#i mean i guess it could be for anything though
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if you'll allow me to flaunt my psych minor for a second, I'd like to talk about epigenetics. there's studies that show that if you shock a rat when you let them taste a certain flavor, they will immediately become averse to that flavor. not surprising. what is surprising is that the rat's grandchildren, who have never been shocked when given that flavor, will also be averse to it and afraid of it and avoid it. there's also correlational evidence to suggest that the descendants of people who suffered through famine are more likely to put on weight and keep it on easier, even if they have never been through a famine themself.
trauma gets passed down. the kinds of trauma your parents, grandparents, and so-on lived through is still living in you. even if your parents were the most well-off, loving, best parents in the world, their trauma is still in you.
now if you'll allow me to take a slight turn here: there's a wild rabbit inside every jew.
my dad grew up being called "jew-boy." my mother had a coworker throw pennies at her at her job in the 2010s. and that's just two examples. they both grew up being harassed for being jewish. I wasn't. I'm incredibly lucky. the amount of antisemitism I've experienced in real life has been incredibly minimal. I didn't even hear anyone make an antisemitic joke in front of me until college.
and none of us were seriously persecuted. none of my grandparents were seriously persecuted. but even though nobody's broken my windows, nobody's beaten me in the streets, and I haven't been at any of those horrible protests in person, the fear is there. this deep seated, blood-pumping fear of the ancient jewish rabbit in me telling me to run. to run for dear life, to run as far as my legs can get me, as long as my heart keeps pumping and my lungs keep breathing.
we all feel this.
everyone feels this.
I called my mother yesterday. when I brought up this feeling she paused, and the silence said everything. she told me I wasn't alone. she feels it. my dad feels it. my brother feels it. my nana and grampa feel it. every jew you know, online, in real life, hell, even the famous ones, they feel it. the rabbit is inside us all, and the rabbit knows, because its brothers who didn't flee in the past were slaughtered.
the rabbit is leaping around my chest, all of our chests, chanting run run run run run run run.
I don't know if I can explain it to gentiles. I don't know if this makes sense to you. I don't know how to get across how crystal clear and deep and primal this fear is, and how much all of us are feeling the exact same fear, despite our different lives and different histories and the fact we're different people.
part of me wishes it didn't matter. that I didn't feel like I needed to get goyim to understand my specific cultural and ethnic experiences. because I don't feel like I need to deeply understand everyone else's. I am a white passing ashkenazi american jew, and I will never fully understand what it is like to be anything else. that doesn't dissolve my responsibility to educate myself and practice empathy, but it's ok. idk, maybe other people do desperately wish they could get people not in their specific group to deeply understand what it's like to be them. I imagine that feeling is universal. I guess, it's just like, the left is unified that everyone is a person, everyone is equal, everyone is human, except the jews. nobody is left out but the jews. everyone's word is believed, but the jews. and it makes me feel like I have to beg and plead with people to understand what being jewish means, because we're not included with everyone else. we're the enemy. and I want people to see we're not the enemy.
epigenetics.
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i'll keep you warm ୧⋆ ˚。⋆
pairing: jackson!abby x fem!reader
summary: you're in jackson with the salt lake crew, and tensions are high. losing herself in you on a cold night is the perfect way for abby to ease her pent-up worry and agitation.
cw: nsfw, porn with plot, soft dom!abby, tribbing, fingering (r!receiving), boob touching/licking, tense and stressed abby, established relationship, semi-public (?), dirty talk, pet names (baby, good girl), fluff then smut, reader comforting abby. 3.1k
a/n: there's something about jackson abby... mmm. this is somehow both fluffy and smutty at the same time, which i didn't fully intend, but i think my adoration for her just slipped in lmao. also the longest and possibly filthiest thing i've written so far, soo do with that what you will. enjoy!!
The world outside was a snow globe, a swath of white blanketing towering pines. Dark had fallen, and the wind had started up again, blowing the thick flakes every which way and making it hard even to see the forest beyond. It looked frigid, and you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, grateful to be back inside. You were still tired from the journey over here, and it felt like the chill had settled deep into your bones, making everything ache dully. You wanted to be back in Seattle, back where it was familiar. Not this cold, lonely-feeling place—but you knew you were here for a reason.
And the sooner it was over and done with, the better.
You turned from the window when you heard the faint creak of the floorboards, and Abby rounded the corner, exhaustion written across her features. She was tense, had been ever since you’d left home; you could see it in the stiff way she moved, in the way she seemed distracted, often lost in thought. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, and you could guess precisely where that was.
“You’re still up,” she said, slightly out of breath from coming in from outside. There was a light dusting of snow on her coat and hat, and her face was flushed from the cold. You thought she looked like an angel.
“Couldn’t sleep.” You watched her pull off her hat and begin shucking off her coat as she moved further into the room, eyes scanning you briefly as if to make sure you were okay. She was always doing that—always looking out for you even when there was nothing to worry about. It made your chest flicker with warmth. “It looks pretty bad out there.”
“Awful,” Abby confirmed. She ambled over to join you at the window. “Scoped out the area, though. The plan is to head down into the valley. I’m hoping it’ll get us somewhere, at least.”
“We’ll find him,” you said firmly, reassuringly, your voice hushed in the quiet of the room. Everyone else had gone to bed, and it was almost like it was just the two of you out here, in this lonely cabin. It felt intimate. You closed the remaining distance between you, resting a hand on her arm and rubbing it lightly. “We’ve come so far already. Try not to worry about it anymore until tomorrow, ‘kay?”
She puffed a small sigh, and after a pause she nodded, looking back at you. “Yeah,” she murmured. A soft look came into her eyes as she stared at your face for a long moment, gaze lingering over your features in a way that made you want to look away, unexpectedly shy. She brought a hand up to tuck a piece of your hair back behind your ear, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as she did.
You felt heat bloom across your face under her attention, at the tenderness of the touch. You breathed a quiet laugh. “What?”
“Just… glad you’re here.” Abby’s thumb skated across your cheekbone once more before slowly drawing back. She looked like she wanted to say more, but you felt all the meaning of the words, heart swelling in your chest. Before you could say anything, a shiver rippled through you, and her gaze dipped down to where you were clutching your sweater tightly around you. “Are you cold? I’ll get the fire going.”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to—” you started, but she was already halfway across the room, striding to the fireplace. She tossed a few logs in and then crouched down in front of it, using a piece of flint and steel to spark a flame. Truly, what had you done to deserve her?
Slowly, you made your way over to the old mattress you’d stationed before the hearth, where your sleeping bags were spread out. You sat, quietly watching her nurse the flames into a steadily blazing fire that filled the room with warmth. Immediately, you felt a bit better as the chill in your bones dissipated.
Your eyes traced over Abby as she worked, a somewhat faraway expression on her face as she stared into the flames. You made no effort to hide the way your gaze lingered indulgently on the veins in her hand as it gripped the fire poker, the flex of her biceps beneath her shirt. It wasn’t something you could help; your admiration for her never lessened, and you still felt a flush of awe each time you stopped to really look at her—which was, needless to say, often.
Still, though, seeing how high her nerves were sent a stab of worry and protectiveness in your gut. You knew how much this meant to her, avenging her father. It had been the sole thing driving her since his death, and now that she was finally so close, the tension and impatience radiating off of her was palpable. You wished you could take it away, carry the burden of it yourself—or, at the very least, ease it for awhile.
Abby set the poker aside and sat beside you on the mattress, grunting a bit with exhaustion as she lowered herself down beside you. She began unlacing her boots, glancing sidelong at you as she did. “Better now?”
You nodded, a soft smile ghosting across your lips. “Much better. Thank you,” you said quietly. When she had kicked her boots off, you closed the space between you, swinging a leg over her to settle in her lap. Your arms laced around her neck, and her hands came up to rest on your thighs instinctively, squeezing them lightly.
“I should be the one asking you if you need anything. You’ve had a long day.” You gave her a light, chaste kiss, and brushed the pad of your thumb over her soft bottom lip. “Are you hungry? I’ll go heat something up for you.”
“I’m fine. I had something before I left,” she told you, her hands rubbing against your thighs languidly. “Don’t worry about me.” She leaned forward to capture your lips in another kiss; this one was deeper, tinged with yearning. You sighed into it, feeling her tongue run along your lip before dipping into your mouth to brush against yours.
When you pulled away, you looked at her earnestly. She was always downplaying her own needs, always insisted on being the one to cater to you. You loved it, of course, but you felt the need to take care of her, too, especially right now. “Let me make you some tea, then.” You made to get up, but her grip on your thighs tightened a bit, pulling you back down against her lap.
Wordlessly, she drew you into another kiss, tongue stroking into your mouth in a hungry way that made you groan. The pure need in it caught you off-guard, stirring the desire in the pit of your stomach so suddenly it was almost startling. “I don’t want tea,” she murmured against your lips when you broke apart for breath. The implications of the words were clear—it was something else that she wanted.
She kissed along your jaw before moving down to your neck, lightly sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath as your head tilted a bit to the side, giving her easier access. It was your favourite spot to be kissed, instantly made you dissolve into putty, and she knew it.
Her hands trailed up your thighs and under your shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as they slid over your bare skin. They were calloused and warm, her touch firm as it roamed higher, stopping just under your breasts. Then she tugged lightly at the hem of your shirt. “Take this off,” she ordered, voice firm but still achingly soft, her breath warm against your neck.
You complied almost instantly, the heat pooling south in your abdomen not making you inclined to oppose her. Reaching down, you pulled your sweater up and over your head in one smooth motion, leaving your torso bare but for the lacy lilac bra that Abby loved so much on you. The heat of the crackling fire behind you warmed your exposed skin, keeping the chill from fully getting to you.
Abby pulled back to look at you, her gaze drinking you in as her hands wasted no time moving to undo the clasp of your bra. You could tell she was impatient for this, her eyes dark with lust, her breathing growing heavier as she unhooked your bra and slipped it down your arms a bit clumsily. It sent a sharp stab of desire through you, and suddenly you needed her hands on you, needed to feel them everywhere.
The bra came off, revealing your bare chest, nipples already hard and perky both from the chill and arousal. Abby’s big hands reached to cup them, squeezing them lightly, her thumbs rubbing over your sensitive buds. “So pretty, baby,” she breathed as she scattered kisses along the column of your throat, your shoulders, your collarbone. They trailed down to your chest, and then she took one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue licking and circling over the perky bud. You sucked in a sharp breath, your body arching into her.
“Abby,” you sighed, clutching at her shoulders as she continued nipping and sucking at your chest. The ache of need in your core was growing with every passing second. Even as you glanced nervously toward the dark hallway, your hips shifted against her thighs, seeking stimulation. “We shouldn’t. What if someone…?”
“They’re all asleep by now,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper as she pulled back to look at you. It was only a second before her hands were back on your tits, kneading them—it was safe to say that she couldn’t get enough of them. “But you’re gonna have to keep quiet, yeah? Think you can do that for me?”
You smirked a little at the teasing note in her tone. “I can manage,” you said, a bit shakily. It was clear, from the way you were squirming in her lap and on the verge of panting, that you needed this just as badly as she did. At this point, you were so aroused that you couldn’t even bring yourself to care much about the fact that you weren’t alone here, that your friends were just in the other room. Fuck it—you would just have to hope that nobody walked in.
Abby’s lips quirked up slightly, amused, as she fumbled to undo the button of your pants. She held your gaze as her hand slid past your waistband and between your thighs. You released a shaky breath as she cupped your heat through the soaked-through fabric of your panties.
“Fuck, look at you,” she groaned lowly as she slowly dragged her fingers over you through the thin fabric. “So wet for me already.”
You bit your lip, a soft moan escaping you as your hips rocked into her touch, desperate for more. You were already aching for her, and her voice, silky and breathless in a way that betrayed her own arousal, certainly wasn’t helping.
She began a slow rhythm, stroking you firmly in a way that had the pleasure climbing steadily. Her hand was angled just right, the heel of her palm pressing right into your clit, and you were fighting back whimpers as it sent shocks of heat through you. As she worked you, her lips found your neck once again, biting and sucking soft skin that would surely bruise tomorrow. You always pretended to be exasperated at having to hide the hickeys she gave you, but in truth, it sent a little thrill through you whenever you caught someone eyeing your neck, the proof that she’d been all over you.
Your head was bent against her shoulder, your faltering breaths and tiny sounds of pleasure muffled against her shirt as you angled your hips to grind your clit harder into her palm. It was getting harder to keep control of yourself, and as you felt the wave of heat begin to rise, your grip on Abby’s arm tightened. Her bicep was solid and muscled beneath your grip.
“Mmph—Abby,” you panted, eyes squeezed shut in barely contained pleasure. “M’not gonna last much longer.”
With those words, it was like her last bit of restraint snapped. Suddenly she was hoisting you up by your thighs, shifting you from her lap to the mattress and pushing you down beneath her with more force than you were expecting, a little “oof” puffing from your lips. She leaned over you and began tugging your pants and underwear down your legs eagerly, making quick work of them. You lifted your hips a bit to help her, and watched with hazy, half-lidded eyes as she got them off and tossed them aside before immediately starting on her own, shoving them down her hips.
It was nothing like the way things usually went between you; nothing like the times she would tease you, drawing out your need until you were practically begging her to fuck you, all while murmuring encouraging words in your ear. This was different—this was pure, carnal lust, itching desperation, and your entire body was burning with arousal at the rough way she was handling you.
You were whimpering with anticipation, your thighs almost trembling with it, in the few moments it took for Abby to get her own pants off. You were completely naked as you lay splayed out across the sleeping bags, but no longer felt the least bit cold, not when Abby covered your body with her own, those big arms braced on either side of your head and her weight pressing you into the mattress below.
She grasped one of your legs and hiked it up sharply as she straddled you, slotting your thighs together perfectly. When you came together, her slick heat sliding wetly against your own, you couldn’t hold back the moan that rasped from your throat as the pleasure slammed into you all at once. Abby muttered a curse in your ear, only pausing for a second to breathe heavily before beginning to move. She gave a firm rock of her hips, and then another, grinding her throbbing pussy against yours and wrenching more sweet moans out of you.
“Shhh,” Abby hushed softly after you uttered a particularly dirty sound that bordered on too loud, her breath warm against the side of your face. Her own breaths were faltering as she kept up her rhythm, not stopping for a second. “Gotta be—mph—quiet, baby. Said you would, remember?”
You bit your lip hard, making a controlled effort to reign in the sounds of pleasure that were threatening to escape at the feel of her rubbing up against your aching clit. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together and your combined panting was all that you could hear in the quiet of the room. Every so often, a low, strangled groan would rumble from Abby’s throat when she wasn’t able to stifle it, her jaw clenched, the space between her eyebrows scrunching in pleasure.
Each movement sent a fresh wave of heat pulsing through you, and Abby’s pace was relentless. She let out a growl, her grip on your thigh tightening as she angled her hips to grind into you even harder. Her hips pushed you into the mattress, now thrusting into you with abandon.
“That’s it, fuck—so good for me, baby.” Her breaths were coming hard and fast, her face hovering close to yours as her eyes roved over you, taking in your blissed-out expression. Your eyes were dropped shut, your fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt so tightly your knuckles were white. You were rocking up into her weakly, but you could hardly do much with all of Abby’s strength on top of you, controlling the movement.
“So pretty when I fuck you like this,” she huffed. “You like it, yeah? Like it when I fuck this pretty pussy? Fuck.”
You just managed a weak nod in response, unable to even grasp the thoughts to form words in the midst of what you were feeling. The tug of heat in your abdomen was pulsing stronger and stronger; you could feel yourself unraveling. Whimpers had started to spill out of you, your body tensing as you neared release.
“Gonna come? Gonna show me how fuckin’ good it feels, huh?” she panted roughly, moving faster as she saw that you were right on the precipice, mouth hung agape, eyes clenched shut, head thrown back. “C’mon, give it to me.”
When you came, your orgasm crashed into you so hard that Abby had to quickly cover your mouth with a hand to muffle the cry you let out as your body jerked underneath her. She moaned, seeing the intensity of your pleasure clearly driving her closer to the edge as well. “That’s my—haah—s’my good girl.” She uncovered your mouth again and watched it wash over you, the aftershocks rolling through you at Abby’s continued thrusts. A few moments later she grunted, and you felt her reach her own peak, her pussy clenching against you, her hips stuttering as she came.
Together, you came down from your high. Abby dropped your leg as she slowed to a stop, her body slumping forward slightly into you for a few moments as she panted into the crook of your neck. You tilted your head to rest your cheek against the side of her face, the sound of your heavy breaths mingling with hers. A small grin tugged at your lips as a wonderfully light and floaty feeling washed over you, and you ran your hands languidly over her muscled back, the slope of her shoulders.
Abby pressed a soft kiss to your skin before rolling off you and onto the mattress beside you, relaxing into it with a sigh. She was still catching her breath, her eyes closed, and you just stared at her for a few beats, glad to see the serene expression on her pretty face. You wished it could stay that way.
After getting up and slowly pulling your clothes back on, you settled beside her again. She looked at you, raising her arm up expectantly in a gesture that invited you to come closer.
“C’mere,” she murmured, and you did, nestling against her and resting your head on her chest. You breathed in the familiar scent of the pine soap she used, listened to the beating of her heart next to your ear. It was utterly quiet now, peaceful, and you began to give in to the call of sleep. You felt Abby’s light touch rubbing soothing circles against your torso, lulling your eyes closed.
“Love you." Her voice was a hushed whisper in the dark.
“Love you, Abs.”
#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson smut#abby tlou#tlou abby#abby anderson x fem reader#wlw fic#lesbian fic#abby anderson fic#the last of us#tlou x reader#tlou 2
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Warfare
You see, Marvel’s mentioned the Wisdom of Solomon before. The JL never really thought much about it. As a result, the JL just thinks Marvel has all these… interesting ideas but just never says anything about them. Though, there are a couple times the ideas are actually voiced. (They don’t know Billy is just parroting whatever Solomon or occasionally another God with tell him)
Like the time Batman and Marvel got stranded on a planet that was stuck in the middle of war. They were promised
Rebel Leader: “Do either of you have any ideas to bring to the table?”
Batman: “No. Marvel?”
Marvel: “Huh? Oh uh… well I could magic a plague into the water near them. You said they’re using it for their water source, right? Then, when they’re weak, we can go around and take them out.” *sounds hesitant*
Batman: “Hmm… That could be a good idea, but what sort of plague are we talking about?”
Marvel: “Cholera.”
Batman: “What.”
Marvel: “Cholera.”
Batman: “Marvel, that’s fatal.”
Marvel: “Oh.”
Batman: “Yeah.”
*silence*
Marvel: “Well, if we’re quick, it we can get to them before they die.”
