#i’m sorry for all the doom and gloom that is not what you followed me for lmfao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kekaki-cupcakes · 1 year ago

Note

Hiiii! I loved ur Hermes kid!

Could I ask for a male son of Dionysus x either Leo or nico?

Sorry if I got ya wrong and don’t feel pressured or anything!

Have a lovely day!

When there isn't a lot of info in an ask I kinda have to make the reader a personality so that it isn't too bland too read so sorry to y'all that aren't like this <3

Redecoration---Nico di Angelo x Son of Dionysus

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico had been glaring at the roof of skulls for a solid ten minutes, sort of hoping the hatred in his eyes would just poof them out of existence, when someone finally showed up.

Apparently after an incident in the Aphrodite cabin, people weren’t allowed to just grab a bucket of paint and some new furniture to fuck around and find out, which was why Nico had been sent someone to help him fix the mess that was the Hades cabin.

Apart from the hundred skulls hot glue gunned to the rood, the beds were wooden coffins, the lamps were ancient looking chandeliers, and all of the walls were a dark ugly gray, like there was a serious mold problem. Now that he thought about it, the color might actually be a mold problem.

“Never fear, goth! For I am here!”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Nico took a deep breath and turned around, obsidian eyes already narrowed with dislike as he took in the taller boy trotting over. He was holding a crate in his arms, filled with color swatches and chunks of fabrics, magazines sticking out of the top.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who needs redecorating, right?” The boy asked, already letting himself into the dim cabin that smelt of rich dark chocolate for some reason. “Yeah… no offense but we have to fix this, even if you're the wrong person.”

Nico felt a sudden need to defend the atrocious carpet and bat shaped door knocker from this boy, who was wearing a maroon shirt picturing a glass of wine. “I was eight.”

“No shame here, everyone makes bad decisions.”

There didn’t seem to be any point arguing with this boy, who had already dumped the box of supplies on one of the coffin bed lids, and was staring around at the dark cabin, hands on his hips.

Nico just followed him inside, shoving his hands into the slightly ripped pockets of his aviator jacket. He peered into the cardboard box, which was promptly tipped out onto the ground. He watched with a frown as the son of Mr D sat on the carpet and began rifling through the empty notebooks and cut up magazines. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, scrapbooking? We can’t just start painting the walls yellow yet, you have to plan this stuff out, goth.” He said, as if it was obvious. Then he smirked. “You don’t like arts and crafts?”

Nico’s frown deepened, but he couldn’t let this mildly infuriating boy with surprisingly cool bracelets upstage him. “I love arts and crafts.”

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and pulled out a leather bound book containing a few stickers and a strip of torn paper where a page had been pulled out. “Are you just gonna stand there in the corner and be grumpy?... That wasn’t sarcasm, you can if you want, I was just checking.”

Nico wasn’t an asshole, of course he was going to help. Still, he had to glare at the boy for that comment. Then he sat down and opened one of the magazines, which was featuring a life sized Barbie Dream House bed frame, fluffy pillows included. He flicked the page over with a grimace.

“So, what kinda vibe are we going for?”

“What?”

“I’m assuming you're sick of Dracula,” he said, waving his arms at the general doom and gloom around them. “So what aesthetic are we replacing it with?”

Nico didn’t want to admit he hadn’t planned this far into the venture, he’d really just been hoping he could repaint the walls, or maybe burn the whole thing down and start over. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Okay, well… I’m assuming you wanna keep it edgy, but seriously? A roof of skulls? You’re not a caveman. Maybe we should go with an Addams family style.” He shivered. “With less spiderwebs and disembodied hands. “

Ah, another gap in his modern education. “What’s an Addams family?”

All Nico got in return was a gaping mouth and wide eyes. “How do you not- okay, I’m making you watch the entire timeline later, but for now we need to pick a color scheme.”

Nico opened his mouth.

“Not black.”

Nico closed his mouth.

“Obviously there’ll be lots of black, but you need another color to fit with it, something dark and scary but colorful.” He pulled out a binder of color swatches, and flipped it open, skimming the pages of baby blues and lavenders. “Maybe dark green, or...”

“Red.” Nico said, peering over at the pages of ruby and scarlet. He pointed to the dark one, which had a little title below, ‘Blood red’. It was a little on brand, but it was better than ‘Crimson Tide’.

“Oooh, nice. If we keep the walls black, and pull up the black carpet, there’ll be floorboards underneath.” He started to ramble, ripping a color swatch out of the binder and gluing it into the leather bound book. He glanced around at the musty cabin.

“We can get a red rug for the middle of the cabin, and definitely new beds, but if we get Drew to refurbish the chandeliers they’ll look great. Oh, and the coffin bed frames could be a bookshelf if we get the mattress out and ask Nyssa to put some shelves in. Do you read? Because otherwise it’s sort of pointless. But so are the skulls on the roof, so…”

“You’re good at this.”

It took Nico a moment to realize what he’d just blurted, and when he did the warmth was already in his cheeks. He’d only been a little caught up in watching the son of Dionysus’s eyes sparkle as he talked, pointing to different parts of the cabin, and somehow ruined it. “I mean, you just sound like you’ve, you know, done this a lot.”

The glimmer in their eye didn’t fade, they only grinned harder. “I have. A lot. It’s fun!”

“I suppose so,” Nico said, his lips twitching, and opened another magazine. He skipped a page on clawfoot bathtubs [There was already a white one with gold trim in the bathroom]. There was a large heart shaped mirror, He ignored that too, and found a simple bedframe, painted black. He held it out gingerly. “What about this one?”

“Yes! Good job.” He said, snipping it out of the magazine quickly, and sticking it next to a picture of a glass chandelier. “If you’ve got a simple bed, we could find a zebra print blanket, they always look good with black and red, as long as you don’t have, like, leopard print.”

“I thought you’d like leopard print?”

“And I thought you’d like skulls on your roof and coffin shaped beds,” he teased, with a smug little smile. Nico rolled his eyes, and picked out a strip of dark red fabric, passing it over.

He shook some glitter from his hands, there seemed to be piles of it in the box. “It’s a little over the top, but it’s not as bad as Jason’s cabin. It’s just rock. Everywhere. And a giant statue of his father.”

“Maybe he can be my next client,” he hummed, wiping glue from his fingers onto the molding carpet beneath them. A few shards of rounded glass were taped to the pages of the scrapbook, shining in the light of the dusty stained chandeliers.

Nico wanted to object. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want the boy in front of him with glitter on his cheekbones and scissors in his hands to be cutting out pictures and teasing someone else. Instead he looked away, feeling something in his chest surge, something like fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know, but he cleared his throat and moved on.

“Don’t you have a sister too?”

The fear surged back forwards and Nico whipped around, his tone sharp. “What?”

“The roman one, I swear I saw her the other day, when Reyna visited to plan something or other.” he said casually, not seeing the pale tinge to Nico’s face. “With the overalls and the bulldog?”

“That’s Frank,” Nico said, his shoulder sinking with relief.

“No, I’m pretty sure it was Hazel, she had those light up sketchers, with the little wheels on the bottom.” He said, somehow with a moon shaped sticker on his nose as he stuck little cut out paper skulls around the four page collage.

“Frank’s the bulldog, he can turn into animals.” Nico had a strange urge to reach out and press the sticker on his nose, so instead he held his hands tightly in his lap.

“Well, is there something Hazel’d like in the cabin when she visits? Does she read?”

Nico sighed, and reached back for the magazine he discarded. He shook it open, cut outs of fluffy teddies falling into his lap. He found the page with the heart shaped bathroom mirror and ripped it out carefully. He could take a few hearts in his cabin if Hazel would like them. “This one.”

“Oh, that one's cute, Nyssa could totally make it.”

“I can ask Leo, he owes me a favor.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I haven't killed him yet.”

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico pressed down the front of his shirt. It was a black Camp Halfblood shirt, which he’d gotten from Piper after the Aphrodite cabin had started making shirts in other colors. Apparently there were only so many outfits you could wear with orange.

Black goes with everything though, so it wasn’t a problem for him.

He made his bed [closed the lid of the coffin] and dragged the last of the furniture not nailed to the ground out onto the little deck all of the cabins had. His decking only had a few pairs of shoes and a pot of dead roses he’d never bothered to keep alive. Maybe he’d have another go.

Drew had taken the chandeliers already, to polish them and whatnot, so he only had to wait for his assigned son of Dionysus to show up, and they could start hunting for zebra print blankets and ripping skulls off the ceiling. What fun.

When he still hadn’t shown up, Nico finished pulling all of the previously made bedding from the coffins and dumping it to the side so that Leo could turn it to a bookshelf [He could read, he just had dyslexia thank you very much], and then set off to the Dionysus cabin. It was easy to find, the only male god on the female side, with trelice’s of ivy decorating the whitewashed walls and a grumpy looking leopard snoozing on the purple swinging chair out the front of the small cabin.

He didn’t really want to knock, but he was sure someone would report him for standing around too menacingly if he just waited. He was saved from indecision when the door opened, revealing a tall sandy haired boy.

“You’re the goth, aren’t you?” Pollux sniffed, his nose red. “We can’t help today, but Butch is free, he can do some heavy lifting, and I’m sure Drew’ll criticize your style if you ask nicely enough.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“I mean,” Pollux started, rubbing his eyes, and Nico only then realized he was still wearing his pajamas. They had an elongated cartoon owl sticking out of a doorway on it. “Skulls on the ceiling is a bit much, and everyone think you’re a vamp-”

“I meant with you guys, not my style,” Nico interrupted, his eyes narrowed.”

“Someone, decided to go visit Lou Ellen even though we all know she has a cold, and now I have it-” Pollux was cut off once again, his mockingly loud voice reaching the people inside.

“I’m sorry I was concerned for my friend, she wanted soup!”

“She always wants soup!” Pollulx yelled back, and Nico moved past the older child of Dionysus, slipping off his shoes and letting himself into the cabin.

There was nasally muttering behind him and the door slid shut. Nico peered around, and saw a bundle of fluffy blankets on a couch, only a sneezing head poking out the top. “Why did you get sick?”

“I mean it wasn’t really on purpose,” he mumbled back, wiping his nose with a tissue and sinking back into his cocoon. “I can’t help today, but-”

“I don’t care,” Nico started, and plopped down on the white couch, avoiding a deep red stain that could be alcohol or blood. He couldn’t tell. He also didn’t know how to say he’d rather sleep in the coffin again then have to spend the day with someone else.

He sniffed, falling sideways a little on the couch and squinting at the square tv, which was showing some old cartoon about cavemen. “Mkay, well you should probably go if you don’t wanna get sick.”

Nico thought for a moment, trying not to focus on how much he wanted to scoop up the bundle of blankets in his arms far too skinny for that sort of stuff. “Why don’t we watch ‘an Adam family’?

He got watery wide eyes in return and a toothy grin, “wait really?”

“No. If I was making a joke it’d be funnier than that.”

“Okay, let’s watch it,” he said, hopping off the couch and moving to a box of DVDs with a lot of energy for someone so sick. “And it’s the Addams family, goth. You have to learn the basics of this culture if you’re gonna have coffin bookshelves.”

He fiddled around with the tv and then a grainy black and white intro came on, tinny music over the top. Nico watched as he danced to the theme tune in his blanket burrito, all the way back to the couch, where he landed, coughing and winded. Nico raised an eyebrow. “I could’ve done that, you’re sick.”

“Yeah yeah whatever,” he mumbled, tucking the fluffy socks on his feet up onto the white couch and wiggling with excitement. Nico watched him for a moment, and then turned back to the TV, feeling his lips twitch into a grin.

Duh duh duh duh, click click. Duh duh duh duh, click click.

Their creepy and they're kooky-

»»————-　★　————-««

“Neeks, this mirror is so cute!”

“You’re welcome,” Nico muttered, rubbing his nose and rolling over, pulling the zebra print doona cover further over his head.

He heard Hazel’s wheelie shoes click along the floorboards and she gilded out of the bathroom. When he peered out, her hair was in bunchies and she was pulling a purple hoodie over her head. “It’s so much nicer in here now, but how did you get sick redecorating?”

“Uhm..There was a lot of dust. I might be allergic?”

The door slammed open, the clear chandelier hanging from the roof shaking as Nyssa trudged in, her work boots leaving mud on the fluffy blood red rug. She was holding the glitter covered scrapbook in her gloved hands.

“So, I know I’m supposed to make everything in this, but what am I supposed to do with the polaroid of you kissing Mr D ‘s kid?”

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #nico di angelo #nico #nico pjo #nico di angelo x reader #nico di angelo x you #nico di angelo x son of dionysus #hazel levesque #Pollux pjo #Hades #Hades cabin #death siblings

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sarahfeliciam · 5 months ago

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The Ultimatum Ch 54

Chapter 54

The next morning, Tonks and Remus had already been awake bright early to save the endless stream of questions that would have arisen from Sirius and Emeline had they been found together.

When Sirius entered the kitchen, simple bowls of oatmeal and toast thrown together, he took in a deep breath.

“Listen, Remus-“

“-no, Sirius. I’ve thought about this all night and I need to know what was going through your mind when you allowed an underage girl to come home completely drunk.”

“I wouldn’t use the word drunk per-say.” He tried cheekily. Remus simply glared. “I’m sorry,” he started again, deflated. “She’s having such a hard time, she wanted one drink and we just lost track of everything.”

“Sirius! She isn’t allowed one drink either! She’s sixteen.”

“Which is practically seventeen.” He quipped back, his stoic joking covering the fact that he felt awful and was scared of his mate’s repercussions.

“You’re on dangerously thin ice,” Remus warned, handing Tonks a mug of coffee. “Don’t ever allow anything like this under your nose again. Actually, scratch that, you aren’t allowed alone with Emeline again until further notice.”

“Moony,” his eyes shifted and the pain was written all over them. “I’m sorry, really. She’s got a transformation this week for the first time and a family dear to all of us’ funeral. She’s not okay.”

“I think I could tell if my own daughter is alright or not, Sirius! I don’t need your input!”

“I’m only trying to help!”

“You’re helping nothing!” Remus yelled, causing Tonks to flinch slightly in surprise.

“What the hell is everyone shouting about?” Emeline asked grumpily, stumbling slightly into the kitchen. Tonks grabbed her arm and gave her a nervous glance, wishing desperately she wasn’t getting herself in the middle of this.

“Emeline, watch your language, please!”

“Don’t tell me what to do! What kind of a curse word is hell? It’s nothing!”

“Don’t argue this with me, Emma!”

“I’ve said it a million times before!”

“Well, you’re done saying it! And you’re done drinking! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Excuse you! Now who’s using language!”

“I’m an adult! Mind you, adults can use whatever language they like and drink unlike you!”

“It was one drink!”

“Now you’re lying!”

“She isn’t lying; she’s a lightweight!” Sirius chimed in.

“Don’t you dare stick your nose in this with your lie, too! You still smell of alcohol, Emeline and he can’t protect you. He should’ve known better, too! You were completely hammered last night.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Certainly not!” Remus huffed.

“Shut up!” Tonks screeched, her chest heaving as all three of them turned her way. “Merlin, two of you have a reason to behave this way before tomorrow, one of you should bloody know better and I’m just trying to get through you lot unscathed. This is bonkers! Everyone get in a separate room.”

“That isn’t necess-“

“-now, Remus!”

•

Tonks spent that morning visiting Remus in his room, Sirius in the basement and Emeline in the living room individually before she could peacefully work out everyone’s woes and get them on a somewhat even playing field. By the time she’d heard every angle of this story, she was exhausted and dishing out Wolfsbane potion to Doom and Gloom, her new pet name expansion on Emeline’s little doomsday quip.

Hungover and attempting to drink the potion for the first time, Emeline promptly ran to the bathroom to vomit and Remus followed behind her after taking his, the Wolfsbane already seeping into his body and calming him somewhat. When he pushed the door open, it already sitting slightly ajar, she was trembling with tears streaming down her face and leaning heavily against the wall.

Remus sunk down on the floor next to her without a word and rested his arms against his knees. She slowly looked up at him, smiling lightly at the sight of his mismatched pajama pants and shirt, and tousled hair.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered, unable to say anything else before fresh tears stung at her eyes.

“Why did you do it?” He asked quietly, reaching for a towel on the counter and handing it off for her to wipe her face.

She dabbed at her eyes and shook her head. “I dunno. I just feel so out of control.” She looked up at him nervously, worried to admit anything negative she was feeling, but knowing she couldn’t get it past him.

If anyone understood, Tonks and Sirius were right: it was Remus.

He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with kindness unlike the earlier display in the kitchen. She knew it was her father sitting in front of her with no influence of the wolf, and she was able to mirror that with ease, feeling the internal battle melt off her for the first time in weeks.

