at all, yet you find yourself unable to move. His expression grows serious.

"Y/N. The hood's gonna stay on, alright?" He asks softly, eyes easing a little as he takes in your startled expression. You falter, becoming a little upset. You just wanted to mess around. You couldn't do that either? He senses the change in mood. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he says quickly, shaking his head as he lets go of your arm "I know, I'm gonna have to take it off at some point. Look, there's something... Something's happening to me, alright??" He whispers softly into your ear "Can you get off work now?"

To your relief, you're not sure when, but everyone seems to have looked away by now. Shakily, you nod, and after packing up and signing out of your PC, you and Leon leave the building. It's a nice walk, despite the rain, fended off by an umbrella he'd borrowed from the station. Your talk is pleasant, beating around the topic of his strange dress until a strong arm reaches in front of you, gently pushing ajar the door to your local Coffee Place. It's a nice, simple Cafe that you and Leon frequented on your ways home, especially on drizzly days like this.

Shaking off his umbrella, Leon follows you inside to the booth you usually sit at together. Many hours were spent here chit-chatting, sometimes alone and sometimes with other co-workers and friends. You'd discuss playful topics, the workload, things about the boss you didn't want anyone to hear. It was also here that Leon would gossip to you and only you about his 'confidential' missions, purely because you'd earned that trust.

It was here that he was about to tell you his new secret.

You both enjoyed this place because it was often empty. It's not that the service was poor, quite the opposite. The empty, quiet air allowed orders to swiftly be taken and fulfilled. The servers were polite, and you always got to sit at your special booth. You hid away from the outside world together drinking anything from coffee to bubble tea, and trusting the staff to give you both that ...platonic space.

Once your drinks were ordered, you and Leon got to talking.

"Listen, Y/N, I can tell you now." His eyes are wide, genuine, dancing between your own and your hands, as if he'd like to take them in his own. However, he refrains. Whatever's on his mind, it must be special. Too special for your ears, then.

"Leon... It's alright, you don't have to, please-"

"No, I want to tell you, it's alright. Everyone's going to find out anyway" he's serious, his leg gently bouncing under the table in anticipation "You can tell people, they'll know, it's fine, I just don't want to scare you."

"Scare me??" You couldn't believe your ears. If this was something public, then surely it couldn't be so bad. Why was he scared to tell you... Unless... was it that thing Hunnigan let slip? The virus... thing? You lean in, whispering as quietly as you can, almost only mouthing it to him "Leon... that... parasite.... Did it get you?"

His face drops. His mouth hangs open and he stares in disbelief for a while. You were right. Your face falls too. Was he dying?

"Leon- Are you Okay, I-" You begin to stammer, beyond horrified. You desperately try to form the words. What do you ask him? What do you say?

Once he comes to, he quickly shakes his head, gently taking your hands in his now, firmly, comforting you. "Wait. Wait please listen, yes Y/N, yes it did get me. But I'm okay. I'm fine... It's gone."

What? It was gone?? Well now you're back at stage one.... What was the issue?

"I did get infected by the parasite, but there was a scientist there, and he saved me... But there were these, look, don't be scared please, they tested me, I'm not gonna hurt you..." he eyes you, and when you don't seem to show any protest, he continues under his breath, voice thick and shaky.

"There were these dogs... Infected dogs... and one of them bit me."

Leon leans back and releases your hands just as the waitress comes by to hand you both your order. She smiles and leaves, and hesitantly, Leon's hands find his way up to his hood. Removing it reveals two large, houndish ears that flip upwards as his hood relieves them. They twitch, angling themselves towards you. Furry, soft and golden, they're... adorable. They look so... real.

Once again, you're left speechless. What can you say? Leon's now... a werewolf? A dog??

You knew this change was brought on by some kind of parasite, a virus that controlled the body and mind. You knew it was able to give its victims an inhumane strength, and somewhat invincibility... You knew whatever did this to Leon made him dangerous.

And yet, like a fool, you trusted him, the victim.

That's all Leon was now, a host for this virus, probably, and for some reason, you took his human side not wanting to hurt you as justification for trusting his infected self completely.

Leon continued to explain some of his symptoms. He ranted and whimpered about how he's losing his mind, how he can smell, hear and taste so much better than ever. He described how you can't see it but how his tongue has even changed. How his ears are growing each day, how his teeth are getting sharper. He tells you about how he's growing a tail, how his nails grow faster...

But you? You're lost to the world in your own sense of deep thought. You trusted Leon, you'd already made peace with it completely. You weren't scared of him at all, although you were a little afraid THAT you weren't scared of him. You knew you certainly should have been. Now, all you were trying to figure out was what exactly was happening to Leon. Spacing out completely, his words simply merged with your own thoughts, and you began to wonder what other dog features he'd have. You wondered if he was more hairy, if he'd grow claws. You wondered if his personality had changed. You remembered the way he sniffed you when you met...

