#i hope someone enjoys this self indulgent nonsense

[onlyseokmins]

size matters • l.c.

Pairing: lee chan x afab!reader Genres: major smut (minors PLS dni!), losers + idiots + besties to lovers Warnings: *deep breath* MONSTER COCK CHAN, swearing, love me some switch action, reader does not use specified pronouns but refers to their pussy as "she", reader also wears a skirt, pet names, alcohol and goofy drunk antics, bad humor, use of "whore/slut", tons of dirty talk, they're kinda pervs, mentions of toys, masturbation (fem), hints to past sexual partners, mentions of oral (male), actual oral (fem. receiving), car sex (kind of), condoms, fingering (fem. receiving), WAP lmao and squirting, bantering, degradation, wee bit praise, unprotected/protected MESSY sex, underwear play (??? lmao), precum play (??), edging, face-riding, groping/manhandling, objectification, reverse cowgirl position, bulge kink, slapping/spanking, possession, almost choking, biting, tears and crying, a bit of overstim and if i missed smth lmk sdfjkajdf WC: 8.3k A/N: this started out purely self-indulgent as usual and reads like a bad pornhwa but it's also nana month so a happy early birthday to @bitchlessdino because i will be asleep when the clock actually strikes 12 tomorrow! and bc i will dedicate all chan content to the loml! this is like my 3rd longest fic on this blog and 4th longest fic ever and it's just utter filth and smut... hate it here. i always get into a crazy headspace when i write for this man. i hope y'all enjoy my delusions before i retire out of shame 😬

"I'm worried my dick's too big."

Laughter bubbles in your chest at the same time the beer you'd just taken a swig of swishes around in your mouth. It's so like your best friend to say something stupid. Especially when your mouth is full.

He frowns in mild annoyance as you rock back and forth with mirth, struggling not to spit out your drink and make a mess. But also trying to refrain from choking. Because if you die, you sure as hell will find a way to make sure everyone knows that a dumbo and his terrible concern over having a big cock drove you to your demise in such an unfortunate manner.

And no one wants that.

"I dunno what's so funny," the man in question irritably gripes, "but for god's sake, calm down and swallow."

Though it ends up that Chan is the one gulping first. Ears burning and eyes widening when you wiggle your brows deviously and do as he says. Sticking your tongue out for good measure — just for proof that yes, you did swallow —  but he's quickly whipping his gaze away. Head turning to the side as if that does anything to hide the embarrassing look overtaking his expression. 

He thinks you'll back off, hoping the nervous twiddling of his fingers will deter further teasing. But he should really know better. The telltale signs are littered across the table in front of him and even overpower your usual sweet scent when you lean close into his personal space.

"So, you like it when someone swallows versus spits for you, Channie?"

"You're drunk."

"So are you." 

Because that's what happens every movie night. The two of you enjoy too many beers after a feel-good show and start talking nonsense.

"Yeah, and we're having a very serious conversation right now. A drunk one. But still, serious."

You purse your lips. "You're bluffing. No way you're complaining about the hugeness of your dick. 'Cause no one does that."

"It's not like I'm trying to boast or even insecure, I'm just worried."

"Worried about what?" you snort and push at his shoulder. "There'd be no reason to worry if you know how to use it. In the end, size doesn't matter at all."

Chan quirks an eyebrow, side-eyeing you. "At all?" 

"If your technique is good, it shouldn't matter as long as everyone feels satisfied. You know, you just gotta hit that one spot…" 

You start doing hand motions to demonstrate your point that seem wildly inappropriate and are honestly so drunkenly uncoordinated to the point that Chan not only feels compelled to stop you but doubts anyone would feel good from that. Then again, he's never really managed to partake in sloppy sex, so who knows? 

He grabs your hands to still them and though you no longer move, you protest. "What? You'll have 'em seeing and feeling stars! To be honest… you prolly will too if ya try your best."

"You know, I do know how to pleasure someone. It's not really an issue once I'm inside, it's just getting there that's kind of a problem."

"Channie, are you secretly a virgin?" You lay your head on his shoulder, hand running down his forearm and weaving your fingers between his. "Issokay if you are."

"You know I'm not!"

"Well, yeah I guess you're a bit of a whore. Still love you no matter what."

Chan chokes out your name in frustration. "All I'm saying is that I have a huge cock and I'm sad about it!"

"And you keep saying I'm drunk. Look, you're valid in being… upset about having a fat dick even if I don't understand. Just telling you that sometimes a ton of prep is helpful and even a decent amount of lube. No shame in that. Not everyone's built to take a large-ass, whopping cock." And then you mumble extremely quietly, "If it's even that big."

Unfortunately, he hears you and scoffs. Popping his shoulder up to gently shove you off him. Though that only causes you to grasp for his sweatpant-clad thigh and hold onto it for dear support in your half-drunken stupor. The perverted part of both your brains flash to your hand squeezing tightly around something else; the unmistakable heat of said something else radiating towards the closest part of your hand and causing a hot rush to flare across your entire body.

Or maybe that's just the alcohol.

Doesn't stop you from shamelessly ogling what you can only presume to be his bulge, gray fabric stretched over his groin and straining against muscular thighs. 

"Are you flaccid right now?"

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious. Thinking about my different dildo sizes."

He balks at that. "Pl-please don't."

"Yeah, not sure I wanna compare what your dick would realistically feel inside me," you admit even if you find it difficult to tear your hungry eyes away to take in Chan's mortified expression. 

"Can we stop talking about my personal parts now?" he squeaks out and you shoot him a dubious side-eye even though you do easily acquiesce.

"With pleasure. Speaking of which…"

Chan's hushed groan of "Oh dear" goes ignored even after you drape an arm on the back of the couch behind his head, lay the other across his chest, and splay your legs over his lap. Your lips end up leaving a sticky residue on his cheek, neck, and ear as you graciously whisper your own sex secret — the spontaneous topic of tonight — to him. 

"Only my bullet vibe has the ability to make me squirt. None of the others, not even the thirteen-inch one with suction ridges. So yeah, hm… size doesn't matter, does it Channie?"

"Well, those are toys and uh… my big dick is simply what it is. A big, regular human dick. Nothing fancy."

"Then you should try harder."

He apologizes for having such blatant ignorance about the matter and then eventually you end up falling asleep together. 

Limbs tangled and wrapped around one another just like every other night you doze off with the comfort of the other's body warmth. And like usual, you and Chan peer at each other with eyelids heavy from sleep and goofy but comforting smiles — merely inches apart when the sun's rays sneak a peek through the blinds to shine onto your faces. Because everything's normal and just right between the two of you. 

Like always.

Except it's not.

All you can think about is your best friend's dumb, gargantuan cock and his weird embarrassment about it. If you didn't know Chan as well as you do, you might think he was just using that as an excuse to get into your pants but you know better. He's genuinely perturbed over his too-big dick! 

You let out a sigh. Warm breath fans the tip of your ear while large hands lay on your hips, ringed fingers teasing the bare skin revealed by the daring crop top you decided to wear tonight.

"Am I boring you, baby?"

"Kind of," you admit, displeased that you weren't enjoying the usual thrill of grinding on the dancefloor with a hot man. Turning around to face said man, you purse your lips. "How would you feel if you had a big dick, Cheol?"

He raises an eyebrow in the self-assured way only the Choi Seungcheol can. "Shouldn't you be asking what it's like possessing the largest dick of the century?"

"Not helping, I'm not talking about big dick energy."

"That's not what you said when it was shoved halfway down your throat."

"Can't say much if I'm sucking someone off, you dolt. And I said you made my jaw hurt 'cause you're a guy that likes it rough, not 'cause I thought your dick was overly huge."

"Brat," Seungcheol says rather affectionately, "so whose humongous cock are you taking tonight?"

Your eyes wander over his shoulder to the bar, the same place he noticed your gaze strayed towards all night. A glee-filled smirk is on your face when you meet his eyes again though you only casually state with a shrug, "An absolute loser's."

"Wasn't aware it was self-pleasure night, sweetheart," he jokingly snorts, nudging you in that direction before you can get too mad at him. But not without delivering a playful slap on your ass as a 'good luck to charm' to send you on your way. "Go get 'em, Tiger!"

The cocky bastard must think you're after Soonyoung tonight, who greets you by placing a polite kiss on the cheek and a casual side hug. Though he looks hella fine tonight with slicked-back hair and donning the signature head-turning 'leather jacket, silver jewelry' fit that Seungcheol is sporting, he's not who you have in mind.

You squeeze him back though, always ready to return the affection you receive. "Rare to not see you dancing, tough crowd tonight?"

"Nah, I just have my priorities set." He angles his head toward the bartender who sneaks subtle glances at the two of you as if to distinguish what intentions you had approaching such a striking man. 

That they just so happen to have their eyes on. Luckily Soonyoung does too.

"Ah, well, so do I!" 

Never one to want to get stuck between two people and cause a potential misunderstanding, you pat him on the arm, wink encouragingly at the bartender, and skip away to find the person who's been occupying your mind for the past few days in a very different way like crazy.

Chan hasn't moved from where you last caught sight of him — in the corner of the bar nursing the same glass of bourbon for far too long. There's distinctly more water in it from the rapidly melting ice ball than alcohol but you still ease it out of his grasp. Taking a sip only to wrinkle your nose in disgust.

Your best friend observes your expression with a bemused one of his own after you hand it back, lip gloss staining the rim. A far cry from the darkened, sultry stare that followed as you moved from one gyrating body to the next. You wonder how you've never noticed it before. But then again, you yourself have never thought about him in that kind of way until now. 

While momentarily lost in your thoughts, Chan's working on getting the attention of Soonyoung's flirt target to order your favorite drink. But you place a hand on his arm, squeezing the firm muscle beneath your fingertips. 

"I wanna go home."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just feel like leaving."

He shakes his head. "You looked like you were having a good time."

"Ooh… are you jealous?"

"Hah, jealous? No. Concerned that someone did something you didn't like? Yeah."

"There will be," you tug him by the open collar of the flannel he's wearing so you're nose-to-nose, "if he doesn't take me back to his place right now."

His eyebrows raise, eyes widening as they drop down to the pouty curve of your lips. You swear he even peers at your cleavage with the tiniest of squints before finishing what little bit of liquor is left, standing, and pulling you along with him outside.

Walking to his car parked by the sidewalk is truly a breath of fresh air, the chill of the evening breeze and city noises rushing by helps bring Chan back down to earth. No longer on the crazy high fueled by the hypnotic, seductive thrall of the nightclub's booming bass that adds to him being wholly entranced by your teasing allure. 

Now it's just you and him. Simple as usual, getting ready to drive around.

"You want to go to my place?"

"Yeah."

He starts the engine, checking the side mirror to estimate when there will be an available opening to pull out. "Whaddya wanna do, stop somewhere for snacks?"

"Sure. Maybe condoms too."

"I'm sorry, what?" It's a good thing the car's still in park when his foot stomps on the gas pedal out of shock, revving the engine and making you both jump. "Why?"

Chan even goes as far as to steal a glance over his shoulder at the backseat. As if you had miraculously snuck in someone from the club that you were planning to fuck and he didn't know about it. 

There's no one there, of course.

"Why… are we picking up… condoms?" he repeats. "I um, I have a bunch of unopened boxes i-if you need them."

"You do? Good."

"Uh, can you at least let me know how many are used so I don't suddenly run out?"

Your eyebrows raise though he doesn't even dare look at you. "Do you think you'll cum that much?"

"Pardon?! N-no, I only have a surplus because I bought them in bulk!"

"I thought you weren't having sex a lot because you have such a big cock. One that rarely goes inside anyone."

His hands cover his face. "I'm saying it's fine if you want to use them!"

"Gee, thanks. You want me to make condom balloon animals or something?"

One brown eye glares at you between fingers. "… If you're into that."

"I bet extra large ones would make brilliant animal balloons but that's a sad waste when they could go around a dick instead. I mean it can't be easy for you to find ones that don't break. Whatever, at least you have a ton. And as you know I'm on the pill."

He has to know. He has to ask. "Are you confused or is it just me?"

"Clearly, because I don't know why you think I'd be into filling condoms with air and not cock."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but — I mean like there's no way — but are you implying that you want to… you know, with me…?"

"Whaddya mean 'no way'? Fuck yeah, I wanna fuck you! Sorry, was that not clear?" 

Chan chokes on his saliva and has a brief hacking fit. "No?!" 

"Damn, uh… my bad. Sorry, I thought it was super obvious. Simply put, I can't get the thought of you out of my mind or my pussy, so yeah. We should totally bang. Have sex and all that. Only if you want to obviously. No hard feelings if not."

Oh god, yes he does. Since he now knows that you can squirt, let alone with something as small as a little bullet vibrator, all he can think about is what would happen if he teased your cunt with the thick head of his cock. It's been driving him absolutely feral and fueled a rather ugly feeling when he saw Seungcheol all over you earlier. 

But now that he knows you want him? Maybe just as much as he wants you? Explicitly? 

He starts driving in an attempt to help collect himself. You're at ease, able to read him well and know he'll need some time to process and organize his thoughts. So, you wait in silence while he does just that, and when he speaks again his voice is low, laced with utter desire.

"You've been thinking about me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Your pussy has too?"

"Mhm, Channie… she's been crying for you like crazy."

"Fuck," he mutters and grips the steering wheel tightly to avoid swerving into the berm. He rasps out in a desperate beg, "C-can you touch yourself for me? Let me hear how loud she is?"

And you sweetly oblige with a hushed, "Of course," and can't lift your miniskirt up faster than you do now, pushing the drenched thong underneath to the side. Your clit's been buzzing nonstop ever since he whined about his big cock and you got to glimpse the outline of it. And with him now sitting beside you as your thumb rubs at the tiny nub, pointer fingers dipping in and out of your clenching hole, you both let out groans — you at the thrilling sensation and him at the insanely filthy sounds.

Chan steals a moment to take in the sight when he switches lanes, loving the way your tongue lolls past glossy lips that part to release little whimpers of pleasure. It's unlikely you'll squirt right now. But there's still a slick sheen of arousal glistening on your thighs so he holds onto the sick twist of hope that a trace will be left behind. He's pleased and licks his lips but has to swiftly pay attention to the road again, especially when your head rolls to the side, eyelashes pleadingly fluttering at him.

He needs to get home fast. Now.

The car fills with the sloppy noises of you playing with your cunt which grows wetter and wetter by the second. The air is heavy and oozes sex, the compact space growing more humid as you work and rile up your pussy, yourself, and the man beside you. You keep easing up to that delicious edge but never fully dipping over it, making sure to continue growing needier and more wanton until the blurry scenery rushing past the windows half-registers as familiar in your already fucked-out state of mind.

"Wanna get a feel of your cock," you whine out with no shame at how pitiful it sounds. "Gotta know how many fingers to stuff inside to stretch myself out for the real thing."

The way he spits out your name like a curse word makes your gummy walls contract tightly, emitting a moist suctioning sound when you pull your fingers out and bully them back in. 

"No. You have to wait."

"Don't wanna! Been waiting long enough."

"So fuckin' needy," he taunts as if he's not panting heavily with his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I don't think they'll come even close to opening up that tiny hole of yours effectively for my dick. But size doesn't matter, so whatever. Right, sweetheart?"

You cuss him out jokingly while working knuckle-deep inside your cunt. Humping against your palm and pulling at your nipples with the other hand underneath your top when he rolls to a stop at an empty four-way in the neighborhood. 

He swats your arm out and away, curiously sweeping his own fingers across your damp folds that flinch at the sudden contact but still mourn the devastating loss of being filled before he slaps at them. Chan grins like a total heathen at the way your hips jolt upon impact, growing more and more delirious at the way droplets of your arousal splash out at the action.

"If you cum by rubbing yourself on that seat — no hands — before I pull in the driveway, I'll let you touch me to mentally prep yourself before we get inside. Before I get inside you." His words are enunciated with a smirk that drops after bringing soaked fingers to his lips — eyelids fluttering with a grunt at your taste eagerly licked clean with his tongue. "God, do you know how delicious you are? Need you to sit on my face at some point, wanna drown in that sloppy pussy."

His dirty talk could be enough to finish you off, you belatedly realize. The earlier command to rut your aching clit against the scratchy fabric to soothe it makes you thrillingly feel like a depraved whore. 

"You're a fuckin' perv, Chan," you growl out as if you aren't doing exactly what he asked on instinct and loving how he's talking to you. How good he is at making you feel divine.

"Yeah? But I want something to remember this by."

"Sick," you snarl through gritted teeth like the knowledge of him thinking about this moment every time he gets in his car and looks at the passenger seat isn't getting you off even more. Bonus points if he jerks off to it. You act like it's not the catalyst to you coming undone, blaming it fully on the bump of the asphalt connecting to the concrete driveway hitting your hard nub just right — absolutely defiling his poor car with your arousal. "Sick in the head."

Neither one of you care. 

In fact, Chan's so pleased he ignores the words you both know you don't mean. Grabbing the hand you buried deep within your hole, but then chose to use it to grip at the console while following his command, and guides it to his mouth. Happily repeating the same thing he did to his own, maintaining eye contact as he tongues at your fingertips. Pupils dilating with how addicted he's become to your taste. Growing more and more eager to have it straight from the source in the very near future. 

Then he places your spit-coated fingers where his cock strains against dark jeans. A darker, damp spot on the denim signifies how much precum the tip is leaking, begging to be released. He squeezes the hand sandwiched between his and the hardening length, shallowly thrusting up into your palm so you can completely grope at its mouth-watering, jaw-aching girth. 

"Feel that?" he goads, "that's gonna have to fit inside your tight cunt."

Your eyes nearly cross at the realization. And of course, your pussy forlornly clenches around nothing, dripping out more arousal to add to the already soiled mess beneath you. 

Oh, you cannot wait.

He wasn't lying, positive every single finger stuffing your hole couldn't compare to the size you just felt beneath those very appendages. Tears collect at your lash line, already anticipating the sheer amount of pleasure you know you'll be feeling with a very warm and real dick. And he's not even anywhere inside of you yet!

Chan coos and wipes the tear that escapes to your cheek. Then he gets out of the car and comes around to the other side to help you walk since your legs are weak and shaking — for more than one reason. That's fine because it gives him almost a weird sense of pride and an excuse to grind and grope at you as he pleases while unlocking the front door. Surprisingly, both of you are giggling together as if you're naughty teens again, always up to no good. It feels strangely wholesome, a light sense of relief blooming and filling your entire body.

Until you're on the other side of the door and those feelings morph back into something carnal. More primal. And Chan must feel it too because you swear he growls when pinning you against the wall. 

"You'll let me eat you out, right? 'Course you will." 

Now it's your turn to feel perverse satisfaction, watching as his lip trembles at the very thought of getting denied such a treat. Feeling the man's absolute desperation through the fingertips that dig into your hips and slightly hike up the already ridiculously short skirt you're wearing.

"C'mon bestie, please."

"… You did not bestie-zone me right now."

"I — " Chan hesitates and you fear the reality of the situation has hit him. That he'll back out and leave you a yearning mess like this. But then he leans in close to whisper hotly against your ear, "What, you want me to call you something like baby?"

Your hum of consideration encourages him to continue, palms sliding down the sides of your bare thighs and lowering himself at a pace that matches the syllables of each word leaving his mouth. Keeping eye contact with you the whole time as a mischievous smirk lights up his stupidly handsome face. 

"Darling? Babe? Lovely sweetheart? Or…" His voice gets thicker, more gravelly until he's finally on his knees and peering up at you. "A vixen? Seductress? Little whore? My slut?"

His hands sneak upwards again, pausing when they're hidden under the pleat of your skirt. 

"Still, you'll always be my dear best friend." He acknowledges and for some reason, it fills you with a comforting sense of reassurance.

And then he waits, hoping — praying — to get your permission.

The coy way you lift up the skirt in no way matches the cute grin you flash at him. Biting your pointer finger as you reveal your pretty pussy for Chan, its puffy lips spread by the continually soaked thong stuck between them. His eyes flick almost nervously away from yours to get a look, letting out a strangled moan at the sight. 

Automatically drawn like a bee to honey. His heart thumps anxiously when your fingers bury in his bangs to yank at them, halting him just short of being able to stick his tongue out for a taste that he already misses. He whines, fully surrounded by the heady scent of your arousal and unable to feast. But you have something to tell him first.

"You can't make me cum."

"What? Why? Need to stretch — "

"No. I already spent hours practicing with my thirteen-inch, so it'll be fine. We're doing this so you know what the telltale signs are when I'm about to cum when this," you briefly release his hair so manicured nails can pet the outside of your glistening wet cunt, "is wrapped around your dick." You smile when he moans quietly at the revelation and you tug lightly again at silky strands, eager to hear more before you absolutely break him. "And don't you want to see me squirt?"

"God, yes."

You shove his face between your inner thighs. "Then this'll help, baby boy. So, don't you dare let me cum unless it's on your cock."

Chan really can't protest against what you call him and honestly wouldn't want to because that would mean leaving the delectable meal he's finally being allowed to dine on. Though your thong remains in the way, he uses it to his advantage. Sucking all the wetness out of it with a hearty groan of appreciation, pushing it back between your folds, and running his tongue that put it there in zig-zag motions along the sorry excuse for fabric. Then repeating the same motions on either side of the bare supple pussy lips that clench at every nibble, suck, and brush on them.

It isn't very long until he gets frustrated by its restrictions though, feeling outrageous at how jealous he's getting of a piece of cloth that gets to wrap around your cunt all the time. Like you can read his mind, you pull him off with breathless laughter at his inevitable moan of sadness and mumble words of reassurance that you're doing it for his benefit.

He can't really hear with the rush of adrenaline roaring in his ears but he surely sees how you rip the offending thong away. It tears easily, falling apart at its most sodden point. And finally, your pussy is truly bare all for him and he rushes to dive back in. Slurping and sucking at your drenched hole like a dehydrated man finding an oasis in the desert.

Again, Chan's intentions were to leave you weak with the magic his mouth and tongue could work but you don't really allow him. His neck's cranked at an awkward angle as you continue to grip at his hair and smother his lips and tongue with your cunt, sloppy ruts back and forth causing your clit to catch and bump against his nose. He doesn't mind even if he's ninety-nine percent positive this is how you'd get off on one of your toys — no, he definitely has not imagined that — but he's not complaining.

There's something in the way that you're utterly using him like he's nothing but an object for your ultimate pleasure. It has the blood rushing down to swell up his cock even more. And maybe he's willingly happy to do so. Offering his body for your pleasure, making sure to stiffen his tongue so it will hit part of your clit as you move and grind all over his face. 

It's kinda hot. He also might be enjoying this a little too much.

And just as his eyes roll up for the umpteenth time out of delicious, delirious dizziness, he feels it. 

The buildup must have been when you started humping his chin shamelessly, slamming down harshly enough that he's sure he'll have bruises to show off. Settling more and more of your weight forward to arch your back, breasts heavy as they follow gravity, and your nipples visibly poke through the crop top's thin material. 

Your hips jerk up and away a few times, the subtle wiggle in them certainly has your ass jiggling cutely. He also notes how your "ah" moans turn to "mhms", positive you're biting your lip with closed eyes and a pleased grin. By now the hands tangling in his hair have made their way to the back of his head and Chan knows one thing for sure.

You're on the brink of climaxing.