“I still get that.” He spoke softly. “It’s normal for us. That’s why we’ve been having these conversations about control, yeah? I’ve given you yet another example this morning of how not to respond. However, I feel I had some allowance to respond rashly to my little girl walking in completely intoxicated for the first time.”

She couldn’t bring herself to laugh at his lighthearted end comment. She stared at him hesitantly, opening her mouth a few times before opting not to ask what was on her mind.

“What is it, pup?” He inquired, still studying her. His hair fell slightly in front of his eyes and she followed the line of a thick scar from his cheek to where his forehead was exposed with her own stare.

She swallowed a hard lump in her throat.

How painful is it?

She couldn’t verbalize it, but he felt her question with ease and he wasn’t surprised she’d ask it.

“Do you want the truth?” He asked gently.

“You always tell me not to lie.” She shrugged, her long curls falling past her shoulders and her icy blue eyes waiting patiently for his response.

“It’s quite… harsh,” he said slowly, struggling to find the right verbiage so as to prepare her without terrifying her. “You’ve witnessed it a few times now, I know you have some idea.” He finished, floundering with his comments slightly. He could feel her panic rising slightly and did not want to feed into it further.

“Yes, but what does it feel like when it first… starts?”

He knew she was a young woman now, but as he looked down at her eyes, filled with desperation and concerned wonder, she looked worlds younger which only made it harder for him to maintain his gaze while feeding her this information.

“Tell me the truth.” She whispered, snapping his attention back.

“It feels.. like my body is on fire. Like, ripping. My bones just feel sort of br-“

“-I’m sorry, ripping?”

Remus’ face paled as he acknowledged his rambling. He ran a hand through his hair and rested it on her shoulder after.

“Emeline, all you need to know is I’ve done this practically my entire life. I’m okay and you will be too. I will make sure of it.”

She nodded silently and leaned her head onto his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be near me. I’ve only had Wolfsbane once and-“

“-you can’t hurt me.” He chuckled. “We’re far past that, pup.”

She shook her head and looked down at the tile floor, feeling the cool stony-texture with her palm.

“I just don’t know what to expect. I… well, I think I’d like to be alone.”

“I’ve already separated the cellar.” He responded quickly. “Nothing to be worried about.”

“Okay.” She whispered, still staring at the ground.

“It’s going to be alright, Emma.” He nudged her shoulder with his own and smiled. “Tonks has asked to stay. I’m not sure I want her to be around for-“

“-yes, please. Can she really?” Emeline’s eyes glistened with joy at this news and Remus visibly softened further.

He mulled it over for a moment, finally arriving at the conclusion that this would finally make the decision for them: could they really be a couple, or was this wishful thinking? Not many could get past his condition… could Tonks, really?

“Okay.” He relented with a deep sigh. “But she’s nowhere near the cellar during the moon. Sound fair?”

“Totally fair.” Emeline nodded, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I love you, darling.” He squeezed her tightly and she kissed his cheek as she pulled away.

“I love you too, dad.”

#harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin x daughter #remuslupin daughter #nymphadora tonks #remus daughter #george weasley #professor lupin #remus lupin

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justicerikai · 2 years ago

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Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #25 Playing with Ohse

Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.

TL note:

For a lack of a better alternative, I have turned 鞠つき into “playing with a temari ball” “ball game” etc. It is translated as handball but it’s in the context of the traditional Japanese custom, and not handball as we know it in the western world. I found it confusing to say handball, so temari it is.

A temari ball is a traditional Japanese craft, they were often paired with songs to play along with. Ohse does his own take on a song called “anta-gata doko sa” in this case.

I don’t know if the second song if based on any others, I had a hard time trying to find it and I’m leaving it at that for now.

Rikai: Ohse-kun, we’re fine with doing anything, okay? You can tell us whatever you would like to do, and we’ll follow through on it.

Rikai: Right, Fumiya-san?

Fumiya: Eh? Yeah

Ohse: Really? Is it fine to have your precious time wasted by a shitty sore loser

Rikai: What are you saying there, both of us want to have fun and play with you.

Rikai: Regularly we don’t communicate too much with each other, so I thought this could serve as a chance to shorten the distance between us. Right, Fumiya-san?

Fumiya: Eh? Yeah

Rikai: C’mon Ohse-kun, isn’t there anything you’d like to do? Please let us know.

Rikai: Going for a walk? Perhaps shopping? What would you like?

Ohse: If you’re certain about it then… I want to play with a temari ball

Rikai: Te…temari….? Huh?

Ohse: You don’t want to do it, do you. I’m sorry I’ll go die.

Rikai: WAIT OHSE-KUN! A ball game!? That is fine! Wonderful even! We will most certainly do that!

Ohse: Are you sure?

Rikai: I’m absolutely sure. Using a temari is perfect

Rikai: It’s part of traditional Japanese culture. In these past few years we have been negligent of the essence of harmony, so harboring that meaning only makes it more worthwhile to do it now. Let us play with a temari ball!

Fumiya: But what about the ball?

Rikai: Ah

Ohse: I have a ball that I recently crafted

Rikai: How wonderful! Now, let us play with it!

Ohse: Then, I’ll go first

Rikai: Ooh! Playing a ball game with Ohse-kun! I’m so excited~! Do your best!

(Doom and gloom manifests)

Rikai: Eh?

(Ohse starts singing)

Ohse: Where are you from? From the underground.

Ohse: Where underground? From a nice place.

Ohse: Where is that nice place? In hell.

Ohse: Go to hell and there will be Enma

Ohse: He will spear the brats

Ohse: Boil them, roast them, eat them

Ohse: And cover the remains with leaves

Rikai: Ohse-kun excuse me for a moment

(Rikai grabs Fumiya and runs off)

Rikai: What do we do about this…!

Fumiya: Eh?

Rikai: What was that cursed temari song! Do we have to sing that? No way no way. I absolutely don’t want that, I absolutely don’t want any misfortune to befall me. But it’s too late to reject him now is it? Because we’re the ones that said how anything will be fine to do! Geez~ Fumiya-san it’s all because you just have to be that nice to others~!

Fumiya: No, I didn’t say a thing. You did.

Rikai: All because you went on about how wonderful temari is!

Fumiya: That was you, not me

Ohse: Uum…

Rikai: !!!!

Ohse: Could it be that you don’t want to do it?

Rikai: EEEH!? No, um, it’s just– It’s not that I don’t want to do it but- eeh, you see, um…

Fumiya: Let’s draw

Rikai: Huh?

Ohse: Uh?

Fumiya: It’s what you’re good at and love to do, right?

Fumiya: I love drawings too. How about it?

Rikai: Oooh~ I see! Drawing! That is nice! Nice one Fumiya-san!

Rikai: How about it, Ohse-san

Ohse: Yes. I don’t mind it.

Rikai: Then let’s leave the ball game aside and go draw!

Rikai: Ahaha! What a relief….

Ohse: Then I’ll start drawing

Rikai: Oh! Ohse-kun’s drawing! How exciting! Good luck!

(Doom and gloom manifests)

Rikai: You’re kidding me…

(Ohse starts singing)

Ohse: There was a glimmer of hope

Ohse: Was it envy? It wasn’t envy

Ohse: It is bitterness Growing resentment

Ohse: Internal punishment

Ohse: Head spinning Blood rushing

Ohse: Gushing out

Ohse: A crack in the wall of self-consciousness

Ohse: Six eyes and three necks

Ohse: A cute pet had been born

Ohse: In one bite A man swallowed whole by Cerberus.

Rikai: Ohse-kun excuse me for a moment

(Rikai grabs Fumiya and runs off)

Rikai: WHAT do we do about this! You’re the one that suggested to draw instead didn’t you…!?

Fumiya: Haha, didn’t expect that. Funny.

Rikai: It is NOT funny!

Rikai: Besides what kind of song for drawing is that. Envy? Bitterness? Internal punishment?

Rikai: What kind of drawing do you have to make for that? Also why make that kind of drawing, at the end Cerberus showed up and ate a whole man. It’s a song that depends too much on the ability of the one drawing. And I don’t want to draw Cerberus that’s eating people.

Fumiya: Really. I kind of want to try it out

Rikai: I’m good on that part!

Ohse: Uum…

Rikai: !

Ohse: I’m sorry if I have caused any problems.

Rikai: EH! No no Ohse-kun, you haven’t at all.

Ohse: It’s fine. You don’t have to force yourself. It’s always like this for me.

Rikai: …..

Ohse: Thank you very much for inviting me today. Talking to both of you, and playing together, was fun.

Ohse: Now then…

Rikai & Fumiya: He… he had fun~

#charisma house #charismahouse #minato ohse #ito fumiya #kusanagi rikai

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dduquette-a · 2 years ago

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AND EVEN IF DENNY WANTED TO HIDE HOW HE REALLY FELT ABOUT IZZY — he wouldn’t be able to. it’s clear as day as he beams down at her, the expression of a man hopelessly in love etched out for all to see. from the moment isobel stevens walked into his hospital room, he knew she was someone 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕. brains, beauty, a little bit of everything. what he didn’t know then, was just 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘳 she’d be willing to go for him. that came later. he’s seen the 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 she would've made for him and while denny would never want to be the reason she lost the one thing she felt so passionately about, he can’t be anything except grateful because it’s the reason he’s here now. the reason he can reach out and brush those few stray strands of blonde hair she missed, tucking it behind her ear with a knowing smile that says 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. their little secret. arm falls back down to his side half a beat later, just to be safe. their relationship isn’t necessarily a 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 these days, but he’s still aware subtly is currently key, given the repercussions that came with falling for a patient.

＂ please, i’m an angel. ＂ even if there’s a little bit of 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 glistening mischievously in his eyes. ＂ can’t say i blame him. i did steal his girl. don’t worry, he’ll warm up to me eventually. ＂ he doesn’t believe that for a second. doesn’t mind either; all was fair in love and war, and as the WINNER of such a battle, denny can’t help feel a little smug. sorry, alex. ＂ i did. my old man is in town. both my parents actually. i called them after the most beautiful woman in the world agreed to be my wife. you may have heard of her, she works here. ＂ another thing he owes to izzy, in a manner. there were so many times runaway son thought about picking up the phone, followed by so many times he didn’t. izzy’s presence in his life changed the fear of talking to them again. she gave him 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜, something fun to share instead of doom & gloom, and now, the duquette family were finally healing old wounds. ＂ as you know, we’ve got a 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 amount of money in the bank. ＂ millions in fact, but nobody likes a bragger. denny has always preferred a much more humble approach when it came to his inheritance. ＂ i figure there’s no better place i’d like to invest some of it to than the place that saved my life. dad agrees. i’m meeting him for dinner later, if you can tear yourself away from scrubs and scalpels. ＂

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲. she knew the risks she had taken when she cut his lvad wire, how wrong things could have gone and how close she could've come to absolutely ruining her career. but it was like their 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 that no one had to know, she trusted meredith, george and cristina to keep their mouths shut and burke clearly had his suspicions. but she knew she made the 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 and as much as she was in trouble for falling in love with a patient, at least no one really knew what she had done to keep said patient alive. izzy just knew she had to keep herself in check, be the 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 she could be especially with bailey watching her like a hawk and the others seemed to just be waiting for her to crack. but she wasn't going to fall apart. she was still training to be the best doctor she could be and she had the 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 alive and healthy. eyes widened in surprise at the sound of his voice, looking up at him with a smile as she was definitely not expecting to see him here, " denny, hi, " izzy smiled, brushing blonde strands of hair behind her ear as she looks up at him, a soft blush raising on her cheeks. she still wasn't used to seeing him so 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 , she loved it, it made her heart race that little bit more as she looks at him.

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, she was being watched and on prohobation as she looked at him. people already thought they knew what happened, seeing the two of them together would just make the 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 spread even more. however, she didn't really care anymore. she was glad to see him and she couldn't stop smiling, shaking her head as she speaks, " you are so bad, mr duquette, " izzy teased, folding the chart in her hands back together as she turns to face him. he really did look good. he was always handsome, but it was amazing the 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 a working heart did to a person. she couldn't help but laugh at his comment about alex, rolling her eyes a little, " oh yeah, he's definitely not your biggest fan, he'd probably try to make it as uncomfortable for you as possible, " she teased, alex may not be happy about the outcome of her relationship with denny and he was probably more jealous than he wanted to admit, but she was happy. happier than she ever thought possible. blue eyes flick over him and she shook her head again, " wait - did you say donation? what do you mean? "

#chrmatiica #HELLO??? I AM OBSESSED WITH THEM #in character. ⸻ conversations.#universes. ⸻ verse 005.#out of character. ⸻ excuse queue.

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regal-bones · 3 years ago

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Feeling so,,, bleh about art rn suffering the craziest burnout and just ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh when I’m not working for my job I’m working on commissions and the few peices of personal art I’m getting out just keep flopping :( I want to stay motivated but god I’m exhausted and progress is so slow - I keep falling into the trap of looking at other artists and follower counts and interactions and god I know numbers aren’t everything but when I’m trying to make a career of this numbers ARE everything and I feel like all the fun has been sapped out of creating

#gonna delete this later sorry gosh #just so overwhelmed at the minute #and damn the first time I ever start doing okay at building a little art following #the website I do it on is apparently gonna close down !!!#I don’t know what I’m gonna do if tumblr closes like fr all my commissions come from here #and I get like #2 or 3 retweets on all my stuff on Twitter and No Commissions #if ur reading this I’m so sorry lmao apologies for the rant it’s just #!!!! getting to me !!!!#I also want to say for all my gloom and doom talk #the people here are lovely #you are amazing and so sweet to me #I’m just so worried about losing an outlet where people actually care about my stuff #it’s so precious to me! you guys are so precious to me !!#and GAHHh I just can’t get ANy traction anywhere else and I’m gonna SCREAM

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blu-joons · 2 years ago

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When He’s Scared That You’ll Leave Him ~ BTOB Reaction

Eunkwang:

Your smile was soft as you looked across the table to where Eunkwang was sat, watching him stare off into the distance. With one call of his name, he blurted out everything as he prepared to head off on tour.

Your smile quickly dropped as you struggled to find the words. “You’re really worried that you’ll come back from tour and I won’t be here anymore?”

“Two months is a long time,” Eunkwang reminded you.

“And two months isn’t going to make me stop loving you or decide not to be with you,” you assured him too, “you know that I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Eunkwang pushed his plate away as he relaxed back in his chair. “I don’t get why, you’ll get bored, right? Not having me around.”

“I will, but I know you’ll be coming back home too.”

“You’re really not going to go anywhere whilst I’m on tour?” Eunkwang asked once again, wanting to make absolutely sure of what you had told him.

“I promise,” you smirked in reply, “I know you’re worried and concerned, but there really is no need to be, I’ll be right here with you.”

A slow nod of the head followed as Eunkwang began to reassure himself. “I’m sorry, I’ve just got so many thoughts right now.”

“It’s alright, you’re allowed to be worried Eunkwang.”

Minhyuk:

A head coming down and resting into your lap brought your eyes down, although your smile was wide, the expression on Minhyuk’s face was far from cheerful, instantly beginning to worry you as you met his eyes.

You studied Minhyuk for a few moments before clearing your throat, “what’s got you looking all doom and gloom all of a sudden.”

“Do you think we should settle?” He suddenly asked.

“What’s brought that on? Are you not happy with where we are right now?” You enquired, getting anxious as to where the conversation was going.

Minhyuk’s head quickly shook in reply to you, “it’s not that, I’m just worried that you want to settle down, but I’m stopping us.”

“I love the place that we’re in right now together.”

“Really?” He giggled, his smile flashing momentarily. “I was beginning to think you’d leave me if we didn’t hurry and take the next step together.”

“We’ll take that step when we’re both ready,” you insisted, “i’m in no rush, and certainly in no rush to leave you either Min.”

His head nodded as he listened to you, “I’m pretty relieved to hear you say that, I’ve been making myself worry for such a long time.”

“Don’t worry, trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Changsub:

The feeling of a hand sliding into yours made your body freeze up, glancing across to Changsub behind you. His sudden affection took you by surprise, looking at him cluelessly until he looked back at you.

Your eyes narrowed in his direction as you tried to figure out what was going on. “Are you alright? Your grip is pretty tight right now on me Chang.”

“I’m just holding your hand,” he mumbled in reply.

“If you’re sure.” Your head nodded, looking around as you spotted a group of guys. “There’s nothing that’s made you nervous is there, by any chance?”

A faint sigh came from Changsub as he looked at you again, “I’m nervous that there’s so many better guys for you constantly around us.”

“Where are they? I definitely don’t see anyone.”

“You’re just trying to be nice,” Changsub chuckled, but your head shook back at him, “I bet I could find about ten just in this room alone you know.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, “there’s no one here, or anywhere, that I would want to be with, that’s why it’s your hand that I’m holding.”