Batman: *stares for a bit, holding back a sigh* “We don’t even know if Cholera will affect their biology the same way it does humans.”
Rebel Leader: “What is this Cholera?”
Batman: “It’s a deadly waterborne disease.”
Rebel Leader: “I see… And you’re unsure whether it will work with our physiology… might I propose a different disease?”
So yes, biological warfare, that’s our first thing. Batman proceeded to spend a lot of time convincing the Rebel Leader not to nearly kill an entire group of people with their version of Cholera.
Then there was the time Bruce and Marvel were working together and got held up in a shootout at a lab.
Marvel: *looking at the various chemicals in the lab* “Gosh, I remember my first exposure to chlorine gas.” *getting nostalgic* (He’s from the 1940s in this one, guys)
Batman: “You’ve been exposed to chlorine gas?”
Marvel: “Yeah, and let me tell you, those dang Nazis were horrified when it didn’t work on me. Don’t worry though, we’re gonna be making mustard gas instead.”
Batman: “Captain, we are not doing that.”
Marvel: “Why? We have all the available ingredients.”
Batman: “Marvel.” *puts a hand on his shoulder* “Mustard gas can be fatal.”
Marvel: “Oh.”
Batman: “Yeah.”
*silence*
Marvel: “My bad.”
*more silence*
Batman: “Is this why you always let others plan?”
Marvel: “Are you gonna look at me weird if I say yes?”
Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: Yes, but it won’t be visible through my cowl)
This incident checks chemical warfare off the list. Bruce is now concerned as to why most of Marvel’s ideas are either nearly fatal or just fatal.
Then there was the time Marvel went undercover with Bruce Wayne, not Batman for whatever reason. They then got attacked by pirates while on a ship trying to gather information about some supervillain.
Bruce and Marvel: *taken cover under a table while the pirates fire cannon balls at them*
Bruce: “Any ideas?” *peaks over the cover only for a cannonball to whiz right past his head*
Marvel: “I think I have one. So here’s what I’m thinking. I take out their mast, steal all their oars, and then push them out to sea and let them drift wherever.
Bruce: “That’s… Intense. Wouldn’t they starve if you just let them drift?”
Marvel: “I guess. If they’re not saved, I mean.”
Bruce: *stares with the most deadpan face* “How about I come up with a plan instead?”
Marvel: “You got it boss.”
And last but not least, the physical warfare.
By the way, Billy doesn’t know Bruce is the Bat. No, no, no, he just thinks the guy is someone Batman wants him to work with. He was a little surprised to see the dude act all brooding like Mr. Batman when he had heard from others that he was a party boy. Oh well, not his business. Meanwhile, Bruce doesn’t know Marvel thinks he’s just interacting with a capable civilian.
That last part was inspired by @helps-the-writing-brain-go’s reblog of this post. Thanks for letting me write with your idea :)
#billy batson#shazam#dc captain marvel#captain marvel dc#fawcett city#fawcett#fawcett comics#batman#bruce wayne
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She hummed, looking over your recent arrangement with a proud gaze. “I can understand that. It’s been a bit since you’ve been in a relationship,” she said, giving your arm a small squeeze. “But don’t be too apprehensive, dear. It’s okay to let someone in.” You bit your tongue when you wanted to blurt out that Bucky didn’t just let himself in. He tore through your life and made a home for himself in the ashes. But Mrs. Crandle meant well and didn’t know what was going on.
Mrs. Cradle probably means well but let's calm down a bit 🥴
“I can work through it. There are still a few orders to finish,” you protested, which was a reasonable excuse. “I’m not making you work through lunch.” She looked offended by the very idea. And of course, she wouldn’t give you an out. Like most of your small circle of friends and loved ones, they wanted you to find a partner. “And don’t worry about the orders, dear. You two lovebirds go and take as long as you want.”
She truly is too nice 😬
Much like walking into the club, you felt out of place as you walked through the cafe. Not because it wasn’t your scene, but because of the special sort of treatment. You didn’t want it. Though the ambience of the fairy lights and privacy would’ve been sweet and romantic otherwise.
That's so eerie 🫣
Bucky’s hand lingered until she was out of sight. “I don’t appreciate that she didn’t look your way,” he said, shrugging his jacket off before he took a seat. You could see the tension in his shoulders, his gloved left hand flexing slightly. “It’s clear that we’re here together on a lunch date.” “No, it’s not. It’s disrespectful. I’m here with you. I’m not interested in her or anyone else.” His eyes were as cold as ice when he pushed the menu away, making you shiver. “I’m not like my dad.” “I know I’m the only one you see,” you said, reaching over to touch his hand. He took it the second it was within reach. You didn’t think he’d do anything to hurt or damage the hostess in any way over something harmless in your eyes, but maybe offering a bit of assurance would distract him. “I don’t know your dad, but I can sense that you aren’t him.”
Ohhh this is something that truly gets his gears turning
He observed you, almost in morbid curiosity as you waited for him to respond. You knew what the answer was going to be, but you wanted to believe your paranoia was getting to you. “First, your apartment isn’t your home. The penthouse is going to be our home together and maybe that’ll finally sink in once you’re living there,” he answered, your eyes wide. “And second, of course I have bugs around your place. Visual, audio, you name it. I’m not exactly trying to hide that I’m watching you as much as possible.”
The way he says it so nonchalantly is truly mind boggling 🥴
“You’re not exactly trying to hide it? You hid it by not telling me!” You accused him, the gaslighting bastard. “How could you do that?” He shrugged, which only upset you more. “Mentioning the collar was a pretty big hint. Do you really think I’d bring it up if I didn’t want you to know I was watching or listening in?” “You…” You let out a breath and swallowed back tears. He really did want you to know. “You want me to feel scared, don't you, like when you broke in. Because when you scare me or make me feel uneasy, you can control me more and get me to do what you want. You’re sick.”
What she said ☝🏻
You swallowed thickly. He was never going to budge. “You sit there and act like you’re a decent guy because you haven’t forced yourself on me and you won’t raise a hand to me, but you’re still a monster,” you said, your gaze vulnerable and open. He had to see how upset you were, how he caused you to feel. His expression didn’t change, except for his eyes. They looked as sad as you felt. “Maybe I am,” he whispered.
This is heavy...
“I…” You went silent when he slid a hand up your torso and rested it on your chest. Could you play along to calm him down? “I guess we can go shopping. Nothing too fancy, right?” “Whatever makes you happy. I just want my girl to be happy.” He groaned when you willingly ran your fingers through his hair. “And you’ll love me like I love you. I know you will.”
This just makes my skin crawl 🥴
Hold You Tight: Part 11
Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.
Part 10 | Series Masterlist | Part 12
Chapter Summary: Bucky reveals a small piece of his past and also confirms one of your suspicions.
Chapter Word Count: Over 3.6k
Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, gaslighting, manipulation, mention of stalking, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.
A/N: More Hold You Tight and hope you enjoy! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You busied yourself with orders after Clark left, but it didn’t stop you from looking toward the door every few minutes. You weren’t sure if you were expecting him to return or if you were anticipating Bucky arriving. Why were you allowing him to consume your thoughts again? You needed to concentrate on your job, the thing you loved and helped pay your bills.
Mrs. Crandle gave you a smile when you checked the time, too. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were excited to see this young man who thinks he’s your boyfriend,” she commented.
“I don’t know if excited is the word I’d use,” you said, trying to smile through your nerves. “Apprehensive, maybe?”
She hummed, looking over your recent arrangement with a proud gaze. “I can understand that. It’s been a bit since you’ve been in a relationship,” she said, giving your arm a small squeeze. “But don’t be too apprehensive, dear. It’s okay to let someone in.”
You bit your tongue when you wanted to blurt out that Bucky didn’t just let himself in. He tore through your life and made a home for himself in the ashes. But Mrs. Crandle meant well and didn’t know what was going on. “Well, he offered to be my date to Addison’s wedding and she was very happy to hear that.”
“Oh, I’ll bet she’s thrilled for you,” she said. Addison stopped by the shop a few times and your boss adored her and the friendship you two had. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s your date walking in,” she smiled, nodding toward the door.
Your stomach dropped when Bucky entered the shop with a tender smile on his face. “Hi, doll,” he said, heading right to you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I hope I’m not too early to take you to lunch, but I don’t mind waiting if you’re busy.”
“Oh, it’s not too early at all,” Mrs. Crandle said before you could protest. “It’s nice to see such a fine young man take one of my best workers to lunch.”
Bucky put his right hand to his chest. “A fine young man? You flatter me, Mrs. Crandle. It is Mrs. Crandle, right?” He held the same hand out after she nodded. Of course, he knew her name. You almost smacked his arm away, not wanting the man who disrupted your life to touch your boss. “Everyone calls me Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, too,” she said, giving you a wink. One smile from the man and she was under his spell. “I hear the two of you may be attending Addison’s wedding together.”
You gave her a pointed look when Bucky smiled your way, wishing she hadn’t brought it up. She either ignored your stare or didn’t notice. “That’s the plan. I know the day will be all about Addison and Brady, as it should be, but my eyes will be on my girl,” Bucky smiled, giving the shop an appreciative look as your stomach flipped. “And it’s easy to see why she loves working here. You have a beautiful place.”
“Thank you. It really is a group effort to keep this place alive,” she said, turning her attention to you. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get your bag and go enjoy your lunch.”
“I can work through it. There are still a few orders to finish,” you protested, which was a reasonable excuse.
“I’m not making you work through lunch.” She looked offended by the very idea. And of course, she wouldn’t give you an out. Like most of your small circle of friends and loved ones, they wanted you to find a partner. “And don’t worry about the orders, dear. You two lovebirds go and take as long as you want.”
Lovebirds?
“I’ll try not to keep her too long,” Bucky said as you went to get your purse. “So, how long have you owned your shop?”
You blocked out the chatter between them, taking a breath to steady yourself. How many times had you imagined a boyfriend surprising you at work just because they wanted to take you to lunch? Or even just because they wanted to see you? You got your wish, didn’t you?
“I’ll be back soon,” you smiled as Bucky wrapped an arm around your lower back, crowding your space like always. Mrs. Crandle looked over the moon and you made sure the smile stayed on your face until Bucky led you out of the shop. “Sucking up to my boss? Really?”
Bucky chuckled. “I wasn’t sucking up. Just making conversation,” he said. The small conversation won her over. “And didn't you try to get Ray on your side this morning?”
He had a point, but you ignored it. “Where are we eating?” You asked, though you didn’t have much of an appetite.
“I got us a table at a cafe close by,” he said, tightening his arm around you. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go far in case you had to get back to work.”
“That’s thoughtful,” you said, though it was actually nice that he didn’t want you to venture far.
“I’m a thoughtful guy,” he teased. Making sure it was safe to go, he helped you cross the street. Ray stayed in the car, but you sensed him watching and wondered if he’d join you. “And I got us a private table on the back patio. No one should bother us.”
“They do private tables at this cafe?” You asked as he held the door open with a smirk. He probably threw a bit of money their way to make it happen and you almost wished there would be others around so you’d feel a bit more comfortable.
“Welcome, Mr. Barnes,” a woman smiled, not bothering to look your way as she grabbed a couple of menus. “We have your table set up if you’ll follow me,” she said, gesturing for you to head to the back.
Much like walking into the club, you felt out of place as you walked through the cafe. Not because it wasn’t your scene, but because of the special sort of treatment. You didn’t want it. Though the ambience of the fairy lights and privacy would’ve been sweet and romantic otherwise.
“The server should be here in a moment, but please let me know if you need anything,” the hostess smiled, her gaze lingering on Bucky as he pulled out your chair. “Anything at all, Mr. Barnes.”
You felt a bit small as you sat down and eyed the hostess. It was her job to be friendly, but she hadn’t exactly acknowledged you and made it obvious that she specifically wanted Bucky’s attention. You wouldn’t say you were jealous and part of you understood why she’d want him to look her way. Still, wouldn’t the general assumption be that you two were a couple?
We are not a couple.
You looked up at Bucky when he rested a hand on your shoulder, but there was nothing flirtatious or warm about the smile on his face. “If my girl or I need anything, we’ll say so,” he said in a cool and courteous tone.
“Of course.” The hostess faltered slightly as she set the menus down, but recovered quickly. “Enjoy,” she added, scurrying off.
Bucky’s hand lingered until she was out of sight. “I don’t appreciate that she didn’t look your way,” he said, shrugging his jacket off before he took a seat. You could see the tension in his shoulders, his gloved left hand flexing slightly. “It’s clear that we’re here together on a lunch date.”
Your eyes flickered to him as he looked over the menu, his jaw clenched. The hostess giving him attention bothered him much more than it bothered you. “It’s okay, Bucky,” you said.
“No, it’s not. It’s disrespectful. I’m here with you. I’m not interested in her or anyone else.” His eyes were as cold as ice when he pushed the menu away, making you shiver. “I’m not like my dad.”
“I know I’m the only one you see,” you said, reaching over to touch his hand. He took it the second it was within reach. You didn’t think he’d do anything to hurt or damage the hostess in any way over something harmless in your eyes, but maybe offering a bit of assurance would distract him. “I don’t know your dad, but I can sense that you aren’t him.”
At least, he wasn’t entirely like him. His ruthlessness came from something or someone. His dad may fit the bill.
“He cheated on my mom when she was nothing but good to him. She was good to everyone and he threw it back in her face,” he sneered. You could practically taste the bitterness from his words and it broke your heart. It was no wonder he wanted you to believe so badly that he’d be faithful to you. “And I’m glad that piece of shit will never lay eyes on you or anyone else.”
“I’m so sorry,” you said, aching for the pain his mom likely experienced and him by extension. Regardless of the man he was, he held his mom in high regard and she didn’t deserve an unfaithful partner. “I know that doesn’t change anything, but I am.”
Bucky’s gaze softened considerably. “I know you are and I appreciate that more than you know.” He rubbed a thumb over your skin, his shoulders starting to relax. “The cheating wasn’t even the worst of it,” he muttered before the server walked in with a pitcher of water.
What else did his dad do?
“Hi. I’ll be taking care of you today,” the server smiled, sweeping a look over both of you as he poured each of you a glass. Bucky barely smiled back. He didn’t want people ignoring you, but he didn’t want gazes lingering for too long either. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu or would you like something else to drink?”
“I’m fine with water and I think we’re ready,” you said, pointing out one of the entrees. You didn’t want to draw out lunch longer than it had to be. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have the same. And take your time,” Bucky said, handing the menus back. His smile didn’t brighten again until the server left. “Talking about my dad is dampening the mood. How’s work going today?”
The subject change was jarring, but you imagined he didn’t want to dwell on the unpleasant topic. It also wasn’t a good time to ask about his mom and the flowers. “Work is fine.”
“Just fine?”
You debated if you should say anything about Clark. You didn’t want him on Bucky’s radar, but what if Bucky somehow found out and you didn’t say anything? Telling him was the better option. “Well, there’s a regular customer who stopped in. He’s going through a break-up and actually tried to give me a couple of roses since I was kind to him, but I didn’t take them,” you explained, trying not to make a big deal of it.
The glint in Bucky’s eyes made you nervous, but you knew any malice wasn't aimed your way. “He tried to give you roses and you didn’t take them?” He asked evenly.
“No, I didn’t. I told him to give them to someone else as I’m very much not interested in getting flowers. Except maybe from you,” you assured him, his lips twitching up. That was a good sign. “What about you? How’s work?” You added, hoping to shift the topic back to him.
A moment of silence passed before he nodded. “If he persists or bothers you, let me know first thing and I’ll take care of it,” he said. You had a feeling the topic of Clark was far from done and you didn’t want to know how he’d take care of it. “I do have to go to the club late tonight, but I was thinking we could go shopping after your shift.”
“Shopping?” You raised an eyebrow. “Shopping for what?”
“I did offer to get you a new outfit for your girls day,” he said, rubbing circles on your hand. “And a collar.”
The nagging feeling in the back of your mind went off. That was the second time he brought that up. One would think he was doing it on purpose. “You know, I mentioned you getting me a collar, but that was something I said when I was alone this morning. Along with a couple of other things you've mentioned, it’s too much of a coincidence to me that you’re suggesting it,” you said carefully, sitting up straighter. “Do you have cameras or something in my home? Be honest, please.”
He observed you, almost in morbid curiosity as you waited for him to respond. You knew what the answer was going to be, but you wanted to believe your paranoia was getting to you. “First, your apartment isn’t your home. The penthouse is going to be our home together and maybe that’ll finally sink in once you’re living there,” he answered, your eyes wide. “And second, of course I have bugs around your place. Visual, audio, you name it. I’m not exactly trying to hide that I’m watching you as much as possible.”
You felt sick at the admission, thankful that you hadn’t eaten anything. How much did he see and hear? Did he listen to your talk with Addison? Watch you shower? Sleep? He continued to violate your privacy and had no shame at all in doing so. Enough was enough.
“You’re not exactly trying to hide it? You hid it by not telling me!” You accused him, the gaslighting bastard. “How could you do that?”
He shrugged, which only upset you more. “Mentioning the collar was a pretty big hint. Do you really think I’d bring it up if I didn’t want you to know I was watching or listening in?”
“You…” You let out a breath and swallowed back tears. He really did want you to know. “You want me to feel scared, don't you, like when you broke in. Because when you scare me or make me feel uneasy, you can control me more and get me to do what you want. You’re sick.”
He reached out and gripped your hand again before you could push yourself away from the table. “I thought we established that I’m not trying to control you. How many times do I have to say it?”
“And yet everything you do says otherwise,” you said. It was all a tactic to him. A game. “When will your actions back up your words?”
“I told you this morning my place is safer than yours. The security measures in your building are a joke. Do you realize how easy it was for me to get in and to break into your place? I hardly broke a sweat and that means anyone could get in and get to you. So, yes, there are devices in place so I can make sure you’re safe when I’m not there.” He shook his head at your glare. His reasoning didn’t excuse his actions. “I understand if you’re mad at me, but I did say I won’t give you a choice when it comes to your safety and I won’t apologize for that either.”
You stared at each other, his gaze as firm as his stance. As much as you wanted to throw something, the dishes weren’t yours and you didn’t want to create a mess for the staff to clean up. “You’re really telling yourself you’re watching me for my protection? Who the hell is going to protect me from you, Bucky?” You took a breath when his eyes widened, as if your words hurt him. “No one, with the exception of you, is going to break into my place for any reason. I have nothing of value there, except for the necklace you gave me.”
“You are valuable,” he said, squeezing your hand and resolute in that belief. “How can you not see that?”