And as much as he wants you to make more of a mess on his face, he's a little afraid of what you might do — or might not do — so he obediently, but regretfully backs away and sinks down to sit on his heels. Pathetic, the way he has to simply watch like a good boy as your slit flutters above him and you release the death grip hold you had on his poor hair.

Once all of your weight is supported by the wall again, you slide down it to plop on the floor. A sheepish grin on your face as you praise him for doing such a great job, reveling in what a sexy, fucked-out look he's wearing — mussed-up hair, swollen lips, and a shiny mix of sweat and arousal decorating his face as his eyes struggle to refocus while he catches his breath.

He embarrassingly thinks you might kiss him when you lean in. Only to jolt with surprise at your hand slipping into his back pocket and he flinches after you squeeze at his well-shaped ass with a naughty giggle. 

"A souvenir," you murmur in his ear and he feels the spongy ball of your torn thong when he stands like it's a gold coin weighing down his jeans.

"Can't believe you ripped those yourself."

"Can't believe you didn't rip them."

"Didn't wanna ruin them," he admits because he'd honestly feel bad. Though you shoot him a funny look that he doesn't quite understand as he assists your wobbling frame on the walk to the bedroom.

"Dude, you've already ruined so many, what's one more pair?"

"Huh?"

It's amazing how serious you are when you ask, "Don't you remember how wet I've been getting thinking about your dumb cock? Almost ran out of panties to wear."

With that admission, Chan is immediately rushing you down the hallway and has you on his bed at record speed. It's so comical that you have no choice but to once again fall into that giggly headspace like earlier as you help one another strip each other's clothes off.

"God, why are you like this? Such a fucking little tease."

"You love it."

"Hm, yeah," he looks at you with such tenderness, "guess I do."

You verbally agree even as you grab at his wrist before he can throw his boxers to the ground. "Hand 'em over. It's only fair if you have mine," you point out when he raises an eyebrow.

"Someone's full of surprises."

"Well, somebody's loved all of them so I'm sure he'll like this one too."

Though he falls onto his back easily when you push him down, he can't help but raise concern. "I get that you… practiced, but wouldn't a better position be with me on top? You'll like — "

"And I get that you liked being used like a dildo, baby boy." 

You miss the chagrined look that rapidly spreads across Chan's pretty face at the callout. But that's okay because you turn around to throw a leg over and straddle his prone body, staring at your prize of the night — the fattest dick you've been fantasizing about in the flesh.

"Thanks for these, by the way." You send a wink at him over your shoulder, waving the boxers that dangle off your pointer finger. "Need something to bite onto," you add and moan when you deliberately let your tongue meet the salty patch of precum smeared on them before clamping the black cloth between your teeth.

His heavy cock jerks up, already overwhelmed by everything you're doing. His hips follow suit, also lifting once the feeling of your dripping cunt soaks his abs as you sit and press him back against the bed and reach a hand out. He groans, clutching at the blanket when your palm rubs at the sensitive skin. You marvel at how your decently sized fingers fail to fully wrap around the entire girth.

It already weighs a ton laying against the hand you're using and struggling to prop it up. Shining in all its glory from the excess that's leaked and coated it thoroughly. You seem happy to add to it and Chan's eyes widen at the couple of clear globs of arousal that drip out of your cunt, aided by two free fingers spreading your pussy lips and contracting your inner walls to squeeze them out. And then you sink a little lower, kissing the tip of his cock with your clit before rubbing the thick head between your folds.

"You're… you're so w-wet, mhm, fuck!" He's already on the brink of tears and this is just the beginning. And the gasping man might've just let out a sob at the sight of both of your hands shaking, clasped around his dick as you position it at the right angle and slowly ease the tip inside. "God, 'n so soft," he fucking gargles out due to how much he's drooling.

You're no better off. The saliva that's pooling in your mouth at the delightful ache and burn has completely saturated his boxers. They do nothing to muffle your moans that only grow higher in pitch with the few additional inches you attempt to take, a little more each time. But at least you won't grind your teeth together, plus you're buried in the taste and scent of Chan's essence. Even more so as you topple forward, nails digging into his shins.

It's almost humiliating. How you've ended up face-planting into the mattress and your hips take on a mind of their own, humping up and down midair yet still on the top of his cock. Circling and gyrating as they attempt to both run away and plop firmly up and down onto the hard, thick length begging to fully bury into your tight cunt that's slowly widening to accommodate. 

Luckily, it's not like Chan can make fun of or even blame you, focusing everything he can on not thrusting up into your wet heat on his own accord right now out of consideration. The man understands it's a stretch, a painful one at that.

He doesn't mind staying mildly distracted. There's so much to take in. Ogling the way your ass bounces and jiggles, pornographic sound effects of his cock absolutely bullying your pussy as it squelches in and out. Filling the room with nasty noises audio porn wishes it could truly replicate amid both of your pants, moans, groans, and whines.

It feels like forever until his length has finally made its home within your squishy walls that welcome it inside with a multitude of affectionate squeezes. But honestly, that barely lasts because your hips refuse to let up and once the stretch no longer burns as much and instead melts into mind-numbing pleasure, all you can do is ride him into delirium. And Chan fucking loves it, continuing to watch how your ass reverberates with each downward slam accompanied by the sting of ass cheeks slapping against his stomach over and over again.

"S-so slutty f'me, b-best friend actin' like a whore on my dick."

"Ah, mm… cock… your cock! It's makin' me act slutty!"

"Yeah? You like being my slutty best friend, baby?"

You lug your head onto the leg you'd been riddling with love bites and salivating all over after spitting out his ruined boxers, looking tearfully in his direction. Cross-eyed with a goofy smile on your face at how fucked-out you've become as your clit grinds against his squishy balls that tighten, firm, and fill up with each thud of your hips. 

"Mhm… yeah."

"You gonna be my slutty baby from now on?"

"Ohhh, touch me Channie… please!"

"Since y-you asked so nicely." He squeezes at your ass cheek though it's quickly wrenched out of his grasp because you can't stop moving. "But I… I asked you a question." And then his palm flies out, skin meeting skin in a loud crack against your other cheek. As if it's actually a punishment. "My pretty whore's too fucked out to answer, h-huh?"

"Mhmph! More… more!"

A gasp leaves your mouth and impossibly, your hips only speed up before they suddenly halt. Practically screaming at this point with how good your best friend's cock is buried so deeply and fully seated inside as you somehow manage to sit up with inhuman strength. 

Oh, but your darling Channie knows why.

He lazily grins, empty mind now playing all the signs through his head along to the same moments happening in real-time. You have a death grip on his thighs, certain he'd really impale you in a morbid way if you lose your hold as you bounce haphazardly. How nice, he decides to aid you — giving into the urges to thrust up into your suffocating little cunt whenever you rise up so you constantly remain stuffed full every single time.

Your back does its arch thing and he runs a hand down the curve, pushing down ever so gently as he takes over. It's his turn for a slapping assault, his balls returning the favor on your tender clit that pokes and rubs at them, egging on the brutal pace you started in the first place.

"Gonna squeeze the life outta me," and you clench even tighter around him so that even the air in his lungs is sucked out by the squeeze of your cunt. "You wanna murder me with that sweet pussy of yours? Choke the life outta me, sweetheart? Like the well-behaved little whore that you are?"

Chants of "yes, yes, yes" fall in between salacious moans of "mhms" and "fuck Channie, so good" and it fuels Chan into true unleashed feral mode. The addition of the white ring forming at the base of his cock in no way, shape, or form is helping to reign him in at all. He presses appreciative bruises into the skin of your hips, aiding your sore and tired legs with the powerful strength of his arms.

"A creamer too… oh my god, what can't your cunt do baby, fuck — so freakin' perfect."

"All… all for you!"

Chan laughs and it's mean, a petulant frown causing your lips to jut out at his mocking tone. "For me? You gonna be a-all mine from now on? Let me be the only one t-to stretch this sweet hole out?"

Ongoing cries of "yes" mixes and slurs with "yours" but it's enough for him, especially when you manage to moan out with a promise that you're definitely his slutty whore and will only be his forever.

That pleases him, an elated grumble rumbling in his chest. "Gonna fill 'er up real good and you'll swallow me whole baby. Feel me for days, drippin' outta — ah, shit!" 

His voice cracks, the hands assisting your movements haul your hips up and then down, anchoring them firmly against his pelvis. You peer over your shoulder at him in utter dismay at suddenly being empty. His missed cock trembling without your warmth, flopping hot and hard against your stomach. Granting a helpful outside visual of how deep it can drill up into your cunt. But that's kind of useless when you already experienced it first-hand, so all you can do is send Chan a weepy glare.

"S-sorry babe, we just, I should probably… " His eyes dart to the unopened drawer of his nightstand. "Gonna throw a condom on."

You let out a scoff of disbelief and discontent, surly brat behavior poking through. "Doesn't matter, wanna feel you fill me up. 'N then squirt it all out, won't matter anyways."

"That's not how it works."

Chan's grateful the usual post-nut clarity somehow hit before. It's still awful timing and might have been a complete mood killer but you're both so worked up — you in particular — it doesn't seem to matter. Even as he nudges you off while reaching for a package, you back up and try to grind against his cock to change his mind. But you reluctantly give up, especially when he ends up reacting with a harsher hiss more from rolling the latex down the sensitive length than your plump ass rubbing it. 

You're honestly a little offended. 

He hushes and tries to soothe you. Fumbling with the slick mess around your gaping hole and dipping inside occasionally with one hand as he works on the condom. But you know for a fact you've been ruined because you barely feel a thing after your cunt's been stretched out for and filled specifically with his huge cock. 

Now you just wish he'd ultimately finish the job of ruining you. Oh, and maybe continue some more after. And a lot. 

You grimace because you're able to think too much. And then Chan's finally all ready to go and your cheek is suddenly pressed into the rumpled sheets, nipples brushing deliciously against them. You're pushed onto your forearms and he helps widen your knees at a spread angle so your pussy is fully presentable and gapingly accessible. 

"Good thing I'm flexible." 

"Yeah," Chan licks his lips, "just as I'd expect from my sweet slut." 

"You gonna fill this slut up then, Channie or — " 

You're cute off by the squeal at his cock ramming back inside of where it belongs. Meanwhile, he chuckles darkly, running a hand through sweaty bangs as he tries to distribute weight solidly with how he's risen to his knees. Finding little support from the mattress to support the onslaught of powerful thrusts in and out of your pussy and discovers a better method with a tight hold of your hips where his hands instinctively fall. 

"Best way to shut a whore up is to fuck them." He clicks his tongue in disapproval because you're nuzzling face-first into the bed, muffling the sounds that drive him crazy. "Doesn't mean I don't wanna hear you moan f'me, baby."

What he doesn't know is you're trying to find something to bite into that won't end up being your poor tongue. 

To manhandle you as he sees fit, Chan's fingers slip down to splay around where your vocal cords lie. Thumb digging beneath your jawline into the soft fleshy skin of your neck. Teasing you with a not-quite-there chokehold that causes you to pulsate around the cock sliding in and out with little resistance thanks to the help of the slick that pools endlessly out of your core. 

Then he's turning your head to the side to watch your eyelids flutter rapidly. Noticing how your jaw is clenched, teeth practically gnashing at each push into you that now relentlessly strokes that bundle of nerves. Taking pity, he lends a finger. Prying open your mouth and not caring when you bite down on it with a ferocity that could break skin — that's what he offered it for anyways — though it will definitely leave behind bruising indents that'll take days to heal. 

But he wouldn't care if you ended up breaking his bones too. With the way he's driving his dick over and over into you like a madman, he possibly could break something by that alone. The new position benefits the both of you greatly, granting him a better angle to reach deep and you find comfort in the way his body lays against yours. Pressing you down further into the bed, the weight comforting.

Even through the latex, he can feel the little bump of nerves his tip brushes against that's just rough enough to make him shiver. He purposefully aims his pelvis to be able to hit it each time. The lone arm at your hip wraps around your abdomen and he moans at how he can feel the bulge of skin pressed against his forearm from the size of the monster dick within you. 

It drives him feral, punctuating each sharp thrust with a praising hiss of, "Best. fuckin'. pussy. ever!"

And then it's happening. You can literally see the tightly-wound knot unraveling. Can feel as it loosens while your cunt suctions around his cock in a hard, vice-like grip. You cling around him, refusing to let him leave your warmth for a second. Not even daring to let him slide even a bit out. Though he wouldn't even think of it. As the mental ties come undone in your brain, so does your body — plummeting over and free-falling off the cliff of pleasure.

White flashes across your vision as your body writhes and shakes beneath Chan. Overcome by how fucking amazing it feels to be so full with the devastatingly huge dick of the person you care about the most tearing apart your insides. You're sobbing, tears drenching your face and where it lays. 

Chan's praising you through it all, complimenting how good you are for him, how perfect everything about you is, and how only you — his bestest, sluttiest, sweetest friend — could take him so well.

"Fuckin' knew you would be the one," he confesses and presses a kiss against your neck. It's so tender, full of love and gentleness despite how his hips cruelly still haven't let up, and it makes you wail even louder. "Ever since you smiled at me. Now, c'mon sweetheart 'n give it all to me. Show's only just gettin' started."

He's guiding you through the most intense orgasm you've ever had as it spirals from a crashing wave into a soon-to-be gushing waterfall. Yes, you've squirted before. But never with such a delightful buildup like this. And he knows you can take it, knows it's what you want as he coaches himself to hold off from his own finale. You let out a hearty moan, shaking at the overstimulation and feeling him twitch repeatedly inside. Almost as if his dick itself is begging for your release so it can do the same.

Your body listens and obeys, utterly charmed by your best friend's cock. Not like that would change the impending fate bound to happen anyway. Your cunt expels him out with a spray that splashes against his abs and drips down his thighs. Chan swears and grabs his length that bobs in the air upon being freed, fingers holding the condom tightly at the base like a makeshift cock ring. 

Furiously jerking off just a little bit to reach completion and then he's emptying what feels like a life's worth into the poor condom that can barely contain it. Unlike your pussy that would take it all if given the chance. It inflates, ballooning out and filling up with so much cum it's threatening to pop. As if it wasn't working overtime, straining around the sheer size of his cock.

It's so full and heavy, gravity weighing it down to flop against your folds that squirt out a tiny bit more upon contact that has your legs seizing. Your lower body — now growing numb — was somehow still sustained by Chan's insane one-arm strength until he flops onto you. Bringing you both down onto the wet mess on the bed.

"Get off, you're heavy," you grouch though a dumb smile lights up your blissed-out face.

He laughs breathlessly and rolls onto his side, bringing you into his arms and looking at you with stars in his eyes. You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his comforting scent you never want to be without now that you've been fully encompassed by it in such an intimate manner. So you wait, feeling the way your hearts both beat rapidly and he takes a deep breath. Chest expanding as his lungs fill with much-needed air after so much exertion. 

Anticipation brims from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes when Chan finally asks, "Hey, do you still think size doesn't matter?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. Definitely not the question you were expecting.

There's a lively spark still dancing in his tired eyes and you match it with a playful smile. "I'm not really sure, I think you'll have to prove it to me a few more times."

"Suppose there's still a lot of condoms we can't let go to waste."

"Aw, you don't want me to make you some balloon animals?"

"That offer is tempting but…" Sneaky hands tickle the swell below your breasts and you giggle, half-heartedly batting him away. "Not as much as you are."

"And you know… there's still a lot of chances to confirm some things while we test out whose theory is right."

"Confirm what, my dear? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I've already staked my claim on what's mine." It's embarrassing how easily Chan can read you, a know-it-all smirk on his face as he cups your warm cheek oh-so-lovingly. "My slutty bestie's the only one who can take my cock like a champ, there's no way I'm letting you go now."

It's even more embarrassing that your heart and sore hole flutter at crude words that totally shouldn't make you feel like a silly fool in love. But because you are, it only makes you fall harder.

"So, you're mine now too?"

"If that's okay with you."

And of course, it's okay with you, you verbally affirm. Feeling his smile against your own when he leans in to kiss you. You'll confirm later that size really doesn't matter.  After all, you just happen to be lucky that your bestie-now-turned-boyfriend has a huge cock to complement the equally huge amount of love he has stored for you in his heart.

onlyseokmins: June 2023 ©

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, who delights in being a bit of a dick, and becomes even more mean on bad pain days, and who is constantly insufferably rightfully smug, Smart & competent reader being reduced to a wolf with heart eyes going AWOOOGA when they lay eyes on Viktor.

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: 1. Shoutout to my beloved buddies for helping me with this fic, AND the banner. You guys know who you are. 2. I hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece about my take on Viktor as a professor in a modern AU. Keep in mind that this work is entirely spoiler free. Although it will be posted over the upcoming three weeks as arcane season two drops, I had no information about any of the leaks whatsoever as I wrote this, and did my utmost to avoid them. This iteration of Viktor was written with his season one character traits as a base in mind. 3. The science Viktor and reader talk about in depth in this fic is entirely made up and definitely falls apart under scrutiny. Don’t look too hard. Yes, I made up an entire hextech based scientific field specifically so I could carnally have this old man.

You know exactly what to expect from someone like Professor Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda. 

You’ve done your homework on the man: interviewed colleagues who’d taken his lectures as undergrads (scary — but great at his job had been the general consensus), and checked his ratemyprofessor profile. Which, by the way, had been a terrific read. 

Dr Sidorov-Svoboda is a very polarizing man, it seems. Reviews were either raving about his cogency, or saying they’d drive to his lecture without wearing a seatbelt in the hopes that death would take them before Sidorov did. There seemed to be no in-between, other than one review calling him a total DILF and rating him five out of five for that alone.

You digress. All sources had gotten across more than enough for you to understand what you were going to face once you’d step into his office: brilliant, tenured, independent, a no-nonsense attitude, and with a spotless track record of turning down TAs. 

Which you’re here to change — the last part, that is.

It’s not exactly a guilt-free affair. Dr Heimerdinger — the dean himself — had personally reached out to you, and requested you try to convince Sidorov-Svoboda to accept you as his TA. Should you succeed, you would be offered a generous wage.

That, along with the fact that Sidorov’s name is going to pretty up your CV something fierce if you somehow land this job, is reason enough to make you at the very least give it a go.

With a fortifying breath, you rap your knuckles on the oakwood of his office door.

“Yes?” A heavy accent makes itself known on the y.

You wait to see if he’ll open — five seconds pass — he doesn’t. 

Rude.

You take that as your cue to push the door open yourself.

Nothing could have prepared you for the man whose cat-like eyes pierce you from above rectangular silver reading glasses. He hadn’t even bothered lifting his head from what he’d been reading through; and when he finally does grant you the gift of being looked at, wholly, it feels the same way as having a painting stare back at you. In the back of your mind, you swear you can hear the horns of an orchestra blaring into a crescendo.

His gaze pierces you, in a way that borders on literal. It’s undressing — less erotic, and more terrifying, as a consequence of nakedness, of being read. Professor Sidorov-Svoboda looks at you with a kind of disinterest that screams I have you figured out, and it’s punching your heart down into your stomach in a lovely, terrible way.

The lines of his face are lovingly crafted. Dark shadows under hollow cheeks, golden eyes under strong brows, there’s something intrinsically statuesque about his face. You’d expect to look at something akin to Sidorov-Svoboda in a museum, carved in marble, not in one of the dusty offices at your university.

He cocks his head, exposing a long, swan-like neck dotted with beauty marks, as he waits for you to regain your wits. Which you do, before any of this crosses the threshold between awkward and downright embarrassing.

“Hello, doctor,” you finally manage. “My name is (y/n) (l/n), theoretical arcanism department, phD student. I was… hoping we could discuss a position as your TA.”

He cocks a brow, thoroughly unimpressed, before he slides his glasses off his face. He even takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee, deliberately slow in swallowing it, before he finally speaks.

“I believe you should already be familiar with the fact that I do not take assistants.” Sidorov leans forward in his chair a fraction, still poring over his book, and there is a marked pop in one of his joints that sounds nothing short of painful. He seems hardly bothered by it. 

“I am,” you reply. “Which is why I am here in the hopes of changing your mind.”

That finally makes him look at you properly again. It’s a delight. You wish you could savor it, instead of desperately trying to keep your wits about you.

“And why would you want to do that?”

The answer to that question has changed substantially since you’d first stepped foot into his office.

But you’re fortunately not stupid enough to tell him that.

“Your name is worth gold in the community, doctor. I would like it on my resume.”

He picks up his pen, squinting as he scribbles something in his book, before he hums with disinterest.

“Mm. I heard doctor Pididdly takes more kindly to flattery.” He brushes a grey strand of hair from his face, clicking his pen as he simply lets you stew in your own embarrassment and focuses on whatever he’s reading. When he speaks again, he does not award you the honor of feigning the smallest hint of interest. “And you can send doctor Heimerdinger my regards. Let him know I am still not looking for an assistant.”

He has you figured out, and it’s making you feel dumber than any advanced class has ever had the honor of doing.

“The dean? I haven’t spoken to him since—“

“Since last year, when you took his theoretical arcane force fields class? Or was it since he explicitly asked you to come to my office with this proposition?”

You’re not the only one who’s done their research on the other. Though it’s painfully clear that he was much more thorough in his pursuit.

“I’m… sorry.”

“For wasting both our time? You should be.” He does dignify you with one glance, and even sets his pen down, as he bids you goodbye.

—

You’re fortunately not a sore loser. The money and resume addition would have been nice, yes, but you suppose they still would not have made up for working with someone as sharp and cutting as Svoboda.

You’ll gladly take the loss. And you are.

He’s long gone from the front of your mind, though something about him — his gaze, his face, his voice — lingers and shrouds the back of your brain with a tempting distraction from your thesis.

The last thing you expect as you’re burning your retinas staring at the blue light of your laptop screen leafing through the countless open tabs on your laptop is a notification. It startles you out of your skin, the red dot next to the university portal app’s icon. 

Still, more curious than nervous about who could be messaging you at 11pm on a Saturday, you click.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

Good evening. Please come see me in my office on Monday. I would like to discuss the arrangements of your future employment as my assistant. Let me know what time would work best for you, within the limitations of my office hours.

11:32

…What?

You wonder what swayed his mind in your ultimate favor after you’d embarrassed yourself quite so thoroughly this week. But you're not about to complain — you more than certainly need the money, and his name on your resume.

Whatever turned the odds in your favor, you’re ever-grateful. And as much as you hate to admit it, you do double-check the message to make sure it’s actually real.

Me

Thank you for this opportunity, professor. I’m looking forward to working as your assistant, as well as broadening my knowledge and skills. Would 1 PM work for you?

11:34

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

Yes. That should be fine.

11:34

You think you should leave it at that. You know you should. But… you’re curious. You really hope this doesn’t cost you the job offer you’ve just received.

Me

May I ask what swayed your decision?

11:37

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

You may not. Good night.

11:37

So much for that.

—

You knock, but this time you don’t wait after being greeted with a yes? from behind his imposing office door.

“Hello, Professor Sidorov-Svoboda.”

You’re greeted with the distinctive smell of chicken stock and vegetables wafting from his office as you step in — a sore reminder of the fact that you’ve yet to procure lunch. Whatever he’s been eating, it smells tremendous.

His thermos squeaks as he screws it shut and sets it on the corner of his desk, gesturing for you to have a seat.