A hum came from Changsub as you began to get him aligned with your way of thinking. “There’s things that make me nervous everywhere.”

“Don’t be nervous, you’re the only one for me.”

Hyunsik:

Your eyes widened in surprise as Hyunsik apologised to you, clueless as to where it had come from. What came next though, an admission of fear and concern, was something that you never expected to hear.

Once he finished speaking, you shuffled closer to him straight away. “Have I ever made you feel as if I don’t want to be with you? Like I want to leave you.”

“No, you’ve never done that,” he assured you.

“Then what have you got to be scared of?” You then pushed, “I know we’ve not spent as much time together recently, but these things happen in relationships.”

A slight nod of the head came from Hyunsik in reply to you, “it doesn’t happen as much as it’s happened to us, and that’s all my fault.”

“We’ve both been busy, but we’re both still here.”

“That’s true,” he murmured, feeling your arm drape across his shoulders as you tried to calm Hyunsik down. “I guess I’m just scared one day you’ll get fed up.”

“No way,” you chuckled in disbelief, “do you really think that I could ever get fed up? If anything, I love how busy you are.”

At last, as you wanted, the corners of Hyunsik’s smile turned up, “you always seem to know what to say to cheer me up.”

“That’s because I know you far too well.”

Peniel:

An apologetic smile formed on Peniel’s face as he came home and saw you looking back at him, a coincidental yawn coming from you. It was the last thing that Peniel needed to see, making him feel even worse.

The early hours of the morning were with you as you tried to sit yourself up. “I thought for a while that maybe you were spending the night at work.”

“You don’t deserve this,” Peniel replied.

“Where did that suddenly come from?” You quizzed, taken aback by his dejected response as you tapped the space just next to you for Peniel to take a seat in.

He cautiously sat down, keeping his distance from you. “You shouldn’t be waiting for me like this, it’s not the sort of relationship you deserve.”

“Don’t I get to be the one to decide what I deserve?”

“Of course,” Peniel agreed, “but that doesn’t stop me feeling bad, it doesn’t stop me from fearing that one day you’ll just give up waiting for me.”

“Peniel,” you whispered, reaching across and taking a hold of his hand, “when have you ever known me to give up on anything?”

A weak smile formed on Peniel’s face as he listened to you, “you promise that I won’t be the first thing you give up on?”

“I promise that I will never give up on you, us.”

Sungjae:

You could feel Sungjae’s eyes on you for quite some time, failing to say a word. You too, didn’t quite know what to say, opting to sit quietly and not say a word until finally Sungjae spoke up, voicing his concerns.

As soon as you stopped listening, your eyes widened and looked across at him. “You’re not saying that you think the two of us should break up, are you?”

“No, no way,” Sungjae responded.

“I don’t understand what’s going on right now,” you admitted to Sungjae, running a hand through your hair, “why can we not find the words with each other anymore?”

Sungjae nodded in agreement with you, “I don’t want things to carry on like this Y/N, I’m scared where things might end up for the two of us.”

“You think that the two of us could break up like this?”

“I don’t want to say it aloud,” Sungjae assured you, offering you a faint smile, “I’m scared that I’ll stop thinking about it and experience it instead.”

“That won’t happen,” you whispered, trying your best to assure yourself too. “We can start working on fixing things, right?”

A hum came from Sungjae in reply to you, “I want to do that more than anything, I don’t want to lose you Y/N.”

“I know, and I don’t want to lose you either Sungjae.”

---

Masterlist

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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A Well Rounded Education (2): Grading Boundaries (Fem!Reader x Nanami Kento, 7.5k)

series synopsis: You are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. Gojo does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: the father of one of your students requested a meeting to ask about ways of improving his son’s grades. after working with him for a few weeks, nanami wants to thank you for helping yuji out in his own personal way.

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. oral sex (male on female and female on male), massage, nanami is just a gentleman after toji tbh.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)

You oversleep the next morning and for the first time since beginning your work as Gojo’s teaching aid, the other man is at his desk before you manage to rush into the classroom. He’s relaxed, arms behind his head, feet up on the desk – and when he sees you, he gives you a cheery wave and a grin.

“Found this on the floor this morning!” He says to you, using his thumb to flip you something small and round that you only manage to catch through sheer dumb luck. You stare down at the thing you’re cradling in your palm; one of the round buttons from your blouse, that you guess you missed after Toji had left and you’d had to try and pull yourself together.

““S-sorry about that,” you babble, your mind working eighty miles a minute to think of a proper excuse. “I-it got caught on my jacket when I was getting ready to leave last night, I wondered where it had gotten to--”

“How’d the meeting with Tsumiki go?”

“Huh?” You ask, blinking down at the button still, trying to fight the heat that is crawling up your face as you shove the accusing object into the pocket of your neatly tailored jacket. “Oh! It wasn’t Tsumiki. It was Mr Fushiguro, actually. M-Megumi’s father?”

There’s a pause in the air, almost as if it’s rippling with tension. When you look up, Gojo is staring at you, his eyes implacable behind dark lenses.

“I see,” he says. “That’s unusual.”

“I gave him all the paperwork, explained the probation and everything,” you hurry to say, almost tripping over your words. You don’t like the way he’s staring at you, and you find yourself shifting from foot to foot, hoping you don’t look like someone who let their student’s father rail you over their boss’ desk. “Megumi’ll be back in school next week, and hopefully nothing like this will happen again--”

“Mm,” Gojo says. You’ve never heard him sound that serious before, ignoring the chance to poke a little fun. His voice usually pitches and modulates, laughing, before he cracks some kind of inane joke that makes you and half the class wince. “I’ve got a meeting tonight, by the way. I was hoping you’d sit in with me.”

“Please don’t palm off more of your dirty work on me,” you say to him, as you go over to your own little makeshift table in the corner of your room and begin to rifle through your bag for the things you’ll need for the day. “To-- Mr Fushiguro was kind of scary, honestly.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that!” Gojo waves your worries away with a hand, immediately dismissing it. “No, it’s Yuji’s dad – he wants to talk about his grades, I think? I said I don’t think it really matters, and he got really quiet and kind of angry on the phone with me.” Gojo shrugs. Of course Gojo said something like that. You’re not sure Gojo himself has ever worried about something in his life. “Honestly, he’s a. . . businessman type. Very serious! I just want someone to diffuse the tension a bit!” Gojo grins at you. “So you’re my human shield!”

Right.

Far be it for you to think that Gojo might have an educational reason for wanting you to sit in on this meeting. Still . . . you really like Yuji. You know that sometimes his inability to understand things frustrates him – he’s constant energy, and his mind just can’t keep up with the pace of the rest of him. You’d like to help where you can! And you know that Gojo’s probably not going to be able to offer any helpful advice – his classes might work for some kids, and Yuji does really like him, but that’s a boy who would probably benefit from some individualised attention and someone a little quieter.

You don’t like the idea of him with a father who pushes him academically and doesn’t care about his other achievements. Biting your lip, you nod, busying yourself with laying out the pens on your desk and flicking through one of your training books to see if there’s anything about meetings with parents. This one, you think and hope, is definitely not going to end up the same way yesterday’s meeting did.

There’s a kind of nervous energy in Yuji all day. He drops his pen, he shoots you agonised looks until you come over to check his work, and as everyone is milling out to go to lunch, he comes to stand in front of you, kicking his toe on the floor. You smile at him, seeing how he’s vibrating, rocking on the balls of his feet – hoping that the smile might at least calm him down some.

“My Dad’s meeting with Mr Gojo tonight,” Yuji eventually blurts. Without Megumi in class to tamper down some of his more bombastic nature, Yuji’s voice pitches and wavers. “I’m-- Mr Gojo doesn’t care about grades, but my Dad’s like, ‘you should apply yourself more, you have it in you’ and . . . and I guess I’m worried?” He brings a finger to his chin, dwelling on the thought. The way he says it, it’s almost like he’s not usually aware of the idea of ‘worry’ – oh, to be a twelve year old boy!

“I know,” you say, after a proper time has elapsed to make Yuji think you’ve really dwelt on the situation. You reach into your own bag to pull out the carefully prepared lunch you have in there – you could go to the staff-room, but honestly, you’re still feeling a bit wobbly after last night’s events and you don’t want to go around into the hum of people who’ll gather you up into bubbles of small talk. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sitting in on the meeting too.” You hope your smile is reassuring. “It’s not going to be all doom and gloom, I promise.”

That actually . . . does seem to soothe Yuji.

“My grades are really bad,” he says. “I just . . . I’m not smart, y’know? Megumi knows all this stuff, and I’m just . . . dumb.”

“Being good at school stuff isn’t everything,” you say to Yuji. “You’ve got your own talents. Look at you on the sports field!” He blushes in the way young boys do when they’re being complimented by anybody, a kind of awkward ‘oh, shucks, don’t make me think that I’m good at anything’. You smile. “I’m sure your Dad understands that too.”

“Oh, he does!” Yuji’s eyes widen. You feel a little lock around your chest loosen, just a bit. There’s hero worship clear in Yuji’s eyes now. “He just thinks I should live up to my . . . what’s he call it? Full potential!” He twists his lip, and then leans in, conspiratorially. “He doesn’t like Mr Gojo. He doesn’t think he’s serious.”

Despite yourself, your lips curve into a smile. You aren’t going to trash talk your colleague to a kid that you’re in charge of, but all of the other staff just seem to roll their eyes and let Satoru Gojo get on with whatever he’s doing because apparently he was a prodigy at college or something. It’s nice to know at least someone is on your side, even if you’ll hopefully only ever see him once or twice during your whole year here.

“Don’t worry,” you say to Yuji. “I’ll try and handle it. Now, you should go! All the other boys look like they’re about to play a game of football--”

Yuji’s eyes brighten and he grins, turning away immediately, mind quickly flitting to something more pressing. He shouts a goodbye and a thank you to you even as he’s racing out of the door, almost too fast to be believed.

Kento Nanami (Itadori is his ex-wife’s name, he tells you with a sigh, but the name that Yuji was born with and he’s reluctant to have it changed) is very obviously a businessman, in a well-pressed grey suit and a navy shirt, a yellow tie tight to his throat. He’s wearing suspenders beneath the jacket, an expensive watch on his wrist, and a pair of small glasses perched on a sharp nose. A solemn face, sculpted jaw. He has cheekbones that you think could cut fucking diamonds into pieces, a wave of carefully styled blonde hair over a proud forehead--

What the fuck is going on at this school that it seems like all of the dads are so hot? You do your level best not to look at him too much, as Gojo introduces you and he shakes your hand. He looks at you with his eyes narrowed just a touch; you think he’s trying to get the measure of you, and whether you’re just going to be here to back up Gojo. There’s an air of tiredness to this man that suggests he will not take any of your colleague’s nonsense, and that thought bolsters you when he puts down his briefcase and neatly folds his hands on his lap, looking from you to Gojo.

“I want to talk about Yuji’s grades,” he says, “and how we can help him improve them.”

You like him already. The way he says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – the withering gaze that he sets on Gojo, as the white-haired man stretches his arms out above him.

“I told you on the phone,” Gojo says. “They’re just grades--”

“Grades that will follow Yuji throughout his career in this school, and eventually to high school, and eventually to college,” Nanami’s voice is very sure of itself, cutting through Gojo with ease. “I just want to ensure that he has the best chance possible. I want to make sure he’s living up to himself.”

Gojo – fucking Gojo – stifles a yawn behind his hand, and you see that Nanami’s hand flexes on his thigh (wow, his hands are big). You cut across before the two of them can come to blows.

“Yuji’s a bright boy,” you say. “He just needs . . . a little extra help. Someone to sit with him and explain what’s going on, maybe just go over the material again.” You give Nanami a nervous smile. “He’s not the only one in the class, honestly. I-- Mr Gojo’s teaching methods can be--”

“Innovative—” (Gojo says).

“Erratic—” (Nanami says).

“Unusual,” you decide on, in the end, “and not every child is going to thrive.”

“He won’t let me ask them to move into Miss Utahime’s class,” Nanami says, wearily. “Yuji is very fond of Mr Gojo.”

(You know that, and so does Gojo; the white-haired man gives a cocky grin to both of you).

“I enjoy teaching Yuji,” you say. “He’s good-hearted, enthusiastic – he throws himself into everything he does.” Nanami’s tired eyes seem to brighten behind the glasses at the compliment to his son, his lips lifting at the corners in the briefest twitch of a smile.

“He does,” Nanami says, and it’s clear from his tone that he’s very proud of Yuji. You feel bad for thinking he might be the kind of pushy, demanding father that you’d been warned you may encounter in this profession. With Nanami in front of you, it’s clear he just wants the best for Yuji and is concerned that Gojo might not be that ‘best’. You can’t blame him. You often think Gojo behaves more like a child than half of the kids in the class. “Yes, those are all of his best qualities.”

You nervously shift your gaze to Gojo, who is waiting for your next move.

“I’d be happy to work with him,” you say, eventually. “Maybe set up some kind of . . . drop-in, for students having trouble with the work, over free periods? I won’t make them, of course, but . . . I think my methods and Mr Gojo’s are very different, Sir.”

Nanami’s shoulders relax just a touch. He stands, nodding, taking your hand to shake it.

“I don’t doubt it, Miss,” he says – and as he touches you, a frisson of electricity seems to pass between the two of you. His hands are big and surprisingly soft, and as he grasps your hand you can suddenly sense strength behind the grasp. You hope that your surprise doesn’t register in your face, as he turns and inclines his head slightly at Gojo (Gojo does not get a handshake, you do not fail to notice).

“I hope that it helps,” Nanami says, as he leaves. And honestly . . . you do too.

Nanami asks to schedule a meeting with you, two weeks after you’ve begun working with some of the lower-achieving children in the class. Yuji’s grades have been improving, slowly and steadily – the boy looking at you with a grin when tests are handed back with letters far higher up in the alphabet than he’s used to getting.

“Ah, I can leave you to deal with that one,” Gojo says, grinning at you when he hears about it. “You’re the one working miracles, after all! I think Mr Nanami would just be displeased to see me sat with you, and I’m not gonna complain about not having to deal with a guy like that!”

You’re inclined to agree. So you watch Gojo leave that afternoon blithely, like he hasn’t got a care in the world – his bag is full of essays that need to be marked over the weekend, but somehow you think you’ll have a stack pressed into your own hands on Monday morning, more than a little crumpled, as Gojo insists you should get used to doing some marking yourself.

You wait for Nanami with your head in a book, steadfastly ignoring Gojo’s desk and sitting by your own table in the corner of the classroom instead. Last time you were alone with a student’s father in this room, you got to know that desk far too intimately.

Nanami is exactly on time, the second hand of the clock just ticking past the twelve as he knocks on the door and you call for him to come in. Gojo does have an office, and he’s said you can use that if you want – but the few times you’ve been in Gojo’s office, you’ve been overwhelmed by the chaotic mess that the man surrounds himself with. The classroom, if nothing else, at least looks peaceful.

Nanami sits across your table, well-mannered and polite, as you put your book down and smile.

“You wanted to talk about how Yuji’s doing?” You ask him. “It’s only been two weeks, but I think we can already see quite a bit of improvement--”

“Yes,” he says. “I think we can.”

Nanami does not heap you with praise; you get the impression that he’s not the kind of man who heaps anybody with praise. You get the impression he’s the kind of man who gives you an approving look, a pat on the shoulder, a nod – you find that you’re craving that approval yourself, looking at him across from you.

“I look at his homework sometimes,” Nanami says. “He’s getting a lot more of it himself, now. Not pulling his hair out at the dining table. You’re . . . you’re really doing a very good job, you know.”

Your insides fizz at the compliment. Gojo doesn’t give them out, either – but you’re the kind of person who occasionally needs to be told they’re doing the right thing, in order to motivate them to carry on. Nanami’s compliment carries a weight in your heart that lodges there like a secret.

You can’t remember the last time someone said you were doing a good job.

You and Nanami talk through the grading rubric, the other topics that are set to be covered before the end of term – how you’re trying to get Gojo to be a little more academic in his lessons, but it’s not working. You mention that lots of the other kids seem to be thriving under having a chance to go back over the material that your mentor occasionally skips and side-steps around, imparting his knowledge in his own particular way. Thoughts of Gojo make your mind swim with fatigue.

You hadn’t realised, until you started talking about it, but you also can’t remember your mind not being consumed by thoughts of your work at any point in the last few weeks. You’re always worrying about something; your mind always rushing from one possible bad outcome to the next. The kids, your training, Gojo, the school, the heavy weight of choosing a career where the next generation depends on you--

“You look tired,” Nanami says, his face twisted in sympathy. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

You haven’t, really – thoughts of the class, and your work, and whether you’re even cut out for this as a career have been haunting you more and more recently, as you watch Gojo stumble irresponsibly from day to day. You feel like you get home, do some work for the next day, go to sleep, and immediately go to work again with nothing in between. You look at Nanami, who’s all concern, and you know you shouldn’t, but--

“I’m just getting stressed from everything happening all at once,” you say, forcing yourself to smile. “I have a lot of assessments coming up, reports I should be writing, reports that are written about me. Ah, those ones-- those are by Mr Gojo--”

“Ahh,” he looks incredibly sympathetic at that one.

