#i dont bring up pronouns at work

[sschaos]

At work today one of the teachers asked if I preferred they or she (I have no emotional attachment to gender, literally don't care)

When that happened I thought she had just seen the pronouns pin on my bag... but I just relized that pin only has they/them on it...

Where the heck did she find they/she information! Does she know me from the internet! Do I panic and run!

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about one of the loser men I dated directly post-college who, after I showed them Dirty Computer [the emotion picture] by Janelle Monae, said they "prefer rap that has something to say"

[rowan-ashtree]

.

[nomaishuttle]

finished my school As previously stated and i cant shower until 8... i think ill go ah noooo should i. hrm

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[mooonjin]

Reminiscing - Pt. 2

Pairing: Viktor x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ work!! minors shoo flyyyyy - tin/machine/purple viktor, SLIGHT submissive viktor, submissive reader, exes trying to get back together (oof dont do that), suggestive innuendoes, attempted dirty talk, cussing, breeding mentions, erm no protection smh, kissing, smut with plot, f!reader implied but no use of feminie pronouns — tell me if I've missed anything!

< Part One

"Say something..." He muttered under his breath. Viktor was frustrated and trying to keep himself in control. He was a bit pent up, he wasn’t going to lie to himself about that. You were clearly being affected somewhat by this, which was making him struggle to maintain his usual persona.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps and saliva. His touch is both familiar and terrifying, a ghost of the past. You try to push him away, but his grip on your thigh is like iron, pinning you in place.

"Stop this, Viktor," you whisper, your voice trembling. He ignores your plea, his hand finding the button of your shirt and expertly undoing it. The cool air against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, but it's nothing compared to the burning sensation of his gaze as it roams over your body.

“You used to love it when I touched you like this,” he murmurs, his voice a low, deliberate growl that seems to crawl under your skin. His words linger in the air, weighted with nostalgia. “You’d arch your back, moan my name like it was the only thing you knew…”

His fingers trail up your arm, feather-light, as if testing your reaction. When you don’t pull away, he steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his scent intoxicating. The heat radiates from his body, and you hate how it makes your skin prickle with awareness. 

Slowly, methodically, he pulls at the hem of your shirt, peeling it away to reveal the soft lace of your pastel pink bra. His eyes darken, their intensity almost feral, locking onto you like a predator cornering its prey.

He stares. And he stares long.

Viktor falls into a trance simply by just staring at your undergarment. He hasn't seen you like this in years yet he already seems dizzy and hazy. From all those years ago... you've definitely increased a little in cup size as your breasts fully molds into his hands. His eyes darken as he gazes down at you, lingering on the delicate lace of your bra. He reaches out a finger, tracing the outline of your breast, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"Such beautiful things," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "Hidden away from the world."

You couldn't voice your protests anymore as this intimacy between the two of you brings back vivid, sensual memories when you two lived together. Though he may have changed as a human and his morals, he hadn't changed the way his careful fingers intricately ran across your skin.

Viktor's fingers were warm despite looking like a machine. As he lowers himself to level with your tits, he inhales your scent. It was a slow and intimate inhale, your entire scent coating his senses. He looks up at you, amber honey eyes sparkling with intensity and need before taking your left, clothed nipple into his mouth.

A shiver courses through you when his mouth brushes against your nipple—just barely at first, a teasing caress. The contact sends an involuntary jolt through your body, your back arching before you can stop yourself. His low chuckle vibrates against your chest. 

“Still so sensitive,” he remarks, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and possession. With his free hand, a thumb brushes over the peak of your right breast in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing another soft gasp from your lips. The touch is maddening, gentle enough to tease.

Viktor's mouth grows to salivate immensely, almost like a slobbering dog. His lips were shiny and smooth, his tongue moving in desperate fervor against the pink lace of your bra. 

His lips part even more and he takes you into his mouth again, his tongue drawing more lazy patterns that leave your mind spinning. You let out a soft exhale, the sound barely escaping, muffled by the tension straining in your throat. He pulls back, his lips glistening as a thin strand of spit connects his tongue to the now dark pink, damp spot on your bra.

He admires the pert mound of your hardened nipple against the lace. Viktor leans down, his mouth closing over your tits again, suckling gently. His eager free hand gently twist and tug at your other nipple as well as running his palm over your flesh. He moans gently when he fondles your tits.

He pulls back, his eyes filled with a hunger that makes your blood run cold.

"Viktor wait—" you attempt to voice a protest but he's quick to ignore it just as fast as you spoke. He moves his hand to the clasp of your bra, his fingers fumbling with the delicate hooks. 

"No... no, I'm not stopping." Finally, they snap open and he gently pulls the bra away, revealing your breasts fully. To him, they sat incredibly nicely for him. 

You gasp, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and arousal. Viktor's eyes devour your body, taking in every curve, every inch of your skin. The sudden exposure left you vulnerable and exposed.

He reached out and cupped one of your breasts in his hand, the warmth of his palm engulfing the flesh. He gently massaged it, his touch sending more pleasure through you, your body arching towards him, "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So soft, so warm..."

Viktor leaned down and took your other breast in his mouth, gently sucking on your bare nipple. You exhaled harshly, your head thrown back in ecstasy. He moved his free hand lower, tracing the curve of your stomach. He hungrily laps up your nipple, causing him to pull you towards his mouth even more. 

When he pulls back, Viktor stands up to his full height, pulling you to his metallic body, "Bed, now. On your back." He demanded you, desperately wanting to see you listen to him on your own will. Something you used to do. 

Willingly, but also with a hint of hesitation, you climb into the safe confines of your bed. You lay against your soft sheets, eyeing him with a bit of anxiety. 

He kneels between your legs without wasting a second, his eyes never leaving yours the moment you lay. He reached out and gently stroked your inner thigh. When his fingers brush between your legs, you gasp audibly, the sound loud in the thick silence between you. He circles his touch, the pressure maddeningly light. Tension coils low in your belly and you bite your lip, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of hearing your moans.

Unlike your bra, Viktor claws at your knee-height skirt. He was hungry to get them off, wanting access to you like his life depended on it. He couldn't wait any longer. Reaching out, he traced the delicate curve of your hip with a fingertip. 

He reached for the hem of your skirt, his fingers brushing against your thigh. With a swift, practiced move, he slid the skirt down your legs, the soft fabric pooling at the edge of your bed. Your hands instinctively reached for him, but he held them captive, his grip firm yet gentle. He wanted to savour this moment, to prolong the anticipation, to watch the way your body arched and pleaded beneath him.

"Slower, Viktor... you're too fast." You mumbled, slightly sitting up as you look down at your now bare legs. 

He chuckled a low. He moved lower, his eyes fixed on the delicate lace of your panties, the way they clung to your hips, outlining the curves of your body like second skin.

"Such gorgeous legs," he completely ignored your plea. With a single, decisive movement, he tugged them down, revealing the silken expanse of your inner thighs, the delicate folds of your cunt bathed in the soft light, "and a gorgeous... pussy."

You arched against him, a desperate plea etched on your face, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and ecstasy. He met your gaze, his eyes burning with a possessive hunger. Viktor reached out and gently stroked your inner thigh, the contact igniting a burning sensation between your legs.

"You're so wet for me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Always have been." You didn't even realise yourself the amount of arousal that pooled between your thighs. His metallic fingers traced the hairs that framed your cunt, his eyes sparkling amber and pink. He moved his hand lower, his fingers brushing against the entrance to your core.

You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for his hair before pulling away in realisation. You couldn't succumb fully, this was your ex.

However, he took that as the go ahead. Slowly, achingly slowly, he pushed a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, the intrusion sending a spark of shock and pleasure. You whimpered at the penetration of his finger, the feel of foreign skin inside you. 

"So tight, so ready, I love it." he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

"Viktor..." you sighed out his name, resulting in a lip bite from him, his name slipping from your lips in a broken whisper.

Your legs were spread wide, an invitation he could not ignore. His gaze roamed over you, drinking in every curve, every glimmer of sweat that caught the soft flicker of light. Another finger of his plunged deeper inside your cunt with a confidence born of knowing your body already. The sound of your low moan filled the room, a quiet surrender that sent a shiver down his prosthetic spine.

"Pretty pussy..." His fingers began to move, finding a rhythm that felt instinctive. Each thrust of his fingers inside your hole was hungry, coaxing out a response from you. The subtle shivers that rippled across your skin, the way your thighs tensed and quivered under his touch.

"Nngh..." a huff of a whimper escaped your throat. He was entranced by you, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted as if to call his name but never quite did.

With excruciating slowness, he withdrew his fingers, relishing the way your body leaned into the absence. The sight of you flushed and trembling, was intoxicating. Viktor brought himself towards your face.

His head dipped low and he pressed his mouth to you, claiming you with a ferocity. His kiss was deep and consuming as he sought to imprint every part of you onto himself. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting you thoroughly, basking in the rawness of your arousal. His kisses trailed lower, moving to the hollow of your throat.

You closed your eyes, slowly submitting to his actions. Viktor descended between the valley's of your pert tits with warm and thirsty kisses. 

Lower, lower, lower.

You felt the heat of his breath before his tongue made contact with the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tracing a wet, teasing path upward.

"Your pussy is so pretty," he repeated, "I've dreamed of this precious hole every night, used to come all over myself to the thought of it being presented to me like a feast."

He pressed his lips against your clit, his tongue swirling, craving the taste he longed for for years. He tasted the sweetness of your arousal, the salty tang of your sweat and it drove him wild. His movements shifted, his tongue alternating between slow, torturous circles and quick, darting strokes. Each change brought a new reaction from you—a gasp, a shudder, a keening whimper.

Viktor wanted to unravel you completely, wanting to prepare you for his aching cock.

He continued to worship you, his tongue a relentless instrument of pleasure, until he pulled back with a pant with his chin drenched in your wetness. He teased you, wanting you to cum on his cock. 