“Because I’m just a regular person and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Your voice shook, but you couldn't stop. “With the exception of you, no one will look twice at me, let alone break into my place.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t because life is unpredictable and watching me doesn’t guarantee that nothing will happen to me,” you said, narrowing your eyes in thought. “Is this really about protecting me or are you projecting what your dad did to your mom on me? Do you think I won’t be faithful to you in this ‘relationship’ you think we have, so you have to watch me at all times to prove I’m yours?”
Bucky made a sound like you hit him and asking was a bit of a low blow, but it was a possibility. “Kotyonok, you’re one of the most loyal and faithful people I know. You’d never do anything to make me question that.”
“You trust me?” You asked softly. He nodded without hesitation. “Then help me trust you. Get the devices out of my place for starters since you had no right to put them there to begin with. Please, get rid of them.”
You’d never feel completely safe or comfortable there again, you hadn't since he broke in, but he had to give you that.
“I'll get rid of them,” he said after a moment.
That felt too easy, but you felt relief all the same. “Thank you. That's-”
“After you move into the penthouse because I'm not going to give a shit about the people who move into your apartment after you,” he clarified.
You swallowed thickly. He was never going to budge. “You sit there and act like you’re a decent guy because you haven’t forced yourself on me and you won’t raise a hand to me, but you’re still a monster,” you said, your gaze vulnerable and open. He had to see how upset you were, how he caused you to feel.
His expression didn’t change, except for his eyes. They looked as sad as you felt. “Maybe I am,” he whispered.
The server chose the perfect time to show up with your meals. “Here we are!” he announced, setting the food down and taking no notice of the heavy tension between you and Bucky. “Enjoy.”
Neither of you spoke as you ate, but he watched you expectantly. He wasn’t going to change his mind about the bugs in your apartment or anything else and he didn’t deserve your fire. So you had nothing to say. Nothing at all. You were exactly what he called you: a doll.
“Don’t you dare,” he finally spoke when you took money out of your wallet and set it on the table. “This is a date and I’m paying.”
“This isn’t a date, Bucky, no matter how much you want it to be,” you said quietly, his eyes flashing. “And I need to go back to work.”
You gasped when he bent the fork he held in his left hand, your heart pounding in fear as you looked around. The server hadn’t been back to check on you and the two of you were all alone. What was he going to do? “What? You think I’m going to hurt you after I promised I wouldn’t?” He asked, setting the destroyed utensil down. “Because I’m a monster, right?”
“I didn’t…” You couldn’t say you didn’t mean it because you did, but deep down it wasn’t your intention to make him angry. You should’ve known better, but your emotions were getting the better of you when you had to play it smart.
“A monster who hurts people?” He asked in a deep voice you didn’t recognize. “Kills people?”
You gripped the sides of your chair, fear creeping in more. “Bucky, what are you talking about?” You whispered. Why was he saying that?
He blinked and shook his head. “Why won’t you just let me love you?” He asked, suddenly getting up to round the table. He pulled your chair out before you could get up and dropped to his knees, uncaring of ruining his pants. “All I want is you,” he whispered, resting his head in your lap.
Your body went taut when his hands moved up your thighs. Did he remember or care that you were at a cafe? “I-I know you want me.”
“I know the bugs in your place are upsetting and I know I’m being stubborn about it, so let me make it up to you a little bit, please?” He asked, lifting his head to gaze at you. “Let me take you shopping tonight. Let me spoil you.”
“I…” You went silent when he slid a hand up your torso and rested it on your chest. Could you play along to calm him down? “I guess we can go shopping. Nothing too fancy, right?”
“Whatever makes you happy. I just want my girl to be happy.” He groaned when you willingly ran your fingers through his hair. “And you’ll love me like I love you. I know you will.”
You waved off the server when he tried to check on you and gave Bucky a shaky smile. You’d go shopping with him, keep him happy, and pray he wouldn’t continue to suffocate you with his version of love. It was too late though. The very oxygen you breathed now was what he fed into your lungs. And the monster that lurked beneath the surface, the one who needed you, was eventually going to break through and get what he wanted.
Maybe he’d get a taste tonight.
So, I wanted a bit of action in this part, but the muse refused. I swear the conversations are happening for a reason and we may see some action during the shopping trip. What are we going to do knowing your place really is bugged? And is he going to look into Clark more? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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The Perfect First Date
Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader
Summary: Rooster watches you go on failed date after failed date, often being the one to rescue you with a ride home at the end of the night. When you tell him you've never experienced proper romance, he's shocked, and makes it his mission to take you on the perfect first date, he just wasn't planning on falling for you in the process.
Warnings: fluff, some strong language, that's about it i think
Length: 4k
You shivered as you stood outside the restaurant, silently praying that you wouldn't bump into the disastrous date you'd just left as you waited for Rooster to pick you up. He was always your first call in situations like this and it seemed like he really didn't mind. Often, if he knew you were going on a date, he'd wait up for you to make sure you were okay. He'd told you that once after a few drinks at the Hard Deck.
You and Rooster had been friends for a while, ever since you both got called back to Top Gun. You'd never been close while you were both actually at Top Gun, but with the stress of the mission you'd all been called back for, a close friendship between the entire group blossomed. Of course, you'd had a major crush on him back when you'd studied there, but you'd never tell him that. You and Phoenix laugh about it sometimes, he'd never even glanced your way at Top Gun, and now the two of you were great friends, go figure.
You shivered again as the breeze got stronger, before finally seeing Rooster in his signature blue bronco. You grinned and got in the car, fastening your seatbelt quickly.
Rooster chuckled, "Somebody's in a rush to get home." he said as he pulled away from the restaurant.
"You bet your ass I am." you replied, finally feeling comfortable enough to relax, "I swear, that might be the worst date I've been on yet."
He rolled his eyes playfully, "And where did you meet this guy again?"
You paused, "Tinder." you muttered.
He slowed the car as the lights in front of him turned red and shifted to face you, "Most of these 'dating app' guys are only after one thing, you know that right, sweetheart?"
Your stomach always did a flip when he used nicknames like that. Even though you were definitely over your childish crush, you also weren't blind. Rooster was hot and there was no denying it.
You ran a hand through your hair and leaned your head against the window as he began driving again, "I know. For once I just wanna be, I don't know, romanced."
Rooster frowned and glanced at you, "Romanced? What do you mean?"
You shrugged and gazed out of the window, "I guess I want to know what it feels like to be taken on a proper date, something really cheesy, you know? Like where the guy buys me flowers and everything-"
"You've never had a guy buy you flowers?" he cut in, shocked.
You turned to look at him and shook your head, "No. Never."
You could see the gears turning in his head as he continued, "So, hold on, you've never had anything even remotely romantic happen to you? Ever?"
You tried to think, but ended up shaking your head when you realised that you didn't have any striking romantic memories at all. All your life, work was your main focus. Of course, you'd had a couple relationships, but you'd never been surprised with a planned date or a romantic weekend away, and they mostly ended up dumping you in the end anyways, often saying you were 'married to your job'.
Rooster huffed as he pulled up to your apartment, parking and turning the engine off before facing you, "That's just... That's insane, everyone deserves romance."
You chuckled slightly, "I guess it just doesn't happen for some people, Rooster." you shrugged slightly and opened the passenger door, climbing out of the car, "Thanks for saving me again, see you tomorrow night for drinks?"
He nodded and watched as you walked into your building, wanting to make sure you were safely inside before driving away. You were on his mind the whole drive home. Well, not you specifically, it was mostly the fact that you were really missing out. He wouldn't tell most people this, but he loved romance and being romantic in general. Hell, for him that was the best part of a relationship.
Okay, maybe not the best part.
When he got to his place, his mind was set. He was going to teach you that romance can happen to anyone, it just takes a decent man to do it. Then, maybe you'd stop going on these shitty dates and meet someone who actually deserved you.
The next night, he made his way to the Hard Deck like usual. You were already there with the rest of the squad, but he had to stop on the way. He glanced down at his passenger seat where a bouquet of roses lay, again huffing to himself that no man had ever gotten you flowers. What type of shitheads had you been dating? He pulled up and parked, quickly grabbing the flowers and making his way inside, looking effortlessly cool with his aviators hanging low on his nose.
He saw you immediately, sat by the pool table and chatting with Phoenix. He took a deep breath, wondering why he felt so nervous all of a sudden. It's not like he was asking you on an actual date, he was just doing this to help you out.
He walked towards you and you turned as you saw him, eyes glancing down to the roses held tightly in his hand, you grinned, "Don't tell me you're on Tinder now too, who are you meeting tonight?"
He stopped in front of you and Phoenix and held out the roses, "You."
You took them from him gently, you face frowning in confusion, "Me? Wha-"
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said last night." he began, as Phoenix looked between the two of you confused, "It isn't right, so.. I'm going to romance you." he smirked.
Phoenix raised her eyebrows, "You're gonna what?"
"Rooster, what are you talking about?" You asked.
He straightened up, his smirk breaking into a grin, "I'm going to take you on the perfect first date, show you how it's done." he said, "I'm going to raise your standards, sweetheart."
There was the stomach flip again.
"So," he continued, "tomorrow night, 7 o'clock, be ready." he winked, before turning away and joining Bob and Hangman at the pool table.
You slowly smelled the roses he'd given you, trying to hide your smile. Phoenix snorted, "I don't know what's going on, but looks like you're pleased."
You cleared your throat and quickly placed the roses onto the table near you, shaking your head, "It's not like that, we're friends. He's just being dramatic."
Phoenix nodded and rolled her eyes, "Typical Rooster."
Later that night, Phoenix approached him at the bar, "Please explain what your plan is here."
He took a sip of beer, "What are you talking about?"
She gestured to you, sat chatting on the other side of the room, "This 'perfect first date' shit," she chuckled, "seriously Rooster, what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that she needs someone to treat her right for once so she can stop dating assholes-"
"What then? Date you instead?" she smirked and crossed her arms.
Rooster frowned, "That's not-" he grunted, glancing at you across the room, a fleeting thought entering his mind of what it would be like to date you.
Phoenix smiled, patting his shoulder, "Don't go catching feelings." she smirked as she grabbed her drink and walked away.
Rooster chugged the rest of his beer. You were friends and you had been for a while, if he was going to catch feelings, he would have already. That's what he told himself as he ordered another beer.
-
When it hit 7 the next night, you really didn't know what to expect, or where all of this had come from. You knew Rooster was a gentleman at heart, so maybe your words had struck a nerve in him. Either way, you decided you had nothing to lose, this was just one friend helping out another.
The buzzer in your apartment rang, and knowing it was Rooster you let him up, opening the door once he knocked.
"You know," you said, grabbing your purse from the counter behind you, "I could have just come down to meet you."
"No way." he replied, holding out his arm for you to take, "The guy always comes to the door."
You chuckled and rolled your eyes, taking his arm as you both walked downstairs to his bronco. You reached for the handle of the passenger door but Rooster beat you to it, opening it up for you to get in, "Are you serious?" you giggled, as you climbed in the passenger's seat, "This is old-school stuff, no one does this anymore."
"Correction," Rooster began, leaning over you to buckle your seatbelt. He paused by your face, "None of the assholes you date do this anymore." He noticed your cheeks redden slightly and suddenly found it difficult to look away. He smiled slightly before straightening up, "The right guy will."
He shut your door and made his way around to the drivers seat, then buckled his own seatbelt and turned on the engine.
You bit your lip, "You know, it's really nice of you to do this Rooster but-"
"Rooster?" he frowned playfully, "This is meant to be a first date, sweetheart, it's only right you call me by my actual name."
You chuckled slightly, before sighing in defeat, "Fine. Bradley."
Rooster could've sworn he felt his heart skip a beat as you said his name. He was pretty sure it was the first time he'd actually heard you say it, maybe aside from when he'd first met you in the early days of Top Gun. He was so focused back then, wanting to be the best of the best, that he'd never spoken much to you. He liked the way it sounded, he'd always thought you had a sweet voice and a part of him wanted to hear you say it again. He shook his head a little, reminding himself of the situation.
"Good." he said curtly, clearing his throat, "You wanna put some music on?" He grinned and glanced at the stereo, "Press play."
You raised your eyebrows at him, before giving in and pressing play, causing one of your favourite songs to come blasting through the speakers. You quickly turned to him in awe as he explained, "I remembered that one night I played this for you at the Hard Deck on the piano, I know you love it, so I got the CD."
You smiled brightly at him and again, he struggled to look away, especially once you started singing along. He sang with you, glancing over at you whenever he could, until the song ended.
"Perfect timing," he said, "We're almost there."
You glanced out the window as the beach came into view. Rooster saw you were confused, but it only spurred him on, excited to see if you would like what he planned. A part of him really wanted to impress you. He parked up as you turned to him, "The beach? Rooster what-" He cleared his throat to cut you off and you sighed, "Bradley, what are we doing here?"
Yep, there was no way you were ever calling him Rooster again.
He grinned, "You'll see," then he quickly got out of the car and rushed to open the passenger door for you, holding out his hand, "M'lady," he teased.
You couldn't help but laugh, taking his hand and stepping out of the car. He opened the back door and pulled out a picnic basket, before taking your hand in his again, "Ready?" he asked and you nodded, walking alongside him towards the beach.
You both walked in silence, but it wasn't awkward, in fact it felt comfortable. Rooster glanced down at your hands, he liked how big his were compared to yours, but somehow they fit perfectly together.
Eventually he stopped, reluctantly letting your hand go and placing the basket onto the sand, "What do you think, sweetheart? This a good spot?"
You chuckled and nodded as he took out a blanket and laid it carefully on the ground. You both sat down and he placed the picnic basket in between you, "I hope you're hungry, I got all your favourite things."
He opened the basket and you peaked inside, seeing all of your favourite snacks as well as a bottle of wine, "How did you even know all my favourite foods?" you asked.
He grinned, "I asked around." he reached into the basked and pulled out two wine glasses, "Would the beautiful lady like some wine?"
Your cheeks felt warm as you nodded and watched him pour you a small glass. You took it from him as he poured his own and once he was done, he turned back to you, "So, tell me about yourself."
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "What are you talking about, you already know me."
"Nope," he tutted, "This is a first date, right? I don't know anything about you yet, but I want to, that's the whole point."
You chuckled, "Wow, most of the time the guy just goes on and on about himself."
"That's because they're shitty guys," he grinned, "So, tell me about yourself, even if I've already heard it, pretend I haven't."
"Okay, uh," you paused and tried to think, "well, I'm a pilot in the Navy."
"A pilot, huh?" Rooster nodded slowly, trying to pretend this was news to him, "And what's that like?"
You smiled, "It's.. a lot. I love it though, I wouldn't give it up for anything." Rooster's smile mirrored yours, because he felt the same way about it, you continued, "Some of the guys I work with can be a real handful though."
His head tilted to the side and he smirked, "Oh really?"
You nodded, "Especially this one guy, got a real silly callsign too, something like.. Duck? Chicken?"
You giggled and he snorted, "Silly huh? Nah, I bet he's cool, gotta be handsome too."
You pretend to think it over, tapping your chin in thought, all the while your smile never left your face, "I guess he's okay." you shrug eventually, taking a sip of wine.
"Just okay?" Rooster raised his eyebrows as you giggled. He'd always know he loved your laugh, but somehow he loved it even more when you were laughing at something he'd said. It was the third time so far he had to remind himself of the situation.
"Fine, he's very handsome." you grinned, "Maybe not as handsome as Hangman but..."
Rooster chuckled, shoving you playfully, "Shut up." he laughed, secretly hoping that wasn't what you actually thought.
You sighed dramatically, "At least Hangman actually acknowledged me while we were at Top Gun."
Rooster smiled slightly, "Guess I just knew how much of a distraction you'd be back then."
You snorted, "Or you were going through a moody teenager phase."
"That's probably true, yeah." he nodded slowly, chuckling to himself.
You smiled, "It's fine, that was years ago anyway. I'm glad we're friends now."
He smirked, "Friend-zoning me on the first date? That's just cruel, sweetheart." You giggled again, and Rooster felt his smile get bigger. He realised he'd never had a date where the conversation flowed so easily, even though this wasn't technically a 'date', he wondered if things would be different if it was.
Your rested your head on his shoulder as the sun began to set, "Wow." you said in awe, "The sunset's beautiful."
Still thinking everything over in his head, Rooster nodded, glancing down at you. He could see the sunset reflected in your eyes and you looked so relaxed, content, "Yeah it is." he muttered, even though the sunset was the last thing on is mind.
A little while later, you'd packed up all the food and walked back to his car. He put the picnic basket on the back seat and opened the door for you again. You'd playfully rolled your eyes at him but said nothing, getting in the car quietly, feeling slightly disappointed the night was almost over.
Rooster noticed himself driving slower than usual on the ride back, trying to soak up all the time with you he had. He tried not to think too much of it, telling himself it was nothing as he arrived at your apartment. He walked you to your door, again insisting it was the 'gentlemanly' thing to do.
"I'm curious," you said, as you both stood in front of your apartment door, "All this tonight, is this actually the kind of thing you do on a first date with a girl?"
Rooster nodded, "A first date is important, sweetheart, I like to make a good impression."
You chuckled, "What about at the end of the night? How does the great 'Bradley Bradshaw' end the perfect first date?"
He smirked, "Well, for starters, I don't kiss on the first date, I wait until at least the second, it's just the way I was raised." he said, taking a step towards you, "but, there is something I do to, uh, leave a lasting impression."
You raised your eyebrows, "Go on."
Bradley smirked, agreeing to show you, "Okay so," he took a small step forward, so the space between you was nearly non-existent, "I gently tuck a piece of hair behind her ear," he said, doing so as he said it, "I look deep into her eyes and then I lean in to whisper," his voice was low as his lips came to your ear, "I had a really good time tonight, I'm hoping you'll let me see you again soon."
He moved back so was looking directly at you, your faces only inches apart, noses almost touching. His eyes felt stuck on yours and he felt this.. tug. Like he could easily just lean in and-
"You are so cheesy!" you giggled, pulling away from him and unlocking your door.
He cleared his throat, snapping out of whatever moment he was having, "It may be cheesy, but trust me, it works."
You rolled your eyes and stood in your door way, "I did have a good night tonight though, so thanks... Bradley. I definitely feel romanced now."
He shook his head slightly, forcing a smile, "No problem, sweetheart. Goodnight."
You smiled and said goodbye, shutting the door behind you as you walked into your apartment. Rooster really had delivered on his promise of the 'perfect first date', even he knew that as he stood looking at your door. He was about to knock, but decided against it, making his way back to his car instead. He didn't even know what he was planning to say, it was that stupid tugging feeling again that had almost overtaken him.