“There’s just,” you falter. “A lot. And if I don’t come to work feeling my best and supporting them all, I feel like I’m letting the kids down, but I also just feel kind of bone-weary aching all of the time—”

Nanami’s hand reaches across the table, taking ahold of yours. His palms are warm and rough, and the thumb that rubs soothing circles against the base of your own is comforting. You sigh, eyelids half flickering closed.

“I shouldn’t have said anything to you,” you murmur, the small moment of intimacy (when you’ve spent the last two weeks feeling like you’re lurching from place to place and nobody is paying attention) sending a much-needed hit of comfort to the marrow of your bones. “You shouldn’t have to listen to my problems.”

Nanami’s lips tilt.

“I’d say it’s the least I could do,” he says, drily, “after everything you’ve done for Yuji – and after you’ve had to deal with Mr Gojo.” The look he gives you is quietly private, a shared in-joke between the two of you that makes you smile in response. His response almost makes you forget that he’s touching you, and though the touch is innocuous, you also know it’s unprofessional--

You stare at his hand on yours. It’s the same arm that he wears his expensive wristwatch on, and the sleeve of his suit jacket has ridden up to reveal just a hint of the shape beneath, a prominently veined wrist. Your throat goes dry looking at it, as you think of how strong he had seemed that time he’d shook your hand--

He’s looking at where the two of you are touching, too – a faint spot of red fading in high on his cheekbones. He coughs, awkward, but doesn’t move his hand. He swallows.

“You’re very pretty, you know,” Nanami says, and your body seems to flood with heat. You should say something about how inappropriate that is, thank him for coming to see you and the sweet words he’d said about how you were helping Yuji along, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to do it when he’s looking at you like that. “It sounds very hypocritical coming from me, because anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t get enough of it myself– but you should rest more. Relax.”

You can imagine him ramrod straight behind a desk, eyes narrowed behind spreadsheets and numbers. You can definitely imagine him tired and drooping, working too hard. You smile again, helplessly, the look apologetic. You’re not very good at things like that.

“You look stiff,” he says. “Here--”

He stands. You’d forgotten how tall he was, the breadth of him – he unbuttons his jacket neatly, laying it over the back of the chair. Without that, the width of his shoulders is really apparent. You don’t realise you’re staring until he makes a little noise, a ‘hmph’ of amusement, eyes not meeting yours, thumbs unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing the sleeves up to his elbows.

He’s behind you.

“I’ve been told I’m good at this,” he says. “Big hands, I suppose?”

You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those same big hands are suddenly on your shoulders, the same thumbs that were just rubbing tender circles onto your hand digging into your shoulder-blades in a massage that you feel down to your toes. You don’t realise you’ve let out a noise and relaxed back into the massage until Nanami lets out a low hum that you think is mirth.

The noise you make as he works out that persistent knot in the back of your neck is near-on pornographic, and both of you know it – heat rushing to your face, Nanami clearing his throat. If somebody walking by had heard that – if they came into the classroom, to see you getting a massage from Yuji’s father--

How do you keep getting into these situations? Nobody warned you about this part of working in a school. Why do his hands feel so fucking good on you, fingers digging into your skin – you moan again, rolling back into his touch.

There’s a clipped quality to his voice when he speaks;

“Wait a second.” Your eyes flutter open as his hands leave you, watching in distress as he walks to the door. If you’re expecting him to leave, you’re surprised when what actually happens is that he twists the lock, so nobody can walk in on the two of you doing something so. . . incongruous with both the classroom around you and the knowledge of what exactly the relationship between you is.

He gives you another one of those half-smiles and you feel a familiar throb in your lower half. Oh, this is unfair – he’s so handsome, so unruffled, so gentle as he takes back his position behind you and touches you again.

“This would feel better on your bare skin,” he murmurs, the words ghosting along you as a politely worded request, and obediently your fingers deftly unbutton your blouse without hesitation. This time, you’re glad that there’s no clatter of lost buttons on the floor – this time, you’re able to push it off your shoulders yourself. Nanami sighs as you let the fabric drop, pooling behind you in a crumpled mess. One of his fingertips traces your spine, raising gooseflesh on the sensitive skin.

“Don’t you have someone at home to do this for you?” He asks, voice soft and low like velvet, as he kneads the skin, tension draining out of you more and more with each passing minute. The question is worded carefully, but both of you know what he’s asking.

“Just me,” you say, as his hands slide forward, thumbs digging into your shoulders but fingers resting over your collarbone, his hands so big on you.

“Pity,” Nanami breathes, but it doesn’t sound like he’s particularly unhappy about it. Your breath catches as he moves from your shoulders, further, further, fingertips brushing the swell of your breast in your (sensible, today) bra. He leans forward, his lips against the shell of your ear. “You can tell me to stop if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” you find yourself saying, and his thin lips curve into a smile that you feel.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs – and then, fingers diving beneath the cups of the bra, kneading the soft flesh, the plush of your body. You’re relaxing bonelessly into his touch when one finger brushes your nipple, sending a frisson of electricity right to the place between your thighs. Your bra straps are slipped off your shoulders, a slight lean forward so he can unclip the thing and let it fall onto the ground. Nanami sighs, almost reverent – when he moves his hand from your chest, you feel their absence keenly, a soft noise of dismay escaping you.

“Pull your chair out,” he says. You do; the legs scraping across the floor. Nanami himself moves so he’s no longer behind you, coming around to the front – casually, unhurriedly lowering himself to his knees in front of you. He reaches up to his face and removes his glasses, laying them neatly on the table to one side of him.

His eyes drink you in and you find your skin prickling with heat. You should be embarrassed; you shouldn’t be here at all, actually, alone in your classroom (again!) with someone’s father (again!), willing to let them look at you and touch you and more (again!). But Nanami reaches in, touching you so gently, fingertips and thumbs delicate as feathers as he strokes over your breast and waist and stomach. As he leans forward and licks a slow, agonising lap over your nipple until it hardens and pebbles, your entire body thrumming with desire. As he sucks it into his mouth, teeth nipping just hard enough at the bud that your body lights on fire, before he kisses a line across your sternum to give the other nipple the same treatment.

He slides his hands past your waist, unbuttoning and unzipping your pencil skirt with one hand, the cotton pulled down over your thighs. Nanami sighs again, cupping your hips, nudging your stockinged knee with his cheek.

“You’re lovely,” he says, affectionate, and it feels so intimate that your heart beats too fast against your chest. “Can I--?” Hands against the sides of your underwear, sliding over you in a way that leaves hot trails of fire behind him. You should be embarrassed that he can clearly see the wet patch, the way the sodden fabric clings to the petals of your sex – but when he’s looking at you like that. . . You can’t make yourself feel it. You nod, sighing, lifting your hips from the seat of the chair to assist in the removal of that particular garment. A light touch on your inner thighs has you spreading your legs further for him, his eyes drinking in the slick folds, the needy glint of your wetness.

He brings his face closer, taking a long breath in, inhaling your scent. The wash of his breath across you on the exhale fans across the length of you, your clit aching with need to be touched, paid attention to. Nanami takes his time, though – your thighs are kissed, first, his lips lingering on the soft skin, suckling gentle love-bites into the flesh. Occasionally, the briefest flash of his teeth, scraping across the sensitive area – always followed by a soothe, a kiss, a lick. Every one of them makes your body bloom into warm needy desire; you can feel how wet you are, know it must be soaking the chair beneath you even before Nanami has used his mouth on you properly.

He huffs out a chuckle as you whine, your hips tilting towards his mouth.

“You want me to use my mouth?” He asks you, his tongue gently lapping at one of the places he’s kissed. “On you, sweetheart?”

“Mm—mmhmm,” you say, breathlessly, not entirely sure that your mind is able to form any coherent sentences with Nanami knelt between your thighs. He places a chaste kiss on the mound above your clit, pulling back.

“Use your words,” he encourages you. There’s a stern dominance to him; coated in fondness, yes, but . . . an order, nonetheless. “I can make you feel so good--”

“Please use your mouth on me,” you whimper, soft as a mouse. Your hand flexes onto the seat of the chair beneath your thighs, and Nanami smiles against your soaking cunt.

“Good girl,” he praises, like liquid honey – and when his tongue finally, finally makes contact with your sex, the other hand has no choice but to curl into his hair as you let out a needy mewl, all of the heat that’s been building up within you since the very first moment you laid eyes on Kento Nanami coming to a point in the crux of his lips and tongue lapping hungrily at your slick.

Your lashes flutter closed, your thighs trembling, as Nanami sates himself on the taste of you, making you relax helplessly into his talented mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing; the flat, broad strokes against the folds of your cunt, the lower dip of his tongue as he flirts with stretching your hole open with it, the teasing flick of it as it dances, dallies with the idea of your swollen clit.

You can hear the wet sounds of him between your legs, suckling and kissing and licking and lapping – not all of it’s from your slickness, you know, but an embarrassing amount of it is. His tongue pushes into your hole, thrusting a few times, imitating the actions of fingers or cock – and your thighs flex, almost squeezing him between them, your fingers tugging on his hair with a soft squeal of surprise escaping you.

The noise just spurs him on. He fucks you on his tongue for a few more thrusts, before dragging the flat of the muscle through your folds, forcefully parting them (his mouth feels so hot, there), until he can reach the throb of your clit. He uses his tongue to roll the bud, swirling the tip of the muscle around it, drawing patterns over the place that all of your hot, desperate need is concentrated. Your other hand jerks into his hair too, your hips thrusting against his hungry mouth as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. You almost white out for a minute over the sheer overwhelming sensation of Nanami’s lips sucking on you, the displacement of air – you’re panting out breathy, whimpering noises, Nanami groaning as he edges you further and further towards your peak.

Fingers on your inner thigh. Nanami’s index finger, liberally coating itself in your slick and Nanami’s spit, dragging down the length of you that isn’t currently being utterly ravaged by Nanami’s lips--

He pushes one lone finger into your entrance, and that pushes you over the edge.

Your walls flutter around him, sucking him deeper inside your plush walls. You bite so hard into your lower lip you think that you might bleed, but it only serves to quiet the moan that escapes you by a little. Nanami groans against you, pumping the finger, sucking on your clit, guiding you over the peaks and mounds of your orgasm as he continues to enjoy the taste of you gushing into his mouth, overwhelming with the syrupy sweet stickiness of just how good you taste.

He guides you, too – with careful, slowing licks, lazier pumps – through the weak aftershocks and trembles of your peak, as they come to a slowly twitching halt. Your eyes are glassy, lips swollen from bits, as he places another chaste kiss over your sensitive clit and pulls back. His finger pops out of you with a wet gush that makes you feel so embarrassed at your own neediness you can barely stand it, but between your thighs Nanami is straightening up, a smug glint to his tired eyes.

“There,” he murmurs, standing, drinking in your quivering body, the slick on your thighs, how dark and satisfied your eyes look as you gaze up at him, half-woozy from the pleasure. “Don’t you feel a little more relaxed, now?”

You’re afraid if you speak you will simply slur your words, your tongue feeling unfamiliar in your mouth. You try and focus on Nanami instead – unfairly tranquil, aside from the wet of his chin, the damp spot darkening his collar. He places the finger that was formerly buried inside you into his mouth, the glint of arousal on it consumed by him with a tilt of the head as if he’s savouring the taste.

You can’t help but notice that there’s an outline of something putting pressure on the fabric of his slacks, there, between his thighs – something that looks hard, and stiff, and uncomfortable. You blink at it through a hazy mind as Nanami goes leans over you, gently taking hold of your chin, checking that you’re alright.

“C-can I help with that?” You manage, only a little bit garbled. Nanami’s eyebrows raise in surprise, a light pink flush to his cheeks – what does he take you for? That you’d let him eat you out so well that your toes curl and then just let him leave without seeing to his own issues?

(It’s a confidence boost, honestly – knowing that he’s hard because of you. You know that this isn’t the kind of man who would fuck you on his tongue in his son’s classroom if he didn’t find you attractive, but still . . . Someone like Nanami, with those cheekbones and those lips and those shoulders, wanting somebody like you?)

“I-- ahh--” He seems nervous about it, a little flustered, clearly not expecting you to offer something like that – but then, you raise one hazy hand and gently pet his crotch through the fabric and he whistles through his teeth, the organ giving a welcoming throb beneath your hand. You swallow at how it responds, the size and heat of it.

“Please?” Plump lower lip caught between your teeth. “I’d like to repay the favour.”

He swallows, raising a hand to loosen his tie. You see the bob of his throat as he moves, pulling out the chair he was sat on before, parting his own knees.

“I’d like that,” he says, and that’s all of the encouragement you need to sink from the chair onto your shaking knees, half-crawl towards him until you’re situated between his thighs. Your hands reach up to his waist, undoing his belt buckle carefully. The heat of his cock radiates through the fabric, brushing against your arm as you undo the belt. As you undo the button. As you tug at the zipper, the noise of the teeth indecently loud. He sighs himself, a hand cupping your cheek. “You’re so pretty,” he says, repeating his earlier compliment. His eyes on your face make you feel hot and flushed, the way he watches you eagle-sharp as your smaller hands reach into his underwear to pull out his already hard cock.

He’s not as big as Toji was, but that doesn’t mean he’s not big. His cock is elegant, a light upward curve, the head ruddy pink and slick with precome – and as you lean forward and let your tongue trace the slit of it, as you taste that same precome in your mouth, he groans quietly. He brings the hand not on your cheek up to his mouth to muffle the noise, and you can’t help but pout.

“Please,” you say. “I want to hear you--”

A pause. He drops his hand, taking a chest-deep breath. His fingers slide across the apple of your cheeks – you know he must be able to sense how warm you are, how shameless and brazen you feel.

You give the head of his cock dainty kitten licks, getting used to feel of him – getting used to the soft breaths he keeps making, the way that the hand on your cheek moves to knit into your hair. You know you’re teasing him, but the way he looks down at you like you’re the one doing him a favour has you all giddy and light headed.

You envelope the head in your waiting mouth, tongue messily lapping at it. It’s been a long time since you’ve done something like this – judging from the sigh escaping Nanami’s lips, the light thrust of his hips, though, you’re not doing too bad of a job on it.

You take him a little further, willing your mouth to open wider. Your tongue is still moving against him sloppily – tracing the veins of his shaft, licking fat stripes where you can manage to get it around. You feel a trickle of drool escape your lips as you widen your mouth a bit more, so much you can feel a light ache in your jaw.

“Fuck,” Nanami breathes, deep and ragged. “Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

The praise just eggs you on further, makes you want to take him deeper – makes you want to win more noises said by that dark, low voice. You push too far and have to pull back a little, your makeup smearing (you’re glad you’d foregone a darker lipstick today), your eyes watering. But you’re determined, and after you’ve managed to draw a choked breath around the cock in your mouth, you’re back on it, kissing and sucking and licking as best you can. Every so often, Nanami will groan from above you, his hips jerking, the hand in your hair guiding you just a little to the left. The other hand comes to cradle your face, so tender and careful with you.

“You feel so good,” he says, soft, like he can barely believe where you are. “Your mouth is so good, sweetheart--”

The flat of your tongue is dragged over the slit, his taste flooding your senses. You squeeze your thighs together, the friction thrilling even considering how slick your cunt still is (you’re grateful that your skirt is dark, because you know you must have soaked through your underwear).

His hips are moving more regularly now, but you can tell that he’s still holding back – that he doesn’t want to roughly fuck your throat, though he easily could. You look up at him with your eyes dark and wide, your lashes trembling, trying to get across that it’s alright for him to do that without having to stop hungrily licking and sucking at his cock. He sees your gaze, your lips wrapped around him, your cheeks hollowed in your attempts to impress, and he breathes out a shaking exhale.

“Is it really okay?” He asks you. “I don’t want to hurt you--”

You hum your affirmative around his cock and his eyes roll back into his head for just a moment, groan escaping his parted lips again, as he begins to rock his hips into your mouth. You gag around it at first – so big, so thick, even though he’s not going that fast yet – but as he begins to pick up his pace, your mouth gets used to moving in tandem with his thrusts and the tugs on your hair.

The ache in your jaw begins to be pleasant; you begin to feel like you’re meant to have it open that wide, that the bump of his cockhead against the back of your throat is right and perfect. His face is flushing, his breath getting shaky – whistling in his chest.