But to Leon you looked terrified, and it made him panic. Waving his hand in front of your face and taking both of your hands in one of his large ones when that didn't work. Leon has to further stand up and lean over you, face close to yours to get you to snap out of it and focus back onto him again. Seeing you smile back at him shyly, apologising for spacing out has him giving the most over-the-top, faint and relieved smile you've seen. He looks exhausted, as if that little lack of communication aged him a hundred years.

Once your mind is collected, you sigh, addressing him "Leon, I trust you, I believe you, I'm not scared. I'm just... curious, you know?" you chuckle awkwardly, hoping you hadn't offended him, but as you speak to him, he softens, melting at your comforting words. His ears begin to droop and a braindead smile begins to form at his lips as he eyes you dreamily, relieved.

"...Curious?" he whispers, and it doesn't go past you how he cocks his head to the side like a puppy hearing a new noise. His ears prick up a little, his mouth slightly ajar "What's up? What do you want to know?" he mutters eagerly. It's as if he'd never anticipated you being so calm about the situation, and now he was entirely unprepared.

"Well..." You laugh, "Do you feel any... different?" you muse, glancing from his face, entirely enthralled by you, up to his ears which twitch and flap every time your mouth opens.

"V-very..." he mumbles shyly, staring down at the table "L-like I said I can smell really well... and I'm always warm... My hearing is better... T-there's more but like... well... it's... it's personal." he chokes out.

Oh, so it was like that, was it? Interesting... You could tell by his burning red cheeks and avoiding eyes that he wasn't too comfortable, and so, again, you decided to try and reassure him. You quite liked how easy it was to read Leon now. Taking his hands in your suddenly, you delighted in how his ears perked before drooping again as you gently massaged his hands with your thumbs. His eyes almost closed as he swooned before you, leaning back slightly as if about to collapse.

"It's alright, Leon, I trust you, and I believe you. I know you're in there" you giggle, taking a chance at reaching up and gently patting his head softly. To your surprise, Leon melts further before you, leaning forward into your touch as his eyes close and he props himself up with his forearms, still nestling his large hands in your left one subconsciously. He sighs deeply through his nose as he listens to your words "If anyone's got a problem with you at work, they can go through me, alright?"

Leon's eyes flutter open as you withdraw your hand. Smiling at you warmly, he seems thrilled to simply gaze at you. "Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot to me" he whispers, leaving you grateful that he didn't cockily challenge your ability to do as you'd promised. It seemed that whatever had overtaken him had simply decimated his ability to argue with or criticise you.

The rest of the night was spent with the two of you giggling together, discussing what you'd been doing in his absence. Leon told you about the president's daughter. He described the different creatures he fought and survived. He told you how much he'd missed your friendship and how gutted he had been to lose contact with Hunnigan. And he divulged to you how glad he was to be back with you all, his 'pack'.

Completing your walk home, which Leon insisted on accompanying you for (you imagined he was still fearing detachment), he ducked into your home to show you his tail. Awkwardly untucking it from his sweats - soft, fluffy and wagging with a mind of its own. You noted how it stayed firmly between his legs once he first revealed it, matching his flattened ears upon first showing you, but once your face lit up and you reached out to touch it, it began to wag uncontrollably. Like his ears, his tail was golden, sandy and beautiful.

Leon could tell you enjoyed what you could see, or at least that you weren't terrified, and that was enough for him.

Well, you never thought your colleague would magically become... a dog... However, you weren't necessarily against the change, you ponder as you shut the door after him after reminding him to use his umbrella to keep himself dry on the walk home. The question was, did you still crush on him, just as you'd done when he left for Spain?

Yes.

Yes you did.

Over the next few weeks, you bonded more and more with Leon over his new predicament. You'd kept his trust. In fact, he began to confide more in you. He pursued you more often. He walked you home more and told you more about his new life.

...You were sometimes reminded that he could probably smell you, which was uncomfortable, but he was kind enough to stay silent on the matter, and that felt good.

Unexpected by Leon, dog-anatomy or not, he was still regarded as a hero in the office. People treated him well, aside from some comments by jealous newbies, who were often laughed out of the room by Leon's work-mates. Especially you. You were always there for him as he re-adjusted to office life, and as he learned about his new self. That deeper connection is probably what made him hesitate to leave you one evening outside your door.

You could tell what he was thinking.

You didn't want to say goodbye either.

And so, you invited him inside.

OK I HAVE TO APOLOGISE FOR THE BAD WRITING IT'S 3AM I CAN'T LIE MY BRAIN ISNT WORKING SORRY. Thanks for reading this, I'll try and write the smut as quickly as possible. Please bare with :sob: thanks for reading this ily