He'd make you cum on his face another time.

He unclipped his navy blue cloak, revealing his veiny purple, shimmering cock. He was already leaking, the pearly pre-cum trailing underneath his length.

"Need you." Was all he said as he ground the tip of his erection against your prepared cunt. Viktor groaned, throwing his head back slightly, some of his chocolate locks slick against his forehead. He let out a soft sigh as he listened to the sounds of your wetness against his cock.

"Can I put it in?" Viktor's soft Czech accent managed to reach his whimpering words. But instead, he didn't wait for an answer.

With a growl, he thrust inside your cunt, filling you completely.

"Fuck!" You cried out. You hadn't slept with anyone in a few months so you were glad Viktor prepared you. He felt lengthier and you definitely weren't used to his 'new' cock. He buried his face in your hair, his own cries of pleasure mingling with yours.

He moved slowly at first, savouring the feel of you, the taste of you. He wanted to memorise the way your body responded to him. It had been a good few years without your touch. The way you gasped, the way your legs tightened around him, the way you whispered his name like a prayer.

Viktor's cock throbbed inside your cunt, probing beneath your lower abdomen, "I'm here... right here." He lifted the careful, purple, supernatural hand of his and pressed it against your bare skin where his dick reached from inside. He gazed at the tummy bulge, relishing the feel of his cock head rubbing right there.

"Aaah..." His pace quickened, his control unraveling as your movements matched his. The sound of his 'skin' slapping your skin, every thrust urged Viktor on. He tilted his head back, a moan escaping his lips, his hands finding your plush hips, then your hair. Viktor needed to bury himself as deep as he can get.

"You're so tight, it's driving me crazy," He buried his face against your neck, his breath hot and uneven as he whispered your name like a vow, “I want you to look me in the eyes while I’m inside you.”

You arched into him, desperate for more. You don't remember him being this talkative during sex. As you responded with only moans and whimpers, Viktor seemed to pick up the pace. He wants you to say something. He needs it.

"Can't you be a good little... whore and respond to your lover?" He moved with a primal rhythm, his hips grinding against yours with increasing thrusts, "I never want to stop fucking you."

Where did this talk come from? What had he learned all these years? Viktor's amber eyes glossed over with lust and shimmer, his forehead covered in a light layer of sweat as his eyebrows creased due to the immense pleasure.

"Oh God, Viktor..." You finally responded with something.

"I want to fuck you in every room of this house." His response back was even quicker and more pathetic. HIs words strung with an air of thirst. The air is thick with the smell of sex, so lewd, so sweaty. You clenched at the use of every cuss word that slipped through his pink lips, "S-So... warm."

You felt yourself nearing the edge, a wave of pleasure building within your lower abdomen. Viktor needily thrusted into your slick pussy, "I'm close..."

"Can I cum inside you? I need to cum inside you." He scans your face quickly, picking up on any facial expression or any answer before he bursts, as he does his best to hold back. You can feel his hips stutter, purposely not answering his question.

Viktor bites his lip, exhaling a harsh groan against your ear. You simply whine in response, "Cum Vik..."

His eyes, heavy-lidded and clouded with raw desire, fix on your every movement with an intensity in the way his gaze examines your own sweat covered face, hair strands sticking to your skin. Under the weight of his stare, you find yourself quivering, succumbing to the pleasure of his cock.

 It’s almost too much, the power of his attention making your breath hitch as your fingers involuntarily press harder into his thighs, seeking some anchor against the overwhelming sensations. 

The intensity of the moment overwhelms Viktor, his restraint unraveling as a deep groan escapes his lips, "I'm going to breed you so good." 

His body moves on instinct, his hips lifting in a desperate response and coming back down against your pelvis, each thrust wild and uninhibited. His movements grow erratic, each surge of his hips filled with raw urgency. 

As you hit your release with a loud whimper, you clench enthusiastically out of your own control. Your thighs gently spasming. A soft, broken cry escapes his lips, the sound filled with a vulnerability as he halts his hips against your own. When Viktor stills balls-deep inside your slick cunt, warm ropes of his cum fill you up. 

In the throes of his release, he surrenders completely, collapsing with his full weight against you. His breath comes in shallow, trembling gasps. Viktor’s lips part and your name spills out in a soft, broken whimper.

His hips gently stutter, the aftershocks running wild through his thighs and his cum already leaking out your hole, "I love your body so much..."

Your breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps as you rest against him, your chest rising and falling in time with the frantic beat of your heart. The pads of your fingers trace the curve of his shoulder blades, the soft ridges of muscle beneath his supernatural skin. 

"Did you remember us better? How good it felt, every night when we did this?" He pathetically asked you, puppy eyes staring up at you with fluttering eyelashes.

 “When this all mattered?” You replied coolly, deliberately letting your voice remain detached, though it was harder than you wanted it to be.  You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words had affected you. But he didn’t look away, his gaze clinging to yours with a desperation that was almost unbearable.

"It always mattered."

Post Notes: wooow viktor 😋😍😍 im soooooooo gonna do more smut of him

~ ~ ~

@lightupsketchersperson

my taglist form!

[mooooonnnzz]

I saw your earlier post on Platonic fics and Im a sucker for them so here u go : father figure stanford headcannons maybe takes place after he comes back from the portal, reader is an adventurous spirit that works at the shack and maybe secretly helped stan get his brother back? Idk im just throwing things here lol

You Know I Love You Still

Stanford x daughter!reader

💗 stanford dad hc!!

💗 i literally saw the request it and started writing and got a lil carried away 😭 its like half story half hc? if that makes sense

💗 requests r so open rn! i def dont have any fav requests… (anything platonic or familial will be the first ones i write i LOVE those types of requests)

💗 the age of the reader is young like 16/17? ik that lowkey contradicts with the time line but wtv STANFORD DAD HC!!

💗 it’s a little bit of everything? like it’s not only just reader and stanford, the twins r also included in some scenarios and also stan

💗 a big happy family 😭

💗 fem reader gulp i completely didnt realize until i was done that i used she/her when referring to the reader

💗 next fic will use gender neutral pronouns I SWUEAR!!

💗2k words

💗 i apologize for rhe misspell and mistakes i didnt catch in advance

Working together with your Uncle Stan to build the portal to bring your dad back to the right dimension was tiresome. Nights were sleepless and many of them were spent in the underground lab, where you and Stan did everything possible to assemble the portal. Trying to keep such a secret away from the twins and Soos was unexpectedly hard. The knowledge of hiding someone so vital to you and to your Uncle Stan was weighing down on you and him. Then came the day where his awaited arrival was promised. You could barely sleep that night. You thought of so many different possibilities and scenarios of how you would greet him. Would he remember you? Did he ever miss you? Does he even love you?!

The next day came in like a tornado and before you knew it, you were protectively standing in front of the button; trying your absolute hardest to prevent the twins from pressing the button.

“Why do you guys want to stop the portal so badly!” You yelled over the loud swirling wind that emitted from the portal. “Because it’s dangerous!” Dipper retorted, using his arm to shield him from the debris whizzing past him. “G-Grunkle Stan isn’t who he says he is!” Dipper said, stepping closer to you.

“Whatever you guys saw or heard isn’t what you think it is! Please, you need to believe me.” You begged, your eyes brimming with tears. You’ve worked so hard to get this portal up and running and you weren’t going to let Dipper or anyone stop you from being able to see your dad.

Soos came up from behind and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry, dude.” He picked you up and took you away from the button. “Soos, no!” You thrashed around his hold. You pound your fists against his arms, hoping it’ll loosen his grip on you but nothing you did worked. No matter how much you begged and fought against him, he didn’t budge. He just held you closer to him, muttering ‘I’m Sorry’ under his breath.

“This all stops now!” Dipper raised his hand, palm flattened out, ready to push the button when Stan appeared at the doorway. “Don’t touch that button!”

He’s hunched forward, hand leaning on the frame of the doorway as he pants. Relief washes over you upon seeing Stan. Silence fills the room for a minute and all you can hear is your heart hammer against your ribcage. Stan walks towards Dipper, beckoning him to not press the button.

“If you just let me explain—“ He’s cut off by his watch repeatedly beeping. Suddenly the ground begins to shake.

The portal powers up and the circle enlarges. The electricity spazzes and travels throughout the room, creating streaks of electrical power. Your feet lift off the ground and soon everyone’s floating up in the air. The wind is fierce and it’s whipping through every direction, pushing you towards the wall.

Dipper yells at Mable to turn off the portal before it causes anymore damage. She tugs herself closer to the button using a stray cable and while she wraps herself around the neck holding up the button, Stan is begging her to listen to him and to not press the button. He’s soon tackled by Soos who pushes him away from Mable. They all fight with each other and you’re watching with a bated breath.

The portal pulses with power, sending you back first into the wall. Stan and Dipper bicker back and forth and Mable is torn with the decision of either believing her brother or her Grunkle. She lowers her hand, eyes closed and you're almost convinced she���s going to press the button when she lets go of the button. She floats up with her arms raised. “Grunkle Stan, I believe you.” She says.

“Mable, are you crazy?! We’re all gonna—!”

The world flashes white and you're immediately knocked out. You awaken to yourself plummeting face first down to the floor. You groan, pushing yourself up with one hand and the other wiping off the dust on your face. Looking around you can see your family scattered around the room, each of them slowly waking up from whatever happened and stumbling back to their feet.

Your head quickly whips towards the portal and your heart lurches into your throat upon seeing a figure step out of it. He stands still, staring straight ahead as he takes off his hood and goggles. And what hid behind them was your father.

After the initial shock of meeting the one behind the three books and the reveal of him being related to Stan was pushed aside, you presented yourself with the help of Stan. “H-Hi, Dad.” You awkwardly greet yourself.