He barely slept that night, his mind was stuck on you and how much fun he'd had. Sure, he been on other dates but this one was so easy. He thought he'd have to force himself to be romantic with you, but in reality, it had felt like second nature to him as soon as he realised that all he wanted was to see you smile. That and the cute little surprised look you'd gotten on your face when you'd seen that he'd brought all your favourite food. Even when you were both singing in the car, he felt himself wishing it was an actual date.
He tossed and turned, thinking back to your time at Top Gun, back to when you two weren't friends. All this time you'd thought he never noticed you, but that was the problem. He had noticed you back then, you were hard to miss, he just couldn't let himself get distracted like that, plus he was still working through all the issues he had, so it was easier for him to not look your way. And now you were just friends. Friends.
It was around 3am when he woke up to a startling thought.
He had wanted to kiss you. He'd been so close until you pulled away and now all he could think about was what it would be like.
Damn.
He was so fucked.
-
Rooster tried to avoid you at work, but that only made him feel worse because he wanted to see you more than anything. You eventually found him at the end of the day anyways, walking up to him with a smile. How had he never noticed how pretty your smile was before. God, he was really spiralling.
"Hey!" you grinned, "I haven't seen you all day!"
"Yeah." he cleared his throat, "Sorry, been busy."
You nodded slowly, but the air felt tense and awkward. "I really enjoyed the other night, you've really opened my eyes, Bradley, or I guess I should get back to calling you Rooster now, right?"
Rooster shrugged, trying to seem as casual as he could, "Yeah.. right."
You smile, "Okay, then Rooster, guess what? I've got another date, and not from Tinder this time."
He stiffened, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, "Oh really?"
You nod, seemingly pleased with yourself, "Yep, it was a real meet-cute too. He helped me reach a top shelf at the supermarket and ended up asking for my number."
Rooster frowned, he didn't want another guy reaching high shelves for you, he could do that just fine. He didn't want you on another date with a guy at all. He really wanted to kick himself, he never would have felt this way if he hadn't taken you out. Then again, the more he thought about it, he'd always had a soft spot for you. Why else would he go out of his way to pick you up on a date night, instead of going out on a date himself. If he wanted to go out with someone, he definitely could, he'd been given enough numbers at the Hard Deck to know that.
He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from you, "Well, I hope it goes well."
You laughed, "I don't know. You've set the bar way too high now, as soon as he disappoints me, I'm leaving."
Rooster internally hoped he would disappoint you as you said goodbye and walked off down the hall, heading home for the day. A thought came to mind that if you were together, he'd be joining you on your drive home. Maybe you'd both stay up together and watch a movie, order some takeout, then after..
He blinked a few times and shook his head, trying to clear his mind quickly. Once he was home, he had another sleepless night, the thought of you with someone else nagging at him.
-
The night of your big date, Rooster found himself sat with his friends in the Hard Deck, checking his phone every few minutes in case you needed him to pick you up. The longer it took for a text to come, the more riled up he got, wondering if it was going well, if he was going to have to see you both together anytime soon-
"Stop moping." Phoenix chuckled, interrupting his thoughts. He put his phone back in his pocket as she stood in front of him, sipping her beer.
Rooster scoffed, "I'm not moping, I'm fine."
"No, you're not." she smirked, sitting herself down next to him.
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Nat, I should be happy for her but.." he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, "It doesn't matter anyway, we're just friends."
She snorted, "So you finally realise you have feelings for her but it's too late because she's taken your advice and gone out with a decent guy, you both have really great timing."
Rooster frowned, "What?"
Phoenix put her beer down and faced him, "She had the biggest crush on you in Top Gun, don't tell me you didn't know."
Rooster's eyes widened, "She- No way."
"I can't believe you didn't know!" Phoenix chuckled, "It's just funny, she was convinced you'd never see her like that, I mean, you barely said two words to her our whole time there, and now.."
Rooster groaned, "She had a crush on me all that time and I missed my chance." his face fell into his hands as he mumbled, "I'm such an idiot."
Phoenix rolled her eyes, "Yeah, you are." he lifted his head and looked up at her, "You guys have been walking the line between friends and more than friends for a while now, I don't know how you don't see it, but she has feelings for you Rooster, just like you do for her."
"She's on another date right now with another guy-"
Rooster felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
Hey are you free? Could use some saving right about now.
It was from you. Phoenix read the message over Rooster's shoulder, "Go get your girl."
-
You sat on a bench a few minutes down from the restaurant you'd left. Rooster was on his way, and really this was always the best part of a date for you anyways, joking around with him in the car on the way home. Yet you couldn't help but feel slightly dejected, since you'd really gotten your hopes up for tonight and the guy ended up being exactly like the rest.
You looked up as his bronco stopped in front of you. You were about to stand when the engine switched off and Rooster got out, sitting himself down on the bench beside you.
"You okay?" he asked.
You shrugged and nodded, "I'm fine, guess I just thought he would be different but he wouldn't even look up from his phone." you sighed, "Then he expected me to want to go back to his place, after barely saying two words to me all night! That was when I messaged you."
He nodded, "Good." he cleared his throat, "You had a crush on me back in Top Gun, huh?"
Your eyes went wide, "What? Who told you that?"
He smiled a little, "You know why I wasn't friendly with you back then?" you frowned in confusion as he continued, turning to face you on the bench, "Because when I first saw you, I wanted to ask you out, but I also wanted to be the best, so that had to come first for a while."
"I don't understand," you said, turning to face him too.
He chuckled, his eyes stuck on yours as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, "I told you, I knew you'd be a distraction."
Your eyes met as you asked, "Wait- You liked me?" Rooster nodded, he was playing with a piece of your hair, twirling it around his finger, "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I've realised the crush I had on you never went away, and I've gotten to be the best, so now I wanna tackle the asking you out part." he replied, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.
You raised your eyebrows, smiling a little and leaning into his touch, "The perfect second date?" He nodded as you said, "Okay, Rooster."
He leaned in a little, "I think from now on you should call me Bradley."
You slowly nodded, smiling and muttering, "Okay, Bradley." He smiled back at you, before he leaned in and kissed you gently. His hands travelled from your cheeks down to your waist and his thumb began rubbing circles on your hips. Rooster was in heaven, your kiss every bit as good as he thought it would be.
When you broke away from each other, breathless and red-faced, he tenderly kissed your head. You smiled, "I thought you didn't kiss until the second date."
"If our second date has to be on a random bench for me to finally kiss you, then I'll take it."
#bradley bradsaw x reader#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster imagine#rooster top gun#rooster x reader#rooster x you
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*~Period Drama~* Thursday
A/N: Guess this one won XD Very excited, the end is near for this series and then I can start to hyper-focus on ANOTHER SERIES. Please tell me if you want to be tagged for any of my series! Pairings: Malleus/Jamil/Azul/Yuu poly WordCount: 7.1K Warnings: Allusions to assault briefly, She/They OC Pronouns
@twistedcece @deltrea @krenenbaker @koebishrimpuwu @cat100200 @emyluwinter @obsessionswithfandoms @ady-hilborn @lucid-stories @girl-nahh-two @itz-hydrodeptus-foxy7 @chyluna @riddlesimps @death-the-jo @a-twistedheartslonging @qixlin @chaosistheonlyway @welcome-to-my-horde @abell2029cluster @kirans-wonderland @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @the-ace-reader @iamsoconfusedallofthetime @chroniccorvus @marvelous-maxi @prolonged-eyecontact @lozplayer @jabberwocky-warrior @thateldribitch @bun-lapin @mel1rose @ladyraeka @ladyzsgolla @kimdourden @noncreativepage-blog @girl-nahh-two @shironakuronatasa @colombia-chan @roseapov @anunholyabomination @koebi-channnn
Start, Part 2 (Octavinelle), Part 3 (Heartslabyul), Part 4 (Savanaclaw), Part 4.5 (Diasomnia pt1), Part 5 (Diasomnia pt2), Part 6 (Pomfiore), Part 7 (Here)
The Pomefiore trio didn't stay the night. Vil commented that they had already skipped their afternoon classes and he wouldn't allow them all to get more off routine by spending the night. Thankfully, Vil helped Yuu properly twist and wrap their hair with Rook producing a silk scarf from seemingly nowhere before they left.
Hours later, Crewel arrived with even more period panties in his possession along with their dinner. He asked multiple questions; if the seams were too tight, if the fabric felt uncomfortable, if anything had leaked. Delighted that all seemed proper, Crewel launched into how he had never thought of the need for such a product. But he admitted that such areas on the body had fluid leaking from them at some point. It'd only make sense that if it was made they'd at least look fashionable.
Crewel stated that he would speak to his aunt, the current design head of his family's fashion house, about the underwear and if she saw a market for it.
“If so, I will make sure you get a cut. Since you were the one to insight such a need…”
He left them a small pamphlet with info on taking care of their new underwear before leaving for the night, hugging them tightly and patting them on the head.
Another hour later, Malleus and Lilia had returned to the house. Malleus was pouting heavily and crawled into the nest to hold them with no word. Lilia sighed, explaining that Malleus spent the entire school day keeping Jamil and Azul trapped in the Mostro Lounge back office. The prince tried his best but Lilia and Jamil remained firm on not allowing Malleus to change their prior agreement. Azul proved to be the weakest link in half-siding with Malleus. While he didn't fully agree with Malleus impregnating Yuu as soon as possible, he did state that something had to be done about their periods in the long term.
‘They were on campus for no more than four hours; the smell of blood still lingers in places…’
Yuu laughed, turning in Malleus’s hold to hug him back, “Do you still smell blood now?”
“...” Malleus’s eyes widen, “Now that you ask, no. Has your ailment ceased?”
“Nope. Still bleeding, but…” Yuu lifted their night dress, showing the brightly patterned underwear before lowering their gown, “Crewel got me cute new underwear to contain my biohazard.”
Lilia sighed, sitting beside the couple in the nest, “Well, that's good at least. Though didn't you say your normal cycle only lasts four days? Shouldn't it have eased by now?”
“I mean…it should. But it also wasn't normal for me to not get it for nearly half a year. Best I can do right now is play it by ear”
Malleus pouts, eyes glaring at the wall as though it could fix anything and simply refuses to help, “I dislike this, I dislike this greatly.”
“Aw…” Yuu tilted their head back, pressing a kiss to Malleus’s jawline before snuggling back into his embrace, “I hate it too. Wanna watch a movie with me?”
“...It would be an upsetting one, wouldn’t it?”
“Most of my favorite movies upset you guys. But, no, it shouldn't.” Yuu clicked at their laptop playing up their Netflix, “It's called ‘Damsel’. It's got a dragon in it-”
“Does the dragon die?” Lilia quickly asked, eyeing the screen in distrust. Yuu had claimed many times they would love a movie, only to then show them deeply distressing media.
“No, the dragon lives and even gets his just revenge-”
Malleus looks at the screen with a suspicious eye, “Does a woman die within the first few moments of this film?” Malleus had watched many movies with Yuu, and every time they insisted he would love a movie a woman would be dead within the first few minutes of the film.
Yuu playfully slapped their hand over Malleus’s mouth, pressing play on the video, “It's for the plot, now shush, and watch the damn movie.”
Malleus was dragged out of the nest by Lilia early in the morning, forced to gaze at Yuu’s equally upset self before being marched back to Diasomnia. Seems part of Malleus’s punishment for kidnapping and detaining Azul and Jamil was that he wasn't allowed more than eight hours of supervised ‘Yuu Time’. So once those hours were up Lilia was manhandling a nearly seven-foot pouting dragon out of a sleeping Yuu's embrace and out of Ramshackle.
Yuu sighed, starfishing in the nest with a severe pout. Most of their period symptoms had eased, though they were still bleeding and bloated. The number of techniques Vil and Rook had given them helped what little of their cramps were left without the need for pain medication. So now all they were left with was an intense sense of boredom.
After the sun had started to peak through the windows, Yuu decided they might as well get started on their extensive chores list. One could only put off washing dishes for so long…But, now, staring into the sink filled with dishes, Yuu wondered if they could…pretend they didn't see them. Each side had dishes neglected and stacked neatly against the porcelain. Plates, pots, and pans from the past week untouched and unsoaked. Looking around the room only made their body cry out more to go back to the nest and sleep. Floyd cooking was already a coin toss on how much of a mess he left behind and they lost. But it didn't help at all that Lilia had been in the kitchen only a few days ago as well. Scraps of food burnt and crumbled on the floor that was long overdue to be swept.
More than likely the only reason the dishes were in the sink was because Vil had put them there as a form of passive-aggressively telling them to wash them.
While they were wondering if they could put their cutting board over the sink to block out the image, knocks rang out downstairs, pelted in a constant rhythmic beat. Yuu walked from the kitchen, smiling as they saw a flash of white, burgundy, and gold from the window beside the front door. They wait, opening the door on an offbeat to Kalim’s surprised expression making the Scarabia second-year whine.
“Yuu! I had a really good beat going…”
“Hello to you too, Kalim. What do I owe this visit?”
Kalim smiled, resting his hands on his hips when he remembered why he was there, “Well, me and Jamil-”
“Jamil's here?”
Kalim laughed, not at all offended when Yuu lightly shoved him out of the doorway to look down the path. Sure enough, the vice warden was walking up the stone steps, looking through a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder and wheeling a rolling cart filled with cleaning supplies behind him with the other.
Smiling, Yuu quickly unwrapped her hair to allow the curls to seductively frame her face and wave, “Hi, Jamil~! Let me help you bring that stuff in-”
Yuu had barely placed their foot outside of the house's threshold when Jamil snapped his eyes toward them. Glaring hard enough that a flicker of red seemed to spawn in his pupils before he yelled, “Get back in the fucking house!”
“Okay. Damn.”
Yuu and Kalim both scurried into the house, each wearing a mildly fearful expression but waiting patiently for Jamil to walk inside like chastised children.
Once through the doorway Jamil closed and locked the door, situating his cart against the entryway wall. He pulled Yuu closer by the hip, his other hand resting gently on the back of their neck as he pressed his lips against theirs. The kiss lasted only a few seconds before he pulled away, giving their lips a final peck at the corner before wrapping both arms around them in an embrace. Yuu hummed, returning the affectionate hold before allowing Jamil to pull away.
Yuu smiled, tilting their head in question, “What's got you all worked up? That was a ‘Put that shit back’ kinda yell…”
“The last time you left this house, you bled all over the campus and Leona-san nearly died.”
“I didn't bleed anywhere and what the fuck does my bleeding pussy have to do with Leona dying!? He was fine the last I saw him!”
Jamil huffed, pressing one last kiss to Yuu's temple before collecting his cleaning cart, “I’m sure Leona-san would blame you for the fact he had to fight Malleus to keep him from storming Ramshackle.”
Yuu's face pinched, a hybrid expression of annoyance and confusion on their face. Turning to Kalim they gestured as though he'd have the answer they were seeking, “When was this!?”
Kalim laughed, shrugging his shoulders, “Well, there was that massive storm on Monday. A tree got tossed into the library.”
Yuu frowned, folding their arms and rolling their eyes, “I'm not taking responsibility for that. All I did was bleed and bitch. I didn't attempt murder even once Monday!”
“Uh-huh, sure hayati. Go sit with Kalim for a few hours while I go clean up.”
Jamil knew his datemate; habitually, emotionally, and physically. Every mannerism filed away in his head, be it for his own sake of mind or just because he found their quirks cute. Jamil knew in their current state of constant pain, Yuu was not doing upkeep at their normal pace. And while a part of him groaned in annoyance — one of the few days off from school he allowed himself and he's going to spend it cleaning his datmate's dumpster fire of a house — he knew that Yuu's health and mood would only improve once chores were done.
Yuu frowns even harder, moving to grab Jamil's cart and pull the sophomore back, “Wha-no! Jamil, you don't need to do my chores for me. I just gotta...suck it up and do them…and I will…at some point. But-!”
“No, buts, hayati.” Jamil yanks the cart from Yuu, cupping their cheek and caressing it with a soft smile. He looked into their eyes, snake charmer not even needed as he cooed, “Let me take care of you, okay, baby?”
Yuu instantly yielded, giggling and twirling a strand of their curly hair, “Ehehehehehe, okay Jamil~...”
Seeing his datemate properly subdued, Jamil quickly dropped his flirty tone and moved to the kitchen, “Good. Kalim, look after them for me.”
“You can count on me, Jamil!” Kalim was already guiding a still giggling Yuu toward the lounge at the back of the house with a gentle push to their shoulders.
Kalim had adored the nest instantly, flopping into the cushions like it was his own bed. He wanted to add to it, making it even bigger with some fine patterned blankets back in Scarabia. Maybe a few more pillows-
Yuu, finally free from the effects of Jamil's easy-going smile and hooded eyes, had laughed and quickly stopped the housewarden from touching the nest in an effort to change it. Stating that Malleus had built it just for them and they really liked how it looked as is. While he pouted, he yielded to Yuu’s desires, only after she had promised to make a pillow fort in Scarabia once they were all better.
While cozy in the nest, Kalim had produced a sleeve of artisan crackers that he offered to feed them. Yuu agreed, though confused on why Kalim wanted to feed them. But quickly understood as the second-year smiled and held a cracker up, “Pspspspspspsps-”
“KALIM-”
Now lounging cozy in the nest, the sleeve of crackers slowly disappearing between them. Chatting contently with the idea of talking until Jamil called them for lunch. Chats that became on and off in topic as Kalim had locked eyes with a faded smear of blood on one of the towels under his leg. He would answer Yuu's questions after a second of staring at the smudged, rusty stain in total focus. Before long, he couldn't take the vision of it, his own mind working against him. Images of blood splatters on finely threaded sheets, children wailing in terror as innocent mothers and siblings lay in the deep red puddles during what should have been joyous celebrations. Even the more horrifying scenarios of the Viper family quickly disposing of stained bedding, older sisters and younger moms being consoled as they cried in the early mornings. Suddenly Kalim reached forward, grasping onto Yuu's hand and holding it tightly to his chest.
Kalim smiled, an edge of something uncharacteristically serious clinging to the corners, “Yuu, can I be honest?”
“Um…Yeah? Go for it, Kalim.”
“I've got a lot of moms. Lots of siblings too, so there are a lot of people in my house all the time. And…” Kalim’s grip on their hand tightens, his smile falling a bit as his eyes cast downward, “A lot of…a lot of bad stuff happens at my house sometimes. Stuff that shouldn't ever happen…so…you can tell me, ya know? I can take it.”
“...Tell you what?”
Kalim looks back up, crimson eyes cold and more determined than Yuu had ever seen them, “Yuu, if someone hurt you, you can tell me. No matter who you say did it, I'll believe you and take care of it.” Kalim placed one hand against their shoulder, the other squeezing their joint palms to his heart, “You're like a sister to me. You make Jamil happy and that's the most wonderful thing I could ever ask of a friend of mine. If someone did something to you and you lied for whatever reason, you can tell me the truth now and I'll believe you no matter what.”