“Hello.” The faux velvet seat creaks awkwardly below you. “Thank you for your punctuality. I won’t take up too much of your time — we’ll discuss any questions you might have in further detail, but, to, eh… save us time, I’ve compiled a list of your responsibilities, and some personal preferences regarding grading papers I expect you to take into consideration when you do so.”

As he explains, you take a moment to take in his office. You certainly hadn’t gotten to it last time.

It’s mainly tidy, save for his large desk, which is littered with papers, a sudoku magazine, a disposable coffee cup from the campus cafe (though the cup is tall, roughly fit for a latte, if you had to guess… hm) and his dark blue, slightly beat-up thermos. Upon closer inspection, there’s a sticker on the cap.

It’s a small thing, worn like the rest of it, but the colours are unmistakable. Baby blue, pink, white — five stripes. 

As a million questions and half a million answers start flashing through your head, the rustle of paper snaps you out of your thoughts. 

There’s something analytical and vaguely, barely amused about how he looks at you when he slides the list across the table to you.

Contrary to what you expect, it’s not long. His main demand is grading papers, which isn’t your preferred kind of labor, but labor you will chew through, no less. 

“I expect fairness when you grade,” he clarifies. “Contrary to what some students like to say, I grade papers with utmost integrity. I am not lenient, yes, but I am not absurd, either. You will find further guidelines on how to strike that, eh… balance yourself on the list I’ve made. And don’t hesitate to ask, should any uncertainties arise when you grade.”

“Fortunately, it’s applied arcanism,” you reply. “Not much room for… uncertainties, I’d expect.”

“You would be surprised.”

Viktor gives a knowing smile. Something about the placement of his mole right above the corner of his mouth, where his chapped, pale lips thin out, has your vision tunneling. You damn near startle when he starts talking again — good god, you need to get your act together.

“I will direct students’ questions to you, from now on. Should you not have an answer, you are welcome to contact me — but keep it to a minimum. Especially since applied arcanism is, as you seem to think, such an easy topic. As for lectures, you may attend, but it isn’t something I’ll be expecting from you. You teaching said lectures does not come into question. I have standards — high ones. If anyone is to take over, it will be someone whom I am certain is qualified for the job, not a phD student.”

“I am still prepared to,” you say. “Should the opportunity… present itself.”

“It most likely won’t.” With that, he straightens his back out in his seat, cracking the knuckle of his right thumb as he leans back in thought, going over his mental list. “Do you have any questions for me?” 

His little smirk is magnetic, crows feet near his eyes creasing ever so slightly deeper as the corners of his lips rise. One of his dark brows lifts gently in a display of smugness that leaves you braindead enough to nearly miss the entirety of his next sentence. “Other than the one from Saturday night?”

Oh, damn him. Damn him.

And, as a matter of fact, you have about ten more. But none of them are even close to appropriate to ask — not now, or ever.

“No,” you lie. It somehow feels like he can see right through it.

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

You thank him too. You’re not sure what for — his sudden generosity to offer you this position, or simply for the fact that he looked so pretty while he talked.

—

You, by now, know what optional really means in academia. Above all else, it’s meant to be an abstract line that separates two distinct groups: those who put in the extra effort, and slackers.

You don’t want Sidorov-Svoboda to know you as the latter.

Which is why you get a hold of his lecture schedule from Heimerdinger on the very same Monday afternoon, and plan on attending every single one of them that doesn’t overlap with something else in your schedule. Until he either outright tells you to stop, or until your contract as his assistant ends.

Much to your surprise, most of his lectures, save for Wednesdays and one on Fridays, do fit into your schedule as well.

On Tuesday, you are thirty minutes early waiting outside his office door.

And, as much as it shouldn’t be, it is a little funny how he startles when he groggily wobbles out of his office, keys in hand, and a cane in the other.

It’s a gorgeously designed thing; so much so it has you (stupidly) guessing it’s strictly in use for aesthetics the moment you first see it. It’s made of sturdy wood, with a dark finish and golden details down the length of it. The wood on the handle has gone light and matte with use.

But judging by how he leans on it as he numbly turns to lock the door of his office behind himself while he greets you leads to a different conclusion. And the stagger in his stride as he approaches you only confirms that he does, in fact, need it.

“Good morning, doctor Si—“

He raises his free hand slowly, like it’s heavy with fatigue. It’s enough to shut you up.

“Viktor,” he says. “Please. Just call me Viktor, from now on.” He pauses, looking you up and down with a fatigued sort of near-jealousy, before he shakes his head. “Why… are you here at seven thirty in the morning?”

“I want to attend your lectures.”

He sighs.

“And you picked the one at this hour?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” You can’t quite tell if he’s displeased or if he’s just really tired.

“Rough morning?” You ask.

“Aren’t they all…” 

It certainly isn’t your intention to let it become a habit — you’re his assistant, not his secretary, but you’ve learned that sucking up does get you forward in academia more often than not, so you offer: “Would you like me to get you some coffee?”

“I am getting myself coffee.” He attempts to stifle a yawn, but does not succeed. “But I would like you to accompany me.”

Your heart flutters. You tell yourself it’s because you’re getting coffee with one of the fathers of applied arcanism.

—

“A french vanilla latte, please. Under the name “A french vanilla latte, please. Under the name Viktor.”

Before you get to mentally clap yourself on the back and imagine a round of applause for your keen eye, you have to focus on not making a fool of yourself when you say your own order. The professor thankfully takes mercy on you, and leaves to take a seat at one of the tables — though probably for his own sake, rather than to spare you any embarrassment.

You decide the polite thing would be to keep him company as you wait for your orders. Reluctantly, you approach the table he’s picked, and, after a moment’s hesitation, pull out a chair for yourself.

“Professor Heimerdinger spoke quite highly of you.” 

It startles you, the sound of his voice interrupting the lull of the clanking of dishes and hissing of steam and hum of the espresso machines.

“Oh. I appreciate that he did.” 

“Hm.” For how blasé he’d acted until this very moment, it seems like you’ve said something that’s piqued his interest utterly. He hunches forward a hint, entwining his long, bony fingers over the top of the cane between his thin thighs. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

Uh oh.

“I’m sorry if it seemed that way, really, it’s not that I’m not flattered, professor—“

“Viktor,” he interrupts. “And you needn’t be. I do not care for, ah… false humility.”

Oh?

“False humility?” You question. 

“A mark of someone either too self-conscious to accept a well deserved compliment, or desperate for one.” He pauses, looking for… something in your expression. You can’t tell if he finds it, but you know his gaze feels cold, like being prodded at with a nitrile glove. “I prefer working with people who are capable of appreciating their own effort. It’s good to know you are one of them.”

There’s warmth that seeps through the metaphorical glove, sterile as it is. It feels good to be acknowledged by the likes of him, who’d been so ruthless to figuratively knock your feet out from below you just days ago. He must have done his research on you, must have asked around, read around, figured out — just like you had done to him.

Curiosity eats at you.

“Well… what else do you know, pr— Viktor?”

His eyes rest on you like you’re a particularly tricky equation. One he knows will yield a pretty result. Being looked at by him is electric, like squeezing an unstabilized hexgem in your fist so the current courses through you, tingling. 

“Don’t get cocky.” He smiles, he actually smiles, and it frays the space-time continuum just how much it youthens him. Salt and pepper hair and crow’s feet and frown lines be damned; as you watch the tip of his snaggle canine poke out from beneath his top lip, it becomes evidently clear that you are standing face to face with the man who stole illegal equipment to prove a point, the man who worked with highly explosive material for years to birth the very foundation of his scientific domain. “It is most certainly a good look on you, but it won’t bring you too far. You can ask Doctor Talis, I believe he should have a doctorate in arrogance by now.”

Is he…?

“French vanilla latte for Viktor!”

—

Listening to him teach might as well count as hypnosis. 

When Viktor steps into the room, silence ensues gently, gradually. He’s not feared by any means, but he is respected. By the time he reaches the teacher’s desk and pulls out the chair from under it, the class has gone fully silent.

He sets it by the blackboard, then, slowly, bracing himself on both his cane and the backrest of it, takes a seat.

“Good morning.” He positions his cane between his thighs, clearing his throat with… perhaps almost a hint of awkwardness. “Alright. Before we begin today’s lecture, there has been a small change that everyone should be made aware of. This is my new assistant, (y/n) (l/n), and they will be joining us today. You will be addressing all questions you encounter outside of my lectures to them, from now on.”

Whispers spread across the amphitheater like wildfire.

“Now,” just like that, when his voice sounds out again, most of the chatter dies out, “today we’ll be discussing Holloran’s equation, and its applications in arcanistic techmaturgy.”

It’s magical, the command he has over the room. Viktor is a meager man, especially with the backdrop of such an imposing room. The high ceiling dwarfs him, and yet, there doesn’t seem to be a single atom in the room that doesn’t move the way he wants it to.

You’d known Viktor to be an eloquent man — you’d experienced it at your own detriment — but this beats your expectations. His explanations are enticing, he uses his words like breadcrumbs, leaves them tactfully, just enough to guide you to the conclusions he wants you to draw.

You’d never found so much satisfaction in simply listening. In spite of knowing full well the intricacies of what he is discussing, you let his voice envelop you, you follow him where he takes you.

“Now that we’ve established how Holloran’s equation exponentially heightens the energy output of Hexcrystals without disrupting the LHC — the laminal hexeon cascade — as I’m sure some of you may be wondering, how do the basic principles play into it? Any guesses?”

The class falls silent. You would give anything to be among the students right now, raising your hand to enounce the right answer. To have him looking at you like you’re bright.

You await with bated breath to see who in the crowd of focused frowns and scribbling pencils will dare speak first.

“Wouldn’t the caveat be that Talis’ fourth principle states that 30% of the energy output is converted into heat?” A young woman in the audience attempts. “Holloran’s equation operates based on the notion that the crystal is at a constant temperature.”

“Precisely. Very good,” Viktor praises. Excited, he turns to the blackboard. “Right here…” he underlines the equation, “is where Morichi’s constant comes into play…”

But you’ve long lost him.

The words twist in your head, turning into something sultry and intimate.

Precisely.

Very good.

Right here.

You find yourself staring at the groove of his pale neck, where it swoops into the line of his shoulder, hidden beneath the collar of a dress shirt and a brown wool vest.

You wonder what it’d smell like, to tuck your face in there. To have the pulse of his neck thrumming on your lips, to mouth at the mole on his jaw when he tilts his head for you, willing. 

You wonder how many more are below the collar of his shirt. Dotted line on a treasure map, to guide your touch, your kiss, your tongue. Use them where he needs them, use them where his skin begs you to. Use them until his tired spine bows, use them until tattered joins are oiled with pleasure—

What is wrong with you? 

—

Viktor disappears after his lecture. You hope he’d grace you with another conversation, another smile, something, but he is gone surprisingly fast. He bids you goodbye once his lecture is over, telling you he has matters to attend to, and that is that.

Overall, it’s an uneventful day otherwise. A few students end up messaging you, most with questions on what Viktor had taught that day. Others nitpicking what would and would not be a part of the upcoming midterm (whom you simply dryly referred to the syllabus). Two people, however, did message you to ask you how you’d landed the job.

You’d ignored them.

On Wednesday, you see none of him. You drop by his office after class, but there is no response to your knock, and the door is locked. He must have gone home.

On Thursday, you wait for him outside his office thirty minutes early for his 3PM lecture, but he doesn’t show. So you decide to go straight to the amphitheater, and do find him there.

He looks worn. No less graceful than the last time you’d seen him, but his cane has been ditched in the favor of a crutch that’s tucked under his arm. The creases in his checkered dress shirt and face seem deeper now, the pale indigo under his eyes is richer, darker.

He gives you nothing more than a curt greeting before class commences.

And yet, he never blunders. Never loses himself, his diction is as concise as the day you’d first met him, carrying himself with the grace of a swan as he talks and his chalk glides over the board. But his numbers slant, the loops on his letters are looser, the rows on the blackboard curve downwards to the right; just barely at first, but as the lecture advances, it becomes more obvious.

He cuts the class shorter by fifteen minutes. 

The students know better than to linger. Nobody comes to address any questions, and they leave the room surprisingly quick.

Once the amphitheater is empty enough that even the thump of his crutch reverberates on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the desk, you finally dare speak.

“Is… everything alright?” 

“Don’t start,” he cuts back, resting his crutch against the desk before bracing himself with both hands on the flat surface. He sighs, and does a futile attempt of relieving some of the tension in his spine by rolling his shoulders.

His joints crack, and you can see his sharp shoulder blades moving under his shirt, wings on a flightless bird.

And you’re not sure what to say.

“Sorry,” he finally adds, the harshness of his reply catching up to him. “Not… a good day.”

“Got off on the wrong side of the bed?” You attempt weakly, and, much to your utter surprise, he does actually smile.

“Mm. That might explain the past two decades or so.” He does finally look at you from below droopy eyelids, and though there’s not a doubt about him being tired still, there is more gentleness to it. As though woken out of a dream. He takes pity on the confused look on your face, and adds: “My bed is in a corner.”

Ah. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can get you?”

“A new spine,” he jokes, hunching forward to crack his back, before he does his best to stand up straight once more. When he speaks again, his playful lilt is sorely missing. “Why are you here?”

“I want to attend your lectures — as many of them as I can, at least.”

Viktor shakes his head, mutters something both a little desperate and a little bitter in a foreign tongue. 

“You don’t need to do that. From now on, you can simply tell Cecil you were here. And I will confirm it, should he ask. But I do not need… a babysitter. I’m sure you have better things to do as well.”

What? Why would he think that?

“I…” you falter, “Heimerdinger didn’t put me up to this.”

He scoffs, not particularly at you, but it’s surprisingly hurtful nonetheless.

“I thought we had moved past the stage where you felt the need to lie.” He sighs. “I know he worries. There is nothing to worry about. In the unlikely event he does find out you haven’t been following me around as he asked, I will take full responsibility.”

That alone makes you worry. Had Heimerdinger neglected to tell you the full picture? What was there that warranted the dean himself worrying?

”I came to your lectures because I wanted to see you teach.” The last word is more of a lie than anything you’ve said thus far. “I admire your cogency. I want to absorb as much of it as I can.”

Viktor looks thoroughly unimpressed. “We also discussed how I feel about flattery, did we not?”

“It’s not flattery,” you argue. “I came here of my own volition because I think that there’s a lot I can learn from you, professor. Now, if you don’t want me here, you can simply give me the word, and I will act accordingly.”

He mulls it over for a long second while he shuts his leather briefcase. 

“Perhaps that would be best,” he finally decides. “For now, continue with your assigned duties. I will let you know if there is anything else I need from you.”

He practically scans you for a reaction, lays you out paper-thin on a glass slide, and slides you under his most potent microscope lens.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for, because he doesn’t look long. He slings the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and turns toward the exit with renewed, but undoubtedly spiteful vigor.

“Have a good day.”

“You too, professor.”

—

“Oh, if it isn’t one of my favorite phD students!” 

The dean’s mustache curls almost comically with the over-the-top, but somehow still sincere smile he gives you.

“Hello, doctor Heimerdinger,” you greet, letting the smell of laquered wood and floors wash over you as you step into the pristine, impressive office. As opposed to Viktor's, the ceiling is higher, the windows bigger, and there are only sterile messes to be found in the room. A stack of books that is not as neat as the rest, a cactus that doesn’t look all too swell on the windowsill, and documents that are scattered over his workspace in a way that’s still neat.

“What can I do for you? I hope the first week of your collaboration with doctor Sidorov-Svoboda has gone smoothly.”

“That… is actually why I’m here.” You clear your throat awkwardly, and take a seat on the plush chair that faces his desk. Whatever it’s stuffed with, it’s comfortable, it has you sinking.

“I see. I know he can be… a tad, well, peppery at times,” Heimerdinger giggles at his own choice of words. “Give him some time. Once the two of you manage to find some common ground, I can assure you he is wonderful company, and an incredibly bright mind.”

“I don’t doubt any of those things.” You start kneading your hands in your lap, digging for the right words. God, social chess was never your forte. “I’m actually here because there has been a bit of a misunderstanding between the two of us that I was hoping you could clear up.”

“Oh.” His smile drops. “I’m listening.”

“You see, when… well, when I attended his lecture today — the second one I’ve attended — he seemed… very displeased with my presence.”

“Ah…” Heimerdinger falls silent for a long moment, gears turning in his bald head. “That… well,” he laughs awkwardly, “I’m afraid that might have been because he might wrongly assume I told you to do so.”

You nod curtly. “I know. He told me as much.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. I will try speaking to him, but—“

“Actually, doctor, that isn’t why I came to you,” you cut in, “he told me more than just that. He said you’d put me up to this because you were… worried about him.”

At that, the smile on Heimerdinger’s face is entirely gone.

“Naturally, that also got me… quite worried. I came to you because I wanted to know the full picture of this… arrangement I’ve gotten into.”

“I see,” Heimerdinger sinks in his seat, folding his hands in front of his blond mustache as he picks his words carefully. “Well, since you have been made aware of this fact, I suppose there is no harm in admitting that I do, in fact, worry about Viktor. Him and I have history, so to speak. I’ve known him for many years, and, though he has remained the same bold, ambitious young man within, I sometimes fear old age may be catching up to him. But! That is not something you need to concern yourself with. The sole purpose of hiring you was to create a mutually beneficial arrangement. Your resume will certainly benefit from his name, and as for him, I wanted to simply… lighten his workload. But that is all I expect of you.”

“I understand.” And you do, to some degree — but Heimerdinger’s whole speech has done nothing but raise more questions than provide any real answers.

“Would you still like me to speak to him on this matter?” He asks.

“No.” With renewed courage and curiosity, you rise from the comfortable chair. “Thank you, professor. For this, and for putting in a good word for me with professor Sidorov-Svoboda.”

“Of course,” he smiles — genuinely, this time. “Though it might sound quite absurd to you now, considering the current circumstances… the two of you are more alike than you may believe.”

You’re not sure what to make of that, either. So you just smile back.

—

On Friday night, as you’re poring over your thesis with a warm mug of tea as a panacea for your racing thoughts and lack of inspiration, you receive an email.

Apologies

From: v.sidorovsvoboda@uofp.edu

To: me

Good evening.

I wanted to formally apologize for what happened on Wednesday. Accusing you of something you hadn’t done was unjustified and unprofessional of me. You are always welcome to my lectures, should you still wish to attend. 

I was also hoping to speak to you in person on Monday. Would 1 PM still work for you? Let me know.

Thank you.

VSS

It comes as a surprise, to have someone in his position apologize so… willingly. You wonder if Heimerdinger had talked to him after all, and if so, what he might have said to turn the odds so terribly in your favor. Again.

You write a fast reply: you thank him too, above all else. You consider saying you hadn’t expected and apology, but you fear that might come off wrong, so you ultimately ditch that part.

And you tell him yes. 1 PM would work for you.

—

You attend his 10AM lecture on Monday, but this time, you don’t wait for him at his office. Though eager and enthusiastic, you fear your initial approach of waiting for him thirty minutes early might have been too stifling.

So you wait outside the lecture hall. He shows up ten minutes early, crutch under one arm, coffee in his other.

There is just a hint of foam on his upper lip, where grey-brown stubble shows. He licks the milk away before he even sees you, and you’re thankful for it — being caught staring at the pink of his smart tongue darting over the curve of his top lip considering the current circumstances would not have been a good look.

“Good morning,” he greets. Though he’s still using the crutch, he seems to be in an improved mood as opposed to the last time you saw him. “I must admit… I did not expect you here already.”

“If you’ll have me, I want to come,” you say. 

Something about that catches him off-guard, the swell of his Adam's apple bobs and his eyes widen just a hint. But he’s fast, always is, and he straightens up and clears his throat before you get to analyze him the way you wish you could.

“Ahem. Well. I’m happy to hear that.” He gestures to the door as if he’d almost forgotten he was holding a coffee, because it sloshes just a hint too loud. Fortunately, there are no victims to the small droplet that spills from the plastic cover. Viktor frowns, most likely with frustration at himself, before he turns to you. “Alright. After you.”

You step into the lecture hall first, per his request. The room begins to quiet when the students see you, but as you turn around to hold the door open to him, it gets worse.

You do not care for the curious, gossip-hungry glances that rest on you.

—

“I appreciate your openness regarding the discussion of this matter,” Viktor begins, shutting his office door behind himself. “Coffee?”

He dips his hand behind an old but trusty looking coffee machine that sits on the table next to the door. You hadn’t noticed it the first time you were here.

The hint of a frown as his fingers roam the space between the back of the machine and the wall is doing… something to you.

“Yes, please.”

“I must warn you,” his voice lilts again in that pleasant, playful way, like a cat twirling figure eights between one’s legs, “it is significantly less… fun than the ones at the cafe. I only have sugar.”

He finds the switch on its back, finally, and there’s a little pop as he flips it, before he retreats his hand.

“Works for me,” you assure. “What did you want to discuss?”

“Mainly, I wanted to eh… extend my apologies to you in person.” His glasses ride further up his nose as he pinches the bridge of it, rolling his shoulders, as if to draw courage. “And to put my… reaction into some context, should you be willing to hear it.”

You hope it’s not outwardly visible that your heart starts vibrating. 

He has been on your mind much more than you would like to admit, tangled in questions, in guesses. You unfortunately have the mark of a true scientist — nothing scratches an itch in your soul quite like having your questions answered.

“I would.”

Viktor retrieves a stack of single-use cardboard cups from one of his drawers, sliding out two, which he positions under the coffee machine. He presses the same button twice, then gestures to the chair that faces his desk.

“Have a seat.”

You do.

He lingers beside the coffee machine, resting the backs of his thighs against the edge of the table it’s on as he starts to think.

Just now, it strikes you that maybe social chess isn’t always his forte, either.

“People tend to… underestimate me,” he begins. The coffee machine whirrs, clicks, whirrs again — and then coffee starts to trickle. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his slacks in what attempts to be dejection, but clearly isn’t. “And while that is an advantage in a competitive environment, it’s not something I appreciate coming from my colleagues.”

“I wasn’t…”

“I know that. Now.” He clears his throat, then, with a show of surprising dexterity, slides his hand from his pocket and grabs both cups with one hand — one tucked between his index and middle finger, the other tucked between his middle and ring finger. You reach out to offer your help, but he sets down both cups on his desk, then hobbles around it, and finally takes his rightful seat on the opposing side. “I unfortunately can’t say the same for Cecil. He does try, and more often than not, he is tactful about these matters, but there is the occasional… slip-up. I try to understand; him and I… have history, as he likes to say.”

You would love to know the exact implications of said history. From what you’d heard, there was the consensus that Viktor had been something of a protege to Heimerdinger, twenty or so years ago, before he’d made it big and co-created the field of applied arcanism. 

“I’ve taken up some new responsibilities lately,” Viktor adds, “and Cecil, though worried as ever, has… overstepped some boundaries of mine. You were caught in the crossfire of that, which is hardly fair to you. I’m sorry.”

“Was he the one who convinced you to hire me?”

Viktor shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Eeeh… partially.” 

“I think I understand your issue with his… overstepping. To some degree.” You take the cardboard cup, blowing the steam away, before you take a sip. “I would also have preferred to be hired by you because you wanted it, not because you'd been talked into it, but… well, I’m glad it ultimately still happened, I suppose.”