His eyes stop on you and he freezes, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar. He takes a minute to process the absurdity of the situation before he’s snapping back to consciousness. He blinks once, his mouth stuttering as he finds the right words to say. He then blinks again, stepping a cautious step towards you. Your name softly spills out of his mouth and your heart soars hearing your Dad finally utter your name again.

You take a step forward and then another and another until you’re face to face with him. Being closer to him allowed you to see how much he has aged since the last time you saw him. “Dad…” You whisper, throwing yourself into him.

A light wheeze escapes his mouth from the sudden impact of your body crashing on him. Once he recovers, his arms are quickly wrapped around you, hugging you with so much warmth and love you almost sobbed right then and there.

He snuggled his face against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent he missed so dearly while he was away. “We have so much to catch up on.” You say so quietly that he almost lost your words if it wasn’t for you being directly near his ear. He hums in affirmation, cherishing the long awaited reunion with his daughter.

“I feel like this is another part where one of us faints again.” Mable says in utter disbelief at the scene that unfolded in front of her. “Ohoh!” Soos laughed out. “I’m so on it, dudes.” As if on command his eyes roll to the back of his head and he faints flat on his back.

HEADCANON TIME!!

• You weren’t really expecting to talk to him much due to Stan wanting to talk to his brother, but after their fight, he came looking for you. When he found you, you were sitting on the couch that was outside on the porch. You were reading a book you recently purchased from the bookstore. Nose deep in your book, you failed to realize Ford standing beside you. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trench coat. Quietly he asked, “Is there room for one more?”

• The night was spent with the two of you getting to know each other. From your favorite color to your favorite show, what food you like to eat and so on. Ford wanted to fully understand and know you as a person. He wanted to make up all the years he lost with you.

• The next day, you awoke to the smell of your favorite breakfast food being cooked. With haste you pushed your blanket off of you and slipped on your slippers and sped off into the kitchen where Ford was buttering the pan. He looked over to you and flashed you a smile. “I made you your favorite.” He said, motioning over to the table where he laid out your breakfast. “You didn’t have to do this.” You scratched your cheek, a small laugh of surprise leaving you. “I’m just doing what I always dreamed of doing.” He shoveled out his breakfast onto his plate using a spatula. “How’s the food, kiddo?” He asks, placing the pan and spatula on the dirty side of the sink. “Actually pretty good for someone who hasn't been in this dimension for over a decade!” You jest, taking another delicious bite from your breakfast. Ford jokingly rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and sat down on his chair. “Already poking fun at me.” He said, shaking his head.

• Stanford knew he had to focus on his projects, he had so many things he left unfinished that he'd been dying to get his hands on the minute he stepped foot into his dimension. But he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from you. He loved seeing you interact with the twins, he loved watching how pieces of his personality shone through you. Like the way you’re so meticulous with where you put things, or how you were forever curious about the things around you, and even the abundance of questions you’d mutter to yourself as you discovered something new. That’s all of him right there, in front of him and he couldn’t grasp such a thought that you were his!

• He finds himself gazing upon baby photos Stan took of you when you were younger. Even if he’s angry at his twin currently, he’s forever grateful that he documented such beautiful memories in a scrapbook. “Y’know, I used to tell stories about you to her.” A shriek leaves Ford. He jumps forward, the scrapbook tumbling down his lap and onto the floor. “You idiot! Be careful.” Stan sneered, kneeling down to the floor to pick up the scrapbook. “Stanley!” Ford leans his head back, trying to regain his composure. “You scared me!” He says. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” Stan waves him off, grabbing the scrapbook and tucking it in between his arms. They stand in awkward silence, eyes darting around the place uneasily. “Did…” Ford starts, shattering the silence. “Did she like the stories you told of me?” Stan smiles fondly, nodding his head. “She loved them. She thought you were some stupid amazing superhero, no matter what I told her.” Ford furrowed his brows. “Wait, what do you mean by no matter what you told her?” Stan nervously laughed. “Hey, why don’t you keep looking at these photos! Wait here, look at this one. Haha! She’s trying to eat her toes, isn’t that adorable?” “Stanley.”

• Outings between the two of you were very common. He loved being tugged around the town of Gravity Falls by you as you pointed at various different shops and locations. You told him the reasons why you hated them or loved them, and some were tied to stories that happened within the summer. He seriously questioned how you and the twins survived so many times where you were just so close to death. The mall was a place where you and him resided the most. With the money he took from Stan, he paid for almost everything you wanted. Entering the shack with so many bags was a shock to everyone. “Woah! Did you buy the whole mall?” Mable jokes, grabbing one of the bags to help you with the load. “Basically,” you laughed, instructing Mable to rally Soos and Dipper to have a little haul of what you bought. Stan watched with a raised brow as you stumbled into the living room with Mable following closely behind. “Where did you get all the money to buy her all of that?” Stan asks. “Just stole some money from some hobo.” Ford said, walking into the living room to join in on the haul. Stan didn’t understand what he said and opened the cash register. When he saw all the money he had stored the day before gone, it all clicked.

• Adventures out in the woods is a must. Gathering the twins and your dad, all four of you venture out into the woods in hopes to find something new. “Why couldn’t Grunkle Stan tag along with us?” Mable asked as she kneeled down to pluck a flower from the dirt. “Because he’s being a wet towel.” Dipper muttered, scribbling down a rough drawing of the flower Mable was picking in a book you bought him. “So what kind of anomalies you three stumbled upon?” Ford questioned. You and the twins began to dump everything onto him, from when you started seeing them to when Dipper and Mable came. Ford couldn’t truly focus on what they were saying, mostly because it was a jumbled excited mess of words, but partially because he was astonished with the trio in front of him. They went through so much and yet they’re still so headstrong. He could definitely see a little bit of him in Dipper and Mable.

• Stan would find you and Ford fallen asleep on the couch or in his lab, all huddled up together and completely knocked out. Snores filled the room and he found it amusing that you and him both snores the same. Videos and photos were definitely taken by Mable.

• Ford would tell stories of his adventures in another dimension to you. Stemming from how he started from the ground up to him getting banned from many other dimensions for stealing parts. “You’re not so different from Uncle Stan,” You laughed, shaking your head. “What! It was only a few…hundred dimensions.”

• There’s times where you’d wake up in a cold sweat, afraid that your Dad finally coming back was just a painful dream your brain played on you. But when you would get ready to find him, you’d step on his stomach or back. “Ough!” Ford groaned out in pain. Being suddenly woken up from his sleep, he sat up, looking around confused. “What are you doing sleeping on the floor?” You sat back down on your bed, pulling the blankets over you. “Is there a problem with me sleeping on the floor?” Ford asks, looking at you with squinted eyes. “No, no.” You laid back down on your bed. “Go back to sleep. I’m better now,” You say, somewhat amused with Ford sleeping on the floor beside your bed. “Goodnight, I love you.” You brush your fingers playfully across his face to annoy him. He shoves your fingers away from his face, huffing out. “Goodnight,” He shuffles to his side, looking up to you with a small smile. “I love you more, kiddo.”

[crescenthistory]

hihi i love ur work sm <3 could you pls do a barty crouch jr sunshine x grump except the reader is the grump? ik barty isnt rlly sunshine like but he seems a lot more outgoing and energetic when compared to the reader. for the prompt could it be a.6 where the reader is just being her usual grumpy self and barty sort of mocks her? if the idea doesnt sound so appealing u dont have to do it i understand !! (also ignore the fact i submitted this earlier but forgot to put the prompt lmfao)

hi sweetheart! first of all, no i will not ignore your earlier ask because what you said about my writing was soso sweet and i think about it daily<33 i am a truther of barty being the sunshine in these dynamics because his chaotic energy needs a bit of a grumpy counterpart which is why i'm also a bartylus truther shhh so i'm in love with your idea, thanks darling xx this was so fun to write, why is he like this

Prompt: A.6 "Aren't you just a sweetheart?"

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), you are in gryffindor sorry and marauders!bestie, mostly barty pov so it's sassy and biased, banter/bickering, language, some innuendos/suggestive jokes, they do not kiss physically but are making out in barty's head tbh, jegulus appearance my loves, a little bit of bartylus snuck in there

Note: i love their dynamic here, might write some more blurbs with the same storyline/concept

continuation can be found here <3 and here

Barty could not believe Regulus had betrayed him on such a carnal level.

Becoming chummy with Gryffindors in general should be considered a cardinal sin, but shagging one on the regular? Insisting that shagging was a “crude term” for it and insisting Barty accept that his best friend, stupid wanker, is actually in love with and dating James Potter, the epitome of Gryffindor bravado?

Absolutely unacceptable. Arguably a hate crime, and he told Regulus as much, only to be met with an eye roll as the black haired boy continued to drag him along to where his new boyfriend was sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by friends.

“Well, if it isn’t Baby Black?” A girl called as Regulus approached the group, hauling Barty along with him. Others around smiled and greeted Regulus – not Barty.

“Shut it, McKinnon,” Regulus grumbled, sheepishly taking the seat on James’s left that he had saved for him. Barty could spot a slight pinkish blush creeping up on Regulus’s cheeks when James murmured a hey love and kissed his cheek.

Barty could puke at the sight.

Nevertheless, he shoved some Gryffindors further down the table to take a seat beside Regulus. For whatever reason, he had believed it necessary to bring Barty with him every single time he meets James’s gnarly pack, so Barty assumed the role of protective friend while still making it exponentially clear that he disapproves.

“No acknowledgement for me then?” Barty looked around the table who were in one degree or another cooing at the fresh couple. All except Sirius, who, like Barty, was faux gagging at the sight.

It’s a new low for Sirius Black to be your one ally.

“Make yourself note-worthy, and we’ll say hello to you, Junior.” The gruff voice came from you, who conveniently was sitting opposite Barty this morning.

You were thus far the most tolerable of James’s friends, mostly because you had yet to be as loud and obnoxious as the rest, despite the red and gold around your neck. You had yet to say almost anything at all, but what you did say had a habit of drawing a snort from Barty. Mostly because it was never particularly kind.