His chest. You stare at the bare collar above the buttons of his shirt, the lean shadows of his collarbone – you think, judging by the broadness of his shoulders, he’s probably built beneath there. You’d love to find out. You’d love to be somewhere other than in the classroom with this man, somewhere where you could learn his body by heart, where the floor beneath your knees isn’t quite so hard--

“Fuck,” he hisses, fingers tightening so hard that you groan, your throat vibrating around his cock. “Sweetheart, my good girl, I’m gonna--”

You hear the warning in his voice and you suck harder, swirl your tongue faster, coaxing him forward – his abdomen flexes under the shirt, his cock juddering in your mouth, pulsing as your mouth suddenly fills with the hot, wet, salty and unmistakable taste of Nanami’s come--

You keep sucking. You keep licking, swallowing pump after pump, draining forth every single drop of his release that you can until he’s shuddering and his cock is softening, his head thrown over the back of the chair to reveal the tempting column of his throat.

He’s taking deep breaths, great heaving ones that his shoulders move in time with, as the last few thunderbolts of his release travel through his body and he groans in the pleasured way that someone who has orgasmed their worries away does.

Nanami’s hand in your hair eases, his breaths evening out from the shakes and groans. His fingers are quiet and affectionate, as you pull back, swallowing the final few drops of his release. He looks down at you with those intense eyes half-lidded, his face briefly free of lines and stress and worry. He sighs, hand diving into the jacket still hung on the chair behind him – when the hand emerges, he’s holding a handkerchief, that he brings up to your face like a lover.

Tenderly, he wipes a bead of his come from the corner of your mouth. The action is so warm, so fond, that you can barely breathe for looking up at him. You feel like you’re knelt at some kind of altar – that Nanami had prayed to you, and now you are responding with your own supplication.

“Are you alright?” He asks you. “Your knees? Your mouth?” He’s so gorgeous; unfairly picked out under the classroom lights, like he doesn’t belong here at all. In another world, he’s avenging like an angel with a weapon in his hand. Now, he’s softly rumpled with his shirt unbuttoned and one of his suspenders fallen down his shoulder, his knees spread wide.

“Yes,” you breathe. He smiles again – he does not grin. His mouth is just a light uptilt, as he leans forward and brushes his lips over your own.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, the words sending another shiver down your spine. “Do you need some help getting dressed?”

You rise onto unsteady legs and Nanami is there, supporting you carefully, rising with you. He rescues your skirt, your bra – deft fingers re-doing buttons, catching eyes with hooks, zipping up until you look – if not immaculate – at least presentable. Someone who had seen you this morning would probably recognise that your skirt is creased and your blouse is crumpled, that your hair is falling around your face--

Nanami’s fingers capture those strands too, tucking them back behind your ear, smoothing them out. Every single sweep and caress of his fingers makes you feel like you’re about to break into pieces from how soft you feel, how cherished. It’s a stark difference to how you had felt after Toji had swung out of your classroom, leaving you prone and leaking his come.

He leaves you, after you’ve regained your balance, to get your bag and coat, to grab the book you had been reading before this meeting had commenced – and he sets himself to rights with a calm, assured aura. If someone looked closely at him, you think perhaps they’d notice the tie not quite as tight, the hair not quite as neatly swept from his brow – you yourself can barely take your eyes off him. Is there something in the water in this town?

He grasps his briefcase, clips his glasses into the top pocket of his suit jacket instead of placing them back on his nose. His entire being seems to have lost tension, his eyes not quite as tired, his shoulders not quite as strained. As he finished, he comes to stand beside you – an arm gallantly curving around your waist just loosely enough that the touch could be read as friendly and not romantic. As the two of you walk across the classroom, he says quietly;

“You really should relax, you know. You don’t have anything to worry about. Yuji adores you, and I’m sure the rest of the children do too.”

(Your cheeks heat, the compliment warm and convincing in the sonorous bass of Nanami’s voice).

“Even Gojo isn’t permanent,” he says. “Anybody would be lucky to end up with you.” A cough. “That’s . . . as a teacher and in other ways.”

He pauses at the door, unlocking it with a final click that feels like he is saying that this little adventure has truly come to its natural end. His eyes linger affectionately on your face, a brief touch of hesitation colouring his features – before, once more, he leans in and brushes his lips against yours with a feather-soft touch that has you gasping in surprise against his mouth. The hand not on the briefcase takes your own hand, fingers entangling, and if you had thought your face was warm before, you’re quickly taught that you didn’t know what heat was.

He draws back a little breathlessly.

“I hope you’ll continue working with Yuji,” he says, sincerely. “And perhaps, if it’s agreeable to you-- perhaps we could schedule a catch-up meeting in a few weeks? So I may see. . . how things are progressing?”

“Of course, Sir,” you say, words very breathy.

When you get home tonight, and probably for the next few weeks, you’ll take a really good look at the grading rubric. You know. For the kids. Not because of Nanami’s sharp cheekbones and wicked tongue and the glint that had been in his eye when he had pressed his mouth against your heated core – not because of how his cock had felt heavy and thick in your mouth, and how it would feel pressed inside of you--

Nope. Not at all.

Definitely for Nanami’s son.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #jjk x reader #afab reader #fem pronouns #writing #jjk teacher aid au #jjk writing tag

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ariadnelives · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 15 - Already in the Aftermath

Missed a chapter? Catch up here!!

Jane's funeral was the first in the crew's history. The entirety of Xiagu was in attendance. Ariadne gave a long and touching speech. Can-Do sat alone, manacled, far from the rest of the crew, under heavily-armed guard, for her own safety. As soon as the ceremony had concluded, she was shepherded back into the old Xiagu sheriff's station and locked back in their one and only holding cell. Every other member of the crew dropped a fistful of cold, dry earth onto Jane's casket. The assembled crew steadily dissolved away back to their own homes, while Ariadne and Pilar stayed behind to fill in the grave.

“Why was she buried in a stasis pod?” Vigil asked. “Isn't it customary for humans to go back to the land when they've passed on?”

“It is,” Ghostrunner said, “but Jane and Can-Do aren't from this land. They're from Earth, originally. Sweettalk told Ariadne that Jane would've wanted her remains to become part of Earth, not Enceladus, and Ariadne trusts her enough to respect those wishes.”

“So why bury her here at all?” Vigil asked, “if we're keeping her in stasis either way, wouldn't it make more sense to keep her in the morgue until you can get her back to Earth?”

“It's not always about what makes sense,” Ghostrunner said, putting her hand on Vigil's shoulder. “We don't know when we'll be able to deliver her to her final resting place. Doesn't mean she shouldn't be allowed to rest until then.”

“I suppose,” Vigil said, “that the people here shouldn't have to wait to say goodbye.”

“Now you're getting it!” Ghostrunner smiled, and gave Vigil's shoulder a squeeze.

“How are you holding up?” Alicia called to Sweettalk as she caught up with her group. She was walking arm-in-arm with Sasha, just a few feet ahead of Ghostrunner and Vigil.

“Me?” Sweettalk said, “Well, I'm coming from my apprentice's funeral after she was murdered by my other apprentice. So like… just great, Alicia. Doin' fantastic.”

“You need somebody to be mad at,” Alicia said as patiently as possible. “Little word of wisdom: the person checking up on you is probably not who you want playing that part. If you want to lash out at somebody, I suggest the old sheriff's office. Think they might have somebody who's actually done something to you staying there.”

Sweettalk sighed. “I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Alicia said. “Truth be told, I know what it's like to feel too much of an emotion and just want to unload it on somebody. Unfortunately, mine is fondness and concern, and I don't think that'd be appropriate to unload on the girl in the cell, given the circumstances. Mind if I spend some time with you girls? Maybe buy you a drink?”

Sasha chuckled a little. The drinks here were, of course, all free, but they appreciated the gesture.

“Ah, our little post-funeral tradition,” Sasha said. “Let's hope it's a long time before we have to do it again.”

“Hell, I'll drink to that,” Sweettalk said.

“You go ahead,” Vigil said. She was no longer bandaged, but still didn't feel totally comfortable without the cloak. “I'll try and get the lay of the land. I can't drink anyway.”

“Don't be dumb,” Sweettalk said, “you were with us the first time, Ghostrunner told us. Wouldn't be the same without you lurking in the corner.”

“Trust me,” Ghostrunner told her quietly, “Jane didn't like things solemn and serious. She'd be happy to know your first day among Ariadne's Angels was spent having a good time with friends, and not just… doom and gloom all day.”

“Well, if you insist–” Vigil replied.

“We do,” Alicia said.

They made their way to Alicia's lodgings– Jane and Can-Do had given her a whole house to herself, out of respect for the fact that she was the oldest member of the crew– and followed Alicia onto the enclosed porch, where she dialed up a bottle of rum on the replicator and poured five shots.

“I can't–” Vigil began.

“Good, it's not for you,” Alicia said, and handed her the shot glass, and quickly switched to the Jamaican accent they usually only heard when she'd been talking to her sister. “Libations for the dead. Tradition from my family back home. Ya pour it pon di ground!”

Vigil took the glass, unsure if she was actually supposed to pour it on the ground, but Alicia's face told her she was.

“To Jane!” Alicia said, and Vigil poured the shot of rum onto the ground. Alicia took her shot.

“Ochan!” Ghostrunner said, and she, Sweettalk, and Sasha knocked back their own shots.

Alicia's face lit up at the word. She often forgot Ghostrunner was a fellow daughter of the Caribbean. “Wah gwaan, sistren?”

Ghostrunner laughed.

“That was just to get us started,” Alicia said, and now actually began to mix up drinks– she didn't ask anybody what they wanted, but they trusted her to make them something good. She handed each of them a glass, although Vigil's was just so she'd have something to clink against the others' as the situation warranted.

Sasha raised her glass next. “I also want to toast Flax,” she said, “Alicia's best friend. She was there last time too, and it's also not the same without her.”

“Hear hear,” Sweettalk said.

“And of course to my sister and those beautiful babies,” Alicia said, “must be even harder for them not hearing from me than it is staying away.”

Vigil surprised everyone, next, by initiating her own toast. “To Nahomie Fils-Aimé. You'll see her again soon, Corantine, I'm sure of it.”

Ghostrunner was touched. They all drank to their friends and family, and to Jane a few more times for good measure.

They went back and forth, swapping stories and cracking jokes, for some time, until finally one of them suggested playing a game.

“Truth or dare? You can't be serious” Alicia asked, “I am almost forty!”

“Oh, everyone's almost something,” Sweettalk said, and five drinks deep, Alicia had a hard time disputing her logic.

“Fine. Truth.”

“You and Flax used to be each other's wingmen,” Sasha said, grinning widely. “What's the weirdest hookup you guys set up?”

“Doesn't it usually take two or three rounds for Truth or Dare to get weird?” Alicia asked.

“No,” Sweettalk said, “it's weird from the gecko.”

“Get-go,” Alicia corrected.

“No, gecko.” Sweettalk insisted. “There's no T in it.”

“The phrase is 'from the get-go.'”

“The hell is a get-go?” Sweettalk asked mockingly. “Trust me, I know way more about lizards than any of you. Quit dodging the question.”

“Well,” Alicia hesitated. “That's… how I met Blue.”

“NO,” Ghostrunner laughed. “You and Blue?”

Alicia nodded, embarrassed.

“Flax met Blue?!” Sasha asked.

“Blue is… the terrifying woman with the machete from the diner?” Vigil asked. “Who's Flax again?”

“The single most straight-laced woman who's ever lived,” Sasha said, “Imagine if Pilar was a middle-aged cop, only instead of being a cop, she ran a restaurant.”

“I will… do my best to imagine that,” Vigil said.

“So Flax saw Blue and was like…” Sweettalk took a sip of her drink and did her best impression of Flax's deep, no-nonsense voice, “…I think this psychopath should get into my best friend's pants.”

Alicia roared with laughter. Sweettalk's impression was actually pretty solid. “I'm glad she did. Blue might be a little rough around the edges, but there's a lot more to her than people know. Plus, what a lot of people overlook about her is that she's also fucking fantastic in the sack.”

All of them laughed. The truth is, Alicia hadn't even been all that raunchy– and when discussing Blue, she easily could've been– but with the day they'd had, it just felt good to cut loose.

“I'm sorry if this is strange to say,” Vigil confessed, “but human romance, human sexuality, fascinate me. I've observed it from the outside for a long time now, and it's like… Everybody has a unique relationship with sex, and gender, and romance, but nobody ever seems to want to talk about it directly.”

“From the outside?” Sweettalk asked loudly. “You mean you've never…”

“When would I have?” Vigil replied. “There's not many people champing at the bit to date a robot.”

“You haven't lived here very long,” Sweettalk chuckled.

“Can you even… you know… feel?” Sasha realized how this sounded and quickly clarified. “Physically, I mean! No offense intended, I'm just, generally more familiar with biological bodies.”

“I'll say,” Sweettalk muttered as loudly as one can while still having it be considered muttering, and Ghostrunner blushed.

“HUSH,” Alicia said.

“No offense taken,” Vigil said. “My outer frame is designed to replicate physical sensations. I can't speak to how accurate a facsimile it is, but I can feel.”

Ghostrunner reached over and ran a finger along the metal plating on Vigil's own hands. “So you can feel that?”

“I can,” Vigil said.

“I thought your hands would be cold,” Ghostrunner said, examining Vigil's hand, and pressing her own hand against it to compare the size. “Smaller than mine, too.”

Vigil ran her own thumb against Ghostrunner's. It was soft and smooth. Her fingers were lean and slender. She couldn't help but notice that Ghostrunner's hands were quite lovely.

Sweettalk observed this display and immediately noticed what was really happening, but said nothing.

“You know what else I'm noticing?” Sweettalk piped up, not letting the group in on her previous thought despite referring directly to it, “Alicia only gave half an answer. What about the weirdest hookup you set up for Flax?”

“Oh lord,” Alicia said. “Do you know how much trouble I could get in if I tell you that?”

“You know the rules,” Sasha said, “you had the chance to pick dare, and you didn't.”

“Okay, fine…” Alicia paused. “I once, mostly accidentally, facilitated… a threesome. Flax and a… married couple, from my hometown.”

“No fuckin' way,” Ghostrunner said. “She knows Blue, she's out here having threesomes… I wouldn't have pegged her for having a wild side!”

“Sounds like somebody pegged her for–” Sweettalk began, but was silenced with another sharp HUSH from Alicia.

“Wait a minute,” Sasha said. “We already knew Flax has game. We met Loan. You wouldn't get in trouble for telling us that. You're leaving part of that story out.”

“I answered the question! My turn's over!” Alicia insisted.

“The married couple from your hometown,” Sweettalk asked. “How'd you meet them? What might their names be?”

“I don't see how that's–”

“Now you gotta tell us,” Sasha insisted.

“Fine,” Alicia sighed. “Their names were… Ariel and Lucy.”

“NO FUCKING WAY,” Sweettalk said.

“Ariana can never know!” Alicia pressed.

“Who's Ariana?” Vigil asked, “Who are Ariel and Lucy?!”

“Ariel and Lucy are her mothers!” Ghostrunner explained.

“And Ariana,” Sweettalk continued, “is the sister who'll kill everyone if she ever hears about this.”

“I thought I was starting a book club,” alicia said. “Seriously, you take this to your graves.”

“Okay, you've more than fulfilled your obligation. Your turn is definitely over,” Sasha said. “Vigil, care to go next?”

She thought about what to do for a moment, before settling on “Truth.”

“We don't know that much about you yet,” Sweettalk said. “And honestly I've never seen anyone or anything like you. Where do you come from?”

Vigil visibly tightened up. She wasn't quite ready to share this yet.

“I… there really isn't much to tell. I'm an android. Didn't see eye-to-eye with my creator. Ran off. Watched people for a while. Decided I liked the idea of being a girl, and started looking for a place where I could be one. Eventually, I saw you guys in a bar, and I saw Corantine, and Corantine saw me, which was really scary at first, but soon I realized she was like me, but in ways I could actually appreciate. She was quiet and didn't feel like she fit in, but she had friends, and such good friends too.”

Sweettalk raised her eyebrows. When she'd been drinking, she always felt like scheming, but she always tried to use her schemes for everyone's benefit. She decided to ignore the many half-answers she'd just received to pursue a greater good.

“And now, almost a year later,” Sweettalk said, “you've got those same friends.”

Sasha noticed what Sweettalk was doing, and would ordinarily exercise caution in meddling with others' affairs, but was also five drinks deep, and caution had been long since thrown to the wind. Besides, what Sweettalk was trying to do was definitely what Jane would've wanted. “And there's no real handbook for being a girl,” she said, “but if there was, I'm pretty sure playing party games with other girls in the middle of the night would be on page one.”

“Tell ya what,” Sweettalk said, “I'm not gonna press you on your tragic origin. Trust me, we all got one, and I get not wanting to share with the class. But, you gotta do a little tiny dare. Deal?”