“Rest assured that the decision was still mine alone,” Viktor replies. Smart eyes watch you over the rim of the cup as he takes a sip himself.

Silence settles. A telltale sign you should get going — but you don’t want to.

“You mentioned some extra responsibilities,” you attempt. He’d shut down your curiosity before, but you’ll be damned if that’s going to deter you from trying again. “Within the university, or… personal?”

“Within the university.” Viktor sets the cup down, sharp joints jutting out as he intertwines his fingers around the circumference of it, hands resting on the table. There is a mole on his left ring finger, right under the knucklebone. “I have been trying my hand at independent research.”

You only notice the fact that you’d leaned in closer with interest when a tiny smug smile ghosts over his face. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that is just about all I should be telling you.”

Oh, come on.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

His brows raise with surprise, and for the very first time since you’d known him, Viktor seems genuinely stumped.

“Your… research,” you clarify. “And I could show you what I have for my thesis so far.”

“Oh. Alright, I will, eh… bite.” Taking his paper cup with him, Viktor leans back in his seat, and watches you like a cat watches birds. Not necessarily on the prowl — but with great interest. “Tell me.”

“Me first?”

“You suggested it,” he smirks. “It seems only fair, does it not?”

Uncertainty halts you. You have to wonder if Viktor Sidorov-Sviboda is the kind of man that would steal an idea.

You’ve heard he’d gotten the short end of the stick in his partnership with Jayce Talis — though he’d contributed greatly, his name was sorely amiss from all the terms, laws, anything Talis had coined in their domain.

He must know what it’s like to be cheated out of well-deserved credit.

You suppose he wouldn’t propagate the cycle — but in the off case he does, you have a handful of professors who could vouch for your idea being yours, on account of having vaguely, barely, helped with your thesis. None had been too keen on such a touchy subject as the one you were breaching, and were resistant to offering their opinion.

You hope Viktor won’t fall into that same category.

Part of you already knows he doesn’t.

“Alright.” Though you’re not exactly excited to have your own strategy used against you, you can only hope he’ll hold up his end of the bargain. “My thesis is on the hexionic model. Within and outside the context of a matrix.”

Viktor scoffs with amusement, rather than plain mockery. But there is a taste of it in there, somewhere, in the curve of his lip. “You theorists and your hexionic models. Any attempt at a new hypothesis is no less flawed than the last.”

And it’s thrilling. To be challenged, instead of praised, or dismissed. It makes something in you catch fire, every word itches behind your teeth, like you need to tell him.

“That’s exactly why I’m proposing an entirely different hexion model in my paper.“

His pupils widen so much his eyes go dark. Like a cat about to pounce. 

“Oh? Tell me.”

“If we accept that the very core of a hexion’s energy release is based on entropy, on the desire for disarray, and we apply that to a hexion’s very structure… I believe there’s something to be made of the whole mess we are currently facing.”

Viktor had been holding his breath. You notice, because it sounds just a tad sharper when he finally draws a reluctant inhale, and, gears in that mind of his turning fast, sharp, steady, he finds another way to refute your point. 

“Like Pididdly’s hexion model?”

“No,” you say. “Though I bet Pididdly will wish he could come up with what I have. Can I have a pen and some paper?”

You have him now. 

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Viktor tugs the drawer of his desk open so hard it thunks, digging for a scrap of paper and a pen. When you take it, holding the paper between the two of you, he leans in, too, enough for you to be able to smell his aftershave — the aquatic spice softened by flowery vanilla.

It’s intoxicating enough to have the storm of ideas in your mind going quiet, buzzing. You manage to untangle them before you make a fool of yourself.

“My model is proposing disordered order, so to speak. The hexion is split up into different parts as Torek suggested in his hypothesis. But I think she was too small minded in her approach. For my model, I use the concept of something I’m calling areals. Different areals for different component particles. I believe particles will never be in a fixed, certain place.” You draw the centrion — though hypothetically an ochtahemiocyahedron — as a sphere for simplicity’s sake, surrounded by three vaguely defined layers. Viktor rests both elbows on his desk, sharp chin on intertwined fingers, watching with a tilt of his head. Your mouth’s gone dry. “These areals are… spaces where, if you were to look, at any given moment, the likelihood of you finding a specific hexion particle in its assigned areal is high — but never 100%. They are constantly moving, oscillating, vibrating —  within their areal. Like I said: disordered order. And this theory also holds up in the context of matrices — for the most part. There are some kinks I need to iron out, but… this is the gist of it.”

At that, he lights up. 

“Extraordinary,” Viktor mutters. It’s music to your ears, rolls down your spine in a wave of dopamine, tingles all over. He taps his finger to the schematic  diagram, then stares into your eyes so thoroughly you wonder if he can see into the depths of your amygdala. There is maybe a palm’s length between your faces, a gap you itch to breach. He says the next thing like a solemn secret. “This could be beyond revolutionary.”

“Thank you.”

Viktor doesn’t miss a beat when he says: “I would like to help you with your thesis. Should you require it.” 

Now that knocks your knees out from under you. You’re lucky you’re sitting.

One of the founding fathers of applied arcanism wants to read your thesis? Wants to help you?

“I…” You can’t remember to breathe, your mouth’s gone thick and cottony and swallowing is a distant dream and he is looking right at you, young and hungry and alive underneath the barely composed shell of himself. “I’d be thrilled.”

He grins, the top of his lip a mere thin line over his teeth. 

“I already am,” he lilts. You watch the way his mouth moves — the curl of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he rolls his heavy, thick r, the plush purse of them on the m.

And when you remember to look into his eyes again, you catch him red handed.

He’d been staring at your lips, too.

Startled with the reality, the puzzle-piece-click of knowing, the both of you retreat into your seats. With a shaky hand, you pick your cup back up, and take a sip from your coffee. It’s gone lukewarm.

“I’d like to ask you to print it, if possible.” His voice is bridled again, steady, certain. Normal. He tugs on another drawer, and retrieves something shiny, metallic. A key. He lays it on the table, sliding it towards you. “You can use the printer in my office, if need be.”

“I can print what I have so far this evening, and leave it for you here. Would that work for you?”

”Yes.” 

You look at the clock on his wall — it’s entirely later than it should be. You have a lab you should be getting to. 

“Could you spare some time on your lunch break tomorrow?” Viktor asks, clearly having read your mind again, somehow. “I think I should have it read through by then.”

“Absolutely, but… you don’t even know how much there is to read through.”

He smiles. “If you write with the same enthusiasm you talk, rest assured I will tear through it.”

[tarjapearce]

soccer family

how did miguel propose 👀💍

The serious questions yo ❤️✨

Hope you like 🥹✨

Time and life were funny. Sometimes funny in the good kind of way, sometimes in the oddest sorts. If someone would have told Miguel those three years ago, in that evening at Peter's carneada that he would meet his future wife, he'd surely would've just rolled his precious mahogany eyes at cuss in spanish at whoever speaking such nonsense.

He wasn't in the look for someone, yet there you were, his serendipity. Coming into his life like an unforgiving hurricane of things and emotions he had never had the time nor the interest in experiencing at their fullest.

Yet, there you were.

Blatant, not giving two shits on his scary nature, fascinated by him through and through and brazen for making a move. That had surely sealed the deal for him.

He wasn't one for backing away from difficulties, he knew much the challenge he represented to others. And still, you did not only pass it with flying colors, but had actually enjoyed it. Enjoyed him; and in all truth, he enjoyed you too.

Enjoyed the push and pull you offered, the demented moments that certainly earned his brain another wrinkle since he was learning so much from you. Enjoyed your attention and how willingly you'd bask him into it. You were his nepenthe.

How gentle and patient you were with him, when everyone expected so much out of him. Of course he was a genius, or else he wouldn't be into the Lab's head division back in Alchemax. But the way you made him experience things felt surreal, and the feeling increased ten times fold when you shared your first kiss.

The way your lips had tasted and devoured each other was engraved into his core memories. The way you both had explored and shared your emotions was exciting, thrilling yet oh so scary for him.

He wasn't one used to be taken care of. He was the caretaker. A self imposed role he always seemed invested in. But your little ways of weaving into his heart and mind showed him a new perspective of the world he often ignored.

He'd never forget how gentle and careful your tiny fingers were, when helping him patching up in that dirty soccer game. How shameless you were enjoying his reactions. How gorgeous you looked when your eyes wrinkled when laughing your ass off at his suffering. Cruel, but so so hypnotizing.

You'd soon become his wonderwall. His obsession and the only reason he'd go to social gatherings really. If you were there, everything was as it should be. Wonderful, the world would keep spinning normally, but in the few times your absence said present, he'd go home early. Bored out of his mind, the rest was too simple and unworthy of his attention.

Of course, women threw themselves at him. Appearance wasn't something he indulged too much neither care. He was aware of his looks, specially on his little pair of abnormal fangs you loved to feel, for whatever reasons.

"I just do." You'd tell him. And that was more than enough motive to stop worrying over them. You loved them. You loved him.

Every bit of his unwanted self, you made sure he'd know how much you enjoyed it, how much you cherished that certain part he had grown uncomfortable with through his younger years and he'd do the same for you.

After you had shared your bodies, there was no turning back for him. He gave everything of himself into you. His flesh, his scent, his energy and love to you. Something so raw yet pure that turned you into his inspiration, his muse.

You always strived to be better, for yourself mostly.

"How can one be the best version of oneself if we don't grow ourselves as individuals? I want you to have the best of me."

You'd shared in between giggles and drunken thoughts.

He adored your drunk self but would never admit it out loud. You'd come up with the most random yet brain eater questions you could imagine.

He'd fear that day that nearly lost you completely over his stupid pride. A fight ignited by your family. A reason to rarely and never visit them.

He loved your mind. And as months passed on you both, he learned how to love your flaws as well.

And now, three years after, you had given him one of his most precious gifts. His firstborn. His daughter. His child. The result of his unbridled love towards you.

You were his. But of course you had no ways to prove it to the world.

He'd spend hours if possible, watching you through loving yet stoic eyes, feed his little bundle of love, that was overjoyed whenever he held her.

A little Gabriella that was now deep asleep into her crib, in her own room, under his roof. Of course you'd move in with him when Gabi was born. It was the right thing to you.

Six months had passed since her birth, and three years with six months had passed since he met you.

You crawled under the sheets, quanked, yet with the little bits of energy you had left, curled into his chest. Seeking his blanketing warmth. His chest your safe space.

"Took me longer this time to make her fall asleep"

"Yeah. Maybe we should take her to the doctor."

His brows knitted together briefly before kissing your forehead.

"I'm pretty sure she'll be fine."

Silence crawled on you both as you just relished into each other's company. His heartbeat kept pounding in his ears.

The past year and a half had gone through but a certain question was always present. Why hadn't he ask you sooner? It didn't matter.

You remained at his side. So ever loyal, so brave, so rident and brisk. You were exactly what the hypothetical cupid delivered him after his secret longings.

"Mi reina?" (My queen)

An endearing term he only used when discussing serious matters. Despite the exhaustion taking your body hostage, you inquired him with a small and sleepy 'Hm?'

"Would you marry me?"

Eyes looked up at him, a mix of surprise and anger. Surprise that he'd ask such thing out of the blue and anger for the question to be so... powerful and simple that left you speechless. And still, you couldn't help but chuckle out of nervousness.

"It's not a laughing matter corazón. I mean it. Would you marry me?"

You felt your left ring finger being adorned with a golden band that against all odds was perfect in your finger. Like he had forseen this for quite the time.

But it also made sense. All those little moments of him touching and examining your hands resumed into this moment.

"Of course I wanna marry you, tontito" (dummy)

He chuckled as he caressed your hair in his own self grounding and reassuring touch.

"Good. Good."

"Te amo."

His heart wasn't raging anymore, but soaring into this quiet and maddening joy. You had said yes. The words he so yearned for you to say , finally spoken to his heart.

"También te amo, preciosa."

Your own heart soared in bliss at the words you had been secretly practicing over and over. You no longer had to practice, since one of your secret and wildest dreams had came true.

[justporo]

A Love Letter

"Quite contrary to what you might believe, I have never written a love letter. Quick notes with sweet innocents on them or naughty promises, surely, loads of those. But not like this, never."

When Astarion hears that you never in your life have a received a love letter he takes it upon himself to change that.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: It's been a while hasn't it? I hope to get back into the saddle with writing after I took a bit of a break. And what better thing to come back with than a very cheesy, self-indulgent thing? I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

Pairing: Astarion/named Tav (Fox/You) Warnings: light mention of past trauma Wordcount: 2,7k

You had never really been very much into these romantic things. You didn’t have the time for that pretty nonsense. Or maybe it was that you just never had gotten to experience it. And so you made yourself believe that.

So when you mentioned to Astarion that you never once in your life had received a love letter and was imagining how it might be, the vampire felt he had to do something about it. He wasn’t very much into these things either; things that felt just performative.

But after all, he knew with you this wasn’t the case - at all.

So one night, a while after you had mentioned this, and Astarion was out to run errands you found an envelope on the table in your kitchen - and next to it a singular deep red tulip.

On the envelope you saw your name in Astarion’s elegant handwriting written in gold ink - with a few wholly unnecessary but beautiful extra swirls around it.

With a fiendish smile on your lips you opened the letter and were surprised by several pages falling out of it. All of course written in Astarion’s neat hand. You brushed your hair out of your face, feeling that you needed to look presentable for this.

The letter read:

“My darling Fox,

Quite contrary to what you might believe, I have never written a love letter. Quick notes with sweet innocents on them or naughty promises, surely, loads of those. But not like this, never.

This is different, you are different! And you being different means I am now sitting here while you’ve gone to bed already ages ago by dim candle light with several pages of parchment because I know - I know - I will need them to even just scratch the surface. But right now, to be perfectly honest with you, I am a little lost for words as I sit here with a goblet of wine. I’m trying to warm up to this idea of me actually trying to lay bare what I usually don’t share with anyone. Not even with you.

Not because I don’t want to. But because I struggle with letting someone in. But you were so patient with me thus far. I hope you’ll be patient with me for this as well. This is my third attempt to write something that feels right. Something that feels true and not make-believe…

But bear with me as I am working to get the hang of this. Can’t really call myself a consummate lover if I don’t get this one down, can I?

Let’s start over, shall we?

I could tell you about every single little detail I adore about you: like the way your pretty silver eyes light up when you grin at me. Every single freckle you have, which I am sure I know by heart by now - every single one. Or how your smile is so beautiful that it makes even my undead and rotten heart flutter in my chest. How you get these delightful full body blushes when I pull you into my arms, still, no matter how long we’ve been together. How wonderfully sharp your tongue is and how witty you are, my little minx. How you curse worse than a sailor and drink at least as much as one, my little swashbuckling rebel. How you do everything to not be treated by a lady but then swoon when I try it on you anyways.

Or I could tell you how much I adore your kindness. How you worry so deeply about your friends and how loyal you are.

Or how I might roll my eyes every time you stop in the streets to pet one of the stray cats but actually love how you care even for the tiniest and most ragged critters, showering them with your honest affection.

Because isn’t that just like what you’ve done with me?

You looked at me - hells, I held a knife to your delicate neck! - and despite all odds you decided: you liked that one. Despite all the pain, all the suffering, all the trauma, all the patience you needed and all the good will. I couldn’t get rid of you - thankfully.

You kept me, you cared for me. And when I was unable to let you in, you let me in first, taking a leap of faith.

I could see it in your eyes first.

Your beautiful silver eyes and how they always betray just what you think and feel. Maybe not to everyone, but to me. Trust me, I’ve spent quite some time looking at them.

And at some point I looked at you. Your eyes were just so open and I just knew.

You saved me, Fox.

I know I told you before. But I need you to understand that I wouldn’t be here with you if I was without you. You stayed with me through all of this, you helped me every step of the way without really expecting anything in return.

And now I am more than just “still here”, more than just a hollow husk, void of life: I am free - and with you I am even whole.

You radiate so much joy and love and life. You care. Despite your own beatings and betrayals in life, you've never given up on believing that better days are ahead. Not even for a moment.

My stubborn little thing, who couldn't love you when you come barging into people's lives like this. You have your way of just grabbing people by the hand and pulling them with you, saying yes to the good things that happen and fuck off to the bad ones.

And you were right. Better days were, for once, just around the corner.

I feel violently alive when I'm with you.

And it's scary and even hurts sometimes. But it is so incredibly beautiful, joyous and breathtaking that I won't have it any other way.

It's like you pulled me right from that grave into your loving arms. And to my own surprise your embrace and how my name sounds on your lips weighs so much heavier than what has come before.

You haven’t given up on me. For some reason beyond my own comprehension you see something in me. Maybe some day you’ll help me understand too.”

You took a moment to let the words settle with you, your fingertips running over the neat cursive letters. It wasn’t lost on you that there were some specks on the bottom of the page. Like drops had fallen on it. Some had blurred the ink of the final words at the bottom where the handwriting, you realised, had gotten just a tiny bit shaky.

Tears were burning dangerously in your eyes, a knot forming in your throat as your eyes wandered back over the words, not daring yet to move on. And when a teardrop fell from your cheeks onto the paper, mixing in with the others already there you couldn’t help the small laugh escaping you. Knowing exactly the way the writer must have felt bringing these words down onto the parchment.

Then you read on.

“Enough of this sentimental nonsense now, let us move on to more important matters.”

You laughed out loud reading this as the first sentence on the next page. The handwriting as elegant as ever again. And you could quite clearly imagine how the vampire must’ve brushed away his “nonsensical” tears with a pout to regain his composure before he began writing again.

You kept on reading.

“You must’ve realised by now that I am quite a selfish man. I have absolutely no intention of letting you go, my love.

When I told you that you were the first person who I truly cared for, I meant it.

For as long as you will have me by your side and for as long as my immortal life, you will not get rid of me. I hope you thought this rightfully through when you said you wanted to be with me.

For as long as you want me to, I will do everything in my power to keep you as happy and healthy as you are now.

Your light shines so bright, my darling Fox, I don’t ever want to see it dimmed. I always want to see you smile as brightly, laugh as loudly and be as carefree as you are right now.

I want to keep holding you in my arms as you drift off to your dreams with your breaths getting softer and deeper before their soft rhythm lulls me to rest also. And then feel you wake up again in my embrace.

Do you know how incredibly beautiful you are in these moments?

I am not a poet, nor will I ever be one, gods forbid, so I can barely do it justice. But I will try nonetheless.

You are so beautiful and delicate in my arms, completely bare before me, not an inch between us with your limbs all wrapped around me, your hair all messed up. I can feel your comforting warmth. And then this first big breath of you waking up. You always bury your face in my chest as if you’re trying to resist the world of the awake claiming you again. And your arms wrap around me a little tighter while you groan about your fate of having to be awake again. And then you lift your head and blink slowly at me with these beautiful eyes of yours, still sleepy, and red hair all over your face. And your smile grows. You tell me good morning and that you love me with your voice still raspy from sleep and kiss me with your smile growing even broader.

You are everything for me in those moments. Because it feels like every single day you choose to love me again. Aren’t I quite lucky?

 And it’s a gift, every day anew.

And I love you too, Fox, oh how I love you. In those moments and all the others.

I will do everything so I can hold onto these moments with you and create a million more.

Because even though I might have lost the sun, I gained a new source of light. Your warmth makes me want to live again. For you - and for me.”

And then the final lines of the letter were written with a bit more space - and visibly more vigour. The letters tall and proud:

“I love you, Fox, from this moment to the next and for all that are to come.

I love you and I will keep loving you for as long as I live.

I love you.

Forever yours, Astarion”

There weren’t just single tears running over your cheeks and then rolling off your face by the time you finished reading. One hand was clenching the parchment sheets while you simultaneously tried not to ruin them. Your other hand was covering your mouth as you couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing.

You had sat down on the bench sometime while reading without even realising it. Now you were thankful for the support while emotions washed over and through you: overflowing love, bittersweet joy and aching yearning - among others.

Surely, when you had told Astarion that you had never received a love letter you didn’t think he would come up with something like this.

Maybe some cheesy little thing where he got to repurpose all of his favourite stupid lines, but not something like this. Not something so heartfelt and true. Not something that, despite his claims, was showing just how much he was letting you in.

You read the whole letter again.

And then a third time. And a fourth.

All the while your tears didn’t stop. They got worse even, to the point where you had to put the sheets down and cover your eyes while sobs shook your body.

Your chest felt like it was slowly coming apart as you felt it swell to the brim with love for your vampire.

That was the moment Astarion found you: still sitting at the wooden table in the kitchen, crying and sobbing and still clutching the letter in your hands, unwilling to let go. He halted a moment in the doorway.

“Was it that terrible, darling?” Astarion teased as he then entered the room. You hadn’t even noticed him before, too preoccupied with how the words of his confession swam before your eyes.

“I think I did quite a good job,” the vampire continued as he slowly sauntered over to you, hands crossed behind his back. With a huge sniffle you lifted your gaze to meet the writer’s eyes.

“I mean considering that I’ve never done this before,” Astarion finished as he took one last step up to you and immediately sank into a crouch beside you. Long, pale fingers reached out to tug one of several stray strands of hair back behind one of your pointy ears.

Your eyes were on Astarion and through your still welling tears you saw the cautious smile dance around his lips. His tone had been joking, his fingers softly brushing tears out of the corner of your eye lovingly. But his hesitation wasn’t lost on you.

So you took the only measure you deemed adequate to assure him that he had done a marvellous job. And since you could barely put into words how deeply his honest, loving words had moved you, you resorted to show rather than tell.

You threw yourself into Astarion’s arms, making him almost topple over in his crouched position. But the vampire kept his balance as you wrapped your arms around him as tightly as you ever had.

Neither of you cared when more tears spilled onto him and you while more sobs shook through you. “I love you,” you pressed out in between sobs and sniffles. “I love you, Astarion,” you repeated.

And again and again until the words made no sense anymore.

Astarion just held you, burying his face in your hair. And you could have sworn you must’ve felt a tear or two wet your already messed up hair that hadn’t been yours.

The two of you stayed in this tangled and messy embrace, both on your knees, for a long while. Your vampire softly swayed you while your sobs slowly subsided and the tears only remained as softly prickling traces on your face.

That kind of blissful exhaustion that only overcomes you after a long and hearty cry threatened to take you over when you had lost all sense of time in your lover’s arms. So you ripped your face from where it had been buried at Astarion’s neck before you became too tired.

With one hand you rubbed sloppily over your eyes and then your nose. And even without looking you knew Astarion’s nose would scrunch up in disgust. The thought almost immediately made you laugh. But when you looked at him again, finally free of blurring tears, you were merely met with a smirk and a soft mocking glint in his eyes, sparking at you from beneath Astarion’s brows.

“I can’t believe out of all moments you could have picked, you chose to call me beautiful with bedhair, you idiot” you blurted out and swatted the vampire’s arms before you immediately broke out with hysterical laughter.

The vampire immediately hissed at you in response. Then he cleared his throat and put on an air of seriousness when you looked up at him again: “But you are, my love. Even with your face covered in tears and snot you are still quite, eh…” He gesticulated dramatically towards you and his nose scrunched up again as he teased you. It only earned him another hit from you. He hissed at you again, letting go of you to rub the spot you had just hit.