Your eyes didn’t leave the crossword puzzle you were working on as you ate, shutting out the bickering around you, yet somehow picking up on Barty’s comment. 

Intriguing. 

“I take great personal offence to that, darling.” Barty's voice was incredulous but he sported a contradicting wicked grin, happy at the opportunity to wreak a bit of havoc if he must be seated here.

“Ew.” You looked up at that, eyes narrowing at the pet name he gave you. He decided then and there, that was the only way he would refer to you from now on. “And good. Maybe it can help you build some character.”

“Oh, come on,” James butted in, finally drawing his eyes from Regulus – who he had sneaked an arm around before the boy could protest at the public display of affection – and looking at his dear friend and his disgruntled friend-in-law. “Be nice to Junior, he slithered here all the way from the comforts of his dungeon.”

“So did your boytoy, Potter, so watch your mouth.” Sirius, James and Regulus all winced at the word boytoy, though for very different reasons.

“And so I am being nice to him,” James retorted, squeezing Regulus as he looked down at him. “Aren’t I, love?”

“Shut up,” Regulus whispered.

“You’ve already said that today, Reggie,” McKinnon replied with a sly grin. “Find another comeback, why don’t ya?”

Regulus just rolled his eyes at her while Sirius bumped his shoulder into hers in a sign of approval.

“Anyway.” Barty drew the attention back to him as he spoke up, but his eyes were trained on you. “Build some character you say? What character would you like me to be, baby?"

You sized him up, clearly debating whether to follow James's advice or take Barty's bait. The latter seemed to win.

"Someone less disruptive would be a great start."

"That would hold more bite if you didn't willingly surround yourself with this lot," Barty laughed, waving his arms a bit too theatrically towards your friends, some of which were scowling at him, others nodding in agreement. Barty swore he could hear James whisper fair under his breath.

"Willingly is a bit of a stretch." You side-eyed Sirius beside you with a sly grin, who took a few seconds to process your sentence. Once he realised, he gasped and swatted at your arm for the disrespect.

Barty was enjoying himself much more than he expected.

"Aren't you just a sweetheart?" His grin never faltered as he continued his one-sided staring contest with you. As if you were the only thing in the room of notice, as if your friends weren't right there and needed to be won over by him as well.

“I can be,” you drawled, fighting to keep your face neutral. “You just gotta earn it."

Barty tilted his head, eyes narrowing with interest as he studied you. There was something undeniably magnetic about your sharp tongue, the way you seemed to remain so unbothered by the chaos swirling around the table.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, inching just a bit closer. “And how do I do that?”

Finally, you locked eyes with him properly, levelling him with your stare. Your expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe?—beneath your cold exterior.

"That ship sailed so long ago, you can't even see it from harbour, Junior."

"Good thing I can swim." Barty winked at you, and part of him thought he caught you look flustered for half a moment as his comments grew flirtier by the minute.

“Fine by me, easier to drown you if you jump in the water willingly."

Barty barked a laugh, unphased by your words. "Don't threaten me with a good time." He could feel Regulus giving him a look from his right, but Barty ignored it. He was far too entertained by you now. “Tell me, do you give everyone such a warm welcome, or am I just special?”

Your lips twitched, but you held your ground, flicking your eyes back to the crossword in front of you. “You’re just annoying.”

Regulus groaned softly, clearly wishing he could disappear into the floor. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to subject himself—and by extension, Barty—to the whirlwind that was James Potter and his pack of friends, but he also wasn’t blind. He saw the way Barty’s attention had shifted, how your sharp, biting comments had hooked him in a way nothing else had managed to. He could practically feel the chaos brewing.

James, ever the peacemaker, clapped his hands together. “Right, well, now that we’ve all sufficiently insulted each other—again—how about we chat about something less murder-y?”

“No promises,” you murmured, flipping a page of the Daily Prophet as you continued working through the puzzle.

“Good efforts, Potter, but I fear she's just too intrigued by me” Barty sighed, leaning back in his seat as if exhausted by the mere prospect of attention. “I have that effect on people.”

“Oh, sure,” McKinnon chimed in, rolling her eyes. “We’re all positively obsessed with you.”

Sirius, looking entirely too pleased with himself, gave you an exaggerated wink. “I’d pay good money to see her put you in your place, Junior.”

“And I’d pay good money to see you mind your own business,” you retorted coolly, not even sparing Sirius a glance. Neither boy seemed sure if the comment was meant for Sirius or Barty, but didn't let that deter their entertainment.

Barty watched the exchange with open fascination. He couldn’t help but admire how easily you held your own amongst this overzealous group, considering their tendency to overwhelm people with their loud, boisterous energy. You were like a still, cold lake amidst a storm, unbothered by the wind and waves crashing around you.

He leaned closer to Regulus, his voice dropping slightly as he muttered, “I like her.”

Regulus, still recovering from the emotional whiplash of being dragged between Barty and James’s worlds, gave Barty a flat look. “Don’t.”

Barty’s grin only widened. “Too late.”

It became a strange, almost delirious routine for Barty to be swirled into the life of James Potter and Co. He minded it less and less, irritation soothed almost instantly once he saw you.

He sought you out every time Regulus brought him along, plopping down beside you on the common room couches, leaning on your chair at the library, catching your eye in the hallways. You presented begrudgingly, always rolling your eyes and scoffing, but your resolve crumbled slowly and the smile you were fighting became more insistent.

You and your dry retorts, you with your books or puzzles in hand, you and your knowing looks that grew more affectionate.

Barty was thoroughly fascinated.

"Don't screw this up for me please," Regulus would whine as the two of them walked back to the Slytherin dorms with just a few minutes left before curfew. They had dragged out their time sprawled across the couches by the fireplace at Gryffindor.

This time, as most times of late, Regulus hadn't asked Barty to come – he hadn't needed to. While the two usually spent most of their time together, Barty had practically been glued to his side as of late, ready to jump on the opportunity to see you.

"I won't," Barty dragged out the words with annoyance, as if he had said them a thousand times as of late. "Don't worry your pretty head so much Reggie, James won't care that I'm bantering with his bestie."

"It's not just the bantering I'm worried about," Regulus muttered, but Barty caught it clear as day. He gave his friend a look that demanded further explanation.

"You clearly fancy her, Barty!" He just blinked, as if to say and? Regulus groaned. "Just don't mess anything up with her to the point where she gets so angry she doesn't want to see you anymore. I don't want to have to deal with managing my time between you and James because she wants you dead."

Barty sighed dreamily at those last words, whispering wouldn't that be hot? Regulus gave him a corrective slap up the back of his head.

"I won't okay, I won't!" Barty was the one grumbling now, trying to deal with the infatuation in his stomach, just aching to go back and bicker some more with you, while also calming his best friend down. "I don't want to actually like hurt her or anything, I just like getting a little rise out of her."

Regulus paused before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, levelling Barty with a glare. He realised then that he seemed to have a type of person he prefers to associate with, because you had given him that same look earlier when you debated each other about who should get to sit in the comfy chair. He suggested you just sit in his lap in the chair – a great compromise, really – and a beautiful blush crept up on your face when you scoffed.

"If she will make you happy, please do go for it. But be careful, please." Regulus's tone of voice was intent, leaving little room for argument.

Barty still found some, of course, but he was soft for his friend and gave way.

"Fine, don't worry, I've got it under control," he all but whined. "It's not everyday stoic Regulus Black begs me for anything, so fine."

There was a smile on Regulus's face when he shoved him then, finally stepping into the Slytherin dorms to call it a night.

You were in the library the first time Barty got you all to himself.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Barty found himself wandering through the library, absentmindedly scanning the rows of books. He wasn’t really paying attention, more so killing time before his next Quidditch practice and possibly looking for some trouble, when he spotted you in a far corner. Much better.

For once you were free from your larger than life friends, nose peacefully buried in another one of your books as you twirled your quill before your fingers. Barty knew you were waiting to scribble something in the margin, and a surprisingly soft warmth sprouted in his chest when you did. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made his way over to you, leaning casually against the bookshelf beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.”

You didn’t even bother looking up. “If you’re here to annoy me, I’ll hex you. Finally got some peace and quiet."

Barty laughed, taking the seat across from you without invitation. “You wound me. What makes you think I’m here to annoy you? Maybe I just wanted some quality company.”

“Quality company?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow as you finally looked up from your book. “And yet you chose to sit with me.”

“Exactly,” Barty replied smoothly, flashing you a grin. “You’re the most interesting person in this castle, and I’m bored. I’m sure you can entertain me.”

You gave him a long, appraising look, as if trying to figure out what his angle was. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope.” His characteristic cheshire cat grin was playing across his features, and you ignored the stirring it caused inside you.

A pause stretched between you as your staring contest prolonged, and for a moment, Barty thought you were going to ignore him, go back to your book, and continue the delicate balance of biting banter and cold indifference that had marked all your previous interactions.

Then, much to his surprise, you closed your book with your fingers keeping your page. You leaned back in your chair as you regarded him with a calculating gaze. “Fine. Though if you’re so desperate for company, then you tell me something interesting. Junior.”

Barty blinked, not having expected you to actually engage. His grin grew and he felt pride bloom in your chest as you began to sport your own.

"Oh, I'll tell you anything you want, if it'll keep your attention on me, sweetheart."

[femaholicc]

—ㅤ꒰ྀིㅤ High Heels | a.arlert

Pairing: Armin Alert x fem! reader ( it is implied that reader is black)

Synopsis: Based off of my best friend armin drabble, read here for more context. Reader comes over to check and see if armin finished her homework as she so kindly(kind?) asked but ends up with more than just some papers.

Warnings: ୨ৎ 2.4k. fem black reader , lowercase intended on some parts, dry humping/grinding, she/ her pronouns, black coded , girly reader , sub! armin , praise, teasing, pet names (pretty , good boy, gorgeous), foot play? (not rlly). comments are welcome and loved!