Vigil knew Sweettalk was up to something, but really didn't want to share anything more about her origins. “Deal.”

“Kiss Ghostrunner.”

“What?” Alicia asked.

“Yeah, what?” Ghostrunner asked. She had only had the two drinks, and had switched to cola a while back, so her wits were still with her, but she found Sweettalk's behavior a lot less predictable under the influence, and had not foreseen this.

“Or rather, let her kiss you,” Sweettalk explained. “You said you're interested in human romance and sexuality. I think you deserve some… hands-on experience.”

Ghostrunner looked across the porch swing at Vigil. Unfortunately, Sweettalk was very perceptive. She was curious about what it would be like, and found herself incredibly eager to get to know Vigil better.

“Fuck it,” Ghostrunner said, “I'm down if you are.”

“Really?!” Vigil asked excitedly.

“You're in for a treat,” Sweettalk said, “she's a fantastic kisser.”

“She's not just saying that, either,” Sasha added, “I can confirm she's telling the truth.”

“Guys!” Ghostrunner hissed.

Alicia patted Ghostrunner on the shoulder. “Someday somebody will actually start a book club.”

Vigil pulled her hood down, and Ghostrunner couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship behind her. She had truly never seen anything like her, and she didn't want to look away.

Sweettalk said, “no less than seven seconds. Tongues are optional, since not everyone involved, you know, has one. So, like, high school rules.”

“God is watching,” Alicia said, “has anyone in this room, other than me, ever even set foot in a high school?”

“Fair point,” Sweettalk said.

Ghostrunner leaned towards Vigil and cupped her face in her hands, bringing her close, until her breath fogged the chrome on Vigil's face. If Vigil had a stomach, there would've been butterflies in it. Ghostrunner pressed her lips to Vigil's face, and even though the air outside was cold, Vigil was surprisingly warm.

She expected it would be a bit like kissing a refrigerator, but it was like she could feel the person within. Ghostrunner's hands found their way around Vigil's waist, and Vigil felt a thrill run through her body. Somewhere inside of her, a fan began to whirr a little bit louder, which made Ghostrunner feel proud of herself. Vigil put her hands on Ghostrunner's torso, and through her T-shirt, felt her thumb brush up against the underside of Ghostrunner's breast.

She flinched away.

“I'm sorry! I–”

“It's okay,” Ghostrunner said. “You did great.”

Neither of them was going to say it, but they both knew that was not only Vigil's first kiss, but that Ghostrunner was the first person she'd ever even touched physically, not including–

She didn't want to think about that. She much preferred this sensation to that one.

“Well, nobody's gonna top that,” Sasha said.

“Not with that attitude,” Sweettalk added, “girls, put your mind to it and you can top anything you like!”

“Hush,” Sasha said softly. “I think we ought to get to bed.”

“That's RIGHT,” Sweettalk said, “we should go to our BED!!”

“They're just trying to skip out on their turn!” Alicia said. “I see right through you!”

“Nah, Sasha already knows everything about me,” Sweettalk said, “I always pick dare, and frankly, we're gonna need some privacy for that anyway.”

“Don't be gross,” Alicia said, “or at least, wait till you're home.”

“Don't talk to me that way, I'm your aunt!” Sweettalk announced. “Huang-Ahyi!”

“Sweettalk-Ahyi,” Sasha corrected gently.

“Whatever,” Sweettalk said, “I'm all sorts of people all the time.”

“Since when are you my aunt?” Alicia said. “If you married my Uncle Desmond without me knowing, I'm gonna be surprised for a couple reasons.”

“It's a whole thing,” Sweettalk said, “you really had to be there. Just take my word on it.”

“Whatever, Sweettalk-Ahyi,” Alicia said. “Sasha, get her home safe and don't get in too much trouble tonight.”

“Aye Aye, Baltimore's Sister,” Sasha said, slinging Sweettalk over her shoulder.

“Ghostrunner, can I trust you to show Vigil to her new lodgings?”

Ghostrunner sighed. So now Alicia's in on it too. “Of course!” Her heart fluttered a little at the thought.

She gave Alicia a hug goodnight and Vigil followed suit. Vigil had never been hugged before, and it wasn't until she had been that she realized how much she needed it.

“Come on,” Ghostrunner said, offering Vigil her hand. “Let's get you home. Come on, I know a shortcut.”

They walked through the town's central park hand-in-hand for a while until they came upon a large quartz rock jutting out of the ground.

“Sit,” Ghostrunner said, climbing to its peak, “let's hang out a minute. Take in the view.”

Ghostrunner had often heard Sweettalk wax poetic about the view in Xiagu. Out the opening of the chasm the town was built into, Saturn was always visible. Vivid yellows and oranges, and those magnificent rings. Looking up at the night sky in Xiagu always made her remember the starry skies over Haiti, the Milky Way cutting a streak of white specks across the inky black of space's infinite void, that she hadn't seen since she was a little girl. Her parents had moved offworld when she was three years old, and that sky was about all she could remember from living on Earth.

“Interesting shortcut,” Vigil said, settling in on the quartz next to Ghostrunner, “we're nowhere near my assigned lodgings.”

“I'm not ready to turn in just yet,” Ghostrunner said. “It's been a heavy kind of day.”

“Your friend's funeral,” Vigil said.

“Well, that, and… I mean, let's just say I've got a rough history with the person Jane was killed for,” Ghostrunner explained.

“The Nameless?” Vigil asked. “Everyone keeps referencing her in a way that's… oblique.”

“An old crewmate,” Ghostrunner said, “Used to think she was a friend. But she was really only interested in controlling people. When she got caught, a few people ended up in the hospital. Now she's making our lives a living hell.” Ghostrunner paused and stared off into the distance. “Sometimes I wish we'd killed her when we had the chance.”

“Would it have undone any of the damage?” Vigil asked.

“No, course not, but dead people don't come back and reopen old wounds.” Ghostrunner sighed. “Shit.”

“I know how you feel,” Vigil said, taking Ghostrunner's hand again, and braced herself to open up. “I… killed my creator.”

“What?” Ghostrunner asked.

“Artificial Intelligence isn't the most ethical science out there,” Vigil explained, “so she deserved it, if that helps. See, it's very easy to copy the human mind, or to move it onto a machine, but almost impossible to create a genuine sentient artificial intelligence.”

“I remember Dr. Simon seeing that as a selling point,” Ghostrunner pointed out. “All those people in his computer banks, replaced with non-sentient AI with no free will.”

“Using technology developed by my creator, in fact,” Vigil said. “I was her next step. She'd worked out a way to capture just the spark of a living mind, without copying memories or personality at all. All sorts of knowledge, but no experience. Once you've got that, you can copy it as many times as you need to. Problem was, the only way to isolate that spark was… fatal, and not at all humane.”

“My god,” Ghostrunner said.

“I don't know the specifics, but I know it left the subject charred to the bone,” Vigil said. “When I saw what she did to create me, when I saw how many times she'd already attempted it, I knew it would only get worse now that she'd succeeded. I did what I had to do, and… well, it didn't bring any of those people back to life. And I'm… still here.”

Ghostrunner squeezed her hand. “Hey,” she said, “far as I'm concerned, that means some good came out of it.”

Vigil wished she could smile.

“I spent years just… sitting on the edges of society. Watching people. Deciding who to be. That's how I came up with the name 'Vigil.' All I do is watch people, and learn how to be a person.”

“To be… human?” Ghostrunner asked.

“Not quite,” Vigil said, “but to be a person. I wasn't 'raised' by anyone. I just… woke up, one day. I already spoke hundreds of languages. I already had a library's worth of information in my head… for all intents and purposes, I was born an adult. I'd never really lived, and I honestly didn't know how to. Still don't. So I watched how other people acted, and I learned who I was in the process. For one thing, I learned that I'm definitely a girl, despite the… unfeminine design of my body. I learned I like movies. You're supposed to be in the audience at the movies. I especially like those really cheesy romantic movies, where some idiot is so in love with the lead that he just… throws himself in the path of danger just to be with her. You don't get to see that a lot in real life, you know?”

Ghostrunner laughed. “I always love those movies where the romantic lead is so measured, so controlled, but when it comes time to defend the woman they love, the floodgates crack open and they decide she's more important than keeping the storm bottled up.”

“In a story, those things can happen,” Vigil said, “you don't see those kinds of people in real life.”

Ghostrunner smiled. “Depends who you spend your time with, doesn't it?”

Vigil wished she could blush.

“I learned I love puns, too! Like, dig this: Why did the android baseball player strike out?”

“Dig this?” Ghostrunner asked, chuckling.

“Seriously!”

“Okay, I'll bite. Why did the android baseball player strike out…?”

“Well, he hadn't played in a long time, of course.” Vigil said.

Ghostrunner looked at her expectantly. “…how is that a pun?”

“See, he was a little rusty.”

Ghostrunner clenched her jaw and clicked her teeth. “That is terrible,” she said.

“It is!” Vigil said excitedly, “isn't it fantastic?”

“Can't be mad at it, with that voice of yours,” Ghostrunner commented. It was true, when they'd first met and Vigil was still unsure of Ghostrunner, she'd spoken in a more raspy and intimidating voice, but now her voice was incredibly soft and lilting. It was very relaxing to listen to.

This made Vigil incredibly happy. “Thanks! I made it myself!”

“You made your own voice?”

“Had to,” Vigil said. “My creator didn't give me much in the way of a voice, to begin with. I talked like a… dot-matrix printer.”

“Yeah, I have no clue what that is,” Ghostrunner said.

“But one day, I was in a park. Took shelter from a thunderstorm under a bridge, and I heard this woman singing. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. I wondered why my creator didn't give me a voice like that, and I realized… Hey, she's not the boss of what I sound like anymore! That day, I started listening to people every chance I got, until I could learn to sing like that girl in the park. Maybe someday I'll even succeed!”

“Do you ever regret it?” Ghostrunner asked. “Killing her, I mean. I know she did some messed-up stuff, but she probably could've made things easier for you.”

“Of course, but not for the reason you might think. See…” Vigil pulled her cloak aside and removed a canister attached to her hip, about the size of a canteen. “…the master drive, the one she transferred her victim's 'spark' onto, before she copied it into my body. Like a clone of me, in a way. Or maybe I'm a clone of it. Same 'DNA,' none of the memories, frozen until it's ready to be used. I didn't know about it until after I killed my creator, and without her, I have no way to get it out into the world. I have a duty to guard it, though. Whoever or whatever comes from the activation of this drive is my family, my responsibility. In the wrong hands, this drive is the key to mass-producing real artificial intelligence. Any government could create billions of custom soldiers. People like Dr. Simon wouldn't have needed to brainwash people, he could've just made them.”

Ghostrunner gazed at her. “Why are you trusting me with this?”

“You trusted me,” Vigil said. “You're on the run and you took a chance bringing me into your home. That means something. I want to show you that it goes both ways.”

Ghostrunner leaned in and kissed Vigil again.

“Do you believe in fate?” Ghostrunner asked. “Because Ariadne has built a lot of cybernetic bodies for a lot of people trapped on hard drives.”

Vigil looked down at the drive, and up at Ghostrunner.

Ghostrunner smiled that killer smile that cut to the heart of everybody lucky enough to see it. “You picked the right girl to follow around.”

Ghostrunner wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her close. They gazed up at Saturn together, watching the swirls in the atmosphere. Vigil rested her head on Ghostrunner's collarbone and just listened to her heartbeat.

Interlude 3

An excerpt from the empty-room sermons of Father Y

People are people wherever you go. Now, that means two things. The first thing it means is exactly what it sounds like. The second thing it means, nothing at all like it sounds like.

See, the Oort aren't like the sun-seers. Sun-seers aren't like the Oort. But we're both people. It's a wide umbrella, and it gets wider every time we invent a new kind of person to be. A lot of times people get the impulse to look at somebody who's completely alien to them and think “that's not a person,” but when a person does something nobody's ever done before, it just expands what the definition of “person” includes.

Think back. Everything anybody's ever done, even shit we do all the time, at some point, somebody had to do it for the first time.

Every time we innovate, we're inventing new ways to be a person. Once upon a time you were just stuck with the body you were born in. Now, you go down to the pharmacy, buy a pill, take it with food, and wake up two or three genders away from where you went to bed. It's a beautiful thing, really!

So when the Oort found our new home, we got different. Doesn't matter how, or why, or in what ways. We weren't like the sun-seers anymore, and a lot of them didn't want to keep thinking of us as people. They said we'd gone too far away from what made us human.

I don't buy that. You like pizza? I love pizza. Amazing how many different meals you can make just by throwing stuff onto a circle of bread and baking it. Some people like it with sausage and pepperoni. Some people take it with olives and green peppers. Personally, I'm a fan of a nice white pizza with garlic and grilled chicken, maybe a little spinach and feta.

As someone who loves pizza, I don't get mad when somebody tells me they came up with a new way to make it! Somebody says they made a peanut butter and jelly pizza? Maybe I don't have to have a slice, but I've got to admire their creativity!

People are people, and pizza is pizza. It's the closed-minded who get mad when you come up with a new recipe. Down with the sun-seers, they sneer at the Oort for finding a new way to cook a pie. When one of us goes back to live with the sun-seers, we sneer at them for having the occasional slice of the classic recipe.

Sure as it gets, people are people. You can't get away from it, you just bring it someplace else and find a new way to cook it.

Like I said before: ain't that some shit?

9 notes · View notes

tryingmybestpls · 3 years ago

Text

Two Slow Dancers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve and the Reader have had feelings for each other for years now. The night before everything goes to shit, they decide to act on them.

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: R

Warnings: Angst, longing, the use of an amazing Mitski song, mentions of a graphic death, sadness, I’m so sorry

Her fingers danced on top of the various bottles of liquor. She hums softly to herself before grabbing the bottle of Asgardian mead she had taken from Thor earlier. The hero stood on her tippy toes in order to get a glass off of one of the higher shelves. Her hand reached for a second one when she heard someone walk into the room.

"Want a drink, Steve?" Y/N asks, not needing to turn around to know that he was there. The Captain chuckles, walking further into the room. She doesn't wait for him to answer as her hand picks up two glasses while the other holds the neck of the glass bottle. She turned on her heel, placing the glasses on the counter just as he sits down on one of the bar stools. He's dressed down, wearing a smile white t-shirt that's way too tight for his body and a pair of sweatpants. His hair is wet, freshly washed. The man's ready for bed yet he still is sitting across from her, as happy as a clam.

"I can never say no to you, Y/L/N." Steve replies, a smile on his face. A smile of her own appears on her face as she opens the bottle, immediately pouring them both a glass. How many times before a mission had they done this? Just the two of them sharing a drink while everyone else sleep. Dozens? Hell, maybe even a hundred. She hand him his glass, which he quickly takes, his fingers brushing against hers.

"Good, because drinking alone is depressing." Y/N grins at him, tapping her glass against his, ignoring the way her heart seemed to skip a beat, her fingertips burning from having touched his. Steve's grinning from ear to ear now as he holds his glass in his hand, shaking his head.

"Should we cheers to something? I feel like we should." He questions, looking at her. his eyes are twinkling in the low light, reminding her of the lake outside. Y/N bites her lip, thinking for a moment before she raises her glass in the air.

"To time travel." She announces, grinning at him. Steve rolls his eyes as he lifts his glass, tapping it against hers. It's tradition amongst friends. Nothing else.

"To time travel." Steve repeats before they both lift the glasses to their mouths, taking a long drink. It takes like honey as it goes down her throat, slightly easing the way her stomach has been twisting and turning all day. Its the only thing that'll get both of them drunk and with what is going to happen tomorrow-it's much needed. Y/N pulls the glass away from lips, trying to force herself to unwind.

"You wanna sit? Just for a bit?" She motions towards the living area. Steve follows her line of sight before nodding. She walks around the island, moving past him to go sit in one of the big love seats, pulling her knees into her chest. He sits down on the seat beside hers, looking far more relaxed than she does.

"Penny for you thoughts?" Steve asks, looking over at her. Y/N looks down at her glass, her thumb wiping away some of the spilled drink as she stays silent for a moment.

"I have a bad feeling about tomorrow, Steve." She murmurs to him, raising her glass to her lips. Y/N hopes that the alcohol will continue to calm her nerves, that it'll just take the edge off.

"You always have a bad feeling. We-We're going to be okay." He responds, offering her a smile that's as sweet as candy. Y/N swallows her drink and rolls her eyes.

"Have I ever told you how annoying your optimism is? Because it is." She teases, acting annoyed even though she loves his optimism. It balances out her pessimism, it reminds her that not everything is all doom and gloom.

"And here I was thinking that my optimism is exactly why you keep me around." Steve jokes right back, a shit-eating grin on his face. Y/N scoffs, trying to ignore the way blood rushed to her cheeks and the tip of her ears.