…
Yuu couldn't stop the snort they made, head tilting down as they strained against a laugh. Nothing Kalim said was funny, it was purely a moment of stunned reaction rather than comedy. Last Saturday seemed so long ago, the cloud of confusion and panic as their friends all came to the conclusion they had been assaulted, the horror they all felt and the pure devastation a few of them displayed. Each of them clearly ready and willing to maim whoever they pointed a finger at. It was…strangely heartwarming.
Covering their mouth, they moved their hand from Kalim’s hold to tug him closer into a hug, “No one hurt me, I swear. But, thank you for being so willing to believe me no matter what. It makes me feel…safe.”
Kalim hugs back just as tight, taking a deep breath before letting out a shuddering sigh. Smiling, he nuzzled into Yuu's shoulder before pulling away, “That's a relief…but…” his expression turns concerned, eyes drifting downward, “Are you…just leaking blood from down there?”
“Yep…”
“...” Kalim leaned away, his arms getting pressed between his legs and sympathy pains slowly crept into his gut as he grimaced, “I can't catch it right?”
Yuu falls over in the nest, cackling loudly while Kalim kept looking worried, “Kalim. I swear to you, your pussy isn't going to spontaneously start peeling and juicing it. And if it does, that's a concern. Get that checked out, babes.”
“Well, you should get checked out too then! Let me bring one of my doctors to the school, they won't say a word about how weird your body is and we can make sure you're healthy!”
“The fuck-How weird my body is? Fuck you.” Yuu snicked, rolling on the nest to tilt their head back to smile up to Kalim, “No. I'm going to ignore every ailment my body develops until it's too late like the born American I am.”
“Yuu, that's concerning!”
Kalim wanted a snack, a snack he begged her to let him make himself. The heir had stated he was getting better in the kitchen compared to the first few cooking lessons Yuu and Jamil had given him. Kalim had proudly bragged that Jamil had even allowed him to use the stove unattended now.
(Yuu knew from Jamil’s past venting it was only to watch boiling water, but it was using the stove…)
The two walked into the kitchen, noticing the sweet scent of grapefruit in the halls. A guilty feeling settled in Yuu’s stomach after seeing how clean their kitchen was in the single hour they and Kalim had sat and chatted in the lounge. The dishes were all washed, the sink and cabinets wiped down of every sauce splatter Yuu had long neglected. The floor was swept to perfection and a part of Yuu hoped that the fresh fruit adjacent smell was only the simmer pot and not a freshly mopped floor. Looking into the single pot on the stove, Kalim and Yuu gave pleased hums as they took in the scent of sliced grapefruits, vanilla beans, and sprigs of fresh thyme.
With the instructions of being careful should a fairy be sleeping in any of the pots or in the oven, Yuu let the Scarabia warden have free reign of their kitchen while they went searching for their boyfriend.
The muted sound of their washer knocking against the wall led them toward the laundry room.
The Ramshackle laundry room was one of the few rooms that weren’t locked but simply hidden from view. The Tweels had been the ones to find it during Azul’s brief ownership of the building. A false wall that could unlatched and slid to the side to show a certified massive-sized matching washer and dryer set, a wall of cabinets and a wooden topped counter island. Jade had cleaned up the room a bit as an ‘apology’ for giving them such a hard time during the duration of their contract. Floyd had stated he wasn’t sorry but to call him if they ever used the laundry powder found in the room; apparently it had been discontinued years ago for safety reasons.
Dubious washing powder aside, the laundry room was weirdly whimsical. Over the years, a bush had managed to break a window to grow throughout the room making a living ivy wall all along one side of the space. The vines had grown strong enough over time to act as a crisscross of clothing lines. Walking into the room, Yuu watched Jamil stare in complete focus at a towel in his hand standing at the island. The duffle bag was opened on the counter, a few jars and bottles with handwritten labels pulled from it and one opened in Jamil’s free hand. He watched whatever the mixture was doing before moving the towel under the running water of the built-in sink.
Yuu knocked on the doorway, smiling when Jamil looked up from his task, “What ya doing?”
“Why are you here? Go entertain Kalim.”
“You are so mean to me. Just for that, I'm gonna bother you and love you and-”
Jamil sighed, holding up the towel in his hands, “Hayati, please. I'm trying to spot-check things you bled on.”
Yuu frowned, walking over and leaning against the counter to stare at Jamil's concentrated face, “You can do that and let me kiss you on the mouth…”
“Normally, I'd love to make out with you while waiting for laundry to run its cycle, but I need to focus. Blood is easy for me to get out of things at this point. But blood and whatever else is coming out of you changes how the detergents react.” The first few towels with corroded holes from too strong a solution mix backing up his claims…
Pouting, Yuu bumped their hip against Jamil's. They repeated the motion until the sophomore finally yielded and reached for their hand, holding it gently as a blush dusted onto his cheeks. Smiling, Yuu leaned their head against Jamil's shoulder muttering under their breath, “Thank you.”
“Just let me work in peace…”
Once their load of pre-period clothing was in the dryer, Jamil had remarked that their period blood was easier to remove than normal blood spills surprisingly enough. And that he would replace the few towels the protein dissolvant had eaten though. Then he demanded they bring him every last article they had bled on. The longer they remained untreated, the harder the stains would be to remove.
Jamil had already started to separate the towels by dark and lights, taking a moment to gently shove Yuu away from his side, “Go back to the lounge with Kalim; I’ve got this handled.”
“Oh, Kalim’s in the kitchen-”
“He’s what-”
“It’s fine! He just wanted a snack-”
“The stove is on-”
“Jamil.” Yuu had managed to keep the second-year from rushing out of the room, tugging him back by the arm and smiling at his panicked expression, “Kalim is a seventeen-year-old boy. He can be trusted to work a stove. Remember? How you're both trying to be less codependent? How Kalim can manage to make himself a snack without you having to drop everything to make it for him?”
“...” The pout Jamil turns away to hide was foul, almost a sneer if Yuu could have looked at it closer. He was quiet for a few more moments before sighing, “Fine…but if I smell smoke-.”
“He'll be fine.” Please don't let that fucking jinx anything…
Two sets of hands were better than one. A simple fact Yuu kept repeating until Jamil yielded again to their whims. Now they followed him around the house, helping to collect any stray articles that had their period blood on them. Jamil groaned lightly as he looked at the nest. He was aware every couch cushion was used to construct it, along with nearly every last clean pillow, towel, and bedding. But, he wouldn't be able to check if anything was dirty until the nest went away. A feat he wasn't going to perform himself since both Yuu and Malleus were fond of the structure.
So he picked the next best location of Yuu’s bedroom. A mistake on many parts, but he honestly expected no less…
He stared into the room, Yuu sheepishly standing beside him and refusing to look even vaguely in his direction. Jamil wasn't sure if the room was an absolute mess when the group had stormed the area on Saturday, but he could see it was the aforementioned dumpster fire he was expecting the rest of the house to be. Clothing was everywhere, a pair of patterned pj shorts on the ground with a darkened blood stain on the crotch, equally blood-spotted towels in a pile and bedding swirled around as though someone fought their way out. There were several empty bowls, snack wrappers, and juice bottles littering every surface, nearly twelve bottles were all on a single end table.
Jamil turned to Yuu, sighing deeply when they still refused to meet his eyes, “I'm not mad-”
“Yes, you are.”
“You're right, I'm furious. How do you let it get so bad?”
“In my defense…I haven’t been up here for a few days-”
“Yuu, I bought you that bottle of juice.” Jamil pointed to the bedside table, eyes locked on a half-empty bottle of a limited-edition flavor that both Kalim and Yuu had begged him to let them try, “That bottle has been here at least a week.”
“Look-”
“I am. That’s why I’m upset.”
“Let’s just clean this up and you can scold me later. Help me strip the bed.”
Jamil grumbled, looking at the floor and making a mental note to bring his cart upstairs to mop Yuu’s bedroom once she was distracted with Kalim again. While Yuu started to remove the numerous bottles from the side tables, Jamil grabbed the edge of a blanket and pulled it off the bed only to jump at the loud thud that followed. Both looked at the floor under the blanket Jamil had In his hands.
A jug. A half-full jug of bright blue liquid with a label consisting of cartoon-styled fruit and waves.
“...” Jamil grabbed Yuu before she could scurry away from him. Pointing at the juice container he tilted his head with a smile, “What is this? Because it surely can't be an entire gallon of juice. In your bed. Because that'd be insane, wouldn't it?”
“...I mean it's mostly empty-”
“Yuu.”
“It's not that bad! I get thirsty at night and sometimes I don't want to go all the way downstairs for a glass of water…”
Jamil jerkingly gestured to the ensuite bathroom, no more than four feet away from where they were both standing.
“Bathroom water is good, but kitchen sink water hits different, you know?”
“If I didn't love you…”
Jamil tried to keep quiet as they both stripped the bed. With every blanket and pillow removed, more and more items were revealed; half-eaten bags of chips, opened containers of cookies, more select bottles of juice and soda. The real kicker was the empty containers, each closed tightly to not let crumbs out onto the sheets.
Pulling out another package of cookies, Jamil cast a withering glare at Yuu, “Please tell me you aren’t teaching Kalim how to do this…”
Yuu laughed, waving off their boyfriend’s concern, “Oh, no. Bedrotting is way too advanced for him. He’d get crumbs everywhere just putting a plate on his bed.”
“At least we’re in agreement there…” He finally pulled the sheet off the bed, clicking his tongue at seeing his worst expectation. The number of towels and blankets still allowed the blood to reach the mattress, barely staining the cotton fabric top a dull red, but still visible, “Damn…How much do you bleed during this? You’ve been taking the iron supplements, right?”
“Yeah…” Yuu walked over, frowning at seeing they had stained their mattress, “I’ll be honest, I barely know what the normal amount to bleed is. It’s also lasting longer than normal though…”
“Hmm…” Jamil placed the folded sheet on the bed, moving to press his hands against Yuu’s face and neck as a means to check them over, “I’m only noticing it now, but you’re a little bloated. Is that part of it? Do you know how long it lasts? Bloating could be a sign of something else being wrong…”
Yuu smiles, placing their hands over Jamil’s and pulling them away, “Yes, the bloating is part of it. I’ll be fine once this hell week is over. I'm used to this only lasting like four days. The whole week is just cruel and unusual…”
“Four days?”
“Jesus. You said that like when I told you I’ve eaten belladonna berries as a child. The fuck are periods like here?”
“A lot less bloody for one…And not as long. Menses generally isn’t normal unless it’s after birth, and even then it’s fairly rare if done in a comfortable medical setting.”
“Is the word actually menses? Because that’s hilarious. The medical name for a period is called menstruation.”
“...‘Menses’ is the term for vaginal bleeding and discharge. The process is commonly known as ‘The Refresh’. Thinking it over it’s decently similar; the food cravings, agitated moods, lethargy. However, The Refresh lasts, at most, two days. Any longer than that and it’s a medical concern. I’ve never heard of the process being painful either…” Growing up with a younger sister and a household that had a revolving door of pregnant women made him more knowledgeable than he realized.
“...” Yuu bit her lip, smiling and nodding their head as a mask to the spike of fury that coursed through them, “I will find out how to cast endometriosis and destroy nations…”
“What the fuck is endometriosis?”
“Something that’ll take out half you fuckers, but whatever.” Yuu sighed, flopping down onto the bare bed and letting themselves metaphorically puddle into the slab.
Jamil sat beside them on the mattress, running his hand along their back and massaging in small intervals, “The pain can get that bad…? How do you feel now? You don’t have it right, endometriosis? Or is it a phase of this?”
“Stop asking me questions, you’re worse than Riddle…” Yuu moved their face from the cotton top of the mattress, looking from the corner of their eyes at Jamil, “I don’t think I have it…cramps are just really bad but not like…to the point of ‘I need hospital attention bad’, I think…Periods are just sucky and I hate it.”
“Are there other ways to help? You aren't taking any more pain potions, right? You've been taking…a lot in a small amount of time…”
Yuu hums, reaching a hand to play with the end of Jamil's braid, “I mean…orgasms help with pain relief? But, Vil taught me a bunch of other stuff yesterday to help with the cramps. Plus just a nice soak in warm water does wonders…Jamil?”
“...” Shrugging his shoulders, Jamil slipped off the bed, “Eh, it's just blood.”
Yuu threw a questioning glance over their shoulder, “Wha-Jamil!?” She shrieked, being flipped onto her back. Raising up on her elbows, she sees Jamil kneeling between her now-opened legs.
The second-year smirks, his hands already massaging the tops of her thighs, “I'm down here all the time anyway. Might as well give you some relief.”
She sputters, smiling and trying to flip back over and cross her legs, “Oh, my god. You didn't even ask-” another tug pulls her closer to him and moving her hips over the edge of the bed and letting him kiss against their pelvic, “JAMIL!”
“Kalim, are you still in the kitchen? What have you been-...” Yuu froze in the archway of the kitchen, looking at the now-dressed small square table pushed against the wall.
Perking up from the freezer door, Kalim smiled, “Oh, hi Yuu! I just finished making the brownie ice cream sandwiches, but everything else is ready for lunch. Where's Jamil?”
“Washing his face. Kalim, did you order this food?” They pointed at the table, bewildered at the spread.
Sitting at the center of the table was one of their glass serving pitchers filled with juice, a platter of chicken tenders, and two smaller serving bowls of what looked to be mixed vegetables and mashed potatoes. There were placemats and proper dishware all set for three people. Yuu even noticed beside the pitcher was a napkin sloppily folded to look like a candle.
He frowns, folding his arms, “No? I made it! Since Jamil was so busy cleaning, I thought I would help out by making us lunch.” He smiled, closing his eyes with an expression that spoke of how proud he was of himself, “I made us girl dinner for lunch all on my own!”
Yuu opened their mouth, poised to correct the housewarden only for Jamil to appear behind her.
Jamil was gently yet insistently pushing Yuu away from the doorway, “You know I don't like you being in the kitchen while I cook.”
“You don't like anyone being in the kitchen when you cook. But, Jamil, look! Kalim made things…”
Looking at the table in silence, Jamil surveyed the dishes before turning to Kalim with a look of disappointment, “You know you're not supposed to open doors to let people inside.”
“I? I didn't order this? I made it!”
Jamil pointed to the table, brows furrowed and looking far too much like a frustrated mother, “You expect me to believe you made chicken tenders, by hand?”
Kalim opened his mouth but quickly closed it, looking to the side sheepishly, “I…ok, I didn't do that.” he gestured to the large fridge he was still standing by, “But Yuu had a bag of chicken tenders in her freezer that I put in the air fryer. I got the vegetables from a can and heated them up. And, I put three tablespoons of butter and garlic salt to taste in the instant potatoes.”
Yuu flitted their hands like an excited mother, smiling before pressing against Jamil to make sure he was listening to Kalim, “Tell him about the brownies. You said something about brownies.”
“Oh! Yeah. You had a container of brownies on your snack cart that were going out of date. So I was extra careful and cut them to make sandwiches with some ice cream I found.”
Kalim smiled, hands on his hips as he took his stance in pride again, “I made girl dinner all myself.”
“You didn't even make girl dinner, you just made dinner. Kalim! You cooked! All on your own!” Yuu rushed over, arms wrapping around his waist and lifting him up to spin him in the hug, “You cooked! I'm so proud of you!”
Laughing loudly, hugging Yuu back and nuzzling his head against her’s. He looks over, still smiling wide only to freeze and have his smile drop at seeing his friend’s expression, “...Jamil?”
The second Scarabia student was silent, staring at the table filled with food with a blank expression. His eyes seemed to scan every last dish on the table trying to find anything wrong. Possibly a visible flaw in the food or something to point to poisoning or poor preparation.
“...” Setting Kalim back down Yuu pats Jamil's chest, rolling her eyes and trying to help him to the table to sit, “He's just having a baby mental breakdown. Once he snaps out of it, he'll be just as proud. Let's eat!”
Jamil snapped back the second he bit into one of the tenders. He grabbed the platter, taking it back to the air fryer and placed half of them inside, “You put all of these in at once didn't you?”
“Yes? I put a lot in to make sure we'd have plenty to share!”
“Kalim, these weren't cooked properly…”
“Ah…My bad.”
Besides the small threat of salmonella poisoning, the rest of the day went peacefully. Both Yuu and Kalim tagged along as Jamil found more places to clean. They had managed to annoy him enough before they had even started the second load of laundry, tossing clothing and having a faux fashion show instead of folding, like Jamil had asked of them. So they were banished back to the lounge.
Jamil appeared again hours later, sighing and saying that all of Yuu's laundry was washed, dried, folded, and placed in their appropriate areas. He then plopped face-first into the nest, only moving enough to wrap an arm around Yuu's waist and groan that they were too messy to live alone. Prompting Kalim to once again offer to permanently house them not only in Scarabia, but his family's estate. An idea that was instantly vetoed on different fronts by the couple.
As the trio were just thinking of what to make for actual dinner, the front door opened. Lilia and Malleus entered the lounge, each pleasantly surprised to see their respective favorite Scarabia boy in the nest with Yuu.
Lilia lifted up a large carry bag with the logo of the Mostro Lounge, a smile on his face, “Good thing Floyd was in such a good mood today, he gave us extra on our order.”
Malleus was already in the nest, sharing a kiss with Yuu before tucking hair behind Jamil's ear to kiss his cheek, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Jamil didn't look up, but the tips of his ears had slowly turned red the second Malleus’s fingertips grazed across his cheek. Of any of them, he had yet to get used to Malleus’s almost spontaneous bouts of affection. He turned his head more into Yuu's thigh, praying it could hide the rosy tint of his cheeks, “We didn't have dinner plans yet, so…I don't see why not…”
Even after dinner, neither Scarabia boy was allowed to leave. The thought never crossed Kalim’s mind and Jamil was trapped under Malleus’s arm, the horned fae being more affectionate as an apology for threatening him on Monday. Lying between his two warmer-blooded lovers, arms locked around their waists to hold them close in a cuddle. Kalim and Lilia were crowded close, the two vibing to the low music from Kalim’s phone and drifting off to sleep.
Yuu hummed, nuzzling into Malleus’s chest, “This is nice…we should invite Azul to cuddle with us.”
Jamil reaches a hand up, eyes still closed as he presses a finger to Yuu's lips in a silent motion to be quiet, “Let's not traumatize him any more than he has been…”
Malleus frowns at Jamil, pouting as Lilia snickers, “I already apologized for scaring you both during our talk yesterday and Monday.”
“Also, why is me asking him to come cuddle a cause for fear?”