“Min did you do my work like I asked you” You huffed as you slide onto his couch. Setting your pink coach purse on his lap smoothing out the wrinkles on your pretty gingham skirt.

Armin turned towards you a disappointed look on his face. “ I cant always do your work for you , how will you pass the class”

“Im going to pass just fine Armin what I dont have time for is you nagging me about something you promised you would do” You spoke bitterly crossing your arms over your chest.

Armin bristled at the bitter tone you spit out with his name. It was only “Armin” when you were annoyed with him , always a sugary “Min” or “ Minnie” when you talked to him.

With a sigh Armin took out your neatly folded homework that he had stayed up early in the morning finishing for you. “I cant always do this for you, I hardly have time to do my own work anymore”

“Sounds like a you problem not mine” you scoffed playing with the rings on your fingers. Why did he have to be so stubborn! Weren't friends supposed to help each other. You turned towards armins pouting frame a slight grin adorning your glossy lips an idea forming in your head as you slung your brown legs over his thighs bringing your hands to play with his blonde locks.

“Well I suppose if its just too much work for my little minnie to handle I could always ask rennie to do it for me dont wanna stress you out of course ” you twirled his hair between your fingers. “You know chem is his specialty”

Armin bristled at the mention of Erens name. Since when did you call him “rennie” nicknames were always something you reserved for him. He’ll be damned if he lets you spend any more time with the person who has him in this predicament in the first place

N-No its okay I can handle it dont worry your pretty head about it”

“Mhmm pretty? You think im pretty min” You leaned close brushing your lips over his ear circling your arms around his neck flirty smile adorning your perfect lips

Armin gulped , hands suddenly becoming sweaty, face growing hot. “Course I do…your the prettiest girl in the world” his cheeks flamed pink , he pushed his face into the collar of his sweater fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. God how he secretly loved when you teased him it never failed to have his dick growing tight in his boxers. He mentally sighed already knowing what game you were playing at. You always did this to him whenever you wanted him to do something using your sweet words against him.

“Well arent you adorable. But I don’t like complainers so maybe I will take my problems to eren since helping your best friend is such a chore” an annoyed expression made its way onto your face

You get up grabbing your purse off of his lap popping a piece of gum in your mouth prepared to leave for your dorm , but with one glance at his pants....you see he wasn’t embarrassed by your teasing but for another reason

“ Oh my god Minnie did you just get hard” you laughed pulling his flushed face closer to your own peering down at the obvious tent in his pants trying to get a closer look. “Thats so pathetic getting turned on from your best friend and I didnt even do anything. Giggling you bring your lips closer to his ear.

“oh my god are you like a pervert or something“

You laughed in his face relishing in how red his face got. Poking at his cheeks and grabbing his jaw in between your manicured hands. “Gosh who knew my geek of a best friend could even get it up , I mean arent you nerds supposed to only get any play from your hands and the pathetic little comic book girls and anime’s you watch, you probably jerk off to it too huh”

“ I d-dont I m-mean Im not a perv I dont jerk off to those types of t-things”

Armin stumbled over his words trying to say anything anything that would have you believe him , he didn't want you thinking he was a pervert on top of all the other things he guessed you didn't like about him anymore. The thought alone of you hating something about him made his head ache and his heart grind inside of his chest.

You stood up pressing the heel of your shoe into his growing erection “Your not a pervert? Then whats this minnie seems like you are one to me”

“You probably jerk off thinking about me when I leave dont you , I mean if something as small as a little teasing can get you this hard who knows what other perverted thought you think of me , thats so so so dirty and disgusting min”

He grabbed your ankle trying to remove your foot off of him which only made you press down harder. Armin groaned softly into the palm of his hand desperately trying to control his hips from rutting up into the palm of your shoe , your degrading words combining with how close you two were your perfume invading his senses all made his brain go foggy eyes glossing over.

“Aw look at you getting off on me stepping on your poor excuse of a dick ,is it even big? giggling you pressed your face closer to his

"Probably not I mean how could someone like you get that , the only thing your blessed with is that beautiful brain of yours and looks like thats going dumb too” you giggled moving your heel back and forth across the erection prodding at his zipper

Armin moaned at your harsh words hands shaking around your ankle as his hips started grinding up onto your shoe , pretty blue eyes starting to brim over with tears

“m-mhm sorry cant h-help it i'm sorry just feels s-so good c-causeyou ” he whined pathetically , tears slipping down his milky pink cheeks, trying to convey to you how this was technically your fault and failing miserably but his hips just couldn’t stop the slow grinding rhythm that had him start frantically humping your shoe

“God min your so pathetic look at you getting off on using my shoe like a dog in heat humping his owners leg , your fucking pathetic you know that. "so mind fucked already you cant even control your hips” You sneered taking his jaw between your fingers kissing away his tears prying open his mouth spitting your gum onto his pink tongue

“Maybe you should be like this always , my perfect pathetic little puppy" you smiled at the idea "thats all your good for anyways since you cant even handle doing a couple dumb homework assignments”

“.Y-Yea I can do that be your p-puppy mmm - love you s-so much you k-know that… dont wanna mmph - loose you” Armin whined out moving your foot to the same rhythm his hips were going trying to ease that achy feeling in his cock , all his emotions and fears of little you leaving him tumbling out in pathetic whines and whimpers.

“Oh min arent you adorable but cant have you cumming like this I mean you haven’t even thought about my needs tsk tsk such a selfish boy” You removed your heel from his body throwing a dissatisfied look his way

“I mean just look at me all drenched for you minnie” you laughed , “and who woulda thought little ol you could get me like this”

Armin went speechless watching you lift the hem of your skirt up giving him a nice pretty view of your soaked pussy through pink panties juices dripping down your thighs. you grabbed his hand placing it right where you needed it , small fingers overlapping his larger ones dragging his fingers up and down your clit circling the small bud.

Armins eyes zeroed in on your pretty panty covered pussy , eyes glossing over in a daze feeling the way the translucent slick coated his fingers feeling the heat of your pretty pussy through your panties

Finally finding some momentum to move because when would a chance to touch gorgeous you like this ever come again he thought, armin pulls your panties to the side thick fingers sliding between your gooey folds marveling in how much your dripping around him.

“I-idiot you gotta put them mhmph inside god have you even done this before” "so kay ill show you min" sliding your self onto his lap you put your back to his chest spreading your thighs over his much larger ones , bringing his hand back down over your pussy. “this is what you gotta do min make me feel good kay” you pushed two of his fingers inside your gummy walls back arching at the pleasurable intrusion.

Armin stared in awe at the swell of your breasts that started to poke out of your little top eyes trailing all the way down to where his fingers were now pushed nice and snug inside your pussy. God when was the last time you spoke to him so nicely? That sugary sweet tone you use to have for him returning to your voice. Was this all it took? His fingers plugging your hole for you to be nice to him?

“Min - Min!” You nudge the side of his face trying to nudge him out of his dazed off gaze “You gotta move your fingers dumb boy come on if you make me cum I promise Ill be reallyyy nice to you from now on” you smiled up at him leaning up just enough to press a glossy kiss to the side of his mouth

Armin’s ears perked up at that. Maybe you two could finally go back to how you used to be all he had to do was make you cum once? Armin found himself thinking he’d do anything anything to get you to look at him how you use to again without that demeaning gaze you usually held for him. He wrapped his forarm around your waist pulling you flush against him , knees pushing apart your legs to have you fully bared open for him.

He pulled his fingers slowly out of you and plunged them back into you , fingers stretching you out sliding against your gummy walls

“am I doing this right , y-you feel good look reallyy pretty like this” fingers fucking into your stuffed cunt at a brutal pace, glossy juices dripping down onto his lap. You could feel his dick twitching beneath you pressing into your behind and oh my god were you wrong about him being small.

“Min - minniee right there making me feel s-so good your such a good boy” your voice slurred trying to keep your head up but with each nasty thrust of his fingers your resolve fell. Your own fingers gripping his thighs , eyelashes fluttering shut at the familiar tight coil building in your stomach , ass rubbing back and forth over his dick squirming around in his lap

“ I-Im your g-good boy? y-yea yourgood boy” His teeth dug into his pink lips trying to suppress his pitiful noises , words slurring together at the praise you gave him. He shut his eyes in his head he knows he must sound so pathetic right now he just wanted to crawl away in embarrassment. I mean how could he be getting off on just your words praising him and the thick curve of your ass just simply pressing into him.

Even so the thought of disappointing you was even worse than his crippling embarrassment so he circled your clit with his thumb , fingers curling inside of your pink drooling hole, pampering your neck with open mouth sloppy kisses eager to do anything to make you cum to please you

“ooo minnie g-gonna cum your gonna make me cum im so close” your acrylic fingers curled around his wrist trying to drive his fat fingers deeper in your wet pussy. Armins head dropped on your shoulder slightly damp blonde hair tickling your cheek, thick rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.

“Gonna mhmm make you cum pretty gonna make you l-love me again. His words stuttered out of his mouth , his mouth making wet little hickies on your shoulder, thick fingers scissoring your drooling pussy , juices spilling into a small puddle onto his pants mixing in with his own pre cum from your mindless humping.

Armin removed his fingers from your cunt , fingers latching onto your waist arching you forward pulling his cock from the confines of his pants with a small groan from his lips. Pretty pink tip leaking so so much pre cum onto his thighs before he began moving you harshly back and forth on his dick sliding himself between your lips , pussy juices gushing down his shaft.

“Gonna cum like this pretty, p-prettiest pussy in the worlds gonna make me cum - mhmm s-so close” he rocked you back and forth against his cock gasping when he felt his head bump into your clit eyes rolling back the euphoric feeling of you humping his cock was bringing you both closer and closer to the edge “Ohgosh min angel feels so good b-best dick ever your like better than m-my pillow” you whined out , your moans bouncing off his walls, fingers grabbing his knees to leverage yourself to rut faster against him.