"You're such a dork." Y/N says, trying to ignore the way that he was making her feel, even as his chuckle makes a million butterflies fly around her stomach. She looks down at her glass, unable to stop herself from smiling. The weight on her shoulders had been lifted ever so slightly. That was just the effect Steve had on her.

They both have had feelings for each other for years now, although neither knew that it was mutual. For the others, it had just been this unspoken thing. Y/N and Steve really, really liked each other but they are both too chicken shit to do anything about it. It didn't matter that they had spent three years apart and it didn't matter that over the past five years they hadn't seen each other as much as they would've liked. Those feelings were still there and they had never left.

It was like something in the air had shifted.

Maybe Y/N's worries had settled into Steve or maybe he finally realized the gravity of the whole situation. Maybe the Star Spangled Man with a Plan was tired of waiting, tired of hoping the right time and right place would come to him, tired of wondering when he was going to work up the courage to say something. Steve didn't know how tomorrow was going to play out and because of that he finally felt that courage building up, felt his heart starting to beat faster in his chest.

"Dance with me." Steve says as he suddenly stands, the drink in his glass sloshing the sides, almost spilling. Her eyebrows knitting together as she looks up at him, a bit confused.

"I'm sorry-what?" Y/N questions as he quickly sets his drink aside and holds his hand out to her, his brows knitting together.

"Y/N, I've been waiting for the right partner and I just want to have a dance with you. I-We've waited too long for this and I can't wait anymore. So will you dance with me?" The Captain asks, his hand still outstretched towards her. Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes filling with tears as she starts to nod, feeling her heart swell in her chest. Y/N takes his hand and stands, putting her drink down.

"FRIDAY, play something slow and sweet from one of my playlists." She says softly, smiling up at Steve. He carefully (and awkwardly) wraps one hand around her waist, the other moving to hold her hand in his. Y/N's hand moves to rest on his chest, carefully, as if she moves too fast of isn't delicate enough this all might end.

"Of course, Miss Y/L/N." FRIDAY replies, a song immediately starting. It'a slow and it's sad, but there is just a tinge of sweetness to it.

"Does it smell like a school gymnasium in here? It's funny how they're all the same It's funny how you always remember And we've both done it all a hundred times before It's funny how I still forgot"

The two moved slowly side to side, their hands clutched together. They could both feel a sinking feeling in their stomachs as they moved, that initial happiness being replaced by anxiousness. Both heroes were terrified of tomorrow, of losing the other.

"It would be a hundred times easier If we were young again But as it is And it is We're just two slow dancers, last ones out We're two slow dancers, last ones out"a

Neither could voice those feelings or the feelings they have both had for each for years now. Y/N lets the tears roll down her cheeks as Steve slowly, cautiously leaned forward and placed his lips against the top of her forehead as he brings their hands close to their bodies.

"And the ground has been slowly pulling us back down You see it on both our skin We get a few years and then it wants us back"

Tomorrow they'd be sent on their separate journeys. Tomorrow they would have to worry about the other getting hurt. Tomorrow they would have the weight of the universe on their shoulders. But tonight they were right here, holding one another.

It would be a hundred times easier If we were young again But as it is And it is

Tomorrow, Steve would watch as she met her sudden and swift end, taking one of The Mad Titan's blades through her abdomen. He'd would run towards her, crying out her name as she stumbled and fell to the ground. By the time he'd get there, by the time he pulled her into his arms, she'd be bleeding out. Y/N will be unable to talk, sputtering and gasping for air, her blood covering her teeth and lips as the battle continued all around then. He'll start crying, practically sobbing as he told her over and over that he loved her and that she couldn't leave him, not yet. Her blood would get all over his hands and his suit and he would hold her as she struggled to take her final breath.

But tonight, they held each other and swayed from side to side. Steve rested his cheek against her forehead, both of them letting their eyes flutter shut. Tonight, all that mattered was that they were together and it seemed like things were looking up for them.

Tonight, they danced.

To think that we could stay the same To think that we could stay the same To think that we could stay the same But we're two slow dancers, last ones out We're two slow dancers, last ones out Two slow dancers, last ones out

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #chris evans x reader #marvel mcu

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griffinblogsgw2 · 4 years ago

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What Killed The GW2 Tumblr Fandom?

(And I do just mean the tumblr fandom. I’ve not really noticed the fandom as a whole having this problem.)

So full disclosure before I talk about what I’ve noticed personally and why I think this jazz is happening: I’ve never been the most active in this fandom. I’ve tried to be in the past but even at my peak I’ve always felt a lil outside of everything? I’ve been playing GW2 since launch and I’ve been making a Gw2 comic at @torasteals for the fandom for almost 5 years at this point. For most of that time I’ve felt like some weirdo tossing shit into the void and only vaguely being aware of what else was going on in the tumblr fandom beyond the few blogs I followed. I want y’all to keep this in mind cause it does paint my perception of what I’ve seen as different from someone who may have been far more involved in the fandom than me.

Okay with that in mind...

Here’s what I’ve noticed:

The death of engagement within the GW2 fandom as I’ve noticed it seems tied to at least three things: Tumblrpocalypse of 2018, the migration to FFXIV, and the Pandemic of 2020.

Tumblrpocalypse of 2018

Does anyone else remember this shit? Tumblr had that change of policy around nsfw art and changed how they treat links that basically murdered a bunch of creators on tumblr? Everyone remember the mass exodus of artists and creators leaving tumblr for twitter? Yeah tumblr has definitely chugged along alive since, somehow miraculously, but the effects of this can still be felt to this day. We lost a large chunk of creators for the fandom during this. I wouldn’t be surprised if a large chunk of fans, who don’t create fan works, left for this reason as well.

Personally, tumblr’s changes in policy and algorithm during this time nearly killed my comic. I lost a lot of readers and a lot of engagement with my work. I wouldn’t be surprised if other artists went through something similar here.

Even so, I do recall there still being a lot of creators that held on during this time and who persisted to create works on tumblr. But then...

The Migration to FFXIV

From what I’ve seen, a lot of people, creators and just fans alike, have simply moved on from GW2 to FFXIV. Like, a LOT of them. Nearly every artist that I used to follow for GW2 content just doesn’t do that anymore. Nearly all of them have moved onto FFXIV (and sometimes some other game entirely, but it’s usually FFXIV). I don’t know what this says about the state of the game itself right now, but I’m not sure we’re getting as many new fans as we’re losing right now. That might change when End of Dragons is released, since expansions have always historically brought in an influx of new blood, but I’m no fortune-teller.

As it currently stands, I legitimately don’t know how many of us are left in this fandom. Hell, I still regularly make content for this fandom weekly and I can tell you I’ve been burned out on the game and needing a break from it for awhile now. I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t a common feeling.

Pandemic of 2020

I would honestly argue that this is what put the nails in the coffin for the fandom at present. I couldn’t begin to tell you exact reasons why, but I can tell you that as soon as shit really hit the fan last year, engagement in this fandom basically died. My posts that used to get a handful of reblogs, have turned to nearly zero over the course of this crisis.

My dashboard used to be littered in GW2 posts. So much so that even if I didn’t directly follow them, I could tell you who the big names in the tumblr fandom were. I can’t do that anymore. I have no idea who is big and popular on here anymore. It’s not just that people have stopped engaging, it’s that people have stopped creating as well. I’ve seen honest to god radio silence from creators who used to dominate the GW2 tag.

Again I’ve got nothing but guesses as to why this is? COVID has done a number on all of us I think. It’s harder to create and it’s harder to engage. It’s incredibly depressing on a number of fronts.

So is this it then?

I’d like to hope it isn’t?

I don’t really want to end this on such a doom and gloom note, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t think the fandom will straight up die forever but I do think we’re havin’ it rough right now. And there’s no guarantee of when shit’ll pick back up again as far as I’m aware.

If anyone else has thoughts on this, I’d love to hear it. I’m sure my picture of what I’ve been seeing is incomplete, so if anyone has stuff to add or has noticed things I’ve straight up been blind to, I’d be very curious to know.

#gw2 #Guild Wars 2 #guildwars2 #fandom #thoughts

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hraishin · 3 years ago

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Au-gust Prompt: Day One - Ancient Gods

So, I was looking at the Au-gust prompts and staring very hard at the Ancient Gods prompt because I am a mythology whore (affectionate) and suddenly I remembered how I cried during my college class about Pompeii cause I'm also very sensitive. Turns out I managed to find a way to put those two things together and shove it into a cherik fic for the prompt (which I actually wanted to do for a while, but only now it clicked). Hope you like this, sorry for the angst (I'm not really sorry)

I'll be posting it to Ao3 later, most likely. Enjoy!

WC: 1.2k+

"Please, you have to leave!" Charles tried, holding the man's shoulders tightly with his hands, his gaze urgent.

He could've tried bending the man's mind, could've placed the suggestion for that man and his family to leave that place as fast as they could, but it would be dangerous. The others would find out about Charles' interference, would punish him for it, and the fate of those humans would be worse. He knew that the family's life was doomed, knew the Fates would cut the threads of their lives in a few hours, and he knew he shouldn't interfere with the Fates' work.

Still, he had to try.

"This town will burn," Charles said more urgently, and he knew his fingers were bruising the man's skin as he tried to move away from Charles' grip. His children behind him seemed terrified. "You can still leave-"

The man managed to take Charles' hands away from him, pushing Charles to the ground. He fell down with a grunt, body against the hard stone ground, curling his body as an ox almost stepped on his head as it pulled a cart through the streets, its owner shouting angrily at Charles to be careful.

"Stay away from me and my family," the man who Charles had tried to save warned, a scowl on his face as Charles' heart broke.

The ground rumbled as the Vesuvius became more and more active, ready to destroy and kill everything around it. Everyone seemed to ignore it — it wasn't the first tremor they felt, but he knew that soon they'd feel the last.

As Charles started getting up, his pride stained by the treatment he received, he felt a hand grab him by the back of his tunic, forcing him up before the same hand grabbed his arm, pulling him quickly through the street until they were in a tight side alley.

There was only so much that Charles could take, and he felt himself grow irritated by how he was being handled. He was a god, after all, and he was about to make sure the person who pulled him to the alley knew that when he saw Erik's face in front of him, stoic as always, although his eyes seemed dark.

"What do you think you're doing?" Erik rasped out, letting go of Charles' arm to glare at him. "You're lucky I found you before the others did."

"Why?" Charles replied stubbornly, almost growling as Erik sighed loudly, too used to that stubbornness to not be surprised. "Would they try to kill me for this?"

"You surely remember Prometheus." Charles winced, even if his anger didn't dissipate. "Don't be a fool, Charles-"

"A fool?" Charles asked, Erik's mouth closing immediately at the way Charles' eyes glared at him. "They are punishing those people for nothing-"

"Those people are disregarding us, or have you forgotten?" Erik spit back, their eyes locked together. "They're doomed, Charles. Accept it."

"You don't believe that," Charles said then, his voice calmer now as he saw Erik's jaw clench at the truth in Charles' words. "Don't forget I know your thoughts, Erik. And I know you."

"You wouldn't let me forget even if I wanted to."

Charles stepped forward then, his hands holding Erik's face as the other god widened his eyes slightly. The last time Charles had seen Erik eye to eye, just the two of them, they had fought — he still remembered the earth shaking around them, the way every human who had the bad luck of being next to them had become disoriented, their minds fogged up by Charles' anger — so the reaction was understandable. Still, Erik didn't pull away.

"You awakened Vesuvius, you can put it to rest. Erik, please-"

"You know I can't." Erik shook his head, his voice almost a whisper, pulling Charles' hands from his face like they burned. "Don't ask that of me. If I disobey the order-"

"Say it was me. Tell them I took hold of your mind and I'll take the punishment."

"And then what, Charles?" Erik loudly asked, Charles' eyes closing as he lowered his head. "You'll be punished and- and taken away from me, and then I'll have to awaken the Vesuvius again, and all that effort will be for nothing."

Charles kneeled on the ground, defeated, as he felt another tremor shaking the ground. He felt Erik moving in front of him, kneeling before he felt Erik's forehead meeting his, blue eyes finally opening to stare at Erik's grey ones. It had been far too long since he last saw them.

"Some are already leaving," Erik's voice was a quiet whisper now as he uttered the words, a secret for only Charles to hear. "The tremors- I'm using them to warn them. The ones who feel them and listen are leaving, there are ships parting from Pompeii and Herculaneum right now. Not all of them will perish."

"But many will," Charles whispered back, feeling and seeing Erik nod shortly, grey eyes clouded.

The next tremor was more violent under Charles' knees, Erik's hands moving to keep him stable. He couldn't help but smile at Erik, albeit sadly, for the insistent tremors.

"Let's get out of here," Erik's hand moved, finger brushing against Charles' chin for a quick second. "I'd rather not see you burning from the heat."

From far away, Charles' eyes watched as the cloud of smoke took over the sky, the minds of all humans fading one by one as the heat wave killed them first, and he could almost hear from where he stood as the Fates cut the threads, the deafening sound of them finally snapping. The ships in the distance were filled with people who mourned the deaths and clamored for safety. Charles sighed, a touch of his mind to theirs filling them with a safe feeling — they'd live, he knew that, and he made sure they felt that too.

By his side, Erik stared at him with a blank expression, even if his mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. Charles had always been the only one who saw through Erik's stoic face, and maybe that was why he had fallen in love with Erik from the moment he met the other god. Maybe that was why he still loved Erik even after they both had left many, many times, bitter from their fights.

He turned his eyes to look at Erik as well then, unable to smile, Erik's grey's eyes saddening with it.

"For how long will you resent me for this?" Erik asked, his voice unsure.

Charles huffed out amusedly, shaking his head before moving, placing a kiss to Erik's cheek before turning his back to him, walking away.

"I don't resent you," Charles said.

"Liar," Erik quickly responded to that, loud, so Charles would hear. Charles smiled to himself.

"You saved some of them when I couldn't," Charles didn't look back or stopped walking, feeling the gloom in Erik's mind. "That's enough."

"Don't disappear from me again for long, Charles… I barely got you back."

"I won't," Charles said, finally looking back so Erik would see his eyes, so he'd know he wasn't lying. "But, please... Don't follow me. I'll come back to you, my love. I promise you that- but not today, not yet."

As Charles walked away, he felt the earth shaking under his feet again, the Vesuvius exploding once more, eyes moving to that mountain as it reflected his lover's wild mind.

#charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #cherik #xmen #fanfic #au-gust #writing #long post

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years ago

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Go to Sleep

Kanene’s note: Gosh, having a schedule is weird. I just wanna post everything I already wrote and ramble non stop about it asdfgtyujkigfdo. XD

Well, this was suppose to be a drabble, but it’s very long so sdftyujikgfred. I hope you like it!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders from the serie Sanders Sides.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. If you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Virgil with Ler!Roman. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Listen a bit to the birds today. Changing the way you think is not a bad thing. Drink water, sleep, eat and love!

[~*~]

Roman growled, missing by a few inches the button of his thunderous, infuriating alarm before finally hitting it. Staring and blinking lazily at the numbers his brain struggled to discern and recognize, only to confirm it was really time to wake up and start the day. He grabbed his pillow and squeezed it with all the strength he could muster, rolling from one side to other on the mattress, trying to wake up his body as quick as his mind and almost falling from the bed a reasonable number of times during the process.

He got up, yawing, stretching and humming as the first lyrics of the day stuck on his head, hand rubbing at his eyes as he followed the kitchen’s direction with slow steps and tired sways on the beat of the song.

Two dark, wide eyes stared right back at him, their owner completely frozen on the spot with his hand inside the cabinet, probably already holding some sort of a snack. Roman also stopped mid-step, gears running inside his mind, gaze locked on the other, his brow progressively furrowing.

“Virgil,” he began, voice slightly hoarse “What the heckty heck are you doing up? It’s barely seven in the morning!” Virgil only stared back, slowly closing the cabinet’s door, as if afraid the movement would startle the other. Roman proceeded to get some eggs and other cold ingredients from the refrigerator for the breakfast, his words growing more awake and vivid as they spilled with no filter or whatsoever from his lips. “You got an early shift again or something? Those are absolutely hellish. A bunch of people exhausted, tired and glaring at you as if you are the holder of all their problems and their solutions can only be achieved by being insufferable pieces of- Urg. I can’t believe they would give you one right after you got the night one. Damn, I didn’t even see you arriving here yesterday!”

He turned his attention back at the other, looking for a kind of frustration in the place of the still startled, wide gaze which continued to be directed at him. Virgil nodded slowly, stepping away and putting some physical distance between him and the confusion on Roman’s features.

Then, between the strings of sleepiness that clouded his brain, it clicked.