“You punch quite hard, you know that?” he barked at you, his tone slightly offended. And you only laughed more.

“Maybe you should have added that to the letter,” you teased back and stuck out your tongue at him.

“You insolent, ungrateful wretch,” Astarion hurled at you while his smirk returned.

“You pretentious, stupid prick,” you gave back.

Then you leaned in, cupped Astarion’s face and kissed him. He met you with a content hum.

“I love you, Astarion,” you whispered as you broke away and pressed your forehead to his.

His eyes glittered and his smile was so broad it made the vampire’s face ache: “Love you too, my sweet little Fox.”

~~~

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Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes @somewhatclear @miss-rebel-without-applause

[newtthetranswriter]

Choso at Pride

Word Count: 1264

Paring: Choso x Transmasc! Reader

Summary: While at Pride, a karen tries to cause problems only to have her spirits crushed. Followed by some sweet cuddles after a long day

Warnings: Bigots being Bigots, the usual homophobic and transphobic reasons for being assholes, let me know if I missed anything

A/n: Just a little Choso pride fic. For the record I have never been to a Pride festival for many reasons though I’m hoping to go to one this year. Also I ship yuji and megumi, if you don't agree either deal with it or move on. Anyways enjoy and remember to hydrate or diedrate.

    Choso may have not been a person for long but he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that there are people out there, who hate people for expressing themselves. When his partner told him about Pride and how it was a celebration for the people who were part of the LGBTQ+ community to show that they are happy to be who they are, he couldn’t help but want to join in on the fun. Afterall his partner was part of said community and after some self reflection he also decided he fell somewhere in the community. So the morning of the Local Pride festival, Choso helped Y/n get ready before heading to the park.

   “Choso, I’m so glad you wanted to come with me, It’s going to be so fun.” Y/n shouted as they got closer to the busy park full of so many different happy people.

   Choso smiled as he held their hand. “Of course, why wouldn’t I come celebrate the person who has helped me adapt to the world the most.” His smile was infectious as he pulled them in for a quick kiss.

   As they entered the park they were greeted by rows and rows of different vendors selling various pride themed items, most clearly hand made and perfect for the event. The two wandered the festival browsing the various booths, occasionally striking up conversation with those running them. Eventually they came to an area dedicated to some food trucks and decided it was a good time to take a break and get a snack.

   “You sit and take a breather, I’ll go get us something to eat okay?” Choso directed as they approached a small table near one of the many food trucks.

    Y/n nodded, accepting the offer to just sit for a minute. Walking and dancing around the park had started to cause some aches and pains so they were thankful. Fanning themself with their large Nonbinary flag fan, Y/n decided it was too hot to continue wearing their black ‘We are all human’ shirt opting instead to place it in their bag. With the dark shirt out of the way, their Binder which was colored to look like the trans flag was now on full display. 

    As Y/n waited for Choso to return with their lunch, they heard footsteps fast approaching from behind them. Expecting it to be a fellow Pride goer coming to strike up a conversation about their binder or something, Y/n turned to greet them. Unfortunately, it was not someone looking to be friends, instead it was very clearly one of the many protesters they had seen throughout the park.

   “How can you so disrespectfully damage the body god gave you? You’ll go to hell if you don’t change your ways and abandon such satanic practices.” The Karen said pointedly. Y/n just rolled their eyes, taking in the fact the woman was holding a sign spouting something about trans people indoctrinating children. “You are putting children at risk by supporting such dangerous things.” Y/n had fully turned away from the lady knowing that she just wanted a confrontation. “You turn away because you know I’m telling the truth. You turn your back on god.” At this point Y/n was ready to just get up and go find Choso. “Such a beautiful young lady like yourself should be at home taking care of children, not defiling your body and indulging in the lies of these groomers.”

   Y/n truly had wanted to ignore the woman’s nonsense but calling them a lady and then spouting the same ‘they’re all groomers’ bullshit, pissed Y/n off. “First off, I never asked for your opinion. Second, what do you get out of telling people their life is not something you approve of? How many people have you spouted the same nonsense at, have actually changed because you told them they were going to hell?” They asked, turning to the now bewildered woman. “Judging by the shock on your face, none. So, instead of being mad that I have people who love and support me for who I am, you go home and worry about how your kids never call.” With that Y/n grabbed their bag, getting up and searching for their brunette boyfriend.

   As they were looking for Choso, they heard a familiar voice. “Love, I thought you were going to wait at the table for me?” Choso asked, approaching them with a confused look on his face. “Did something happen?” He noticed the slightly irritated look on Y/n’s face.

  Y/n sighed as they accepted the plate of food Choso had offered them. “It’s nothing important, just your average transphobe telling me I’ll go to hell for ‘defiling’ the body god gave me.” They said as they took a bite of the food. “Don’t worry too much I put her in her place and then came to find you. Let’s walk around while we eat.” They suggested leading Choso away from the makeshift food court.

   Choso nodded, knowing that if the encounter had really upset Y/n they would have told him. So they continued through the area, occasionally stopping to buy little things that caught their eyes. After they finished their food they kept walking around enjoying the atmosphere. As the afternoon shifted to evening, the couple decided it was time to head out.

   Once they made it home and were laying on the couch reminiscing over the day, Choso brought up what had happened when they were separated. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know you said it was fine, I just want to make sure you are 100% okay.” His concern was clear as he looked down at where Y/n was resting on his chest.

   They lifted their head placing a quick kiss to his nose before responding. “I’m 100% sure that I’m fine. Had it been a problem I would have told you right away. Plus I think you should be more worried about how much money you spent on Pride merch.” They turned to look at the mini mountain of assorted items that made it look as if a Pride explosion happened on their coffee table.

   “Hey, I have to support the community and plus not all of these are for us. Some of those things are for Yuji.” He stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

   Y/n raised a brow at the half curse before questioning him. “Why? I thought he and Megumi were going to Pride themselves, couldn’t he have bought stuff then?” They asked, perplexed. 

   Choso chuckled. “Shortly before I ran into you with our food, Yuji called me. Apparently they were called for a last minute mission and couldn’t go. He asked me if I could grab them some stuff since they couldn’t go.” He explained.

   Placing another kiss on Choso's face, Y/n smiled. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” They asked jokingly. Choso pretended to ponder the question, before shaking his head no going along with the joke. “Well, I love you so much. You are such a great brother and great sorcerer. And most importantly you are an amazing boyfriend.” They said finishing their sentence with a final kiss on the forehead.

   Choso smiled at them, placing a kiss on their lips. “And you are the most amazing partner I could ever ask for.” After sitting for a moment they both relaxed back into the couch both falling asleep in each other’s arms.

[zhongrin]

swirl & crystallize (and more)

(self-indulgent version | original post)

◇ characters ◇ romantic!zhongli, familial!xiao, platonic!kazuha, platonic!shinobu, romantic!al haitham, platonic!ayato, familial!yaoyao

◇ tags ◇ fluff, selfship, be respectful; don't like don't read!, soft yandere on some parts

◇ a/n ◇ since the people i tagged had a lot of fun with the selfship version, it made me want to write one for myself hahah

ps. i treat the two teams as if they exist in a separate universe, so they're totally unrelated to each other!

pps. feel free to join in if you see this!

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

team 1: xiao (🏠), kazuha (👥), zhongli (💞), shinobu (👥) + lumine (👥)

(dynamics with each other in the old post)

✧— zhongli

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

i’m not sure what you’re talking about, traveler-

hm? she… told you about it? …. i see.

well, as she had requested, i hope you keep this a secret from the others. if teyvat ever knows that the master of this world herself has descended, i fear many of her people would vie for her attention. and as you know, she dislikes being in the spotlight…

⚘ about mei: husband and wife ⚘

i daresay that no one walking upon teyvat holds as much love and devotion to her as i do. it certainly is pleasing to know that my affection is reciprocated, and to this day i am still unable to fathom how she can regard me as an equal - and at times, higher - than her.

while i can say that it feels… pleasant, to know that she adores me so to the point of worship, all my life i have lived believing that it should be the other way around… so it’s quite a dilemma that i’m facing here.

✧— xiao

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

i don’t know what you’re talking about, traveler.

... huh? you knew? and rex lapis responded the same way, you say? … hmph. i see.

don’t you hit me with that ‘parent and child’ nonsense that she always jokes about. i am unfit to be someone’s ‘beloved son’ or whatever, and certainly not rex lapis and teyvat’s impetus.

⚘ about mei: mother and child ⚘

honestly, she treats me like a child despite fully knowing i can take care of myself. worrying about me whenever we dive into battles, always fussing over me to drink the qingxin tea to help with karmic debt… i’ve told her several times that her presence alone is enough to ease the burden of-

a-anyway, she’s quite the mother hen, as i’m sure you also know.

✧— kazuha

⚘ about mei: a special existence ⚘

just as how zhongli-sensei may not be all that he claims to be, i believe the same applies to his wife.

…. haha, you’re quite easy to read, traveler. it was a mere shot in the dark, with only my intuition as its guide, yet it seems like i am right once again. well, no matter. perhaps i will gain their trust in due time. now, i only wish to enjoy the present times of this delightful company.

⚘ about mei: like a sister ⚘

while a geo vision suits her, i think she would have been just as happy with an anemo vision. the way she always asks for me to float her upwards so she can glide down like an excited child is quite endearing. and the way zhongli-sensei rigidly stands by whenever she does this… *chuckles*

oh, i’m sorry, i just think he worries a little too much for his wife sometimes… it’s really quite sweet. it… reminds me of my own father, before my mother…

… ah, apologies, i didn’t mean for the atmosphere to take a gloomy turn.

anyway, i’m just happy to see her so content whenever she’s interacting with zhongli-sensei. i just wish they can dial down the public displays of affection sometimes - i personally don’t mind, but i can see that a few people constantly get secondhand embarrassments, haha!

✧— shinobu

⚘ about mei: chaotic neutral ⚘

look, i’m not saying she’s at the same level as the boss. but you have to admit, for someone who was so shy and timid at first, she sure hid a whole lot of personality once you get to know her.

she’s also a little too spoiled. have you seen how mr. zhongli would just bend over backward to abide by her words? it’s as funny as it is endearing, but i worry she’ll get in trouble one day when she accidentally steps her foot onto the wrong territory... huh? the mom friend? me? ….. *sigh*

traveler.

when am i not the mom friend?

⚘ about mei: looking out for each other ⚘

fortunately, she could be responsible and serious when she has to. it still surprises me how grounded and stern she could be when times are dire; it almost reminds me of mr. zhongli. are all geo vision holders like that, i wonder?

…. wait. scratch that. that was a stupid thought.

bonus!

✧— lumine

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

the first time i realized that this world exists for her sake, i was shocked, of course. what made her so special that a world was born just to entertain her musings? sometimes i think that if not for her, perhaps we wouldn’t have been-

..... *sigh* what am i saying. i know it’s not her fault that things unfolded this way, since she didn’t have the power to influence the events happening in teyvat. in any case, she felt responsible enough to tag along on this journey, and it’s mostly thanks to her that an ex-archon and the demon conqueror himself agreed to travel together with us. so no, i don’t resent her or anything like that. in fact, i would say that we’re good friends.

⚘ about mei: little sisters ⚘

she told me that she had older brothers, once. and it just… clicked to me. the reason why i feel like we can understand each other really well. the reason why she was so adamant to accompany me on my adventure. why she’s so empathetic whenever it comes to matters involving… him.

it’s all because she understands the pain of being separated from her family.

perhaps after i reunite with my family, i can accompany her on her voyage to look for hers? but… well, looking at how she has found a family here too, i’m not sure what she wishes to do…

team 2: al haitham (💞), ayato (👥), zhongli (💞), yaoyao (🏠)

✧— al haitham

oh my god he’s already one of my most beloved dps because dendro element’s flexibility + his high damage. it also helps that he’s the only 5* whom i have the signature weapon for lol

since he came home at 1 pity, i imagine in this scenario we just dropped by the akademiya one day on a whim to invite him to the party… and the next day the acting grand sage just goes missing, with a letter on his desk saying: “the divine one invited me to a vacation."

cue people working at the akademiya being quite literally in shambles because who do they report to now??? hello???? first the grand sage gets dethroned now the acting grand sage goes missing???????

he respects ayato and barely interacts with him, but they surprisingly get along well, be it or outside the battlefield.

with zhongli… not to say that they don’t get along well, but they certainly aren't the bestest of friends. they don’t snap at each other or anything like that though! it's just that if you leave them alone in a room, al haitham would just default to reading his book and zhongli would probably find something to amuse himself instead of talking with the akademiya scribe.

seems indifferent to yaoyao but silently looks after her. he made her a flower crown using his vision at her birthday one time, but that’s a secret he’ll take to his grave. except yaoyao proudly presented it to the other members when they asked where she got the adorable flower crown. #exposed

⚘ about zhongli: cold ⚘

surely by now, you know that i dislike quite a number of people and will not bother to try and force myself to get along with them. he’s not special in this aspect.

i simply am not a fan of sharing my... personal interests.

⚘ about ayato: elusive ⚘

the man wields his words like he wields his blades; swift strikes precisely delivered onto vital points, and before you could even blink, he’s had his sword back sheathed. very efficient and yet inefficient at the same time, i'd say.

⚘ about yaoyao: why is a child here? ⚘

i’m not sure why a young child is traveling with us, but mei kept saying she’s tagging along because she’ll make me stronger. to this day, i am unable to understand her logic, but i value her opinion so i let her do whatever she wants. surprisingly, from the combat data i’ve collected, her claim seems to be true. perhaps her godly powers are at work here. i’ll have to study this phenomenon further.

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

rin is certainly interesting, isn’t she? doesn’t exactly act like a deity when she’s supposed to be this world’s reason for existence. neither does she ask us to worship or obey her commands. and she certainly doesn’t seem to mind being treated so… well. lightly put, beneath what was supposed to be her place. hah. it’s quite refreshing.

hm. it seems like the sharp-eared consultant is glaring at me yet again. i’ll go back to reading my book now. kindly do not bother me for the next hour.

⚘ about mei: similarities ⚘

sans her periodically outgoing outbursts of energy and her deep empathy, i think we’re quite alike in the minute details of our personalities and preferences. we believe in work-life balance and our wish to lead a comfortable life overall. we’re also both not morning people. dislikes sand getting in our shoes. thinks that going out in the rain isn’t preferable. both avid fans of a good cup of coffee. she even told me my soundproof earpiece is a marvelous invention and that she always uses it too, back in the previous world she lived in. naturally, this means we get along rather swimmingly.

ah, that reminds me, i should tell her that i’ve finished making her headphones. now, if you’ll excuse me-

hm? ….. yes, i’m aware that it’s already quite late. but is that not the point? you might not know because your room is never next to the consultant’s, but at times his snores are just far too loud. this way, she can use the headphones right away. i’m sure it’ll help her to fall asleep undisturbed by any external interventions.

and besides, she likes it when i visit her at night.

✧— ayato

gameplay wise, honestly, ayato is just there to take over while i’m waiting for al haitham’s skill to cool down lol

he’s the team’s wallet, aka childe 2.0

surprisingly, ayato gets along pretty well with all of them.

yes, including al haitham.

zhongli could be a tad gullible sometimes, so ayato actually is having a blast feeding him uh… questionable lies… plus, he’s a big tease and he finds it funny to poke and prod at the stoic man. someone save zhongli

yaoyao reminds him of young ayaka, so he naturally dotes on her. big brother behavior, very wholesome.... until you realize he’s teaching her where to stab people so they bleed out and die (or in his words: ‘so bad people will get an ouchie’).

⚘ about al haitham: bet ⚘

while i can’t say our work ethics match each others’, i suppose i can bet a million mora that he’ll win in consideration as his friend.

hmm? win in what, you ask? ahaha, don’t mind my silly musings…

⚘ about zhongli: milk tea ⚘

oh, mr. zhongli is such a pleasant individual to chat over tea. speaking of, i think it’ll be tea time soon. do you perhaps have a bottle of milk, traveler? ah, perfect.

why do i need it you ask? well, the expression on his face whenever i add them to my cup of tea is always a sight to behold, haha!

⚘ about yaoyao: child labor(?) ⚘

if it was up to me i would have arrested mei for child labor. but she was smart enough to borrow what seems to be a friend of hers’ counterargument: “but you also employ sayu in shuumatsuban?”

well, i can’t possibly dispute that, can i? *chuckle* i would love to get to know that friend of hers one day.

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

haha, it really doesn’t feel like she’s teyvat’s beloved raison d’etre, doesn’t it? the way we interact with each other is a very different dynamic than what i’m used to dealing with, back home. she's vastly different than the raiden shogun, both in personality and way of life.

if i had to liken her to someone… i’d say she reminds me of ayaka. well… a more… how do i say this without incurring mr. zhongli’s disapproving glares… unhinged version of her, once you know her truly.

come now, don’t look at me like that. you know it’s true. *chuckles*

⚘ about mei: mistreatment ⚘

in my opinion, she’s very biased toward the akademiya’s scribe and wangsheng’s consultant. have you seen the charms she bestowed on them? they’re clearly of a very different quality than ours. even a normal civilian with no vision would be able to tell that they’re special. i wonder how much effort it took her to enchant those artifacts.

as someone who thought of her like a little sister and willingly prioritized her invitation to travel together, it’s very saddening that she does not put the same care for me as she does for those two. oh, how heartbreaking. i am riddled with grief. *leisurely sips boba*

✧— zhongli

d-do i even need to explain? he’s in my every team composition because of his shield and burst lol

and he’s such an eye candy too

given his (currently) non confrontational nature, he gets along well with everyone…. well. he tries to get along with ayato and al haitham.

with ayato, it’s a constant battle of innuendos and implications and it causes major headaches to people listening.

with al haitham, he’s… well… honestly i’m not sure why they don’t 'get along'. perhaps the word i’m looking for is ‘distant’? there seems to be a hidden hostility here…

gets along most with yaoyao out of the three. so many precious grandpa-granddaughter moments. it’s him who reads/tells her bedtime stories at night and she loves it a lot. this routine is the reason why she would sometimes offer to other people to read them bedtime stories.

⚘ about al haitham: rivalry ⚘

rivalry, you say? hmm…

does it look so obvious from your point of view? ... this won’t do. i really shouldn’t be relapsing to my old self… *sigh*

⚘ about ayato: customs ⚘

though our taste in beverages doesn’t align, our chats are always eye-opening. i learn much intriguing knowledge every single time. for example, apparently, inazumans have this custom to add at least one unusual, exotic ingredient into every hotpot they have. is it not most amusing?

⚘ about yaoyao: glimpse of the future (?) ⚘

ah, the young disciple of streetward rambler. such a pure-minded and responsible child. i think it’s endearing whenever mei dotes on her and carry her around everywhere. she even let yaoyao sleep in her arms while we’re traveling. it makes me think of-

…. ahem. my mind wandered a little too far there, my apologies. what was i saying? yes, she’s a sweet little one, isn’t she?

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

personally, i think she should use more of her authority. especially to our front liners. most especially to a certain high-ranking personage from sumeru. i would normally never overlook such insolence, but since mei herself told me to not interfere… *sigh* there is, unfortunately, nothing i can do but reprimand them once in a blue moon.

⚘ about mei: tea ⚘

mei is the one who controls the finances in our traveling group, but while she could be quite frugal, she always gets me whatever tea leaves they have in the market whenever we visit any encampments or cities. i appreciate that very much.

she does enjoy her coffee every now and then, but at the end of the day, she always comes back for tea. i think she might not realize it herself, but she clearly has a preference for tea over anything else - that is, including coffee.

hmm? i’m speaking allegorically? why, i’m not sure what you’re referring to, traveler. i am simply stating my observations.

✧— yaoyao

it’s actually shinobu but recently i swapped her with the new dendro child bc i wanted more variety (and that companion exp hskdjskdj)

this sun child gets along with everyone!! good job yaoyao!! she’s like a precious baby niece i don’t have sobsob

she’ll follow either al haitham or ayato around like a duckling around the marketplace if i went with zhongli (she knows he has the worst spending habits so we take turns keeping an eye on him lol). got separated from al haitham one time and he almost had a heart attack. now he holds her hand whenever they walk around in crowded places.

ayato knows how to handle children because he literally raised ayaka, so yaoyao loves being around him! he’ll fulfill her more childish wants that she never voices out loud (out of consideration for others) with a snap of his finger.

zhongli is yet another expert at childcare (although he has his clumsy moments) and he’s on friendly terms with all the adepti so yaoyao considers him at the same level as her adepti friends. he’d take her into his arms if she ever falls asleep while we’re walking about.

i’m gonna cry these are all adorable as fuck help

⚘ about al haitham: protection ⚘

mister al haitham looks a little scary at first, but you know what? he’s super caring! whenever there are battles, he always, always makes sure that i’m out of harm’s way first! *huffs* i kept telling him i can handle monsters on my own, but he just crouched down and patted my head. he didn’t even refute it!!

*sigh* i suppose his manners are a little lacking, but he means well, so i’ll overlook it, hehe.

⚘ about ayato: kind ⚘

ayato gege sneaks me candies every now and then! they’re always sakura-flavored, and i can’t get them in liyue markets, so he told me he’ll get them especially exported from inazuma to liyue when we stop traveling together! isn’t he so kind?

oh, and he’s especially good at putting up my hair! i think he’s used to doing it… he mentioned having a little sister once. maybe he used to put her hair up?

⚘ about zhongli: warmth ⚘

mister zhongli reminds me of the adepti, because he’s very dignified and knowledgeable! but apparently, he’s just human like me... but i still like him! he’s very nice and mature, save for his impulsive purchase habits...

he also tells me bedtime stories, and it makes me fall asleep within five minutes… *yawn* oh dear, thinking about it makes me sleepy… i think i’ll ask mei jiejie if i can take a short nap…

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

oh, meirin jiejie is really kind! she always shares any sweets she buys, and whenever miss shenhe visits us we would ask her to help making these cold yummy treats called ice cream! now if only she would eat her veggies with the same vigor…

⚘ about mei: secrets ⚘

jiejie and i tell a lot of secrets to each other! she tells me it’s because i’m a special child… i’m really flattered that she would trust me that much! but anyway, she told me you’re a close friend of hers, miss lumine, so i can tell you one of her secrets!

okay, so, jiejie never really admitted it outright, but i think she’s very fond of mr. zhongli and mr. al haitham… she always talks about them and she’s always saying about how handsome and capable they are! i asked her who she would marry and she got all red, hehe. who do you think will get to marry her, miss lumine?

bonus because i adore yaoyao so much:

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

[droolingvenus]

Enter Here:

Hello, and welcome to my little corner of Hell! You can call me Venus, I'm not new to this hellsite by any means and I finally decided it was time to carve out the niche in the Star Wars fandom that I always dreamed of someone else making.

On this blog, I will be posting various headcanons, blurbs, quotes, fanart, possibly fanfictions of my own writing, all relating to what I consider to be my favorite ships, including rare pairings and a variety of ships that I think I came up with because I am single IRL and would really rather not be.