Angel. armin quivered at the soft name leaving your lips. Such a sweet endearment was directed towards him. If he wasn't a goner for you before he definitely was now.

The slick sounds , heavy breathing and your praise combined with all the gushing your pussy was doing and feelings he felt for you pushed him to the edge voice growing hoarse , him cumming onto your pussy with a loud moan head thrown back against the couch. You weren’t too far behind him , the feeling of his cum soaking your pussy making you cum with a soft moan , legs shaking nearly making you fall off his lap.

Armin finally gained enough strength to lift his head looking at you only to be met with the sight of your flushed fucked out face dipping between your thighs tasting the mix of cum you two left behind , tongue swirling your fingers leaving a soft pop!

“You taste good min really impressive for a dumb nerd like you” You grinned cheekily familiar teasing tone lacing into your voice.

“Tell me did grinding your dumb cock through my pussy feel good” you stroked your fingers through his hair , his head leaning into your touch before moaning into your palm when you sharply tugged at the blonde strands.

“Gonna use your shower now! Make sure my homework is done when I get out then we can finally put your looser cock to more work” taking off your clothing throwing it into his nearby hamper you blew him a kiss bouncing off to his bathroom.

Armin groaned loudly into his hand a lovesick doupy smile growing onto his lips. God what was he gonna do with you. He should have known one time wouldn’t be enough for you!

[slightlysaltysometimes]

latest jay post got me thinking: i went on these one depression meds and theyre the only ones who worked and i started eating more cus i felt well enough too but put on weight and immediately dropped them. or like im so busy working in the medical field and with adhd i just often dont have time, so imagine moving in with jay and he cooks for you and makes sure you now have a good eating diet instead of few snacks and ton of caffiene for the day so naturally you put on weight and he just is FROTHING at the mouth.

this ask has me frothing at the mouth. i’m going to marry you anon

reader starting to gain weight bc jay cooking for them…

(content warnings for weight gain, AFAB body but no pronouns or gender mentioned, dress used as a plot point, swearing, 2nd person POV, very suggestive near the end, pet names used: ma, sweetheart, baby)

Starting to live with Jason is a dream.

You thought he was a near perfect boyfriend before (well, at least perfect for you), but now?

He’s a househusband. You mean it in the most affectionate, positive way possible, but he genuinely insists on cooking and cleaning entirely by himself. You compromised with him by agreeing that you’ll put away clean laundry when it’s done, but he doesn’t allow you to finish any more domestic labor with your work keeping you so busy.

It’s been a long shift, being on your feet and working for almost 14 hours. So, getting home at 8:39 PM, you expected Jason to have just ordered some takeout or pizza for dinner due to your absence.

Your keys jingle as you unlock the front door to your shared apartment, yawning as you step inside and toe off your shoes. “Jayce, I’m home!” You call out, hanging up your keys and setting down your bag.

But he doesn’t come out of his office our your shared bedroom. He’s in the kitchen, an apron around his waist and a grin on his lips.

“Hey, ma.” He murmurs as you drape yourself over his back and nuzzle between his shoulderblades. “Long day?”

“You have no idea.” You grumble, pressing the smallest of kisses to his spine. “You’re cooking? You could’ve just ordered takeout earlier, you didn’t need to wait up for me.”

“I wanted to.” He replies, almost scoffing. “I’m not gonna let you eat a granola bar and call it dinner.”

You can nearly feel your heart melting in your chest.

“You really didn’t have to.” You reiterate. “But thank you.”

You two haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet, but you’re incredibly tempted. Jason is so easily spooked by love. So you show him with your actions, instead. The gentle kisses and caresses, the gentle nights and even softer mornings.

And by the way he cooks you your favorite foods after long shifts and hard days, you’d wager he’s doing the same.

Recently, you’ve noticed a small trend in your clothing.

Some of the smaller items you have are a little too tight lately. Plus, you can’t wear your bra on the tightest setting anymore, and your usual hole on your belt is a little too restrictive when you fasten it.

Jason is helping you clip your bra when he notices.

“Don’t you wear it on the other hook?” He murmurs, clipping it on the second. “I know I’ve helped you with this before.”

You hum, turning around and pecking his lips as a thanks for the assistance. “Yeah. I might be gaining some weight recently, it might be the new medication I’m on. Might need to do more cardio or something.”

Jason frowns. “You’re already doing more than you should. You are not gonna try and push yourself even more.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Whatever. I probably won’t gain much more weight, anyway.”

You were such a fool.

Over the next several months living with Jason, you’ve had to go up a clothing size, up a bra band size, and up a half-size in your shoes.

But every time you bring it up with Jason, he brushes it off, just reassuring you that it’s normal for hormones to cause weight fluctuations and that you’re perfect the way you are.

Finally, you’re trying on an old dress when you can’t quite fit into it, and you break. You can’t just let him ignore it anymore.

“Jason.” You sigh, calling him into your bedroom. “Come here.”

Jason is there in just a few seconds, grinning when he sees you in the dress. “Hey, baby. Feeling nostalgic or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes. “Try and zip it up.”

He quirks an eyebrow, but he does. And it doesn’t get any further than your mid-back.

“This fit me fine a few months ago.” You say, sounding equal parts confused and annoyed. “Loosely, even.”

The rest of your words fade into the foggy background as Jason’s mind runs wild.

You only notice when his hands move and he starts to unzip the dress, then slipping his hands into it and caressing your sides.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mutters, voice thick with… Something. “Look at you. You were so thin before, remember? You didn’t even eat two full meals a day. Maybe 1000 calories on a good day.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” You scoff.

Jason noses against your neck, mouthing at the soft, sensitive skin. “Barely. Fuck, you’re so pretty. Stunning. I love cookin’ for ya, you’re actually eatin’ right now. Your body is catching up. Your metabolism is slower ‘cause of your diet before, and now you’re actually getting the shit you need.”

You sigh, realizing he’s right. “Damn it.”

He frowns, biting gently at your shoulder. “This isn’t a ‘damn it’ moment, baby. Look at you.”

His hands start to wander. One caresses your stomach as the other wanders up to your chest. “Fuck. Sweetheart, haven’t you noticed? Your bra’s too small.”

You frown. “No it’s not, I just got a new one.”

He smirks, thumb ghosting over where your chest almost spills from the cups. “Yeah, it is. You went up a cup size.”

After that day, every time you tried to start a diet or new workout routine, he would vehemently disagree until you gave in.

This morning, though, he’s staring.

You’re in just your underwear, and he’s staring as you stretch and dig through your wardrobe for something to wear.

“You’re off today, right?” He asks, voice rough from sleep.

You don’t even hear him until he’s right behind you, his large hands on your hips.

“Yeah, I’m off.” You respond, suspiciously eyeing him when you turn around.

He’s shameless in his ogling, not even bothering to warn you before he picks you up effortlessly.

“Wha- Jason!” You exclaim, holding tight to his shoulders. “Put me down!”

He smiles wickedly, plopping you down on the bed and pulling you flush to him as he leans down and captures your lips with his.

“Fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, biting your bottom lip and making you gasp. “You’re so *soft*. You know how hard it is to stop myself from practically groping you all the damn time? Your hips, your thighs, your stomach….”

You don’t even have the opportunity to think before he’s squeezing your hips and pulling back to look at you properly. “Can I have you, ma? Please? I’m hungry, baby, and I really want those pretty fuckin’ thighs around my head.”

These changes to your body are new, but maybe not as bad as you thought.

[llxferim]

Under Her Wing

a/n: very small, very bad, very not proof read and very OOC fic for yall while i work on something bigger.

(YALL NVM I FIXED MY ASKS SEND IN WHATEVER U WANTTT)

Pairings: Sevika x Fem!reader

Summary: You and Sevika are on a date, but some creep sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: prolly bad language i dont remember, creep, following, fem!reader, no pronouns used, no y/n used, dom!Sevika.

word count: prolly under 400

Ever since you started dating—and even before that—Sevika has always been protective of you. She was definitely not the type to let a random creep check you out, let alone try to talk to you.

At first, she would just give him a warning look, not paying much attention but still keeping him in sight. if he didn’t get the message then she would bring you in closer, resting her arm over your shoulders possessively. She liked showing people you were hers, and only hers.

When you finally noticed the creep, a wave of tension rippled through you, though you tried to hide it. Sevika, of course, noticed instantly.

“Ignore him” she murmured, her arm still resting on your shoulders. you lean into the warmth of her touch and take a big breath in an attempt to calm down.

“Want to get to the bar?” she asked, her voice soft. “Yeah, a drink would be great right now,” you responded, your voice still a little trembling despite your efforts to hide it.

You did your best to ignore the guy, but his footsteps were getting a little too close and Sevika was getting visibly pissed, her jaw clenched.

When you finally get to the bar her hand leaves your shoulder and slides down to your waist, pulling you in, “You go in, princess. I’m gonna take care of something.” she said, “You sure?” you asked with a concern, “mhmm” she hummed in response, “you go get us something to drink in the meantime, yeah?” she said before opening the door for you. you kissed her before heading in, catching a glimpse of the guy around the corner right before the door closed with a soft thud.

You already ordered the drinks and you were waiting for Sevika.

When the door finally swung open, you turned instinctively. There she was, her tall frame commanding attention even in the crowded space. Your eyes flicked to her metal arm, noticing the faint, dark stains before she covered it back up.

Your stomach flipped. Whatever happened out there wasn’t minor. But as her gaze met yours, her expression softened, that protective warmth you loved melting away your anxiety. She strode over, her steps measured and steady as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted, her voice low and soothing as if she hadn’t just been outside doing… well, something. She leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before taking the drink you handed her.

“You okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You glanced at her arm again, then up at her face. “Your arm—”

“It’s fine,” she cut you off gently but firmly, taking a sip of her drink. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Sevika…” you started, but she leaned in closer, her free hand brushing against your cheek.