Opening his eyes, sighing and lifting his head from Malleus’s chest to raise an eyebrow, “You've noticed how he's almost going out his way to avoid being around you?”
Yuu shrugged, pouting and pressing her cheek harder against Malleus, “I just thought he was busy…”
Malleus looked to the side, remembering how squeamish and withdrawn the Octavinelle student was when discussing Yuu's period, “He was very…frightened the last I saw him. Your period seems to be a factor of intimidation for him.”
“Female caecilians are aggressive during mating season, enough so that they could potentially kill the male trying to mate with them.” Jamil groaned, rolling his eyes remembering the day's long talk he was magically spawned into, “It was why he nearly agreed with Malleus to jump-start your pregnancy vow…”
“I still believe I'm justified in my stance. Azul would also have nothing to fear if Yuu was already pregnant.”
“Malleus, we’ve talked about this, my period can still happen if I’m pregnant-”
Jamil snapped to glare at Yuu, “I’m sorry, what-”
Yuu smiled, a hand moving to pat Jamil’s face to ‘calm’ him, “Anyway, since we’re talking about stuff that no one wants to talk about, what’s this about you almost killing Leona?”
“...” Malleus blinked, quirking his lip as he looked off to the side, clearly showing his disinterest, “Kingscholar was…fine the last I saw him.”
“And when was that?”
“A few…days ago?”
Jamil’s hard stare shifted to Malleus, “Was that a question?”
“I don’t tend to think much, of Kingscholar.”
Yuu snickered, “Don’t you mean about?”
“I don’t see the difference.”
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#twst wonderland#yuu oc#jamil viper#kalim al asim#malleus draconia#lilia vanrouge#papa crewel#malleus x jamil x azul x yuu#jamil x yuu#jamil x reader
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Swan song
Professor Viktor x TA Reader
[PART 1]。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆[PART 2] ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆[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, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust
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: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.
He didn’t lie.
Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.
When did he find the time?
Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months.
You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn.
He must have read it multiple times.
“Coffee?” He offers.
“Yes, please.”
As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”
You frown. “What was what for?”
“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”
“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”
“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.”
Uh oh.
As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.
“Why’s that?”
“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill. “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”
The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain.
You wish they were right.
You’re glad they’re not.
You look at Viktor.
“Do you mind it?”
The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.
“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”
“Trying not to.”
The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.
“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”
Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.
“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”
“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”
“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”
At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.
“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.
“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”
“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”
“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”
So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:
“Why wasn’t your name added on?”
Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”
Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.
Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.
“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”
”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”
“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”
The implication dizzies you. Is he…?
But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.
He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.
“I was thinking it could be you.”
—
You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.
It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant.
It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.
As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles.
You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts.
And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.
And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.
It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.
When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.
And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.
The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.
You want to taste them.
He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.
“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”
“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”
And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.
“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”
Oh, did you.
“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”
His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for.
“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat.
And decides to torture you.
Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.
You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—
You need to stop.
And you most certainly need help.
“Is something the matter?”
It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.
“Wh— me? No. Why?”
And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.
“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.
“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.
“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too. “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”
Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it.
And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.
“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”
This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.
“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”
He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.
—
“I brought you something.”
It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.
You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate?
“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”
“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office.
The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.
He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”
Your chest swells so much it hurts.
He made you soup?
“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
“I wanted to. Have a seat.”
You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.
As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.
“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“
“I do care.”
And that rings true not just for the borscht.
It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.
It’s November before you know it.
As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.
And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks.
It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens.
You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging.
“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”
You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together.
“I’m free right now,” you suggest.
Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”
Right.
“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”
“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”
“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”
“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”
—
Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.
Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away.
“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”
He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up.
There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.
“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.
Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.
“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”
“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”
“You grew up in Russia?”
He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”
“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”
With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.
But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.
“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”
Oh.
“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”
“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”
Changed his name?
The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…
“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”
Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.
“Sorry.”
You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.
You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.
Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.
“Come closer.”
God help you.
You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder.
He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.
The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.
“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room.
God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing.
It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles.
You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise.
Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.
“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”
With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before.
Much faster.
You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”
Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke.
“It is.“
You await the verdict with a bated breath.
“How much?”
Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.
“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—”
His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.
His hair’s tangled in his goggles.
“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically.
A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.
“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”
“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”
You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.
He listens.
After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs.
You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.
“Do you think you can do it?”
You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.
But yes. You think you do.
It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn.
You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.
As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully.
You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.
“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”
“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.
His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.
“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—
Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.
You need. To get. A grip.
“Sorry.”
You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes.
You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.
“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair.
Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.
You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.
Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.
“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.
He’s so warm.
You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him.
You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.
From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.
You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.
You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart.
You’re disgusting.
You need to put an end to this.
“You’re welcome, professor.”
With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.
You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny.
And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself.
“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”
“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed.
Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.
“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.
If he knew the half of it.
—
You’re late.
And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.
Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.
Viktor’s in a wheelchair.
And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs.
Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams.
He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…
“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”
Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.
“A shock wave.”
Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this…
He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.
“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”
You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture.
Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.
“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”
“Sorry.”
That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer.
“Just… do not let it happen again.”
As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.
And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors.
“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”
“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”
Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.
“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”
“I have it. I’ll be quick.”
“Thank you.”
And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.
Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate.
You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.
After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.
“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate.
You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.
“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.
“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.
“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?”
“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”
“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”
“A punishment for it, more like.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it.
You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.
You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool.
Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”
You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.
“I’m glad I could help,” you say.
—
Viktor isn’t there at all next week.
You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.
Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.
You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.
Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.
Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger
Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.
-Cecil B. Heimerdinger
9:32
Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.
Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number.
Would this count as an emergency?
Your phone beeps.
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.
9:34
Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.
9:35
Me
Thank you so much!
9:35
His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
Good luck 👍
9:42
It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka.
Who is that?
You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.
—
For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.
After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges.
“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”
“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today.
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
I did not mean for you to have to do this.
10:11
You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.
Me
Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)
12:02
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
I knew you could.
12:02
Thank you.
12:02
Me
Focus on resting up and getting well soon!
12:03
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?
12:05
He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications.
No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.
Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.
Me
I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?
12:05
Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda
If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.
12:06
My apartment is also an option.
12:06
The choice is obvious.
#viktor arcane#viktor arcane x reader#arcane viktor x reader#arcane viktor#viktor arcane x you#reader insert#my writing
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# 𝗢𝗣𝟴𝟭 ─── I WANNA HEAR YOU MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3
RACE WINNERS HAVE PRIVILEGES. those privileges don't always apply to their partners though. sometimes they have to earn things to get what they want. sometimes they're too fucking bratty to get anything ────── original prompt req.
PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You want me to beg? I don't think a winner should beg" PROMPTED TAGS . . . # gender neutral reader, submissive oscar piastri, praise kink, cum play ADD. TAGS . . . # light bondage, tied up, edging, mean reader for a bit, open ending WORD COUNT. . . # 1.1k
────── AO3 VERSION
Every Formula 1 win is special. You know that; the fact has settled in quite nicely when you’re dating such a great F1 driver. When Oscar wins for the first time, you know you need to make it special for him. Even if his team doesn’t think so.
Oscar is sat on the bed, hands bound tight with a red rope. The same rope follows from his hands to the rest of his limbs—forming a nice shape around his chest, wrapped around his hips and to his thighs. The rest is for pure aesthetics, and it's been done beautifully.
He's breathless as he's looking at you, cock red, and eyes glaring in need.
"Don't tease me," he grunts, more sounding like a whimper as he throws his head back.
Your hands act innocent as it's wrapped around the tearful cock—it leaks pre-cum with need. He lets out a silent moan as you play with him. Uncaring of how much pleasure you’re really relieving, you tease him as you believe he deserves.
“Fu-u-ucking~...” Oscar’s thighs shake in it's bounds. “Mmph... You're so annoying—"
"Am I?" you ask, smiling down at him. He tries so hard to fight it off but his hips are moving to your hand. Everytime he thrusts his hips, you loosen your grip. "Am I annoying, Oscar?"
"Yes," he hisses, "So annoying. I just want you- fuck."
"Then beg for it—" your hands tighten on his cock, a silent moan got his jaw to drop—"Beg for it, Oscar. I wanna hear you."
Weeks of edging him (and it's been weeks, you refuse to touch him if he doesn't score you a win again after Hungary) has his body moving feverishly. He can't stop shaking. His skin blushes red and dripping with sweat. Your boyfriend tries to keep himself still but you know all he wants is to fuck your hand.
Shaking his head, he says: "No. I w-won a race. Mmph... I don't need to beg."
Fine. "Have it your way."
You immediately pull away from him. His head flickers up to you, watching you as you stand from the bed. He's calling out to you but you're undressing yourself as you take something from the bedside drawer.
"Since my sweet boy doesn't want to co-operate, I guess I'll just have to make use of myself, hm?"
With your underwear thrown to the floor, you pull out some lube and a vibrator. You saw the moment his eyes cloud with lust; he gulped, stopping himself from drooling; his gaze fell to your sex as you position yourself on top of his face; his arms jerk in its restraints as it begged to touch you.
He calls out your name again. You ignore him. Instead, you pour lube on the toy and turn it on—the whirring of it silences Oscar. He watches as you press it against you, he watches as you moan softly at a toy pleasing you instead.
"I wanted to make you feel good tonight, baby," you say, grinding a little on the wand, "but you just don't wanna play with me."
"I do," he says, his bottom lip pouted. "Just... Don't wanna be teased anymore."
"I asked you to beg- fuck." You press it to you a little harder. He opens his mouth as he sees you drip a little. "You won't listen to me. So I guess I'll have to postpone my gift, hm? Make myself feel good instead."
Desire is etched into his expression. With his mouth agape, cheeks pink, and tongue eagerly awaiting for a single drop of your arousal, he's lost needing you.
But you keep your hands to yourself. He's forced to watch you relieve yourself. You know him. He's itching with the need to touch you. A safe word could be on the tip of his tongue but you know that this is the point where he wants to be good for you.
"Please," his voice is small and almost unheard through the loud vibrations. "I want... I want you again please."
You shake your head. "No, Oscar. You're gonna fucking watch me come all over your face before you get even anything."
He whines. "Please..! Just—If you let me go I'll be so good for you. Please..."
Though you want to hold him, use him, make him feel so special for his race win, you hold your promise. Lowering down to his face, he breathes you in and mouths just below your sex. He needs to put his mouth on you, you watch as it gets him so manic. It's getting a bit pathetic honestly.
"You look so good, baby," you say, finally giving your lost boy some attention. "I know that you can be good for me. Wait for me, okay?"
He whines. You tsk and shake your head. "None of that, baby. Be good for me and stick your tongue out—" he does immediately—"good boy. Good boy, Oscar. See? All you needed was... all you needed was to be shut up for a bit."
"I'm sorry, please, I want you so bad—"
"And you'll get me," you tell him. "Stay like that. I'm so fucking close. Stick your tongue out like a good boy and take me."
It's not long until you feel yourself approaching your end. Oscar lays so pliant beneath you. He keeps begging under his breath, just quiet enough to hope you're not listening. He knows when you're near. He's getting more twitchy—panting as if he's the one about to cum.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he moans at your words, "I'm gonna cum, baby. You wanna taste me? You wanna fucking taste it?"
He nods. He's getting dizzy as he tries to push his head up to get more of you—yet you keep pulling away. "Cum on me please," he begs, tongue out and anticipating the taste of you.
The sight drives you fucking mad. With a few strokes of the toy on you, you cum all over his awaiting mouth.
Oscar laps up your release eagerly. Your fingers go down to push some splattered cum from his cheeks and drag it down his lips. He thanks you silently as he licks your fingers. Eyes half open, he treasures your taste.
Your dirty fingers trail down his lips and to his chin. Your release makes a trail down and he's only showing you more of his skin. A laugh leaves you as he practically begs to be painted in your fluids.
"Such a good boy for me," you coo. "You wanna get your treat now?"
He's agreeing so quickly that it makes you wanna frame this moment. The moment when race winner Oscar Piastri is begging for you. You smile. "Okay, it's gonna be a long night, baby."
It's not like he would ask for anything more
🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . short oscar piastri fic cuz i was out my entire bday LMAO. anyways, hope anon saw this cuz i </3 am sorry for all these late requests. my next fic is literally a request of a daniel fic during the singapore gp BEFORE it was announced he was leaving... so uh... yeah. mb. anyways, hope ya'll had fun w this cuz i literally edged ya'll too lmao ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @rtorresblog @Jamie2305
you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡
#🔖 . OP81#: 🔗 above 1k#: 🔗 fic#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri fic#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 scenarios#formula one imagine#formula 1 imagines
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suguru was pleasantly surprised when you shook him awake this early morning and told him in a groggy voice that you wanted to take a shower together.
both of your bodies are still a little sore from the night before, as evidenced by the small bruises and marks scattered across your skin.
it's rare that you and suguru shower together since you prefer to shower at night while he prefers to shower in the morning. you also once explained to him that you like your space in there and that another person would kind of overwhelm you, so the idea of cleaning up together never really appealed to you.
he respected that, of course, but not without a tiny, little pout on his lips.
but now the two of you are standing in your shower stall, the glass door fogged from the warm water you always use, and the fresh, soothing scent of suguru's shampoo lingering in the stuffy air.
droplets of water cover your bare bodies, glistening, as suguru's back is turned to you so that you can wash his hair.
you can't help but admire the way his long, black locks cascade down the muscles of his broad back like ink accidentally spilled over a precious letter.
even though it doesn't seem like a big deal, you know that the fact that you can wash his hair is a sign of trust that only you are granted. his hair is important to him, he can be quite stingy when it comes to it - or dramatic, as you like to call it sometimes - and the realization that suguru even asked you to wash it for him makes you more than giddy.
taking more product into your hands, you rub them together to make the shampoo lather, and you have to reach up slightly to massage the product into his scalp in circular motions.
suguru's head falls back into your gentle, working hands with a low groan, the sound echoing through the small space.
"I could get used to this," he sighs, a pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
you snort behind him, "don't. this is basically a once in five years occurrence."
"mhm, I guess I should tire you out the night before more often then. it makes you quite cooperative."
a slight hiss escapes him as he feels a sharp tug on his hair.
"oh, sorry, I forgot that this is reserved for our bedroom," you say in a false, innocent tone, and suguru reaches a hand behind him to grab your wrist and halt your movements.
he glances over his shoulder, only to see an amused, mocking expression on your beautiful face. there's still a drowsy look clouding your half-lidded eyes, a puffiness that makes your cheeks and your lips plump, and he's suddenly overcome with the need to lift you into his arms and squeeze you against his chest until both of your lungs threaten to collapse.
"do you realize that we're both naked right now and that you're doing this?" he asks lowly with an arch of his thin brow. the grip on your wrist in his large palm is loose, a ghostly touch that you could easily free yourself from.
you simply shrug, "it's not my fault if it gets you off, I don't really see anything erotic about it right now. besides, you started with the dirty talk."
huffing in return, he turns back to face the wall and lets go of your wrist, but not before quickly bringing it to his lips and planting a light, ticklish kiss on it.
"that's hardly dirty talk from me, you should know that."
"I do, but your quality is not always consistent either."
"I wonder how someone can be so sweet and mean at the same time."
a humming noise emanates from you, automatically sending a shiver down his spine, "I can only throw the question back at you."
suguru can't stop a grin from forming on his flushed face, and his eyelids flutter shut as you touch a sensitive spot on his scalp.
"guess that's why we're here, huh."
#geto suguru x you#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#suguru geto x reader#suguru x reader#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#suggestive#fluff#jjk fluff#jjk suggestive#geto x reader fluff#suguru x reader fluff#oh to take a shower with suguru#geto x reader#suguru geto x you
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Can I ask for aventurine with an s/o who looks really giddy and excited except they're actually really nervous and depressive inside to the point they randomly stop acting happy one day and tell Aventurine that he can break up with them anytime he wants since they don't feel sufficient for him? Like they don't think they can compete with the pretty ladies he must see at the casino?-
“You're Everything”
Summary: Aventurine has always been able to read people, but the one person he can't quite figure out is you, his partner. Though outwardly cheerful, you've been hiding insecurities beneath your bright demeanor. One evening, during a quiet moment at home, your walls finally come down as you confess your self-doubt, feeling unworthy of Aventurine’s affection. This revelation shatters the illusion that everything is fine, and Aventurine takes the opportunity to reassure you of your worth.
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Romance, Emotional Support, Insecurity, Reassurance, Vulnerability, Tender Moments, Established Relationship, Confessions, Trust.
Warnings: Mild emotional distress, Insecurity/confidence issues, Mild mentions of self-doubt.
A/N: shit why does that sound like me...? 😕💔
Aventurine had always been able to read people, to sense when something wasn’t quite right, when the masks people wore didn’t match the truth lurking beneath. But there was something about you—about how you always wore that giddy, almost dizzying smile—that kept him second-guessing himself. You never seemed to show your hand, always too busy hiding your true feelings behind that infectious energy.
It had taken time, but over the months of your relationship, he’d come to know you better, catching the subtle hints when your laughter wasn’t quite as bright or your movements just a little too stiff. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t worry—his strategic mind always assumed something was amiss, but you had become his anchor. He’d convinced himself that he didn’t need to dig deeper, that everything was fine as long as you looked happy. But deep down, that little seed of doubt always lingered, nestled in the back of his mind.
And that day... that day it all came crashing down.
It started with a quiet evening at home. The two of you had shared a meal, laughed about something trivial, and as always, you had worn that bubbly, almost too-exuberant smile. But there was a shift, a subtle drop in the energy that only someone who had spent so much time with you would notice. The tension in your shoulders, the way your eyes darted away when he met your gaze—it was like a veil had dropped, leaving a raw vulnerability behind.
You didn’t say anything at first, as if waiting for him to notice, to say something. But then, just as he was about to speak, you broke the silence.
"I don't think I'm good enough for you." you muttered, voice strained. Your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to keep them hidden in your lap.
Aventurine’s heart twisted. The moment you said those words, the mask shattered, and the heavy truth hit him. You hadn’t been your usual self—hadn't been genuinely happy—and he knew it was time to uncover the secret you’d been holding in.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying you carefully. “What do you mean by that?” His tone was soft, but there was a depth of concern behind it.
You swallowed, trying to compose yourself, but the words kept slipping out in a rush. "I—I don’t know, I just feel... like you could do so much better. I see how you are at the casino, surrounded by all those beautiful, confident women, and I... I can’t compete with them. I don’t even feel like I’m enough for you. You can... break up with me anytime you want. I wouldn't blame you."
The words hit Aventurine like a sucker punch. He froze for a moment, his usually steady hand twitching as he fought the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms. But instead, he stayed where he was, keeping his distance, allowing the weight of your words to settle between the two of you.