I personally write a ridiculous amount of self-indulgent fanfiction that I don't post anywhere and only write for my own enjoyment, but my preferred pairings and AUs are very rarely anywhere near canon. I always hoped there were more people with uncommon interests in the fandom, but after years of no luck, I've made the decision to find them myself, or convert some people...

My main ships that I enjoy writing about/am interested in exploring are:

Quinfox/Foxquin/Vox (Quinlan Vos x Commander Fox)

Codywan (Commander Cody x Obi-Wan Kenobi)

Blyla (Aayla Secura x Commander Bly)

Quinobi/Obiquin (Quinlan Vos x Obi-Wan Kenobi)

Rexsoka (Extremely wary of this one, I would only explore the concept post-Clone Wars Era as Ahsoka is... A child before the end of the War... Yeah, none of that please)

Kanera (Kanan Jarrus x Hera Syndulla)

Dinluke (Din Djarin x Luke Skywalker)

Wreckme? (Padme Amidala x Wrecker? Weird one that I think ONE SINGULAR PERSON has art of and now it lives in my brain dumpster and I've been toying with it a bit)

I'm curious about Kit Fisto x Aayla Secura x Commander Bly, but I haven't actually explored it much, so if you've got any thoughts or favorite fan works, feel free to send them my way!

These are the ships that I currently find myself interested in and writing about, but I'm open to hearing about what other people might like, my only boundaries are non-familial/platonic ships between clones, that's not my cup of tea, and any Master/Padawan ships, something I'm not interested in and would prefer to not engage with, you do you, of course.

I also enjoy at least two AUs, one that I believe pre-dates my use of it and the other is a very common one: Sith AU (Duh) and Victory Ball AU (In which the Clone War ends in a Republic-Jedi victory and things are all made right, Palpatine will always die, usually in increasingly hilarious or vengeful ways, depending on how my day went)

I am a SUCKER for the Soulmate trope/AU, and if anyone ever wants my thoughts on a specific ship being soulmates, ask! I will gladly babble my nonsense to any who wish to hear it!

I will forewarn that I am likely to post about ships + reader, for example, I'm already planning for my first real post to be a Quinfox x reader headcanon, so if you're like me and are polyamorous or LGBTQ+ in another way, you're welcome to send things in too! There's room for everyone around here, my little deal is that no one can be harmed and it can't be an illegal relationship (Examples include but are not limited to: Non-Con, incest, underage/of age partners, abusive dynamics/themes, coercion,) in our standards. As long as it would be legal here, I can usually give it a chance, though if you want me to write about a ship committing crimes together... That's a different story, I have access to Google and no respect for my search history, if you want to hear about being Codywan's assassin/lover, shoot me an ask, I have thoughts ;)

Lastly, I will post NSFW and suggestive content at some point and while I will do my best to add many tags and warnings, if you can't handle that risk and/or you are under 18, GO AWAY. I'm not sorry that I'm an adult and that I enjoy adult content, and anyone who doesn't want to see it is more than welcome to leave.

Ageless blogs and blogs run by minors will be blocked, and it will not be warned or nice, I don't want you here and if you're truly mature, you should be mature enough to respect that this space is not for you.

Asks are open, requests are open, ranting in the asks is more than welcome, feel free to send any questions in and I'll get to them ASAP!

~Venus

[destiny-in-the-universe]

what have i done lol-

I somehow managed to get back into The Promised Neverland and decided ‘hey, wouldn’t it be kind of silly if there was a crossover with my current interests’ and i realize this might make very little sense but this is created from self indulgent bullshit

I’m only using RC9GN for now but this will likely stay in wip mode for now! (this is not the angst idea i had in mind for finja and nomi- that’s something different)

Though to explain my thoughts for this nonsensical idea-

🏠 For the time being, Marci is the caretaker of the children- she is always good to them until the very end; as much as it pains her- she knows what needs to be done and makes sure the kids never know what happens on the other side of that gate

🏠 The Sorcerer is an ancient demon. He becomes the primary foe that our main characters will have to face after escaping from the orphanage

🏠 McFist and Viceroy work for Lambda. Viceroy administers the tests, creating certain technology which keeps the test subjects complacent while McFist ‘runs’ the facility under the Sorcerer’s occasional supervision

🏠 “Finja” is this crossover’s William Minerva. He was a member of a resistance though no one knows what happened to him- he seemingly disappeared one day, and his title back then - the Ninja - faded into the wind… (there were others like him, but they had barely any luck)

🏠 Skip to present times when Marci’s the current caretaker- we’re introduced to Randy Cunningham and his best Howard Weinerman, they’re nearing twelve but still have a bit before they’re adopted. Randy longs and hopes for a happy family, and who knows maybe they’ll want Howard too

🏠 Norrisville High are of course, the orphans. Randy is an adventurous boy- much more than his friend Howard. He spends his time in the forest; things are happy and they couldn’t be better- and then it’s announced someone’s been adopted

🏠 He feels happy for them, but he also can’t shake a feeling- Randy decides to bring the adopted child their left behind stuffed toy, say his final farewell

🏠 What he sees takes him by surprise (he feels sick to the stomach). Randy is terrified out of his mind as he remains rooted there, unable to will himself to move but there wasn’t any way to forget that thing which ate his sibling - even if they weren’t really related - and he knew he had to do something. He would escape with his family

🏠 Randy immediately goes to tell Howard. Howard is, of course, horrified by this but he doesn’t want to get involved- though after a bit of convincing from Randy, he reluctantly decides to help out (although he’s made to promise not to tell anyone- not yet-)

🏠 I feel at some point Julian, Theresa, and Debbie eventually are clued in on what happened- Randy is desperate to get everyone out, and eventually he learns of “Finja”. He decides he needs to take on the mantle, become the next ninja

🏠 I don’t know who would be sent to Lambda, if that arc happens at all

🏠 (it would be a little funny and mean of me if it was Randy though- in a bad ending version)

🏠 I’m not entirely sure what happens after this, but I do know that eventually we have a scene parallel to the escape scene- Randy and the rest of his allies had trained up to this point, clueing in everyone else (not completely, as he doesn’t want to fully scare them)

🏠 if this does get written- it might not happen anytime soon! I still have a one-shot to work on and a potential multi-chaptered work (unless it’s just a really long one-shot), on top of other projects but I simply couldn’t leave this idea alone for some reason. It doesn’t help I was talking about the anime last night with a friend of mine heh

With that, I’ll be on my way- (sort of) but I hope you enjoy this! This is me and my weird self indulgent ideas-

I have no idea what this alternate universe would even be called, hence why I’m once again leaving it to vote

[sorceresssundries]

I just want to say how much I've been enjoying your poetry!!! It's beautiful.

I've always wanted to try poetry but it doesn't seem to come easily. Do you have any advice?

Well, this is exceptionally kind!

I'll try my best to help, but please bear in mind I'm not an expert or a professional and there is an endless amount of beautiful poetry out there to explore, written by people with more talent than I can even dream of.

I'll offer what I can, but I think creativity is pretty unique to everyone.

I'll put it under a 'Read More', so that people can just skip by if they want.

Here are some tips I can think of:

Read poetry that makes you feel something, even if you're not really sure what the feeling is. Like with all art, doesn't matter how applauded or celebrated it is, if it doesn't move you that doesn't mean you won't be moved. Just means you need to be moved in a different way. Some poets I love to read are: Pablo Neruda, Mary Oliver, Anne Sexton, Emily Dickinson - but like I said, find what moves you and settle into it. I cried at Dr.Seuss last week.

Music - listen to your favourite moody, angsty, uplifting, lyrically charged music. The rhythm of poetry is often as important as the words, and music will help find your rhythm. I have a playlist for when i'm writing, which I won't share because everyone's taste is different, but while writing yesterday's poem I listened to No Distance Left to Run by Blur and it wrecked me.

Speaking of rhythm - read your poetry out loud to yourself. Like plays are meant to be performed, poetry is meant to be spoken. This really helps me to know whether it sounds the way I want it to.

Structure - there aren't any rules! Don't get bogged down in rhyme schemes, iambic pentameters, or any of that nonsense. A lot of poets play around with punctuation, alignment, typeface because there aren't set rules. This is all yours, do what you want with it. Sometimes writing in a strict structure like a Haiku, or Sonnet, is good practice because it forces you to be clear and concise. I like to do this if I have something I want to say, but it gets away from me and I can't mould it's shape the way I would like to.

A poem can be a single line. Don't drag things out because you think it ought to be longer, this dilutes your message.

Decide what you want to say, and get that down first. Mess around with it after. I'm not sure how everyone does it, but poetry certainly doesn't just spill out of my head and onto the paper. It's crafted, not birthed. I get a basic idea down, and then develop a couple of lines I like, work around that, let it sit, go back to it, read it out loud, repeat, until i'm happy with it. That may not be how it works for you, but enjoy playing with it.

The beauty of poetry is that it's deeply personal, yet universal. Write what you want, however you want to and I guarantee it will touch someone, somewhere who has also felt that way.

Be brave! You've got this! You have a voice worth hearing! I felt like a completer wanker the first time I shared any poetry. Poetry is self-indulgent, but fucking indulge in it! Savour and share it!

If you want to chat privately then let's do that! I'm just an internet twat who writes poetry in the voice of a fictional wizard, but hey! If that's someone you want to chat with, then my tower is open to you.

I hope to hear your poetry soon, friend. <3

[kharmii]

watching the news surrounding the 0l!mp!cs fills me with disgust but also with hope. The voices of frustration and resistance against this nonsense are getting louder and louder and more and more frustrated. And at the same time the usual deflection of throwing around insultes like confetti looses more and more it's meaning.

There is still a long way to go... but the winds of change are here. Normalcy is taken over again. And future generations will look at the history books thinking: "TF happened back then? How could insanity rule the whole western world like that??" (just like we are looking back at events less than a century ago and wonder how could all of this happen?)

With enough indoctrination everything is possible...

The Olympics debacle was so badly received I did not see one post glorifying it or even mentioning it here on Tumblr. Not one. It's true there's a push back. At least there are people admitting there's a vocal minority pushing weird stuff as a norm:

Speaking of weird stuff, the new order going out to the mainstream media is to push more the idea that conservative social norms are weirrrd now. Matt Walsh did a montage showing it:

I've had this psyop being pulled on me my whole life, and it hasn't worked. The oft spoken of coworkers have pushed it the most. I'm weirrrrrd for not indulging in the same ruinous self-destructive bad decision making as the rest of them, starting when they were younger into that 'forever in college' party lifestyle and culminating into the day they all went in a big group to get that experimental Covid vaccine. They can sneer at me all they want, but I wouldn't be any one of them for a million dollars, especially since I'd be likely to die from comorbidity of being grotesquely overweight before I could enjoy it all.

It helps I'm only hearing it from Matt Walsh because I don't take in mainstream news or watch much television outside of the few episodes of anime per day, like Black Clover or My Hero Academia. One must curate their media experience same as internet.

And future generations will look at the history books thinking: "TF happened back then? How could insanity rule the whole western world like that??"

Hopefully it will end up that way. The alternative is the end of Western civilization due to suicidal left-wing insanity.

A couple more:

The thing with drag queens.....is anybody else sick of them? -Or is it just me? I'm sick to death of drag queens for the same reason I'm sick of furries and trans people. -Like maybe they were fun and campy for a minute, but then the most obnoxious people on earth had to start injecting them into every damn thing until you can't get away from them.

Let's make 2025 the year people finally get sick of drag queens, trannies, monster fucking and stupid furry bullshit. Autistic people...stop being into trans and go back to being into trains. If someone isn't into trains, they might still be interested in hearing infodumping about railroads, but nobody is interested in hearing about all the boring-as-shit made-up gender 'science' being spewed on Tumblr 24/7.

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

Your new hitman Mills story is incredible! I love everything about it and I hope you continue it. Your stories are the best! 🖤🖤🖤

I'm so so happy you enjoyed it! It's full of all sorts of nonsense that I adore and therefore it's super self-indulgent, so I am really glad to hear someone else liked it too :D Thank you so much for the kind words and taking the time to leave such a lovely ask, it absolutely made my whole day 🖤🖤🖤

[sintreaties]

Let's be real u love the anon who asked u lots of question right?

Allow me to thank you for this question, because it gave me the chance to speak about something that’s been intriguing me for a while (albeit it’s more of a personal reflection, rather than a conversation with you specifically).

I’ve been answering anon asks for years and because this was my first experience being active in fandom spaces, I’ve come to consider it as a sort of social experiment.

To answer your question: no, I do not enjoy the last few asks. I don’t appreciate when people don’t take the hint and keep sending them.

In part, of course, it’s because I’ve grown tired. Tired of Kakegurui, but also of some of its fans. The asks I used to receive were also much more engaging and some were actually quite funny! Some anons were nice enough to come here just to share something they enjoyed, something unrelated to KKG, because they thought that I’d enjoy it too. I appreciate those anons a lot and I hope they’re having a nice day, just like the anons who reached out to talk about my fics and discuss what they liked or disliked about them.

I can’t remember if I mentioned it here, but for me, the anons of this blog are the equivalent of strangers stopping me in the streets while I’m minding my business. Some people ask for directions (meaning, some come here asking for writing advice and such) and if I can help them, it is my pleasure to do so. Some people come up to me to strike a conversation, and although I don’t always have the patience or the interest to indulge them, I do my best to reply.

And then there’s… the others.

Those are the ones that puzzle me. I don’t take what they say personally, nor do I give it much weight, because in the end, they’re still just strangers on the internet, but I’m still genuinely curious about why they do the things they do. It’s not like I’ve lost sleep over it but even as a writer, I’m very, very interested in understanding this kind of humanity. Everything has a reason, if you care to search for it.

So those anons, right. Some of them don’t even follow me: Why are they here?

Of course, one of the reasons is that this is an open space. You can come in, do your thing, get out. I’ll never know who you are so you don’t really feel like there’s going to be any substantial consequence to what you say.

There’s this quote by Robert A. Caro that goes, “When you have enough power to do what you always wanted to do, then you’re really gonna see what you always wanted to do.”

So you have the power to be rude, and stupid and nonsensical, right?

But why would you do it?

Like, if someone was to tell me “Hey, I don’t appreciate your avances”, well, I wouldn’t send them this kind of stuff:

I’d feel like a loser, you see? I’d show no manners to the person who’s repeatedly said that they don’t appreciate this kind of messages (most importantly when those who send them are really trying to get my cell number!!!) and I’d also show such an incredible loneliness and hopelessness that I couldn’t help but be ashamed of myself.

Plus you’re doing this where everyone can see you! You’re on anon yes, but you know that you’re the one who wrote that stupid, rude or nonsensical ask. How can you not be embarassed about it? I suppose you’re either dumb enough to lack self-awareness or you’re so insecure that you’re much beyond that to torture yourself with silly concepts like dignity and self-respect.

I don’t mean it as an insult, really, I’m just trying to draw my own conclusions here. My power fantasy is to be a good, kind, interesting person in a community of equally good and nice and interesting people and yours is… this? Why?

Reading some of these asks feels like getting a glimpse of someone’s intrusive thoughts. You can tell that they didn’t stop to think before sending them. My mutuals have to thank me, because despite what I’ve been told recently by a friend, I still spare them the worst ones (which, curiously, have only really started to appear recently). This kind of stuff gives me such bad second-hand embarassment that if I try to put myself in the anon’s shoes I deal myself psychic damage.

Most of those people don’t even come to me because I’m Sintreaties and they have a problem specifically with Sintreaties. The problematic anons either disregard or forget the fact that they’re real, living people talking to another real, living person — who, incidentally, has nothing to do with them.

And it’s incredible, because again, I wouldn’t be able to act like some of you! Sometimes it helps to think that no matter how many times I’ve hit rock bottom, I’ve never sent anon hate nor have I ever harrassed someone online just because I could. But then, even in videogames I never pick the “bad route”. What’s the fun in that? If I have to be mean and pick a fight with someone, hell, let it be a fight that can win me something more than whatever you get from arguing with Twitter users.

In the end, the question for me isn’t “why are you doing this to me”.

For me, the question becomes: why are you doing this to yourselves?

Bro, go for a walk! Talk to your friends, and if you’ve got none, go ahead and make some! Go for a coffee all by yourself and joke with the guy at the counter! Jesus Christ man, you can do better than waste your time sending that kind of asks to a random person on the internet! You show so little self-love that I can’t help but feel compassion. Where’s your dignity? Where’s your self-respect, the innate, human drive that pushes us to be better, no matter what? If you’re so lonely and insecure, do something about it! The world is full of people who wish to be your friend and to know you for who you are. Take care of yourself, for god’s sake!

“Lighten up, it’s not that deep” — for some of you, yeah. We’re talking about the same people who can barely read and comprehend a manga, I don’t expect them to understand my point.

(And I don’t mean it as a “look at me, I am so superior to you, because I actually use my head to think things critically and I’m still in touch with my emotions even in online settings.”)

For you it’s just one or two weird asks. Since 2019, I’ve received hundreds of them.

Again, I’m still relatively new to fandom. I’ve “only” been around for a few years and I’ve mostly only interacted with KKG fans. I’ve also always tried to curate my experience, which is already lacking on its own compared to someone who’s been around for decades. On that note, I wonder if some older, more experienced users would like to share their opinions on the matter — on anon too, or course.

I still want to keep my askbox open, because some anons really have something new and interesting to bring to the table. Remember though: it’s not 2020 anymore. From now on, I really do suggest thinking well about an ask before sending it.

And on a final note, I’m told that one of my asks made it to the KKG struggles account on Twitter so I’d personally like to thank and shake hands with all the anons that made it possible🤝🍾🎉

[citrus-wall-paint]

CHAT IDK HOW TO PUT POSTS UNDER A CUT SO IM SORRY IF THIS DEVOURS UR SCREEN BUT heres some "deleted" scenes from my fma fix it au!! (nothing really needs fixed (exept for Greed's death) But its really just more self indulgent stuff 4 me) Basically just 2 one shots based fully only the FMAB timeline but inspired by some 03 events :3 OKAY ENJOY I HOPE THAT MAKES SENSE

------------------------------------------------------------

Ishval, Summer of 1900

“Why am I here?” she echoed, a bit shocked at the blunt question. That was something she couldn’t truly answer. Simply, she was here to get insight. To stir conflict in this region that was soon to be wiped out. But of course, she couldn't tell him that, besides, that job… that job was over. So why did she keep coming back? “Why do you let me in?”

He laughed, running a hand through his white hair. My, he was gorgeous, but that was not a thought that she was supposed to have. At least, not one that she should let affect her so deeply.

“I guess you’ve bewitched me.” he answered in a soft whisper, softer than anyone’s ever spoken to Lust. she was taken aback. She hated this feeling. This stretching pain in her chest, the ache in her entire body, the pounding in her head. But she couldn’t get rid of it. And yet she couldn’t get enough. She was addicted to it. To him. And yet she was disgusted by him. That he was so foolish to let her get close. She could cut his throat right now, and he very well may still smile at her. And why? “I suppose that was a foolish thing to say” he added sheepishly after her long stretch of silence.

“Not at all” she hummed, a pang of disgust ringing in her heart when she heard the softness in her own voice. Yes… yes, that was all. She was using him. This was manipulation. She’s done this for two hundred years, why would she ever hesitate now? This man followed her like a dog ever since she came to Ishval, and she entertained it. She’d been entertaining it for months now. Now, even after Envy had started the war, she kept coming. Because… she had to, right? She needed his research… yes. That was it. As useless as it likely was, that's why she was here. It had to be. “I have to thank you. Not many of your people would look at someone like me so kindly.”

“Nonsense.” he hummed, closing the book he was absentmindedly skimming through. His research could wait. He had time. If this got bad, if he had to make sacrifices, if he was lost to this… Well, it was inevitable that she would stop coming to Ishval eventually due to the danger, so he had to use his time with her as well as he could. “You’re not the one going around killing my people. I have no reason to be angry with you. There are violent Amestrians just as well as there are dangerous Ishvallans, we can't start discourse among friends during this struggle.”

God, he was an idealist, wasn't he. He had no idea how much hell he was truly about to endure, how Lust would be the one watching from the shadows, unscathed, smiling. Normally, that idea would make her smile. But right then, she felt ill. Before she could even think to respond, he rested a hand on her upper arm. “Don't be afraid. We’ll make it through”

As he moved in, she met him in the middle, gently resting her forehead against hers. What was wrong with her? In a horrible instant, she thought of her brother. They were created together, born from the same desire… was she destined to be just as pitiful as him? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but just as her lips parted, she felt his against them, and she lost herself.

He hoped he hadn’t made a mistake. But the idea that Solaris may very well be gone tomorrow nearly made him lose his mind. He loved her so much. Honestly, he wanted her to get out, to run as far away as she could… though, selfishly, he wanted to go with her. But he couldn’t. He had to take care of his brother, he had to finish this research, to make sure his alchemy could help people, even if he died in this war. He only hoped Solaris would understand.

She understood him perfectly well. What she didn’t understand was why she didn’t cut him. Why didn’t she skin him and hang him for his entire family to see just for touching her? But… How long could she lie to herself? How long could she deny that these disgusting feelings were coming from the truest pits of her heart. And the fact that she relaxed into his embrace, that she pulled him in and let him hold her… she was just as pathetic as her brother. At least she knew he would die soon. She would never have to give in again, never have to feel so grossly human. Once he was gone, she could be herself. She could refocus. But she couldnt be the one to kill him.

And she didn’t have to. The war in Ishval raged on, and since that night, Lust hadn’t dared to have gone back. There was no reason to. She knew he was gone. That part of her life was over, now it was time to forget about it.

------------------------------------------------------------

Armstrong Residence, Autumn of 1914, to summer of 1915

The light pouring in from the outside gently kissed her cheeks, barely filtered by the white drapes covering the open window on the opposite end of the room. Martel groaned, shifting uncomfortably. Every inch of her body was in searing pain. It seemed like an eternity before she cracked her eyes open, only to be met by a brilliantly lit, extravagantly decorated bedroom. However, her eyes only landed on the machine next to her, the sun’s light reflecting off the metal as it beeped. It took an embarrassingly long time for her to realize she was hooked up to it, even more so that this… wasn’t a hospital. It couldn’t be. What was going on? Her mind was so foggy she could hardly manage to panic as she carefully turned her head to the other side of the room. Expensive sheets, expensive drapes, expensive ceiling, ex- Jesus!

Catherine giggled as Martel finally turned to face her, her tired eyes now wide with shock.

“Who- who are you? Where-” Martel started, but Cathrine put a gentle finger up to her lips. After all, she didn’t even know who this was - just that Alex was helping her.

“I’ll get my brother” she said, almost too cheerily considering Martel’s state before disappearing.