“I said it’s fine. He’s not going to bother you again.” Her tone was calm, but the edge in her words was unmistakable. She wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, but she was also trying not to alarm you.

You hesitated, torn between pressing her for answers and trusting that she had it under control. Finally, you nodded, leaning into her touch.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Her lips curved into a small smirk. “Always.”

——

my thoughts while writing this fic😭

[evilminji]

I got distracted, BUT I REMEMBERED!

The Dr.'s Fenton? Would ABSOLUTELY fight a child.

Specifically, Hatsume Mei. Future CEO of Hatsume Industries! And ENGINEERING RIVAL of their's! They may be new to this whole "support industy" business, but they are SEASONED weaponry makers! And that brilliant little upstart is good! Audacious! A THREAT!!!

COME GET SOME!!! D:<

See, they needed to Move. Things were getting a bit... spicy. They may have made so unfortunate choices, back before they knew the truth about their Son and Ghosts in general.

Ignorance, bigotry, and academic bias are curses in their house for a REASON, after all. They never thought... after all the DECADES of facing it themselves...

Well...

Needless to say, they were, are, and will always BE horrified by how they acted. There may have be a whole host of reasons behind WHY they acted that way. But those WHYs aren't good enough. They should have been better. Done better. They don't offer any excuses, but but they can give an explanation, if it's wanted.

And, together, as a family, they got through Maddie n Jack's horrifying mistakes.

God they don't deserve those kids. Love them to pieces. The things they don't warn ya about parenthood, you know? The mistakes you might make. You think you're ready. Think everything's alright. Then your life's work KILLS your son and brings him back.

And you don't notice.

......what sort of parents DONT NOTICE?

They still have nightmares. Feel sick. God, if they were working in ANY other field. With ANY other materials! If it wasn't SPECIFICALLY ectoplasm? He... he wouldn't have come back. Oh god.

........

So.... so, yeah.

They're working on some things! As a family! Seeing a therapist from the Zone. Lovely... Them? They're a tree person. Neither Jack or Maddie is quite certain what gender pronouns, if ANY, they are supposed to use. They've been defaulting to They/Them just to be safe. Still! Alien therapist! Neat!

But, of COURSE. The BABIES in White throw a FIT. "Wah, wah, wah you've been compromised blah blah blah" oh PLEASE! Just because they've had a little personal growth! And stopped shooting at Phantom in public! And in general! You shoot ONE little Goverment agent for trying to shoot your baby and suddenly YOUR the bad guy!

He didn't even die!

So, yeah, BIT spicy.

Honestly? Feels like a long time coming. They were never very popular. This ultimately just feels like the ends of a road that began in college. Them, the two "crazies" with their backs to the wall, as the government closes in, trying to tear them down for knowing the TRUTH and refusing to shut up about it. Their reputations so deep in the mud, they're tasting bedrock.

At least they are together.

And thank god they've had years to plan for the inevitable.

So? They have the kids grab their go bags and head off too stay with Danny's new celebrity friend from another dimension, Mr Wayne. Nice man, little dim, but since he's willing to open his home to the kids in case of emergency? Perfect. And frankly, as long as Mr. Pennyworth is there, everything will be fine.

Besides! Lil Damian is a very respectful and responsible young man. Tim and Danny may get up to mischief, but they can trust the youngest to put his foot down.

THEM on the other hand?

Not so lucky. THEY have to stay with the house. It's not exactky like they can move the portal after all, it's built in. And this is where the kids grew up! Where Jack and her scrimped and saved, lived out of cars and off nickle noodles, to afford! This is their HOME! And no jack booted THUG is going to take that.

So the kids go first. They go to the command center. Jack takes pot shots while she fires up... THAT machine. The one they wired into the house itself, right along with the Ectoplasmic Shielding. It was all theoretical, once. But not anymore.

Now they have The Zone.

It's been collecting energy runoff from the open gate ever since it opened. Siphoning them into the sub-basment mega batteries. Enough to run two-thirds the planet for the next half a millennia. If only the damn patent office would LET THEM PATENT THEIR WORK-!

But that doesn't matter anymore. No, what matters is checking how full the battery banks are. Decently. It HAS been a while since they've done a controlled drain. Good, that means they have more then enough.

So, with no kids to witness things getting nasty? She pulls out her keys and unlocks the parental commands, flips the the shields to "strobe-kill". Let's see you crowd us NOW fuckers. With Jack freed up to help aim the house? They set to work.

It's... not EXACTLY an exact science, as much as they'd prefer it to be. More of a controlled jump. Set preferences, power jump, hop sideways an unknown distance. Land. Look around.

Is it what you want?

Habitable?

A zombie apocalypse?

Jump again. And again. And again. Until the battery runs out. Then sit... or float...or drift, there, until the batteries refill. You have to be mindful, of course, that you don't lose Shield coverage. Because it keeps the House air tight and together. If you jump and immediately lose power to the shields because you misjudged the energy left in the batteries?

Better HOPE you land somewhere with a breathable atmosphere and no zombies!

And Fentons don't rely on HOPE! They rely on good ol firepower and hutzpa!

Also advanced ectoplasmic scientific engineering! But that was a given.

It... takes a while. They run out of canned peaches. Have to stop TWICE to help cure a zombie plague, since they are the only ones with a still working lab. They were actually sort of joking with the kids about the zombies. Oof. Good thing Ectoplasm eats EVERYTHING. One specialized ecto shot and that disease is TOAST.

Granted, the surviors are all limnal now. But they don't seem to care in the slightest.

Then there was the whole "oop! Planet's gone." Couple of worlds. The one with the crabs. The ocean one. The ice age. The robots. The cartoon horses. The inappropriately dressed high-schoolers with weapons fighting God. The boring one. The one with ninjas...

I mean, they are just NOT having any LUCK!

Okay, next moderately stable world, they are doing a groceries run! A Man can not live off freeze dried meals forever! Well, you CAN. But it's making Jack sad, and frankly that's a war crime. Plus she's run out of tea! AND coffee! A life of no caffeine? She can't endure that.

She's started to eye her son's God awful energy abominations in a can, for God sake! Desperate time's and all that...

Zyeyooom!

Thunk!

Which? Is how? The ENTIRE class of 1-H? Turns to stare in ABSOLUTE HORROR at the cackling, head thrown back, hands clawed, mad scientist "it's alive! It's aliiiiiiive" type insanity that is Hatsume Mei and her "this green goo I found from some guys Quirk" powered teleport anchor.

It MADE A HOUSE.

On SCHOOL FUCKING GROUNDS. An ENTIRE house! Is... is that a blimp? That's English right? What's it say?! What the FUCK is that sh- OH MY GOD ARE THOSE PEOPLE!? MEI!!!!!

So begins... the Fentons Beef With A Child™.

Because! Mei will forever more claim! That SHE brought them to this universe with HER magnificent machine! But Maddie and Jack? At first, trying to be nice about it, helpfully point out, actually? No. THEIR house can and does reality jump. THEY brought themselves.

Mei ignores them.

Crows about her magnificent machine. Scoffs about them thinks they haspd anything to do with it.

Oh... oh it is ON, you tiny pink haired little shit!

Does the Japanese Government want to take control of the situation? Of course they do. They want these scientists and they want that house. Local Nedzu's say? "It's nice to want things" :) *sips tea mockingly*

They landed on HIS school's grounds. Finders keepers!

You may say "threat to national security" but HE says "free support gear for the students and security for the school"! Not to MENTION all this delightful FREE clean energy! They are a delightful couple. With a portal to the fabric between realities in their basement!

Not found of the laboratory, but that's a personal issue. The ZONE however? Oooohohohohoho~☆

It? Would DRIVE THE HPSC and Japanese government BATSHIT INSANE that they can't get at the portal? That threats and stealth Heros and every other method? Just... hits a brick wall. A big ol "lol nope!" Meanwhile Nedzu and occasionally random teachers or students are popping in and out of this house they can get into?

Nedzu especially standing just on the other side of the shields going >:3 neener~ neener~ neener~ Ha ha! I could be mature about this but am CHOOSING NOT TO BE!

@legitimatesatanspawn @mutable-manifestation @hdgnj @hypewinter @babbling-babull

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[mintys-playarea]

RUGGIE B. W A DUNCE! PLAYING! LOVER!

You had no idea how you were able to get a man such as him to fall in love with you. He was clever, sweet, a great cook, and an absolute cutie... Ruggie was yours and you were his!

You had many flaws. You weren't very smart, you had tendencies to mess with people... The list could go on. Yet he still loved you.

It was a cool, autumn day. Warm colored leaves fell from trees, leaving the courtyard a blend of reds, browns and oranges. There were plenty students walking and talking happily along with one another, the smell of pumpkin spice wafting in the air. Though you were relatively uninterested before... A particular student has caught your eyes. It was none other than the Azul Ashengrotto walking around, promoting his most recent sale for the Mostro Lounge... This was the perfect opportunity.

The leaves crunched beneath your shoes as you tapped his leg, your icy cold hands sneaking up his pant leg and touching his warm calf. He shivered with a loud yelp, immediately turning around to find no one there. You were hiding behind a nearby tree. You weren't hidden well of course, but Azul couldn't see you. He shook his head, sighing and brushing it off as the wind. As he continued to promote the sale, you snuck up on him again. You tapped his leg the same way as before, except... You weren't fast enough this time. He kicked you and hoisted you up with stern eyes.

"Do you understand how disrespectful you are?!" Azul screeched. He clearly disliked getting his legs touched like that.

You sputtered trying to come up with an excuse, panicking as you see the Leech twins starting to come into view. You squirmed as Azul held still and started walking.

"Excuse me boys, but may you help hand out flyers for me as i return this rascal to their owner? They were very disrupting to me, we wouldn't want that happening with to another," Azul had a slight pout as he continued walking. He muttered something to himself quietly before going into the Savannaclaw mirror.