His gaze softened, his eyes fixing on you with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “You think I’m with you because of how you compare to others?” he asked, his voice a little more stern than usual. But underneath it was something deeper—something fragile, as if he was trying to keep his own composure intact.
Your head hung low, and you nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know… It just feels like... I’m not enough for someone like you. You deserve someone who can make you happy without all this baggage."
Aventurine let out a small sigh, shaking his head slightly, as if processing the sheer weight of your words. His lips twitched upward into a soft, bittersweet smile, the kind that spoke of knowing something far deeper than surface-level impressions. He stood and walked over to you slowly, his movements calculated, but not with the usual sharpness of someone managing a deal. No, this was different. His steps were careful, as if afraid of shattering the delicate balance between the two of you.
Reaching out, he cupped your chin gently with one hand, lifting your face so you would meet his gaze. "You really think I care about comparing you to other people?" His voice, though steady, held a quiet intensity that resonated through you. "Look at me. Look at me, and understand something."
You blinked up at him, your heart thundering in your chest.
Aventurine exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “What matters to me, what’s always mattered to me, is you. Not the ‘pretty ladies,’ not the ones who look perfect on the outside. I’ve never cared about that. Not when it’s you who can make me laugh when the world feels like it’s closing in. Not when it’s you who makes me feel... human, not just the strategist, not just the Stoneheart. I don’t need anyone else."
You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but it only deepened when he continued.
“You think you're not enough, but you're everything. The fact that you’re here, sharing this with me, means more than you can imagine. You want to know why I chose you?” His voice was softer now, coaxing, as if breaking through a dam that had held so much back. "Because you're you. You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. You never have to compete with anyone else, not when I’ve already chosen you."
Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t wipe them away. His words felt like a balm to wounds you hadn't realized were so deep.
Aventurine gave you a small, sincere smile, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere. And if you ever doubt it again, I’ll remind you. But I’m asking you now, don’t doubt yourself. Not for a second. You’re exactly what I need, exactly what I want.”
The weight that had been crushing your chest seemed to lift, and for the first time in a long while, you breathed a little easier. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, your lips curving upward despite the wetness still on your cheeks.
Aventurine laughed with you, the sound warm and full of tenderness. “There’s that smile again. I’m never letting go of it.” He wiped a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, his eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite put into words.
In that moment, you understood. You weren’t just his partner. You were his, completely and irrevocably, no matter what the world outside thought or how you felt inside.
And with that, you finally let the real smile break free, one that didn’t feel forced, one that was only for him.
#hsr#honkai star rail#x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#hsr aventurine x reader#established relationship#romance#emotional support#insecurity#reassurance#vulnerability#tender moments#confessions#truth#mild emotional distress#insecurity/confidence issues#mild mentions of self-doubt
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Bby siren SJ & spoiled kid SY
I cleaned up a ficlet from a sprint I did with @danmeichael while ago! Cw implied murder & cannibalism (none depicted, just normal siren stuff)
"My parents said I'm not supposed to get in the water," The young human— Shen Yuan, he called himself— explained with patience but no small amount of self-importance, as though Shen Jiu was the one being difficult and the human was being the bigger person by humoring him.
"I can't play on land" Shen Jiu said with a put-upon pout, flicking his tail above water-- the small, short glimpses of his shiny scales were usually enough to beckon the human children closer. They were, in all honesty, usually quite easy to trick. Safer, too– even if humans were softer and weaker, Shen Jiu was still far too small to over-power an adult. When it had been the two of them, he and Qi-ge had been able to catch larger prey, but now– well now, Shen Jiu had to look out for himself, and that meant smaller kills, even if he had to venture much much closer to shore than he would have liked.
“We could, um,” the human paused, “I guess you can’t have games or books underwater…” he trailed off for a moment, before his face lit up with a charming smile. “I can read to you! I can read chapter books now,” the boy said with great aplomb, as though it should mean anything to Shen Jiu, “wait here, I’ll go get one from my parents!”
"NO!" Shen Jiu cried out. If the boy left, there was no guarantee he would return, or worse, he might come back with his kin trailing behind him. Shen Jiu hadn't eaten in weeks; he couldn't allow this chance to slip through his fingers.
Shen Yuan blinked at him, and then sat back down on the rocks, his cross legs out of reach of the lapping waves. Still not close enough for Shen Jiu to drag him under before the other humans heard his screams. Then, miraculously, and without any further beckoning the boy leaned closer. Shen Jiu's body tensed, tracking the movement, waiting for the boy to reach an angle where gravity would do most of the work to send him toppling into the waves.
"Are you lonely?" Shen Yuan whispered.
Shen Jiu jolted. "What-?" The anger was immediate and instinctive. He snapped his teeth. His hand jerked up, but no, the human was still too far from the edge, from Shen Jiu, all Shen Jiu was doing was flagging his intentions as plainly as a whale, like an idiot--
"Hey, that's-" annoyance flickered over the boy’s face, and for a second Shen Jiu thought he had caught on, that he would run, and Shen Jiu too would have to flee, wasting more of his energy with a failed hunt– but then Shen Yuan was once again the picture of a young lord. The boy cleared his throat. "I mean, you don't have to be embarrassed. I would be upset too if I had no brothers or gameboy," he said with the air of someone delivering sage wisdom.
Shen Jiu blinked. “Yes,” he repeated, perhaps unconvincingly, “I’m very sad without a ‘game-boy’ or… my brother.” he finished with a whisper. Shen Yuan nodded sympathetically.
“Ah!” His eyes widened and then curved, sparkling in the midday sun. He shoved a hand into his clothes and dug around, before pulling out some kind of small white and blue object.
“Da-ge always gives me milk candy when I fall and skin my knee. It’ll cheer you up!” He explained, dropping the thing towards the water.
Shen Jiu fumbled to catch it, only for the crisp white and and blue paper to start dissolving in his hand. He dropped it on instinct— bright colors spreading through the water could only mean poison. He glanced up and sent the human a viscous glare.
"Nooo, you have to eat it before it gets soggy!" Shen Yuan urged, seemingly oblivious to Shen Jiu’s ire.
Shen Jiu considered for a moment. This creature was far too stupid to poison someone, and seemed to have been carrying this for some time without any precautions or fear of it. It probably was just food. Shen Jiu’s stomach grumbled. Cautiously, he grabbed the ‘milk candy’. The blue had fallen away to reveal a white pellet that sat nicely in his palm. He put it in his mouth.
“Mm—“ Shen Jiu couldn’t suppress the noise. His head fins fluttered in delight as the creamy, sweet taste spread. He held it there carefully, letting it slowly melt over his tongue.
“It’s good, right?” Shen Yuan asked, just a little smug. Shen Jiu reluctantly nodded. He reached down to pat Shen Jiu’s head, as no one had done in so long. “You don’t have to be sad. If you’re lonely, I’ll be your friend.” As the boy gently stroked the siren’s silky hair, Shen Jiu decided that lunging up to bite wasn’t worth losing the treat in his mouth. It was okay to stay like this, just for a little while.
#svsss#shen jiu#shen yuan#jiuyuan#fish fic#I hope the children aren't painfully unrealistic lol-- working on that for a future project.#siren SJ AU
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The Music Room
SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS‼- Do Not Read unless you have completed the Dread Wolf's Regrets quest!!!!
AN: I have not finished the game, so I don't know if this will actually be part of my canon yet, but the world is currently awful and I...needed to be making something. But as I said: I have NOT finished the game yet, so if you leave a comment (pls and thank) do NOT write anything with spoilers in it!!!
Okay, on with the show!
~
Rill finds Inquisitor Lavellan sitting at the harpsichord in the music room. All of the other rooms at the Lighthouse had seemed barren when they had first started using it as their base, and even this one had apparently been used as some sort of storage space -there was an alarming amount of cheese for some reason- but the quiet here feels different in a way that is hard to quantify. Peaceful, as opposed to desolate. The light pouring through the windows is always bright in here. Always warm. The murals on the walls were still vivid when they came. Colorful and new. The most prominent one bears the symbol of the Inquisition flanked by howling wolves.
The woman contemplating it does not look like the fearsome hero who closed a hole in the sky and stopped the southern half of the world from falling into chaos, though. She looks small. And tired. And sad.
Rill clears her throat, feeling awkward.
“So. Not trying to complain or anything, but when you asked to come here, you did say that you could help by giving us insight into Solas’ history and his way of thinking and… Well. You were pretty quiet in there while we watched those memories.”
“I know,” Aili sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I knew some of it. Bits of things he told me himself. Things I figured out…afterwards. And I knew there would be more. More I didn’t know. He’s thousands of years old, so I knew that the story of his life would be more than what he had told me, but…”
“It’s a lot.” Rill hums in agreement.
“Bit of an understatement,” Aili snorts. Her gaze drifts down, and she runs her fingers over the instrument in front of her. “…I didn’t even know he played.”
“So, tell me what you do know,” Rill says, casually plopping down onto a nearby crate, “It’s probably more helpful than you think.”
“I know… I know that he hates tea.”
“Right. Noted. Probably shouldn’t offer him any of Lucanis’ coffee either, then.” Rill grins, folding her arms across her chest.
“Probably not,” Aili agrees, returning the smile faintly. “He has a sweet tooth, though. He loves books. Loves learning. And teaching, too. He was always happy to share stories about places he had been, or spirits he had talked to. He paints beautifully. And he sketches, too. He doesn’t laugh very often, but when he does, it’s…”
She trails off, her face creased with grief and faint traces of longing.
“I’m sorry.” She says again.
Rill shakes her head at the apology but gives her a curious look afterwards.
“You said that Solas was important to you; I’m guessing you didn’t mean that you were just really good friends?”
Aili shrugs.
“I thought that we were…something.” She glances around the room again, eyes landing on the mural of the slain dragon and the mourning wolf above it. “Now I’m not sure if even that was true.”
“Is that something he would lie about?” Rill wonders, her eyebrows ticking upwards, “Because that would be some valuable insight. He doesn’t strike me as the sort to use seduction as a manipulation tactic, but he seems comfortable twisting the truth about everything else, so…”
Aili sits for a moment in silence, frowning in consideration before finally shaking her he in the negative.
“It’s… No.” She fumbles briefly. “I know that given…given everything we’ve seen, it might be hard to believe, but… He has a kind heart. Truly. He wants to do the right thing. He believes in justice, and he wants things to be fair. He wants to help people when he sees them suffering. And he blames himself when he can’t. He just…comes to the wrong conclusions, sometimes, and he struggles to ask for help when he needs it. He… There would be no reason to -no point- in lying about his feelings for me. I was already his friend, and I took his advice seriously. He had my ear and my protection. He wouldn’t get anything out of it unless his intention was to be needlessly cruel, and…he’s not like that. He isn’t.”
“Then why were you doubting that you had something?”
“It’s…complicated.” Aili sighs. “It’s about time, I think. Or at least, part of it is. He feels things deeply. Passionately. Even if you can’t tell which words he’s telling you are true, you can always tell when something matters to him. And this place… Mythal is everywhere. In every mural. In every room. Statues. Paintings. Symbols. Everything is about her. For her. Even now. Even after taking Flemeth’s power and essentially killing her himself. His love for her, whatever shape or form it might have had, has colored every aspect of his life since the beginning of the world. And compared to that…”
She taps a single key on the harpsichord, letting out a high clear note.
“Mythal is the All-Mother. The Protecter. The bright and beguiling moon. And I…I am barely a candle flame.”
“You’re the Inquisitor. The Savior of the South. People still call you the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ You disbanded the Inquisition, and still managed to bring enough people together to hold back the darkspawn hordes while I fight the gods up here in the North. I think you might be selling yourself a bit short.” Rill says with a curl of her lips, trying to be kind.
“There will always be heroes, just as there will always be despots. I’m hardly unique in that respect.” Aili replies, striking another key. “A puny mortal striking back at false gods probably reminded him of his own past. His own struggles. Maybe that was it. Maybe there’s even something about me that made him think of Mythal. I don’t know. I don’t know what he saw in me. Or thought he saw. But look around. There are a few Inquisition symbols in this room, but beyond that… There is no trace of me in this place. Nothing he held onto. Nothing he felt was worth keeping.”
Rill frowns. Fidgeting with her hands. Itching to pull out a blade to play with, but uncertain if the move would been seen as a threat.
“Sorry.” She offers after a few moments of silence. “I try not to talk to him very often, for obvious reasons. It’s still a bit creepy, if I’m being honest. Even if I did, though, I don’t think his romantic life would be something he’d be keen to tell me about.”
“It’s not your fault,” Aili assures her with a smile that does not reach her eyes, “He wasn’t keen to tell me either.”
“The Fade’s a funny place, though,” Rill says, gesturing at their surroundings, “I’m not always sure which bits of the things we’ve found here are from Solas, and which things we brought along ourselves. Lucanis found a book he used to read as a kid. Harding says she can smell her mom’s cooking sometimes. Neve said she can hear the sea when she wakes up in the mornings. Things like that, you know?”
The Inquisitor nods.
“Not surprising, given the nature of this place and the person who built it.” Aili says. “This was a refuge. For spirits and slaves fleeing tyranny. And for Solas himself, too. It wants to be welcoming. It wants you to feel safe.”
“It was different when we got here, though.” Rill tells her. “Bit empty. Bit sad. Lonely, almost.”
“Sounds like Solas,” Aili sighs, something close to exasperated fondness.
“This room though…” Rill sits up straighter, turning her head to glance at the sunlight painting patterns on the already painted walls. “It was always like this. It may be small and tucked away, but it’s honestly one of my favorite places in the Lighthouse. It’s always a little warmer in here. The sun’s always shining through the windows. The quiet in here feels like…comfort. Like home.”
“I feel like you’re trying to lead me somewhere, but I’m not sure where it is,” Aili chuckles.
“Well, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” Rill grins back at her, “This is the only room with Inquisition symbols in it.”
Aili blinks. Makes a face.
“There are also murals of Mythal in here. Because she’s everywhere.”
It is Rill’s turn to sigh.
“Maybe she is. Maybe he couldn’t escape from her. Maybe he never will. What she did. What she made him do. What was done to her. But the library with all his memories of her is big and dark and gloomy. And the statues of her are stiff and aloof and cold. And the little room upstairs he shoved a cot into to sleep is…just depressing, really.”
She catches the older woman’s gaze. Holds it.
“It’s called the Lighthouse, but the beacon at the top isn’t where the light is. It’s not in some huge memorial room dedicated to Mythal. It’s here. There’s a chair with your seal on it, almost waiting for you to sit and watch him play. There’s the paintings on the walls. There’s… Look, when did this become me telling you about the Dread Wolf’s heart?”
“I have no idea,” Aili laughs in earnest this time.
“Really though, this is a good room. I like to sit and read by the windows in here sometimes. The light in here always makes be think of summer afternoons. The air has a sweetness to it, too. Something flowery. Heather, maybe. Or Lavender.”
Aili starts, her eyes going wide.
“What’s wrong?” Rill asks.
“You said it smells like lavender in here?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“It’s…the soap I use. For my hair. I always have.”
“Well, there you have it!” Rill grins in triumph. “He kept your memory here. Away from his regrets. Somewhere bright and happy. Well…as happy as Solas gets, anyway. Not too bad for a candle flame, eh?”
Aili laughs again.
“Thank you, Rook.”
#dragon age: the veilguard#spoilers#solavellan#Rook#Aili Lavellan#Rill#fic#every solavellan crumb i get makes me want to go outside and howl at the moon#i miss these idiots so much#they make me want to chew glass#(affectionate)
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(ramblings of a madman upcoming. this is borderline nonsensical but I just gotta get this out there)
ugh, I LOVE the voices parallels so much. they make me insane. and I've been thinking about opportunist/hunted and skeptic/smitten the most rn.
for the first two, in their respective chapter 2s they are survival responses put in situations where said responses are entirely reasonable, but will end up reinforcing the "status quo" if entertained. this is somewhat the case with most of the voices, but I think it's especially noticeable with them.
the opportunist has a "betray them before they ever get the chance to betray you" mentality, and would you look at that, the witch has the very same mentality! and he is CORRECT in thinking she will betray you. because she will. but by following him and what he thinks, you're just making it impossible to break the cycle of violence (this is literally the point of the thorn).
the hunted behaves... well, like prey, and uh. the beast IS a predator. he IS prey. she is hunting them. but if you just follow your instincts you'll never be able to free her, or defeat her, or leave together or learn about reconciliation or do anything else that isn't survive.
so their situations are reinforcing their behaviour, then their behaviour in turn reinforces their situation; they are stuck in a cycle. at least with the hunted you can have the skeptic to make a plan later on in the den, I guess. but it's still a fascinating thing.
I think the stubborn and the broken chapters are a bit similar to them in this regard, but those have more to do with giving meaning to the princess and choosing whether or not you should fight against it in the end. it's a bit of a different situation. skeptic and smitten also don't quite... doom themselves if you just follow them, even though they actively feed into the chapter's "concepts", because they're sort of "tools" made to complement and help you towards your goal (free the princess through skepticism or blind devotion) as opposed to survival responses.
talking about them... oh boy, skeptic and smitten in their respective chapter 2s. you can just go through with whatever the plan was (leave with her), but if you don't, they won't ever get the only thing they sought and will hurt others (and themselves) in their desperation. you take away smitten's happy ending, and you leave skeptic without answers, and to that they just. fucking lose it. going with the previous tool comparation, you could say that's what happens when a "tool" isn't useful in a specific situation any longer. it can't do anything else except for its designated function. so
when the illusion that love makes everything possible and that all you and the princess needed was each other shattered, the smitten couldn't believe it. this was everything he ever wanted and everything he knew; you are the hero. she is a damsel. you are in love. you save the damsel and live happily ever after. that's what HAD to happen, and if it didn't, then it will. he has to make it happen, because it can't and shouldn't work in any other way.
in the prisoner, if you don't take her head, you are shoved into eternal nothingness while left with only questions. what is this place? who is the narrator? what is he hiding? who is the princess? why is she locked up? how could she end the world? is there a world? where is it? why are we the ones doing this? why did the princess cut off her head? not only could they not go through with saving the princess like they tried before, but there are SO many questions, and skeptic didn't get any answers! they can't be left unanswered, the truth HAS to be unraveled. that's what he's been trying to do all along. it's the only thing that matters. they WILL keep going and they WILL figure it out.
they are too obsessed to care about anything else. they are too stuck in their tunnel vision to accept anything else. they are too far gone to do anything else.
lord help me I am going insane because of this game /pos
#slay the princess#stp#stp voices#stp opportunist#voice of the opportunist#stp hunted#voice of the hunted#stp smitten#voice of the smitten#stp skeptic#voice of the skeptic
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I had this idea floating in my head that never made it to a comic page due to laziness a change in priorities.