She let out a sharp sigh when she was alone again, only now fully realizing what had happened. Roa… Dolcetto… Greed… everyone was gone. She should be dead too. If she wasn’t so badly injured, she’d think this was some weird waiting room in heaven - even then, it was a stretch to assume she’d have a peaceful afterlife. But it was clear that she wasn’t there yet. What was becoming clear, however, was the fact that her arm was gone. From the stub where her arm was, there was a deep scar that cut across her chest and down to her opposite hip. Did Bradley miss on purpose? Or did she really move away just in time? The idea that he didn’t stab to kill, that he kept her alive just to die of an infection while mourning her friends… It made her sick.

However, she wasn’t going to die of an infection, or at all, for that matter. No, the Armstrong family has had the most reputable team of doctors for generations, and Alex ensured that she received the utmost care. After all, Alex felt… responsible for her. How could he not? These were his war buddies, his brothers and sisters, and he had to stand by and let Bradley slaughter them all. He knew they weren’t bad people. They couldn’t be. He was just grateful that given the responsibility to take care of Martel’s body, that he realized there was still life within her, and was given a chance to save her.

Now, he threw open the door, nearly giving the poor girl a heart attack. “You’re awake!” he beamed, and he just barely kept himself from giving her a big, comforting, muscular hug, but only because she was still recovering. He did, however, grab her remaining hand and grasp it tightly. “And you’re warming up! Very good! How are you feeling? Let me fetch some food!”

As Alex rambled, going in about 50 different directions, Martel blinked plainly up at him. This was… the guy from the devils nest. Yeah, Roa used to know him… so was this safe? She wasn’t sure, he was with the military after all, and she wasn’t about to be an experiment again.

However, he could see the unease and defensiveness on her face, and he stopped in his tracks, grabbing her hand once more, his face deadly serious. “I am not going to hurt you. What Bradley did was wrong. Unjust. You’ll be safe here.”

His sudden vow took her off guard, but it did ease her mind, if only a bit. “Yeah.” was all she could mutter, her eyes now downcast. She couldn't get those images out of her head. Dolcetto and Roa, cut in pieces just before her eyes… and Greed… killed and tortured until he couldn’t stand. Was he still alive?

Suddenly, Alex was holding out tissues to her, and only then did she realize she was crying. Sheesh, Dolcetto would give her so much trouble for crying over him… but it was hard to deny the fact that the overwhelming loss and guilt was too much to handle. She felt useless. And yet… Greed could be alive. He had to be, nothing could keep him down - right? Even if he wasn’t, even if it was a one in a million chance, she had to hold onto that. She had to find him. She couldn’t imagine he was having much more luck with this loss.

-

She spent six months with the Armstrongs, and yet it felt like absolutely no time at all. Granted, the whole time she was recovering - she had lost limbs before, sure, but she’d never had automail, and man, it was tough. She had already had it for nearly 5 months and she could still hardly move that arm, her shoulder constantly ached. Not to mention, every time she saw herself in the mirror, she saw that scar. That damn scar… it would always remind her of her loss, but it also reminded her of what she needed; her brother. She needed to find Greed, whenever he was. That goal kept her going, kept her motivated and sane. It made the pain of her surgeries worth it, the recovery and strenuous training, all so that she could be reunited with her family, if only a part of it.

She was applying some salve to her cut, hopefully to ease the sting even if just a bit, when she heard a crash downstairs. Her heart jumped, and she stood still for a moment. Did something fall? Was someone breaking in? She didn’t know if Alex was home yet, but she quietly grabbed her pocket knife and made her way downstairs. SHe happened to look out the window at the bottom of the staircase to see that the rest of the Armstrongs were… leaving? What the hell was happening? Another crash and a yell, and now Martel was running towards the noise, only to find Alex… totally beaten on the floor, a terrifying woman looming over him.

“Oh hell no” she muttered, slowly backing away, but the woman pointed a finger at her, stopping her dead in her tracks. “Who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?”

“Oh! No Olivier it’s okay sh-”

“Shut the Hell up Alex I didn’t ask you!”

Oh hell no. What the hell was happening? And that name… oh my god! This is his other Sister! What the hell, she’s nothing like the rest of them! This is insane, these people are so weird!

“I- i’m Martel, your brother and I are war buddies” she said quickly, trying to save herself and get Alex out of that death grip.

“Hah! That’s cheap, Alex hardly gets to call himself a soldier.” though, she did get off of him, taking a few steps towards Martel. “Pleasantries are over. This is my mansion now. Get out.”

“Woah, hold on! I-”

“You are in my house, you have no place staying!”

“Olivier, please, she has nowhere to go.” he insisted as he stood, but Olivier had no interest until he spoke up again. “She may have important insight on the homunculi.”

Martel’s eyes widened a bit as Alex just outed her like that, and Olivier’s glare didn’t get any warmer. However, she suddenly turned to leave. “You two, living room, now.”

-

Martel didn’t have much choice. She told her everything she knew, and then everything Bradley did to them.she managed to stay put together though, she’s spent enough tears on this - it was time to stand up. “It must be hard to hear that your Fuhrer is corrupt”

“Please, I already knew that. It makes no difference, he was always just another worm in my way.”

“Ohhhkay.”

“So, Olivier? What do you make of this?” Alex asked, a bit uneasy.

“Well,” she sighed, finally breaking eye contact with Martel for the first time since they met. “I knew Bradley was powerful, but killing a homunculus all on his own takes a different kind of strength.” she mused before turning back to Martel. “I'm not worried. However, when the time comes that I need to call on you, you will answer, understood? You may stay in this house for now, but if you shy away when it all comes crashing, I will not hesitate to kill you for your cowardice.”

“I will die if it means seeing Bradly fall from grace.”

“Very well.” she sighed once more, standing up. “Now, Alex, get out.”

[gamerkats]

I don't even know how to say this but thank you for writing. I just finished nocturne of flowers and it's the first writing where I ever felt like I could be me. I'm a furry and I get bullied a lot for it. And all the books I ever read are werewolves and shit like that and that's not my fursona. And I don't have anywhere really to be unless I'm some kind of infected character if that makes sense. But Primevals. When I read your version of humans I literally cried. I still tear up. Mutherfucking finally! This shot straight to my heart and I needed to say thank you. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for writing a world I can be in and I can be me. I'm absolutely obsessed now. I'm rereading nocturne and I'm reading the side story. I'm not a big fan of first person but you write so well I actually like it. I love your writing snd your style you're so good why are you sharing this for free? Thank you for being on Tumblr so I can follow you. Fuckiety fuck I'm in love with you both. PLEASE keep writing!!! Sorry if this was weird I don't want to make you uncomfortable.

Wow. We really didn't know how to handle this. Thank you for being patient while we processed our feelings. Apologies up front if we sound like weirdos, but we don't human well when emotions are involved. And you brought us the feels...

First of all, thank you. Thank you for telling us, and for sharing your feelings, and how Nocturne of Flowers is vibing with you. It made us feel seen too.

As a writer, you always kind of hope that your work will resonate with readers, but you don't actually expect people to feel like they're seen. And damn, yeah, this is a lot.

We've said in the past, that we aren't furries ourselves. However, we have furry friends, and they've been bullied too. The stories we've heard are harrowing. When people don't fit inside society's perfect little box, it seems the next step is to try and force them to by any means deemed necessary. And if you're broken and battered enough, society can bend you into any shape they find comfortable to be around.

So, furries hold a special place in our hearts. Because they follow those fluffy, feathery, scaly hearts that beat too wild to be in a box.

Nocturne of Flowers is part of our Saccharine in Nightmares universe created for our D&D campaigns. It's our nonsensical, whimsical, rollercoaster, literary self-indulgent, escapism world. We don't often talk about our real life, but we will say, 90% of our day jobs is writing. It's part of why chapters are so slow, because of how much we actually write. Work, Kindle Vella (no, we're not sharing our penname), fan fiction (again, silence on the handles), and GamerKAts.

Write. Write. Write.

GamerKAts is our favorite, though, because it's the only works that are truly ours. Our style. Our words. Our OCs. Our crazy minds. We don't worry about word count, or comma over usage, or grammar rules. We just go ham, and throw it out there.

Is it as popular as our Vella's or fan fics? No. Absolutely not. But that's the point, really. We want readers like you, who connect with our works, and enjoy our works, and want to get lost in them for hours. You're exactly why we keep writing.

When designing the Primevals, we didn't want the traditional werewolves and vampires of being bitten and changed either. We wanted to have vast types that included whatever the readers could imagine. So that if someone wanted wings and gills, they could design their own species and fit the lore. This is literally a series designed for people to go absolutely nuts with the fan fictions.

But it was most important for us to emphasize, that everyone is Human. A Lycan is still a Human. A Vampire is still a Human. Not only is this important to the overall plot (no spoilers, but this is a series of Humans versus non-Humans... So... Stay tuned for who the real villains are...), but it allows us to write about and explore the dichotomy, hypocrisy, and complexity when society dehumanizes people; especially based on looks, community, and culture.

Overall theme of Nocturne of Flowers: What is a monster?

Tearing apart the intricacies of humanity is something we want to explore, while simultaneously creating a world where hopefully others feel like you.

It's a book series. It's our escapism to write, and reader's escapism to read. And if we're all escaping together, none of us are actually alone.

Also, thank you for reading Berrybottles' Travel Guide too, we hope you like it. It's probably the only first person we'll ever write, because we're not the best at that POV. But as it's an "Expedition Journal" of sorts, first person felt right. It's written specifically as a treat for our super fans who are feral for the lore, extras, and side stories.

Thank you again for reaching out with your feels. It's readers like you who are exactly why we keep going.

[polskasroka]

A Distraction | Chapter 4 NSFW (Fic finished)

Here's the last chapter of my MelOdy fic, hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Melinoë/Odysseus

Tags: Older Man/Younger Woman, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Pining, Romance, Eventual Romance, Self-Doubt, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Spoilers, Written During Hades II (Supergiant Video Game) Early Access, Character Study, mel is a tough gal overall, but she has her weaker moments, Denial of Feelings, Nightmares, Kissing, Eventual Smut, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Men Crying, yes it's od who's crying, dragging out the man's traumatic experiences at the end of the fic let's go, no details tho

AO3 link

Or Chapter 4 (7080 words) under Read More

As usual, plans don’t work out as they should. It’s due to Melinoë plunging into her duties, which these days seem to be more consuming than they sometimes appear to her. Who knows, maybe she’s just doing her job or she’s actually unconsciously postponing the plans that she made during her conversation with Aphrodite. It’s not that she’s scared, no. She hasn’t chickened out again. She simply hasn’t engaged in this kind of pastime or bonding for quite a while and it surely won’t be the same as when she was younger.

And it’s a different person that she longs to spend more time alone with. It’s not someone roughly “her age,” at least appearance- and mentality-wise, it’s someone older, more experienced. A somewhat uncharted territory for Melinoë, which she’s more than curious to discover once she has a chance.

But for now – she doesn’t. Melinoë’s currently busy with dealing with Chronos’ nonsense once more, holding Zorephet in her hands, bracing for the attack, knowing that her weapon will grant her a victory.

Melinoë faces the Titan, glaring at him, her mismatched eyes locked with his. His whole attitude us full of impudence, that smugness ever-present on his face and it’s driving Melinoë insane, and she can’t wait to wipe that smug grin off of his maw once again.

“Little one, you’ll have wrinkles if you keep frowning like this,” he says nonchalantly, seated on the throne that does not belong to him.

“Won’t look worse than you, that’s for sure,” Melinoë retorts, smirk pulling on the corners of her lips.

“Humorous. But why waste time for me, knowing that you cannot win, if there’s something waiting for you in Erebus? Why not indulge in that and make this thing easier for us both.” Chronos’ voice becomes distorted at the end of his utterance, sending chills down the Goddess’ spine.

“What…? I thought I’d thrown you out of my head!”

“You have, indeed. But I’ve learnt more than you can imagine.”

Enraged, Melinoë lunges at the Titan. Hatred and fury are her fuel and she and Zorephet are thriving because of that.

This is what pushes her towards the victory tonight. The immense fury and animosity towards Chronos.

She returns to shadow in that state and the grass in her stone circle feels freezing to her legs – there, where they’re not fiery – and hands. Melinoë huffs and puffs as she stands up and, for a moment, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Glancing behind her, she notices Frinos on his usual spot and also Toula who seems to have decided to spend some time there as well. Melinoë’s anger dissipates immediately and she lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding.

It was quite a run.

The Goddess needs some time on her own, though. Preferably at the Cocytus.

Without hesitation, Melinoë thus strolls through her tent and out of it, glad that she doesn’t meet no one on her way to the pier. As soon as she arrives there, she tunes in to the gentle sloshing and splashing of water against the wood and feels herself drifting away. To increase the healing effect of her surroundings, Melinoë lies down on the damp planks of the pier and closes her eyes, disregarding the floor that’s not the most comfortable.

But it doesn’t matter now. Melinoë’s mind begins to float together with the tide and she soon relaxes, breathing evenly, not thinking about anything in particular. She knows that she has plans which she wants to fulfil but there’ll be time for that later. There’ll also be time for more attempts to defeat Chronos or Eris, depending on where the Princess decides to go next. There’ll be time for everything, although there’s also time for nothing in the current climate.

Melinoë even dares to wonder if she’s not overexerting herself again. The last time she did, didn’t end well for her and she’s wiser than to risk it one more time. Not when the stakes are this high. But then – were the stakes with Icarus not high? For young Melinoë, they surely were and they’d be just as high were she to perform the ritual once more. She’s curious if it’d work this time.

She thinks of the positive outcomes. Icarus would be overjoyed. Maybe, he would drop the shyness. Maybe, he’d make a move on Melinoë and they’d continue what they once started and what didn’t last long at all.

She thinks of the negative outcomes. She could obliterate Icarus’ soul. She could harm herself irreversibly. But that’s the worst of the worst. So, maybe…

“You’re gonna slack off like this all day while there’s still a titan to slay?” goes an utterly dissatisfied voice from above Melinoë.

She cracks her eyes open only to see Nemesis’ unhappy face over her.

“Slacking off?” Melinoë narrows her eyes and sits up, staring at Nemesis. “A moment of rest is what I’m having. I deserve it.”

“Do you, now?”

“Do you want me to push things too far? Are you aware of the consequences of–”

“There is no pushing things too far when it comes to Chronos. If you happen to have such inhibitions, know that I do not. I would not hesitate to–”

“I don’t hesitate when I challenge Chronos, Nem,” Melinoë cuts the Chthonic Goddess off. “Never. Don’t question it.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

Melinoë huffs, annoyed, and stands up to properly face Nemesis. She’s towering over Melinoë, true, but it doesn’t scare her. Not anymore.

“I really wish you would stop with this, Nem,” Melinoë speaks a tad more softly now. “We’ve got a lot of problems already, we don’t need such petty disagreements in the Crossroads. Some would feast on that.”

“Eris.”

“For instance, yes. Sadly.”

“That’s her domain. Can’t blame her for that, no matter how irritating she is. Same with me. You can’t blame me for wanting to get to that damned titan and kill him for good. Preferably rip him apart into the smallest pieces possible and throw them all over the Earth.” Nemesis’ tone has grown calmer, yet it still carries that trademark monotonous meanness.

“That’s one thing we do agree on.” Melinoë shrugs. She sighs and adds, “Nem, what is your problem with me? Tell me, please.”

Retribution stays silent for a moment, her piercing eyes never leaving Melinoë’s. The Princess lays her hands on her hips and quirks her eyebrow up in anticipation.

“Don’t mind it that much when you decide to spend your time here. But I don’t like it when you spend it with a mortal. Careful with that one. My brother seems to be all over him like a complete fool but I hope you’re smarter than that. Though, lately, you’ve been proving me wrong.”

“I know what I’m doing, Nem. Thanks for caring… I guess?” Melinoë chuckles nervously, her look softening.

“Whatever. Focus on the task is what I’m saying.”

If Melinoë hears the words “task” or “focus” from Nemesis one more time, she’ll lose it.

“Entertain yourself with the shades however you want. Or with my brother. Or with whoever else you fancy more than you should now.”

“Hey, I…!”

“Don’t get distracted, Princess.”

Melinoë wants to reply but as she opens her mouth, Nemesis has already whipped around and stomped away from the Princess. With a long and exasperated sigh, Melinoë lets her shoulders drop and looks to the floor, searching for answers there.

Nemesis is impossible.

Although a couple of nights have passed since Melinoë’s talk with Aphrodite, she hasn’t forgotten about what she planned to do on that night. After the most recent runs have taken a toll on the Goddess, she’s decided that it’s high time she unwound, lest she should overdo the whole thing and lose a limb or get unnecessarily heavily hurt by Chronos. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

Melinoë reminds herself about a bottle of ambrosia that she’s been carrying around in her purse. She accidentally discovers it while fishing the bag for seeds that she’s gathered in the last journeys both to the Underworld and the Surface. Rubbing the smooth glass with her finger, she glances over her shoulder and knows exactly who she’s going to share the ambrosia with. It seems just perfect for the occasion.

It's sometime later in the day or night that she approaches Odysseus after fumbling with the Arcana Cards at the Altar. Before she walks over to him, though, Melinoë pulls the ambrosia bottle out of her bag and hides it behind her back, so that the tactician doesn’t have a chance to refuse before he’s offered the drink.

Out of the corner of his eye, Odysseus notices Melinoë, marks something on the map on the table in front of him and then he can give the Goddess his undivided attention. Melinoë’s already sporting a mischievous smile on her face, not too skilful at hiding her intentions well when it comes to such situations.

“What is it this time, Goddess?” he asks neutrally, folding his arms.

“Well, would you consider spending some time with me this evening? If you have no other urgent responsibilities, that is,” Melinoë clarifies but her tone’s full of hope.

“Your invitation itself belongs to the category of urgent responsibilities. How could I refuse?” A slight smirk accompanies his warm response.

“Certainly not when I also have this…” Melinoë brings the bottle to the front and holds it before herself. “I thought that this can taste better when shared with someone too. And… drinking it with someone I find dear is a tradition that I’ll gladly observe.” She feels her cheeks flush a faint pink.

“I, erm…” Odysseus collects his thoughts for a bit, dragging his eyes off of the bottle to lock them back with Melinoë’s mismatches irises. “You do flatter me, Goddess, but I don’t think that I’m particularly worthy of the gods’ drink.”

“Are you trying to refuse now?”

“No, I…! I wouldn’t even try! What I’m saying is that…” He pauses for a moment, and then squints at Melinoë. He puts two and two together and chuckles, bringing a more vibrant blush onto Melinoë’s cheeks. “Took me by surprise there, Goddess, I appreciate that. But all those bottles of nectar, baths in the springs and now this… You’re spoiling me.”

“Who else if not you?” Melinoë shrugs innocently, her gaze both playful and seemingly timid.

Melinoë likes to think that she’s managed to embarrass Odysseus there at least to the smallest extent.

“So… Is it alright if we go now?”

“Where to?”

“Same place as the last time?” Melinoë swears she can’t stop smiling.

“The shades are going to be looking at us again. Don’t you mind, Goddess?”

That question is blatantly on purpose. Bastard.

“I never minded, you know that, Od.”

“You got me there.”

And so they’re off to the taverna and their spot from the night they drank nectar there together. As they stroll there, Melinoë wonders if this time it’s going to end similarly to the previous one or if things are going to be pushed further. It may also turn out that nothing too special will happen but the Goddess hopes that it won’t be the case. After all, she can feel her heart skip a beat once in a while now and that can’t go in vain.

Besides, she deserves some fun. She deserves the life of a goddess. She won’t let anyone deny her the pleasures that she could feel entitled to. Of course, Melinoë is not the one to be forcing someone to abide by her will because that sounds much too wrong to her liking. However, it doesn’t mean that she’s going to refuse herself the possibility of a divine-like pastime when she can obtain it in a more mutually respectful way.

And she’s not going to refuse whatever it is that her heart wants. In the long run, it really doesn’t seem to be the right thing. It’s tiring and she’s got other concerns to handle, she doesn’t need more of them. When she has the possibility to manage one of the whole bunch, why not jump at the opportunity?

What’s more, how long can one pursue the same and only aim? Melinoë’s been feeling like a fish in a fishbowl, mindlessly chasing something that’s seeming more and more infeasible with each attempt, since there’s no end to it in sight. It may be that this load of work is getting to her. It may be that the constant focus on her task is a burden that she needs to lift off of her shoulders to be able to continue with any aim that she chooses to follow.

So time passes and although Melinoë’s having a jolly time with Odysseus, there’s the thought of her task lurking in the back of her head. She’d love to get rid of it for at least a moment but it seems to never leave her. At some point, Melinoë focuses on it so much, that she stops listening to what Odysseus is saying. Once he notices that, he pauses his monologue and turns to look at Melinoë, who’s intensely staring at something in front of her.

It's only after a couple of seconds that she gets the hint of something being off, so she shakes her head and faces Odysseus, confusion written all over her face.

“Why did you stop?” she wonders, the genuine surprise makes her look too innocent.

“You weren’t listening to me, were you, Goddess?”

“Oh, no… No, I wasn’t. Sorry, Od. Could you repeat, please?”

“What’s troubling you?” he gets straight to the point, his question serious, leaving no room for Melinoë to escape.

“Ugh…” she sighs, gazing into the shade’s eyes, finding comfort in that kind and understanding look. “It’s about my task. Almost everyone keeps reminding me about it as if I forgot what I’ve been prepared for my whole life. I know I shouldn’t let others’ opinions affect me this much but here I am, I guess.”

Odysseus furrows his brows for a moment and then offers Melinoë a polite and compassionate smile.

“By ‘almost everyone’ you mean Nemesis, right, Goddess?”

“Mostly,” Melinoë sniggers a little.

“Jealous is what she is, it’s as simple as that. It seems that the older you are, the worse at handling her own envy she’s getting. But no matter what she says, you know what you’re like. You know what you’re capable of. You can–”

His words are uplifting, true, but…

“Don’t you start talking about the task and its importance now too or I’ll–”

“I’m not planning to,” he replies quickly and hands Melinoë the bottle of ambrosia from which he drank during the monologue from a moment ago that is long forgotten now.

“Thanks, Od.”

Melinoë smiles and drops her own gaze in embarrassment. She then takes a swig from the bottle and sees how proud Odysseus is of her doing that. After all, they’ve both come here to unwind and it seems that the ambrosia is working better than nectar because they have no interest in the fact whether the shades at the taverna will be talking about them or not.

“Even Headmistress isn’t so monothematic. She seems to understand that I need a moment of rest from time to time.” Melinoë chuckles to herself, staring at the ground next to Odysseus.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, amused.

“She also told me to be careful around mortal men,” the Princess replies almost nonchalantly and then raises her head to lock her eyes with Odysseus’ once more.

He looks puzzled but Melinoë is sure that he knows what she’s talking about. Her ambrosia-fuelled confidence proves to be of great help.

“She certainly, erm…” Odysseus clears his throat. “Has her reasons.”

“Rightly so?” Melinoë tilts her head and shifts closer to her companion, planting her hands on the grass in front of Odysseus for stability.

Odysseus’ resolve is so weak right now, that he’s nearly ashamed of himself. It must be because of the ambrosia, since without it, he wouldn’t let himself glance down at Melinoë’s lips every once in a while. She’s so close, that he can feel her breath on his skin and her mismatched eyes have got that mischievous sparkle glinting in them that is hardly resistable.

“Well, why don’t you find out yourself? That’s the most precious experience, after all,” he says, sounding barely affected by the Princess’ proximity. Odysseus counts that as his own personal victory. Still, he knows that Melinoë will make him lose this inner battle of his.