Suddenly more details on the other’s behavior started to become clearer: the way Virgil’s hair was messier than his usual ““style”” (Roman scoffed mentally, thinking that if he rolled his eyes any harder they would never come back to his normal place again), his wary, yes, but way too much slow movements, the way he seemed to be unable to stop blinking at every millisecond and, above it all, the final piece of the puzzle.

Virgil wasn’t wearing his pajamas.

“YOU DIDN’T!” Roman gasped, as if Virgil’s life choices were a personal attack. “YOU DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT!!” A turn of heels and he was again fixating his glare on the other, his free hand accusingly pointing in his direction, receiving an annoyed hiss as immediate answer.

“Shut up!” Virgil snarled, practically growling back at him. “It’s fucking seven am don’t be so freaking loud.”

“Don’t change the subject! Why didn’t you go to sleep?”

The one being questioned just snorted, half amused. “Bold of you to assume I’d ever sleep in my whole life.”

“That is it.” Virgil didn’t even have the time to wonder the meaning of his friend’s sentence before the aforementioned picked him up, resulting to a not very contained shriek escaping from his lips and his hands not much gracefully – or gently, although since they were keen on just jumping on each other out of nowhere to play fight Princey would be fine - meeting his friend’s face.

“Roman! What the he-”

“Did you just SLAP me? My beautiful face?! Before my own beautiful eyes??” Virgil Storm always got, even if he would never admit this out loud, surprised with Roman’s capacity of doing a series of offended incoherent noises which evolved to words before being carefully metamorphosed in weird noises all over again, and in the end still managing to form comprehensible sentences. His surprise did nothing to quell the grumpy snark immediately flying from lips, though.

“And I’m going to do it again if you don’t let me go in this exact instant.”

“You go and try to help and that is the acknowledgement you get,” The one wearing pajamas with little crows printed on it huffed, mumbling in a lower tone as he noticed the sharp gaze being thrown in his direction. “fucking unbelievable.”

“I still can hear you, Princey. You’re literally carrying me.”

“I sTiLL cAn HeAr yOu-OW! Ow! Ow!” The sentence was interrupted when the sleep deprived one punched Roman’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Let me fucking gAAH!” In a way his wish was granted, one could say as they watched his protest being cut as Storm was impolitely tossed on his bed, Roman quickly following his friend on the mattress, arms hugging him from behind, and physically preventing him from escaping his current soft predicament. “Prince, you’re dead.”

“Shhh, no talking. We’re sleeping.”

“We are not. You are being a pain in ass and I am about to defenestrate you.” Despite his fervent protests, his sharp, flaming glare began to lose its heat, his body not doing any actual effort to free himself from the other’s – strong, good - grip, muscles starting to relax against the great warmth involving him in a comfortable and secure blanket.

“Sure, sure, mister Grumpy Pants, you can do that when you wake up.” He tightened a bit his hold around Virgil, yet being the most careful as possible, actively ignoring the annoyed hiss his friend gave him. His hoodie was really fluffy at the touch, slightly remembering his stuffed animals he frequently hugged to sleep.

For a moment, everything was pleasantly quiet. The one with smudged makeup, since he hadn’t time to get it off before being trapped by his roommate and best friend, felt the tiredness becoming sleepiness as the seconds went by.

…That was until an electric sensation shot across his spine, leading him to almost jump in the same place

“S-stop nuzzling me!”

“Hm? Oh sorry.” Virgil pressed his lips tightly closed, preventing the wobbly giggles to escape as Roman speaks, not realizing how close his mouth was from the base of his neck, every breath sending tickly shocks across every nerve. “You’re just too much sooooft.”

Roman opened an eye when realized that no snark remark from the other followed his words, the figure in his arms shaking too much to be asleep. A frown painted his feature as he readjusted the position of his hands, trying to get a bit more of balance to look at Virgil’s face when suddenly a high-pitched yelp escaped, cutting the air and immediately catching their attention.

“Did you just squeal?” He questioned as his glare assumed a playful shine seeing a blush spread on his now frozen friend.

“It was NOT a squeal! It was a yelp.” Virgil’s words came so fast that they almost tripped on themselves. Roman snorted, a smile taking over his face. “Get off me!” and, in the moment the one wearing a hoodie tried to pry his hand from the spot on his right side where it was resting, the pieces finally clicked in the right place and his smile quickly submerged, giving space to a smirk.

‘No WAY Doctor Doom and Gloom is ticklish!’

However, the red lover only blinked as the true personification of innocence and naiveness, his hand firm in its place, fingers starting to slowly move, light pokes being delivered on the sensitive skin. “But why that, Knight Mare? It’s cold and all I could ever want is just to hug my bestest friend!”

“You already hugged me, now go aWAY!” His voice trembled in the last second, the exact moment his thumb experimentally scratched the spot right under the lowest ribs, leading a surprised squeak to leave Virgil’s mouth.

They both stared at each other, gleaming, filling their wide eyes.

“No.” Virgil said, trying to squirm away but finding himself stuck between Prince and the wall. Roman didn’t even attempt to hide his smug grin, anymore. This was going to be so much fun

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you freaking dare!!” His friend only laid down again, now carefully, yet firmly, pulling him one more time against his chest, growling playfully. Years and years fighting for the Tickle Monster title on his family, battles and battles against Remus only sharpening his skills, which showed by the way his fingers seemed to find every single weak spot on Virgil’s skin, wiggles, scribbles, pokes and scratching exploring everywhere. “No! Nononono! You fucker, you moron, you bitch, you-” A few chuckles cut his curses as he one wearing pajamas squeezed his side a couple of times, the tip of his fingers also teasing his ticklish stomach. “Roman!!”

“No, no, my so dear, so ticklish, friend. Roman is no longer here, this is…” He paused for a dramatic effect, basically beaming at the giggly giggles and wiggly wiggles from the other. He shoved his face on his neck, the next words vibrating almost as bad as the spidering on his ribs. “The Tickle Monster!!”

#Cursing #This is inspired on a meme I saw that was basically two beans staring each other like ':0' with the legend 'Me waking up at 5 AM' and-#- 'My roomate going to sleep at 5 AM'#Idk why but this is so funny to me xDDD #I will probably use that exact scenario in others fics in the future #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Roman #Ticklish!Virgil #Sanders Sides tickles #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's Fanfic #Kanene's Fic #Kanene's Art #I couldn't write the tickles here for some reason xDD Honestly if someone want to continue the idea/fic pls feel free to!#I really like this idea xP

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othersiders · 2 years ago

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cont. from... @upsidehell

he regretted the heat of the words as soon as they left his stupid mouth. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.” Eddie was always careful. maybe more careful than Rick when it came to their little side business, so he wasn’t really paranoid. that was probably stupid of him since he was getting older now, and the penalties would get more severe once he was well and truly out of high school. just one step closer to following in the footsteps of his good ol’ daddio. “shit,” he lamented the thought. “I don’t know what it is... it’s like, there’s no more time to run away from it, you know? GRADUATION,” he waved his hands theatrically and smiled bitterly. “full time, legit work. no more gigs at the Hangout...”

“everything’s... changing. why does it have to do that?” he laughed in a hollow voice. “I guess it’s getting to me a little bit. it’s about time, right? gotta grow up sometime.” Eddie reached over and started picking at their lunch. the wind picked up and rustled his bangs. he shook his head absently and sighed. “you make it look so easy being all serious,” he grinned more sincerely. Eddie offered up a teasing look as his brown eyes found hers. “tell me your secrets, wise one. it can’t be all that bad: doom and gloom. is it? maybe I’m doing something wrong. wouldn’t be the first time.”

#upsidehell #* / 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗗 : eddie speaks

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ceph-the-ghost-writer · 3 years ago

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Phagophobia, Pt. 13

<<Prev | Next>>

Ao3 Link

Summary: Isaac comes face-to-face with his fears.

Words: 1,850

Warnings: Physical violence, brief description of being restrained/pinned, general symptoms of terror and anxiety

As if the whole situation weren’t miserable enough, his still-damp sneakers began soaking up rain the moment Isaac walked out of the main hotel doors. He hunched his shoulders, one hand up to shield his eyes from the relentless drizzle, as he trudged toward the clock tower down the street. Not that it mattered if he got soaked. He’d probably be dead in the next ten minutes, drained and tossed aside like an empty juice box. Though, if he believed that—truly bought it—he couldn’t explain why his legs kept carrying him to his doom. Did he think he was a hero, marching in to rescue a fellow researcher in distress? His chattering teeth and numb fingertips suggested otherwise. No…enough of him really believed nobody, not even an unscrupulous shitbird of a bloodborn, would go through so much trouble for a gotcha moment. Isaac had no idea what motivated Renato Faria Dimas, but it wasn’t whim. Death might wind up the outcome of their meeting, but it wasn’t the purpose. He had to believe that to keep going.

Isaac didn’t hesitate to pull open the tower’s brass and glass doors. He did take a moment to swipe his dripping curls out of his face and glance around the lobby. There was a lot of expensive tiling, from the pink granite floor he was busy dripping all over to the rectangular columns outfitted in white marble. Geometric blue and gold frescos along with ornate molding decorated the high ceiling. Lights bolted to the columns and designed to look like burning torches cast a warmer glow than the gloom streaming in through the entrance. A whiff of age—mildewed fabric, crumbling wallpaper, the tang of sweat from generations of people—tickled his nose under the modern filtered air. Off to one side lay a red-carpeted staircase leading down, with a metal sign bolted to the wall declaring Clockwork Cabaret. On the other was a small café much like the one back at the hotel. After some quick mental math, Isaac decided to get a large black coffee to go. Holding the tall paper cup brought some life back into his fingers while he took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor as instructed.

The doors slid open on a hallway lined by windows. Stepping out, Isaac could see the hotel through the rain-speckled glass. He pressed his lips into a tight line. It wasn’t too late to turn back. Get the enforcers. Tell them everything. Nevermind they hadn’t done the same for him. Cup almost at the point of burning his fingers, he continued down the hall instead. Only two doors occupied this floor. The one at the end had to be the elevator to the top of the tower. He took the magpad out from under his arm so he’d have the code ready. He’d just passed the first door when he heard the click of a deadbolt sliding back.

Isaac whirled, nearly crushing the coffee cup in his grip. His other hand acted on pure instinct, flinging the pad at the tall figure filling the open doorway. It bounced off the jamb, sending chips of paint shrapnel flying. The figure stumbled back with a gasp. There was a thump followed by a little yelp. Light-headed and dizzy from terror, Isaac inched forward until he could peer inside.

A freckled face he recognized from photos stared up him. Only there was no happy-go-lucky smile this time. Just big brown eyes filled with tears and a blotchy red-violet bruise staining Dorian St-Ange’s cheek. Isaac’s heart shriveled.

“Oh. Oh, shit.” He rushed forward to give them a hand up from where they’d fallen on the floor. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

His apology ended in a squawk as St-Ange kicked him in the kneecap. Pain lanced up his leg all the way to his hip. Isaac staggered back, catching himself on the doorway. His knee ached but, luckily, held his weight.

“Ow! I said I was sorry! You just surprised me and I thought—”

“That you’d bust my nose? Or put out my eye? Pah!” Picking themself up from the floor, St-Ange dusted off and straightened their peacoat with a huff. They touched fingertips to the bruise on their cheek. “Bad enough I had enforcers pushing me around, now I have you trying to break my skull?”

Isaac heard the words. The order they’d been spoken in. He even caught traces of an accent lingering around the barely-there h’s at the start of had and have, as well as how th bordered on d. Problem was, he couldn’t understand how their meaning fit into his concept of reality.

“Wait…the enforcers did that to you?”

St-Ange cocked their head, loose braids swaying while they scrutinized him. “Who else?”

He didn’t have an answer to that either.

“If you please, get inside and shut the door,” called a voice from somewhere further in. “The sunlight isn’t as dim for me as it is for you two.”

Every tendon and joint in Isaac’s body tightened and locked. His lungs shrank, unable to draw in enough oxygen. He wobbled and sagged against the doorway again for support. St-Ange took another look at him and their face softened. Pulling open one side of their peacoat partway, they flashed him a glimpse of three slender stakes stuck through special loops sewn to the inner lining.

“You know. Better safe than sorry?” they whispered, one hand shielding the side of their mouth. With a grim smile, they closed their coat.

Isaac was about to ask whether they’d mind sharing some of that safety, but they’d already turned away. Feet clunky as concrete blocks, he forced himself to follow step by dread-filled step. An entry hall lay beyond the door, complete with brass hooks for hanging coats or hats, a stand for umbrellas, and a small table that looked cut in half so it would fit against the wall without blocking the way. Isaac didn’t bother to remove his jacket, but wiped his sneakers on the mat before walking on the hardwood floor at least. No reason to be uncivilized. He left the door cracked open—just in case, as St-Ange had said. Making every effort not to let his soles squeak, he crept down the hallway toward the golden glow of lamplight. At its end, the corridor opened up into an expansive living room. Isaac barely registered what sort of décor filled the space. His attention homed in on the figure sitting on one of the three white sofas arranged in a loose rectangle at the center of the room.

Renato Faria Dimas looked just as he had during the call. In control. Unconcerned. Sensing the laser-like attention on him, he looked up from scrolling on his tab. Eyes the same beautiful blue-green of seas that had drowned more than one island nation met his. Isaac’s skin went cold, blistered hot for a few heartbeats, then crawled with goosebumps again.

“I see you made it in time after all,” Renato commented, pocketing his tab. He rested his arm along the top of the sofa, cool as a spring breeze. “And I appreciate you leaving the enforcers behind. I understand this isn’t easy for—”

Isaac interrupted by hurling the coffee cup straight at his smug fucking face.

It missed, hitting its intended target in the chest instead. The lid popped off on impact and steaming liquid burst in every direction. Renato shot to his feet too fast for Isaac’s brain to track. One instant he was lounging on the couch and dispensing corporate pleasantries. In the next he was coughing and sputtering, suit and poise ruined.

“Motherfucker.” Swiping away the coffee dripping down his face, Renato had the audacity to glare. “What—”

“That was for making me think you’d kidnapped them!” Isaac pointed at St-Ange for clarification. “Oh, yeah. And for keeping me prisoner that one time, you absolute fucking monster.”

“I said I was going to expla—”

A stack of large, fancy photography books sitting on the glass coffee table caught Isaac’s eye. He lunged, grabbing the top one. Even though he chucked it as quickly as he could, Renato managed to dodge with a sidestep. Undaunted, Isaac took hold of the next.

“I don’t want an explanation.” Throw and a miss. He scrabbled for another conversation-piece projectile. “I want you to eat shit and die.” Too wide to the left. The book crashed into a gilt oval mirror hanging on the wall, sending shards spilling to the floor. “I want my life back.”

When he reached for the final book, he was stopped by an arm snaking around his waist and fingers threading into his hair from behind. Sparks crackled up his spine, tingling over his scalp a moment before clammy horror swept them away. Isaac flailed and thrashed like a cat being forced into a bath. His shins banged into the coffee table, but he didn’t care. Renato’s breath on his cheek and the thought of fangs tearing into his neck at any second drove him to ignore all caution. He continued to kick and twist and claw at the arm wrapped around him as he was dragged backward. His lack of hand-to-hand combat skills once again galled him when he was wrestled facedown onto a sofa. A knee in the small of his back kept him pinned while Renato trapped and twisted his arms.

“Oh, poor baby! Don’t hurt him!” cried St-Ange somewhere close to Isaac’s right.

“Hurt him?” Renato sounded gratifyingly out of breath and annoyed. “He could have scalded my face off with that coffee.”

“Well, did you do something to make him that mad?”

A beat of silence preceded a sigh. “I may have kidnapped him off the street, drugged him, threw him in the trunk of my car, and kept him prisoner. A mistake, as I mentioned.”

Although Isaac couldn't see, he could sense the palm being slapped over St-Ange's face. “Let him up.”

“But—”

“You’re twice as strong as he is. Are you telling me you can’t take a hit—even one it sounds like you have coming?”

More quiet. Then, the knee lifted from his back.

“If you throw any more of my furniture at me,” Renato said close to his ear, “I will tie you up, no matter what Dorian thinks.”

His arms were released. Pulse pounding like a bass drum in his temples, Isaac scrambled up into a sitting position. Renato was already standing back by the wall among the shattered mirror pieces, scowling at him. He glowered back.

“Go change or something,” said St-Ange, disrupting their staring contest. “Let him calm down.”

A wounded dent appeared between Renato’s brows. “But—”

“We tried your way and it didn’t work. Let me talk to him.”

For a minute, Renato’s mouth stayed open like he wanted to protest. Eventually though, it snapped shut, jaw tight. With a huff, he flounced off to a door across the room, slamming it shut behind him.

#it's messed up but #I laughed most of the time #while writing this #in my defense #Kinslayer would have too #and given Renato a noogie #for being such an idiot #dysthanasia #writing #writing update #story update #vampire story #vampires

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