It's called Take Two: Curly Knew
The general idea is sort of like the Daisuke isekai by @mellowsharkpolice, but instead of Daisuke being given a "Take Two" aboard the ship, Curly gets a "flash-forward" of what would happen if Jimmy leaves his sight right after he walks away. It's shown that Jimmy had locked the door, but in this he had forgotten to.
Curly runs in, stops him from disengaging the autopilot, and the day is saved, right? Well no, Jimmy is still alive, and Curly can't exactly kill him. He's too much of a coward for that.
So instead, Curly ties Jimmy to a chair and is kept in the maintenance room, with Daisuke tasked with monitoring him to make sure he doesn't escape and still eats.
Ok so now the day is saved, right? Jimmy is detained and the Tulpar is uncrashed. You can probably guess the answer.
After some prompting from Curly (Not realizing why she might not want to tell everyone on the ship) Anya tells Swansea what Jimmy did. Curly says that this is not to reach Daisuke. Curly is too busy, Anya was traumatized by him, and going by Swansea's reaction, Curly doesn't trust him not to hurt Jimmy. Daisuke is the only person left with the time, patience, and mental fortitude to be able to properly care for Jimmy in Curly's eyes.
Problem is, Daisuke's lack of information means that Jimmy can manipulate him scarily easily. Jimmy slowly builds Daisuke's trust, bit by bit, until he starts hinting that the others on the ship are hiding something from him. Jimmy was oh so alone compared to the others. He has this job thanks to Curly (he gags at the thought of gratitude towards that traitor), but he had no other friends on the Tulpar. In fact, Daisuke is the first friend Jimmy's made since boarding!
Daisuke should understand that if someone spread lies about him, it would be much easier for them to be believed, since everyone else barely knew him. In fact, not even Curly has seen Jimmy this vulnerable. Daisuke is special, because he's immune to liars and deceit.
Meanwhile, Anya keeps trying to convince Curly that Daisuke needs to know what Jimmy did; at least tell him that he tried to crash the ship! But Curly refuses. Daisuke doesn't need to know. Especially when he's appointed to be Jimmy's caretaker. Anya says she'll be his caretaker. Curly refuses even harder. Even Swansea agrees that he needs to know at least the footnotes version. Why won't you admit it Curly? You're just a coward He doesn't want Daisuke to know how bad he almost let it get it almost got.
Eventually, Anya overhears Jimmy telling Daisuke to get the axe from Swansea to cut him loose, and she interrupts them, telling Daisuke to go to Swansea. Daisuke refuses. He asks Anya to tell him the truth; why was Jimmy tied up? Was there some misunderstanding?
Anya tries to tell him that he doesn't need to know, but he shoots her down. What has everyone been hiding from him? Why will nobody say anything? What the hell happened that lead Jimmy to being tied up? Anya asks to speak in private, but Daisuke says if it's the truth, she can say it in front of Jimmy.
Curly and Swansea show up, hearing the shouting. Daisuke tells them he's not a kid and he should know what's being kept from him. That whatever Jimmy did, he shouldn't be tied up and that they could talk this out. Jimmy taunts Curly, agreeing that talking it out would've worked.
Anya finally breaks and tells him what he tried to do to everyone else, and what Jimmy did to her when Jimmy tries to tell Daisuke that he should be smart enough to not believe her lies (though not directed at Daisuke). Jimmy doesn't try to hide it, seeing it as his right to her body. Daisuke is shocked, confused, and angry.
He asks why nobody told him this. Anya says Curly told them not to.
He asks how long Swansea knew. Swansea says a month, maybe longer. The days are hard to keep track of.
He asks Curly how long he was planning on keeping this from him. Curly doesn't answer.
He asks whether he was planning to tell him at all. Curly doesn't answer.
He asks if Curly how long he knew Jimmy was like this. Jimmy answers.
"He gave me this job because my criminal record was so bad that I couldn't get a job anywhere else. Said he'd help me get through it when I found out Anya was pregnant"
Daisuke asks if this is true. Curly doesn't answer.
He asks again. And again. And again and again and again and again and again and- Curly. Wouldn't. Answer.
Daisuke storms off. Curly doesn't follow him.
Daisuke isn't talking to anyone while he processes what he's learned. He isn't mad at Anya or Swansea anymore, his emotions were out of control and he was taking it out on them.
He is however mad at Curly. He was a coward. Unfit to lead. If he could, he'd make sure that he never got that promotion.
Anya and Swansea were surprised that Daisuke could be lead up to this point. But Anya also knew this was a possibility. If only Curly had listened.
This AU, as you can tell, was a lot more Daisuke and Curly-centric. I had noticed how easy it was for Jimmy to manipulate Daisuke by saying how proud everyone would be of him if he disobeyed Swansea and saved Anya, and went "What if that but in a 'fix-it' AU". This AU was meant to center around how the red flags were always there but Curly closed his eyes to them because he prioritized being Jimmy's friend and savior over being the Tulpar's captain and leader.
And how Daisuke was both young enough to not understand why you'd overlook something so egregious, while being old enough to believe that Curly should've known better. Throughout this story, Daisuke would blame Curly for Jimmy's actions, hating him almost as much as Jimmy.
I'm just gonna post this and pretend it doesn't exist because while I think a lot of what Jimmy managed to do to Daisuke was very in-character (it happens over the span of weeks, and he's slow enough and methodical enough to make it seem like he's opening up to Daisuke.), I feel like Daisuke and Anya's reactions might have been OOC?
Like I don't think he'd blow up per se, but he'd definitely be mad at Curly for hiding something so important as Jimmy being a (sex pest? rapist?) with a sordid criminal record. Especially while expecting him to care for Jimmy.
Anya doesn't outright say what he did to her btw, but she implies it in a way that Daisuke is able to pick up on it. Jimmy keeps forcing her to be more explicit in her wording until she practically had to spell it out for him, too. Jimmy was expecting her to give up on explaining what happened, seeing her as too meek to go into any detail. But at that point, he knew he'd already lost Daisuke and his chances at escape, so he decided to drag Curly down with him.
Imo the reason Swansea didn't tell Daisuke in canon, but will tell him here, was because Anya and Swansea had no reason to believe that Jimmy would've put Daisuke in any sort of dangerous situation, especially since the vent was the only active threat on the Tulpar.
Meanwhile, this situation leaves Daisuke vulnerable to Jimmy convincing him of anything, since they're usually alone. Idk why Curly wouldn't send Swansea to supervise, or wouldn't at least let him go if he wanted to, but this AU was pretty half baked when I came up with it.
Maybe he naively believed that Jimmy wouldn't try to manipulate Daisuke to escape. Maybe he believed that Daisuke wouldn't be able to get his hands on something strong enough to cut the rope. Maybe he was terrified of losing the last bit of respect his crew had for him. Maybe he thought this would all blow over and things would return to normal. Maybe it's Maybelline, fuck if I know.
Also, some other things that I forgot to mention; - Curly hides the override key in the medical bay, but Swansea then hides it somewhere else; not even Daisuke or Anya knows where he hid it, though Daisuke thinks it's somewhere in the maintenance room. - After Daisuke calmed down, the first thing he does is apologize to Anya. He felt immense guilt at blowing up on her like that, especially since she's had no control over what's been happening. Afterwards, he apologizes to Swansea, who didn't take it personally in the first place. He'd be pissed too if something like that was kept from him that long. - Swansea is also mad at Curly, though he wasn't mad to the same extent as Daisuke until he found out that Jimmy had a criminal record that severe; afterwards he was pissed that he brought a "goddamn time bomb" onto a cargo ship expecting everything to be "sunshine and rainbows". - Anya feels similarly, but moreso betrayed that Curly would sacrifice the crew's safety to help his friend.
#mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#anya mouthwashing#captain curly#curly mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#This might be my dumbest idea yet#My sincerest apologies to the mouthwashing fandom
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review sockathan ! 👻👻👻
woah how'd you make that green
SOCKATHAN YAOI REVIEW
Disclaimer: This will contain spoilers (kind of) for Welcome to Hell 2 Part 1 and Welcome to Hell. You should probably go watch that. Its made by Erica Wester and its PRETTY cool.)
My Yaoi Entrepreneurs, I'll be blunt with you. I know we've ALL seen gay people, maybe in the streets, maybe at the park. You might even see one in your home now, so lets be honest with ourselves. Sock is DEFINITELY gay, bisexual at LEAST.
The OTHER one on the other hand.. its a little bit harder to say.. I'll probably find something though..
Lets make one thing clear, when I say Yaoi in this review. I don't mean ANYTHING inappropriate. Its just my special way of saying gay people.. I'm kinda magical in that sense.
Lets just get the first one done and over with a simple section I like to call:
EVIDENCE 1: SOCK IN GENERAL
okay so FIRST of all the FIRST time we see sock, they call Jonathan "hot stuff" while being in a fridge. I'm not sure about you but that's love if I ever saw it.
After that they introduce you to Sock killing his parents. One key point after another. If Sock being gay wasn't important, then WHY was it shown BEFORE telling us Sock's (other) main trait. Checkmate liberals.
Sock would then get the report from Mephistopheles, and you COULD say its just because the camera zoomed in, but its literally the most light ever seen in Sock's eyes.
And then Sock went on to ruin Jonathan's day, making him look crazy, and Jonathan SOMEHOW got blamed for knocking down that desk, I swear I think the teachers just hate him. I'm not sure about you but I certainly cant KNOCK over a desk thats right next to me.
He was WRITING too.. would a guilty man of desk flipping WRITE?? NO!!
And not to mention that Sock made Jonathan look DUMB in front of the faceless brothers which was probably the closest time that Sock did their job right.
Sock absolutely ruined it today.. but can you blame them? They're new to the job, give them some SLACK.
But the upcoming days, Sock was so whimsical.
Yeah SURE. Sock is still telling Jonathan to kill himself, but they just don't want to get fired!!
Not to mention the fact that they stared at Jonathan while they were taking a piss, but there's nothing odd about that.
And also near the end, Mephistopheles calls sock out on liking the guy, and Sock stutters. You just have to take my word for it.
SOCK IN GENERAL 2 [PART 1]
If you saw Welcome to Hell 2 [Part 1], you already know what I'm gonna comment about. Sock went on to call Jonathan's mother, hot. They then went on to say "Must be where you got it from, huh? You definitely got her butt at least."
When Jonathan goes on a walk and Sock follows them and says after Jonathan says he doesn't wanna be friends with them. (We'll get back to that)
"Oh wow, come to think of it, You don't really have ANYONE do YOU? What's that feel like? Knowing you're gonna die alone." to which Jonathan snaps back with "I dunno Sock, you tell me."
Now at first, this looks like a scene of ANTI SOCKATHAN propaganda, but think with me here, yaoiers. How would Jonathan know that Sock died alone??
I understand if he just guessed, since sock DOES look like someone who would die alone, or he just said whatever comeback that came to his head but if not, Sock ALREADY told Jonathan about their past life.
If what I KNOW is true, Sock VENTED to Jonathan about their life before they died in LESS than a week, since Sock just now sees Jonathan's mother in the first part, and due to a comment made by the creator.
Sock REALLY trusts this guy, maybe Mephistopheles didn't want to hear them vent, but maybe its JUST because Sock wanted Jonathan to do the same. but they probably didn't.
And then near the end, Sock says to Jonathan when he snatched his employee manual
"Jonathan, if something happens to you-"
Actually, I think this is pretty weak evidence but I thought I'd include it, since a teacher would say the same thing if a kindergartener was up on a high shelf.
That segment was PRETTY lengthy, but I PROMISE you, the others will be shorter, I just.. didn't expect there to be so much for Sock...
EVIDENCE 2: SOCK SUCKS AT THEIR JOB.
Jonathan was DEAD ON when they told Sock that they suck at their job. And quite honestly.. I could've done it better.. I could've got Jonathan to kill himself (theoretically) on the FIRST day, and if you wouldn't use my strategy, I promise you that there's probably several other you could use for the teenager that you want them to kill themselves at home.
STEP 1: GRAB A WEAPON
Since Sock is seen to be able to flip over a desk and they're able to HOLD Jonathan's journal (Shock or not), I should THEORITCALLY be able to grab a weapon, now for this strategy, I suggest you pick a nonlethal option, only to have a lethal option around, for this example, I will be using a sledgehammer.
After swinging that at the noggin, Jonathan would drop unconscious, probably with brain damage (that don't matter though)
STEP 2: POSSESS THE TEENAGER
Now it MAY not be like this in w2h, but Mephistopheles was able to possess Jonathan when he was DEAD (Probably), so It should hopefully work when they're out of consciousness.
STEP 3: KILL YOURSELF.
Alright now I KNOW that sounds bad.. but it wouldn't be MY hands to kill him. Grab the nearby lethal and SHOOT. THAT. TEENAGER!! Your boss may not agree with the logistics of this, but you get the job done.
This simulation was to PROVE that Sock atleast CARES a bit about Jonathan to want to get to know him. and to not kill him on the spot. Now if It was the other way around.. I'm not exactly sure..
EVIDENCE 3: JONATHAN KINDA HATES SOCK
(he looks like hes standing up to a school bully)
At the beginning of Welcome to Hell, hes clearly annoyed and STILL is annoyed by some of Sock's actions by the end, but he atleast isn't mad enough to NOT act like he could put up with Sock. I think the closest thing to gayness from Jonathan was when he moved the backpack for Sock to sit down.
In Welcome to Hell 2, he IS PISSED at this guy, and honestly, if Sock kept on knocking down those desks, i CANT blame him..
Maybe Sock kinda ruined the vibe when they expressed their love for Jonathan's mother, its hard to say really..
Jonathan makes this very clear that he DOESN'T even wanna be Sock's friend, I mean HAVE YOU HEARD THE THEME SONG?
SUMMARY:
Sock wasn't able to win Jonathan's heart, making him tonight's biggest loser.
YAOI: 6.5/10
#welcome to hell#w2h#w2h2#w2h sock#w2h jonathan#welcome to hell 2#sockathan#sock sowachowski#yaoi#yaoireview#jonathan combs
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TYSM FOR ANSWERING MY LAST QUESTION EEEEEEEE
Sorry to be back so soon- but I had another question I was curious about. Again, if this one happens to be stupid you don't have to answer it heh.
But anyways, my question revolves around Hanako's names and how he's referred to. Like, I guess it's hard to consolidate into one specific question, but I've always wondered why Hanako lets Tsukasa call him Amane, and why Tsukasa calls him that. Well, then again, Tsukasa does whatever the hell he wants, but Hanako doesnt correct him either.
Similarly, Tsuchigomori only calls him Number 7, despite knowing his real name. Doesn't even call him Hanako. And that struck me as odd because since he cares so much about him, why keep it so professional? Is he just trying to distance himself? Or did Hanako get angry in the past and pull rank or something, telling Tsuchigomori to refer to him that way?
Nene is a whole nother story. She knows Hanako's name is Amane. You'd think she'd bring it up or call him that, right? Even once? And on top of that, in the fictional world, Hanako used his real name. Like he KNEW Yashiro already knew it too. He had to have known, because otherwise I don't think he'd use his real name if Yashiro didn't know it. Especially since he doesn't want to share his past with her. And to avoid confusing her further in the pp world, bc he wanted her to know it was him- well, alive version of him. Since the whole point he stayed was to see what it was like to be alive with her.
I wonder, if anyone else tried to call him Amane, how would he react? (Outside the pp world of course) Would he get flustered if Nene did it? Would it piss him off or make him uncomfortable? And what would happen if Tsuchigomori referred to him as Yugi again? Ugh so many questions I don't have answers to.
I'm probably reading way too much into this. I know it's likely that Tsukasa refers to him as Hanako because he knew him as Amane, and Tsuchigomori refers to him as Number Seven to be respectful. And Nene calls him Hanako-kun still because, well, "Toilet Bound Hanako-kun". But idk, thought it could be interesting to think about!!
Thanks again for answering my other question btw!! I loved your take on it
hahahahaha yeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!!! happy to see you happy!!!!! XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD.
Don't worry, don't worry 😉
So, in JSHK we have a meaning for names, not just the literal meaning of the thing, but the sentimental meaning.
If you notice, Hanako is the only one who calls Nene "Yashiro", and she said so herself.
In addition to including the fact that she likes the way he calls her. There is a sentimental meaning here, only he calls her that.
In Hanako's case, Tsukasa never called him that way because Amane is his brother and he always calls him that, maybe because he doesn't see the point in calling him by any other name than his real one or because he doesn't agree with hiding the truth.
Tsukasa has always been very truthful about everything, including about their past. And Tsukasa was willing to tell Nene the whole truth about Amane, so it simply doesn't make sense for him to call his older brother Hanako.
Tsuchigomori apparently made a deal with Amane that he wouldn't talk about absolutely anything about his past to anyone, including his real name.
Tsuchi used to call him Yugi, as a sign of respect, he followed Hanako's wishes, not calling him by his false name, but by the title he now has, leader of the seven.
Hanako wasn't surprised to see that Nene knew his name because Tsukasa called Hanako "Amane" in front of her, so he probably deduced that Nene knew his name because Tsukasa mentioned it several times.
So, he did know that she knew his real name.
He wanted to show Nene his "true" side in the PP arc, even though Nene called him Amane-kun a few times, it's like she doesn't associate that name with the boy she knows.
She wants Hanako, that fun and "happy" Hanako that she lived with for so long, Amane is like a version of him that died, that refers to sadness, that refers to something that she doesn't recognize as the person she likes.
Nene associated the name with the past, she discovered his name when she saw that he was suffering in the past. She was the one who was curious about him, and the first thing she discovered was his name and the short story of how he gave up on his own life.
So, the name Amane has this weight for her.
No matter what reality she is in, or what version of Amane she meets, she will call him Hanako.
I still imagine that this will change at some point, her calling him Amane would be like a symbolic way of saying that she has accepted him completely, that Hanako is Amane, that they are the same person and that she has to understand that there is not only the "happy Hanako" but also the "sad and lonely Amane".
They are both the same person, but ever since she found out about Amane's existence she seems to want to run away from it, so I imagine that's why she always calls him Hanako.
About how he would react if someone else called him that, he would probably try to understand how they found out, but only if it was someone important. He doesn't seem to care much about that.
🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 Thank you!!!!! I'm glad you liked it!!!
#tbhk#jshk#toilet bound hanako kun#jibaku shounen hanako kun#amane yugi#hanako kun#aidairo#yugi twins#hanakokun#jshk spoilers#yashiro#yashiro nene#tbhk yashiro
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