Leona sighed as he saw Azul waltz up to him. "And how am i responsible for the herbivore??" He said with a tired look.

"Well, aren't they always over here? I'd assume it's because they have something with you?" Azul responded, almost annoyed with the fact he had to speak with Leona.

"No... You'd have to find Ruggie. He's— Right here," Leona groaned before returning to his room.

"Oh, hey there Az! Whatcha doin' here? And why do ya got lovebug there?" Ruggie commented on you being carried by Azul like a critter he finds dirty.

"I found.. er.. Lovebug messing with me during my promotion for the new Mostro Lounge sale... So you're the one taking care of.. this thing?"

"Aye, they're person, you know! Not just a 'thing.' But yes, i am in charge of taking care of Lovebug."

"I'll just hand them over already... You should really keep a watch on them. They're probably going to cause a big problem if you dont." Azul shook his head before leaving Savannaclaw finally.

"So... Lovebug, what was that about?"

You pulled out a to-go box of fresh food. Food you stole from Azul. A goofy smile spread across your face.

"Ahh... I see! I've trained you well... You deserve a treat for that!" Ruggie smiled along with you, bringing you into the kitchen.

"I know ya may not be tha brightest sometimes, but you're a sneaky lil' thang fo'sho! Here, ya wanna help bake some cookies to go with that meal?"

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

TAGS!!: @cheezy-moon

A little note on how the tagging system works:

If I know you like a character and I end up writing for it, I'll tag you in it (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

Also, I have no clue what to put for name replacements so... I'll just do pet names! :D also I wanted to keep this in second person, but I kept it gn when I had to use the pronouns (*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀*⁠)

I also forgot how the mirrors work (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠) and I gave ruggie a special way of talking! I like writing him speak like that :3

[rzyraffek]

I have a little smut request, if you don't like or don't want to write I understand that's alright.

When slashers are take a shower then S/O suddenly get in

Bo please must have him, I love this man too much, and Vincent, Lester, Brahms, Thomas, or other slashers you want to write. (or you think I pick too much you can pick some, but please Bo must thank you so much❤️)

I just think this will be fun

Oh, btw, I very love your work so perfect so wonderful so amazing❤️❤️❤️

Yall really love Sinclair's😭😭 ALSO THANK YOU V MUCH IM GLAD YALL ENJOY MY BLOG!!!! Before you read that I need to remind yall that I DONT USUALLY WRITE NSFW STUFF SO DONT EXPECT ANYTHING GREAT HERE!! Request open

Nsfw, but nothing too detailed, they/them pronouns for s/o

Shower zegz with slashers

Bo Sinclair

Our guy will make sure that they will remember that shower for long time

Yknow when you just vibe in shower and you accidently touch cold wall with your back and get all cold and upset? Yeah if s/o has the same problem.. too bad he doenst care they are getting pinned to that wall in seconds anyways

He loves seeing their face, how they react to his actions and words, how their body moves because of him

Will comment A LOT, expect a lot of praising, some cruse words and alot of growls tbh

He marks them 100% one way or another. Bite marks, Hickeys ( alot of them), ect

Afterwards he gonna bring them a towel and make sure they can go to bedroom and rest there for a while. This guy isn't the best at aftercare but he isn't heartless!

Vincent

No bcs he will blush sososo hard😨😳

Like they have to make first move cuz this guy will just stand there awkwardly looking like he has stick up his ass

He gonna be so gentle with them💖 carefully grabbing their hips/hair and enjoying the view moment

Tbh he loves grabbing their hair and vice versa, if s/o is touchy he gonna be sosos blushy

Also afterward he gonna wash their hair probably🥰 making sure they at least get out of this shower clean lol

Brahms Heelshire

Nah bcs this guy will be the one to actually pull them into shower, like s/o was just vibing doing their skincare routine and this guy just grabbed them and yeeted them into shower

He gonna act like he just wants to spent time together🙄🙄 yeah totally

Pls make sure that s/o calls him good boi or he gonna bite them

Also ngl he probably looks sexy asf with wet hair

Incredibly affectionate, yall will be extremely close to each other for the whole thing. And expect him to wisper and growl into s/o year

Thomas Hewitt

This babi will be soso confused??? Like???? Oh you wanna shower together?? Yeah sure ig I don't mind???

Again s/o has to do first move cuz he won't even think about asking them about that type of stuff! Hes a gentleman he would neverr.. unless they ask him ofc

S/o gonna forgor how to walk for few hours at least

He just gonna pick them up and pin them to wall like s/o weights nothing (tbh it doesnt really matter how much they weight this guy picked up adult men and whooped other one at the same time without any struggle, really dont worry)

He cant really tell them how he feels so he just gonna gently pat them or nuzzle them.

He will feel bad afterwards when their legs shake or when they can't really walk 😓

Micheal Myers

Tbh the only reason he showed was bcs they promised him that he will get reward later. Fr this guy stinks

Sex with him is incredibly akward. He doenst make any noise nor shows any kind of affection? Maybe he gonna carry them to bed afterwards or bring them towel?? Like this guy never heard about aftercare, or care overall tbh

He will never show it but he loves when s/o gives him affection or tells him nice words, how good he is and how great his doing his job rn

Not my proudest one! I really suck at nsfw stuff sorry😓😓 also I had nightmare and there was Bo for some reason ?? But he had heavy cowboy-texas accent ??? Idk why. Anyways its 2am yall have great rest of day

This post was made by asexual gang, like and subscribe to join asexual gang

[yyxandere]

Yandere Kazuma with an ill darling? Um maybe they have some sort of condition due to which they are always tired,weak and sleepy or they are actually terminally ill? Up to you.I hope this request didn't bother you.🙂 Romantic please ( also do we always have to mention whether we want it romantic or is it only to be specified when we want it to be poatonic? Sorry i dont know.)

ੈ♡˳ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇…

[♡]ー ꒱・！CHARACTERS！:: KIRYU KAZUMA.

✧.* gender/pronouns ─ 'You' pronouns

✧.* prompt ─ Yandere Kiryu with an ill darling.

☆ .* note ─  letting these post OUT of my drafts…I was just so scared about how OOC most of my works are (T-T)

✩.* TRIGGER WARNINGS ─ NONE

• It might become stressful with his line of work as a Yakuza, but Kiryu would always put his life on the line so no other yakuza can take you away from him.

• If Kiryu met you when you were sick already, he would feel very bad about your condition and he would visit your house or hospital from time to time, but when his feelings bloomed, he would visit regularly, in the hospital the doctors and nurses would always gush how "charming" and "romantic" he is whenever he visits with a bouquet of roses in his arms.

• Haruka would always visit too, she would write many get-well letters that you keep all in a suitcase, even if it's a small note, it would always make your day better. She would also talk so that you could cheer up and stay strong, she would even slip on some embarrassing secrets to make you laugh which would make Kiryu very flustered but would calm down when he heard your laugh.

• If you were ever in a very critical state and had to get surgery, Kiryu would come as fast as he possibly could to attend your surgeries and be by your side while you were asleep or waking up. Even if the doctor tells him to leave he would remain on your side waiting to hear your voice again even if it's raspy.

• If you are ever feeling self-conscious about your looks, because let's face it we're trying to be healthy here in the hospital not look like Snow White while dying. Then don't worry, Kiryu very much thinks that you are gorgeous either way, even if your skin is turning paler than your usual skin tone he will love you no matter what.

• He also likes it when you search for him for comfort, it makes him feel very warm inside knowing that his presence is the best thing to bring out those beautiful (e/c) eyes of yours. His heart is pounding wildly every single time he sees you smile or laugh. His body is burning and he feels like he needs you to close the gap between you guys.

• Kiryu has many connections, maybe he would befriend one of the doctors there so they can always inform him about your condition.

• Now if we talk about when Kiryu already knew you before you became sick, it would still be the same but this time he would be more possessive. Kiryu lost many people already in time he could have prevented it, but this time Kiryu would make sure that he would prevent anything bad that could happen to you.

• Kiryu would research your condition and what are the dos and don'ts of your condition. He would make you eat a much healthier diet making sure you eating well and getting enough protein and vitamins. He would also make sure you take your medicine every day (if prescribed) there will never be a day when you miss your medicine, but he would be the one giving it to you, we don't want you overtaking it.

• If you ask Kiryu if you need to take a bath, Kiryu would hesitantly agree, but he must know that he has your consent to see your body and touch it. He would close or look away his eyes when you take off your clothes in front of him.

• Kiryu would prepare a warm bath for you and would scrub your back and shampoo your hair, even though your undressed body is just in front of him, he tries to focus on his task at hand. Kiryu would also be very careful about washing you, he is scared that he's scrubbing too harshly or knotting your hair, so you have to encourage him that he is doing well. He would really watch over you while taking a bath if you ever have narcolepsy.

• After your bath he would make some warm tea or milk to calm your nerves, being sick isolates you from other people so you always wait for Kiryu so he can talk to you, Kiryu would lightly scold you for not sleeping early because you were waiting for him but how can he ever refuse you.

• If you guys ever walked, Kiryu would be so overprotective, he has a bag full of your medicine and the medical kit even if you guys are just going to the nearby store, and good fucking lord if there was ever a mean person that manages to put their hands on you, he would gently pull you away from the place and make sure that your feeling well making sure that you do not have any bruise or such then he would pull in front of the person who put their hands on you and start beating the fuck out of them.

• If one of the effects of your illness is tiredness, then don't ever worry, if you ever sleep anywhere weird like the bench or the living room, he will carry you gently into the bedroom where all of your medical supplies are and put you on your bed, he would then sit beside you and look at your sleeping frame very gently as he kisses you on your forehead.

“You should sleep now, the doctors prescribed that you should sleep early to have more energy. . .don't worry I'll be watching over you. “