“I’ve found out myself, once. It didn’t end well. Headmistress knows it. So do you.”

“Indeed, I do. But this… this won’t fix anything, so why…?”

“I don’t want to be disappointed again,” Melinoë admits quietly, her voice shaking a little now. She swallows and lays her right hand on Odysseus’ cheek, the usual coolness of a shade’s skin a contrast to her warm fingers. “Will you disappoint me, Odysseus?”

“I won’t, Goddess.”

The low and sincere tone of his melts Melinoë’s heart and she swoons immediately. She lifts her face just a tad, just enough to be able to crash her lips against Odysseus’. She doesn’t hesitate and neither does he.

Melinoë squeezes her eyes shut to relish the moment and drown in it. Inhaling, she cups Odysseus’ face with both of her hands now, seemingly pulling herself even closer to him. Then, the Princess moves on to nipping on Odysseus’ lower lip, making him grab her phantasmal wrist and slide up along it until his hand is placed atop Melinoë’s. A soft sigh comes out from Melinoë’s lungs and she’s surprised with it herself, which has her eyes snap open.

The plain shock on her mien draws a chuckle from Odysseus that brings bright pink onto Melinoë’s cheeks. It all ultimately breaks their kiss but their lips never stop brushing against one another, not even when Melinoë takes her time and scans Odysseus’ eyes and face from this close. She’s greatly enjoying it and the man doesn’t interrupt. Besides, he can’t resist the way Melinoë’s started rubbing his cheekbones with her thumbs only to splay her fingers and kiss Odysseus again.

Her breathing’s clearly picked up the pace and Melinoë is determined in what she’s doing. In fact, she’s so decisive that Odysseus has to lean against his hands so as not to fall onto his back because of the Goddess’ intensity.

It is a bit much for him to process at first, true. But it’s not something he can’t deal with. Quite the contrary – he will handle it with pleasure, no matter how dizzy it makes him feel. Surely, the ambrosia has influenced the sensation but it’s never going to beat the effect that Melinoë has on him.

And it’s not the first time he’s been faced with such a situation. Well, maybe he hasn’t made up with a goddess before but it won’t scare him. It never has. It shouldn’t, at least. Not with Melinoë.

With any possible curses and atrocities aside, Odysseus needs to regain some control, even if it’s by challenging the Goddess a tad and risking things he doesn’t want to think about. Having thought that, the shade wraps one of his arms around Melinoë’s waist and she acts upon it sooner and much more eagerly than expected.

In the blink of an eye, Melinoë’s straddling Odysseus’ lap, smiling to herself and into their kiss that’s only growing more and more heated. Squeezing the Princess’ side slightly, Odysseus has pulled a couple of little whimpers from the Goddess’ throat and made more pink appear on her cheeks, neck and ears.

It’s then his turn to put the kiss into a halt, albeit unwillingly so. The need to just gaze at Melinoë is too strong not to give in to it and Melinoë did a similar thing a moment ago anyway. The Princess doesn’t shy away from his careful look and calmly lays her hands on his broad shoulders.

Odysseus is enamoured with her and it’s as clear as day to Melinoë. It flatters her a lot and she can’t help but grin and Odysseus thinks he’s going to die again and get reborn right there, at the bank of the Cocytus. Her smile is everything to him at this very moment and neither of them cares about how much their attitudes and acts are the result of being drunk on ambrosia.

However, at this point, they can’t be sure how much of it is the drink’s effect. The way they seem to want one another surpasses the wonderful effects of the gods’ brew. Their hearts skip a beat when they spare a second to ponder over that.

“You’re beautiful, Goddess,” Odysseus says, his gaze one with Melinoë’s.

“Thanks, Od.” She doesn’t admit it but she feels a sudden fire ripple through her body. “I’ve been thinking…” Melinoë continues and shrugs oh so innocently that the tactician has to swallow. “Would you like to accompany me to my tent?”

Odysseus has to reconsider everything before he lets himself believe in what he’s just heard. Apart from that, there’s the well-known pull from the inside that quickly finds its way downwards and doesn’t want to be ignored.

“Goddess….” He stops mid-sentence not to let out a pathetic moan as Melinoë deliberately shifts in his lap.

“No, I don’t want to hear nothing about the shades around or Nem–”

“… lead the way.”

Melinoë’s mouth falls open a little before a wide smile lights up her face once again. She then stands up (praise the merciful Fates!) and helps Odysseus do the same. Yet, to him, it looks more like a reason for her to grab his hand and hold it in order to begin her quick and confident stroll to the tent.

While he actually pays attention to whoever they might encounter on their way to the tent, Melinoë couldn’t care less. It’s obvious that she shouldn’t be worried about it, she’s a goddess. And Odysseus? He’s a shade. A shade that hasn’t lost themselves in death and decay but a shade nonetheless.

At that moment of hesitation, even Icarus’ words claiming that shades and goddesses don’t mix make their way into Odysseus’ head. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, for he soon finds himself inside Melinoë’s tent.

She abruptly stops dead in her tracks once there, making Odysseus almost bump into her. She stands still and then says, “Dora? Are you here?”

There’s silence and no one says a word, listening to any sound that the shade could make. After a couple of moments that Melinoë deems enough, she shrugs and turns around, so that Odysseus can see that bright smile of hers again. It brings a genuine, warm smile onto his own lips and he lets Melinoë lead him on until she sits atop the table in the centre of the tent. She then pulls Odysseus closer by his clothes, so that he ends up standing between her legs, his hands on both sides of her thighs, atop the table.

The leverage proves highly useful, since Melinoë momentarily wraps her arms around his neck, so that she can pull herself higher and kiss him again.

And the kiss is different this time. It’s more fiery, passionate. Melinoë opens her mouth to deepen the kiss and Odysseus has no choice but to comply.

He gives her all that he can, there’s no inhibitions in the way he’s returning the kiss. The fact that she’s smiling all the time, something that is broken only by her small gasps, has Odysseus quiver. It’s almost unlike him to react like this, like he never met someone of this import before.

The thought itself almost angers him and he decides to channel it into even more effort. With a low hum from within his chest, Odysseus lays his hand on Melinoë’s thigh, which has her support herself on her palms behind her. She sniggers lightly and her eyes shine as she pecks Odysseus’ lips and then sits a bit more upright.

Curious, Odysseus watches her next moves, her flesh in a firm grip of the man’s that she doesn’t brush away. Instead, she lifts her hands and turns her face to the side a bit, so that Odysseus ends up leaving little kisses on the corner of her lips. He immediately reminds himself about the first time he’d done that and the memory warms his heart. He also almost stops caring about what Melinoë’s doing right in front of him.

Once he realises that, she’s already taken off her gorget and is working on the tie of her dress. She still manages to notice him gape at her and it amuses her greatly. After all, it’s not like he hasn’t seen her naked because he has, back when they spent time in the Hot Spring.

But it was different. Totally different.

On gods, it is different now, although Melinoë’s bare only to her waist. The way Odysseus is looking at her is surely raising her self-esteem but despite that, she still blushes a vivid pink that paints her cheeks, neck and ears. And since that neck is on full display, Odysseus considers it a blasphemy not to lean in and plant kiss after kiss on Melinoë’s skin there.

She lets him do it, giving him more access as she tilts her head to the side, so that he can lick the side of her throat. It sends chills down Melinoë’s spine and her toes curl. A graze of Odysseus’ teeth has her tighten her legs and stick her fiery heels into the spots above the backs of the man’s knees and he hisses at the burn that might not blister but hurts anyway.

“Sorry,” Melinoë says, her hand on his cheek to make him look at her. “Od?”

“Yes, Goddess?”

He’s clinging onto each little word she says and Melinoë can clearly see it and it’s making her feel funny on the inside.

“Take your clothes off.”

Her tone is somewhat serious in all its innocence and it’s like a challenge to Odysseus. Thereby, he shall treat it as one.

With confidence, he stands straight, his chin up, and his usual crooked smirk back in its place. Melinoë averts her gaze for a moment or two and that’s when the shade steals a glance at her slim, naked chest.

Barely any words could describe the beauty that’s there in her youth and life energy, despite her being so strongly tied to the Underworld and its residents. So for now, Odysseus just thinks that Melinoë’s beautiful, while being more than aware of hundreds of words that he could use to depict her and that would not suffice anyhow.

In order to have a better view, Melinoë leans back a bit, propped on her hands against the table, while her eyes are roaming up and down Odysseus’ frame. She watches him swallow, thinking that she’s made him uncomfortable for a second there but the thought’s soon gone when his scarf and cloak get thrown onto the ground.

It’s only a prelude to the full breadth of the shade’s shoulders that the Goddess is yet to see and she’s looking forward to it. Melinoë even lets her mouth hang slightly open as she takes in all the views that Odysseus is revealing to her one article of his clothing at a time.

Although busy with undressing himself, Odysseus does gaze back at Melinoë; sometimes their looks even meet. He then gets rewarded with a radiant smile from the Princess, one that only encourages him to soon stand in front of her in his birthday suit.

Her sparkling stare fills him with pride and so does her open mouth. The Goddess shifts on her spot to get closer to Odysseus, so that her face is level with his chest. Melinoë doesn’t miss the quivering exhale of the man and it raises chills along her spine. Apart from that, the view right before her has her shiver and feel that tightening sensation at the bottom of her belly.

Melinoë then unceremoniously lays her hands on Odysseus’ sides and presses her lips against his sternum. There’s that little hum deep behind his ribs that has Melinoë plant a couple of kisses upwards and then downwards, until she gives the shade’s abs some licks and pecks. Her fingers keep rubbing circles atop Odysseus’ warm (at most!) skin or she moves her palms up and down a bit, and the touch is nearly blistering to him.

And it appears surreal to him as well. The reverence with which Melinoë’s treating him is something he’d never think he’d receive from a goddess. It’s almost too much for him to grasp and Melinoë can clearly see it once she glances up at him and their eyes meet again. She can swear that he blushes a tiny bit and it warms her heart and boosts her ego.

With confidence, the Goddess stands up, hopping off of the table, her thumbs now stroking Odysseus’ stomach. It seems to her that he tries to avert his gaze for a second but she wouldn’t let him do so no matter how hard he tried.

“Are you shy, Od?” Melinoë tilts her head to the side and it’s one of the most adorable things she’s ever done in Odysseus’ eyes.

“Me? Ha! Never, Goddess.” As if to prove his words, he grabs Melinoë’s chin and places his other hand on her waist.

“Good. You’ve no reason to,” she muses, looking at him from under her eyelashes.

“And why is that?” Thinking she’s distracted, his hand slides to her back where he can work on undoing her belt.

“You’re built…” Melinoë says slowly, her fingers and nails tracing the mounds of Odysseus’ abs, travelling upwards over his chest to land on his strong and wide shoulders. “… Like a god.”

That little smirk that Melinoë gifts him with makes him forget his name. Words can’t describe how much he’s attracted to her and he knows that only Penelope could reach this level of sentiment and affection that he’d ever hold for anyone. It terrifies him to some extent, for it’s been a while since someone treated him like this.

“Goddess…” is all he can mutter as he manages to cause Melinoë’s clothes to fall onto the ground and see her fully naked form.

Odysseus pulls Melinoë closer, so that he can kiss her while she’s pushing him backwards until they land on her sleeping mat. The Princess doesn’t miss the opportunity to have the man lie down on it, so that she can straddle his waist, grinning, smoothing her palms over his chest again. She leans in to steal another kiss or two, in the meantime rocking her hips to grind against him whenever she can.

Odysseus’ hands come to her aid in no time when he starts guiding her motion by grabbing her by her hips. The small sigh that it gets him is like honey and he swallows it as soon as Melinoë lets it out.

However fun this little teasing game of theirs may be, Melinoë is done waiting for tonight. So, even though she’s loving the electric sensation that’s springing from all the right places where her skin meets Odysseus’, the Princess decides to take the matters into her hands. As she thinks about it, she sniggers at her own inner wording, hiding her face in Odysseus’ cheek and then neck.

He groans while feeling her breath there and cranes his neck to give Melinoë more access to the sensitive spots there. Melinoë doesn’t waste the chance to give his throat some nibbles and licks, distracting herself from her attempts at ending all the teasing. While doing so, she’s making little moans of excitement and pleasure – something which elicits a couple of grunts from Odysseus as he closes his eyes, handing the control to Melinoë completely.

And she’s not complaining, oh no. She’s enjoying everything that’s unravelling in front of her and underneath her, as well as relishing the way Odysseus’ fingers dig into her flesh once in a while. She can’t have enough of the hisses and groans that he releases when she gifts him with an unsynchronised rub of her body against his.

But it is when she grabs him to finally, finally be able to sit atop him that makes a full moan tumble out of his throat. The way Melinoë’s whimper and gasp accompany it is a music to Odysseus’ ears. He regains some semblance of control for a moment as he holds Melinoë still and then pulls her down until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

That’s also when Odysseus’ hands land on Melinoë’s cheeks, so that he can cup her face and draw her in for a kiss. With a firm grip on his shoulders, Melinoë achieves her leverage and starts to rock her hips back and forth, slowly, with no rush.

Her breathing’s slightly increased and she catches herself letting her mouth hang open, enabling Odysseus to pull at her lower lip with his teeth.

Sporting a cheeky smile on her face, the Goddess soon pulls away and sits upright, so that she can switch her motion and move up and down. It soon earns her a pair of strong hands grabbing her sides and sliding upwards, right under her breasts. Melinoë pushes her chest out proudly, encouraging Odysseus to roam all over it, and he doesn’t waste this opportunity.

He drags his fingers back down onto her stomach and then waist with just as much reverence as she showed while caressing his torso a while ago. His eyes follow the track of his palms and he swallows, boring a hole somewhere in Melinoë’s belly. Deep in her own fantasy and bliss, the Princess pays it no mind at first. However, after a while of Odysseus nearly lying still all the time, Melinoë slows down her rocking and lays a hand on the shade’s cheek.

“Od… what’s wrong?” she asks ever so softly, brushing the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

“I, erm… nothing, Goddess,” he provides too quickly for Melinoë’s liking. She squints at him as he adds, “my apologies.”

“Nothing to apologise for, you just look…”

“No, Goddess. Not… now,” his voice breaks at the end there and he hates himself for this.

Melinoë sees the discontentment flash across his features and it causes a crease to appear between her eyebrows.

“So there is something, is there not?”

“Later, please,” Odysseus says, his voice shaky once again. At the same time, he hoists himself up, so that he’s also now sat upright, with the new possibility of hiding his face in the crook of Melinoë’s neck. “Is this alright?” he asks, his hands again on Melinoë’s back, feeling her muscles shift as she adjusts to this position.

“Of course.” Melinoë embraces him and holds him close, so that he can freely bury his face under the Princess’ chin and obscure his sorry state from her. “Do you want to stop? Because we can if you’re not–”

“I want to continue. I only…” he mumbles right into Melinoë’s throat and she feels his shuddering breath on her skin.

“I’m not going to curse you, Od,” she promises and kisses the top of his head.

Then, she also notices that he still has his hairband on and she promptly gets rid of it, drawing a small chuckle from him. Melinoë deems it a good sign to go on and resume her motion atop Odysseus’ lap.

While doing so, Melinoë never lets him go and he revels in the proximity of her and the limitless chances to shower her neck and shoulder with kisses and long swipes of his tongue. The way she shivers when he does it has him quiver and the fire in the pit of his stomach burn brightly, dangerously. It spreads all over his body and although he’s a shade, Melinoë can feel something like heat radiating off of him.

It's somewhat cool when compared to her own feverish self but she couldn’t care less. What matters to her is that Odysseus is close and now clearly enjoying himself, letting out low and vibrating hums of satisfaction. Melinoë is proud of herself for making him feel this good and she only ups her game by rotating her hips and returning to the rhythmical motion in turns.

She manages to pull more raw and rumbling sounds from Odysseus, with his fingernails leaving crescent-like marks in the muscle of her back. Her own fingers rake through his hair, scraping his scalp, keeping him impossibly close as his breath’s becoming more and more ragged. The manner in which he’s kissing her is growing sloppier with each move of Melinoë’s body and she can tell by the way his hips are meeting hers that he’s not going to last long from now.

The Princess thinks she’s going to trip over that edge herself once she hears him speak up again.

“You need to slow down, Goddess…”

“Whatever for?” Melinoë asks, although she knows the answer.

“I can’t…” Odysseus manages, his voice strained and raspy. “You’re going to make me…”

“Don’t hold back, sir. Let go.”

Melinoë’s tender and breathy tone and the way she never stops moving is Odysseus’ whole world at the moment. He also thought that her calling him in this particular way was making him feel all fuzzy but when mixed with her being in charge of such an intimate situation between them both, it is an entirely new level of satisfaction for him.

So Odysseus has no reasons to disobey the Princess. With her continuous and only slightly uncoordinated up-and-down, she leads him to his peak and makes him fall over it, relentless and determined. Odysseus groans straight into the column of Melinoë’s neck as he releases the divine tension that’s built up deep in his gut, grazing his teeth against her skin and suckling on it to muffle the more pathetic sounds that he’s producing.

His hands also tighten around Melinoë’s sides, at the level of her ribs, keeping her still. The lack of movement halts her own impending climax but she soon crosses that border as she feels Odysseus finish inside of her. The warmth and fullness both shoot that dizzying sensation throughout her body and right into her brain and she reaches exactly what she’s been chasing with a long and raw moan on her lips.

Melinoë throws her head back, squeezing Odysseus while mumbling his name again and again, her hands tugging on his hair. It elicits yet another low grunt from him as he’s slowly coming off of his high, kissing and licking the spot on the Goddess’ neck that he was sucking a while ago.

A shaky sigh leaves his lungs as Melinoë’s still trembling in his lap and arms, the afterglow embracing her with the waves of white hot pleasure calming down and not reaching the Princess’ fingertips and toes anymore. She curls around Odysseus steady but also shivering form, seemingly becoming one with him for the time being.

She’s so focused on their shared closeness that she just allows him to fall onto his back and lay her next to him, with her hand on his chest and her leg swung over his hip. Melinoë exhales, tired but happy, and looks up at Odysseus’ profile. She furrows her brows and as soon as he notices it, he hides his eyes behind his forearm.

It doesn’t stop Melinoë from kissing away the tears that are rolling down his right cheek. He sniffles as she does that, biting down on his lip not to let out a quiet sob.

After a moment, though, he stops shying away from her and wipes his eyes dry to meet Melinoë’s gaze.

“Knowing you, Goddess, you’re not going to leave it be, are you?” he asks, some sorrow in his allegedly amused tone.

“You know me too well… But then again – how could I leave it be? Something is clearly… very not right.”

“I’ll tell you in due time, I promise.”

“Does this concern… me?”

“Not entirely.”

“Someone else from the Crossroads too?”

“Someone from the outside.”

“Do I know them?”

“You do.” Odysseus quirks up his eyebrow as he sees that Melinoë opens her mouth to keep questioning him. She resigns from doing so and he continues, “in due time, Goddess. This is hardly a moment for such conversations. Let’s enjoy what we have now instead, shall we?”

Melinoë mulls over his words for a second. Her face soon softens and she smiles lightly, bringing a more genuine smile onto Odysseus’ lips as well.

“Mhm.” She nods her head and gives him a little kiss. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for not cursing me.”

Odysseus chuckles at that but Melinoë knows that there is some hidden gloom in there somewhere. But she’s not going to pry. Not now at least. There’ll be a better opportunity for that someday.

The idea itself is deeply worrying in her eyes and she’d love to try and solve Odysseus’ problem right here and now but, alas, it’s not possible if he doesn’t tell her what the whole matter is about. She has to brace herself for some waiting and be patient because there’s nothing else that she could do now.

“Don’t dwell on it.”

“Alright.” Melinoë rolls her eyes. “I’ll stop. For now.”

“Good.”

The relief present in Odysseus’ eyes is worth it.

Melinoë loses herself in the serenity she sees in them at the moment. Yet, she jerks in her spot, gasping, when she suddenly hears Dora’s voice and watches her appear at her feet.

“So… Since you two are done now, you’re gonna come and talk to me and the horned guy, Mel? Though as I look at you, it’s gonna take you a while to get yourself back together,” she deadpans, eyeing Melinoë and Odysseus.

“Dora! What…? How…? Have you been here all this time?!”

“Well, you said yourself that you didn’t mind the shades watching you.”

“And how do you know that? Who told you? Other shades heard me?”

“I told her,” Odysseus admits, sporting that stupidly confident grin of his.

“Impossible, the both of you!” Melinoë groans, pressing her face right under his jaw.

[aceofbooks-creative-anthologies]

Hello Fellow Selfship Lover!

Hello! Welcome to my little corner of the internet dedicated to loving on fictional characters and having them love on me! You can call me Ace, I use she/her pronouns, and I was born in the *90s*. You can click here to go to my main blog to see how I use tumblr more regularly and get to know me a little better 🩶

This is not a fanfiction writing blog (I have a fanfiction reading blog here). This is purely self-indulgent on my part, and is a blog for my selfships. It exists in part to reduce the amount of incomprehensible tag nonsense on my main. I want to be able to navigate my own tags, and I can't do that if I'm complaining about Yami's smoking habit in said tags.

But it primarily exists as a space for me to keep track of all of the selfship lore, so that when I move from one Lover to the next, and then come back, I don't lose the threads of our narrative.

Collectively, my "harem" is referred to as the Lovers' Library. Feel free to send in asks about any of them! Or any of my other Treasures for that matter.

I use the term "self-insert" very loosely; it's more accurate to say that they are OCs that share my face, name, and base personality. But that's about where the comparisons stop. I inflict so much pain and suffering on these self-inserts that are not a reflection of my real life.

I use characters from other media as OCs. For example, in my main TR selfship, Sukehiro Yami (BC) is a yakuza boss; Daichi Sawamura (HQ) is a cop recently assigned to the team responsible for keeping track of the Sukehiro family (in addition to other things...). Stuff like that. It's easier for me to keep track of all the OCs this way because I already know their names, and it provides an easy "blueprint" for their personalities/occupations/etc.

Fair warning: none of my lore makes any fucking sense. My self-inserts are generally overpowered, either literally or figuratively (looking at my MHA and TR self-inserts respectively); when I'm daydreaming, I'm not pausing the narrative to check on the legitimacy of a law or a concept, so whatever I come up with is now a "fact" of the world, regardless of whether or not it's legit (I'm not checking after the fact either!); and I often change canon lore to fit my own needs. I inflict so much pain and suffering on my self-inserts that are not a reflection of my real life.

Most of my self-inserts experience some kind of sexual trauma as a part of their narrative. (Never at the hands of the selfship.) Do I have a rationale for this? Not really, as I said it's not a reflection of my real life. However, it is definitely a trend, and a trend that I cannot seem to escape. Looking back on when I used to write creatively, copious amounts of trauma in general seems to have been a trend. Does the amount of trauma always make sense? No, but that's not the point. Is this some kind of coping with an underlying fear of being treated as an object/non-human? Probably, but I don't know where the fear originates from.

The odds of me discussing my self-inserts sexual traumas are very, very low (practically non-existent), but I understand if the idea of it alone makes you uncomfortable, and you don't want to hang out. As I said above, this is about me being incredibly self-indulgent. I don't necessarily expect anyone to indulge me with follows or interactions.

I probably won't be using any trigger warnings on this blog, just because it's going to be a hot mess in the tags as it is.

If you have any issues with how I handle my selfships/self-inserts, I would prefer if you didn't interact. I'm not here to listen to you tell me how problematic/unrealistic something is, or how out-of-character someone is, or how "Mary Sue" my self-insert is. I likely know all of your complaints already, but I'm here to keep my main clean and keep track of my own lore, nothing else.

Other than that, the Library welcomes you and hopes you enjoy your stay for as long as you're here 🩶

© divider from @/cafekitsune 🩶