#that probably needs a fresh name but for now

[capquinn]

can we get a blurb about quinn telling his parents he’s gonna be a dad, pretty pretty please???? i feel like he’d be nervous to tell them but also bursting at the seams wanting them to know. it’s probably hard for him being so far away for most of the year, that he wants them to be involved as much as they can, but he’d also want to respect his partner’s wishes if she wanted to wait to tell people until she was further along in case something happened

The decision about when to tell Quinn’s family about the baby over Thanksgiving weekend had been made weeks ago, but actually doing it was proving to be a whole different story.

For Quinn, the excitement of telling them had been almost overwhelming at first, a buzz of energy thrumming beneath his skin every time he thought about the moment. He could picture their reactions so clearly: Ellen’s face lighting up with joy and then tears, Jim’s steady pride breaking into a wide grin. He’d played it over in his mind again and again, letting the thought carry him through the quiet moments of doubt.

But now, as the reality of actually saying the words settled in, the nerves crept in too. It wasn’t that he doubted their reaction — they would be thrilled, he knew that. They adored him, a love larger than life itself, their pride woven into every word they spoke about him. A love so steadfast it felt unshakable. And over the years, that same love had effortlessly extended to you, not just welcoming you into their family but embracing you as if you’d always been a part of it.

However, the weight of the moment, of what it symbolised, suddenly felt heavier. This wasn’t just a fleeting piece of good news to share. It was life-changing, not just for him and you, but for them as well. They were about to become grandparents, stepping into a new chapter of their lives, and he couldn’t shake the pressure of wanting the moment to be perfect.

The confidence he’d carried on the flight home for the weekend was slipping, giving way to a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite name. He’d been eager, almost impatient, to share the news, to feel the weight of it lifted and replaced with their joy, their pride, their unwavering support. He wanted them to share in the excitement, to feel connected to this life-changing moment despite the physical miles that often separate them. He needed them to know that their place in this new chapter, as grandparents, was as important to him as the one he was stepping into.

But now, standing on the brink of saying it aloud, a sudden wave of nerves hit him, sharp and unexpected. The enormity of it all — the love, the hope, the vulnerability wrapped in the words — made his throat tighten.

It wasn’t just an announcement. It was a shift, one that would ripple out and reshape everything. Parenthood, after all, was still something the two of you were learning to grasp.

The first evening back home unfolded in the warm glow of Ellen’s kitchen, the scent of roast chicken and fresh-baked bread filling the air. The house alive with warmth — the crackle of the fireplace, the low hum of laughter, and the familiar cadence of Jim’s voice as he spun a tale about the neighbour’s runaway tractor. He gestured animatedly, earning chuckles and interjections from Ellen, who corrected him at every exaggerated turn. It’s a familiar, comforting scene — the kind of moment Quinn usually soaks in without a second thought.

But tonight, his mind is a thousand miles away.

You can feel the tension humming beneath his relaxed posture, the subtle way his fingers tighten around yours every few minutes, like he’s trying to ground himself. His gaze keeps darting to his parents — catching the glint of Ellen’s wedding band as she leans forward in her chair, the crinkle of Jim’s eyes as he laughs at his own joke.

He wants to tell them. You can see it in the way his lips press together, his chest rising and falling with a slow, deliberate breath as though he’s rehearsing the words in his head.

We’re having a baby.

It’s right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the perfect moment. 

Quinn shifts in his seat, his free hand sliding up to rub the back of his neck as he leans forward slightly. You can feel the faint tremor in his grip as he laces his fingers tighter with yours, like he’s steadying himself for something big.

Jim’s voice carries on in the background, the rich cadence of his story weaving effortlessly with Ellen’s laughter, but Quinn’s focus isn’t there anymore. His gaze is fixed on the table, the firelight catching in his eyes as he takes a deep, deliberate breath.

You recognise the signs immediately. The way his shoulders draw back just slightly, the faint movement of his lips like he’s practicing the words in his head. It’s coming — you can feel it in the subtle shift of his energy, the way his knee bounces once under the table before he stills it with a hand.

He glances at you, and in the flicker of his gaze, you see everything — the love, the nerves, the overwhelming weight of what he wants to say. 

Your expression softens, and you give his hand a gentle squeeze, a quiet I’m here. You’ve got this.

Quinn swallows, his throat working against the knot of emotion rising there. 

“So, uh,” he starts, his voice low and hesitant, barely cutting through the warmth of the room.

Ellen turns toward him, her smile easy and expectant, and Jim sets his drink down, his brows lifting in quiet curiosity.

It’s right there. The words are sitting at the edge of his lips, just waiting to fall out. We’re having a baby.

But they don’t.

Quinn falters, his mouth opening slightly before he closes it again, his jaw tightening as he drops his gaze to his lap. His hand squeezes yours, and the quiet pressure feels like an apology.

Ellen’s eyes flit between the two of you, a flicker of concern crossing her face. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asks gently, her voice laced with the kind of maternal intuition that always catches him off guard.

He looks up at her, his lips curving into a faint, practiced smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Nothing,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Just... it’s good to be home. That’s all.”

You watch as Ellen’s concern melts into warmth, her smile returning as she reaches over to squeeze his arm affectionately. 

“Well, we’re glad you’re here, too,” she says simply, her love for him evident in every word.

Quinn nods, his gaze falling back to his lap, and you can see the frustration flickering just beneath the surface. He’s upset with himself — not because he doesn’t want to tell them, but because he does. Desperately. He just… can’t.

You lean into him slightly, your shoulder brushing his, and when he looks at you, you offer the smallest smile. He exhales slowly, his grip on your hand relaxing just a bit, and when Jim launches into another story, the tension eases from Quinn’s shoulders — if only for a moment.

The second opportunity comes the next morning, when the day feels impossibly slow and golden, like it’s giving Quinn every chance in the world to speak up. The two of you lie in bed longer than usual, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains as you talk quietly, voices still hushed with sleep.

“We can’t leave without telling them,” Quinn says suddenly, his voice quiet but resolute, like the realisation is finally settling in. His gaze is fixed somewhere on the ceiling, his brow furrowed in thought, the weight of his words pulling his shoulders just a little tighter. “I just… I want to do it right, you know?”

“I get it,” you reply, turning your head to look at him. His profile is soft in the morning light, his jaw flexing slightly as he wrestles with the thought. “You want it to feel special.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “Exactly. And every time I think about actually saying it, I freeze. Like, what if I screw it up and it’s not as perfect as I want it to be?”

You can’t help the way your heart squeezes a little at the vulnerability in his voice, the honesty of it catching you off guard in the best way. Sliding a little closer, you prop yourself up on one elbow, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. The movement pulls his attention, and for a moment, his eyes flicker to yours before settling back on the ceiling.

“Quinn,” you say softly, your voice laced with affection, “they’re going to love it. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, the words settling over him like a quiet balm. His jaw flexes again as he chews on your reassurance, his hand absently dropping to your abdomen. It’s such a natural gesture, like he doesn’t even realise he’s done it, his palm curving gently over the barely-there swell. 

The corners of his lips twitch, like he’s debating whether to believe you. Then he lets out a soft laugh, low and self-deprecating, his free hand coming up to rake through his already-messy hair.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is easy,” you insist, squeezing his arm lightly, your gaze steady on him. “It’s you, Quinn. They’re going to be over the moon no matter how or when you tell them.”

His eyes flick to yours then, something unspoken passing between you — a quiet thank you, maybe, or just an acknowledgment that he’s holding onto your words a little tighter than he lets on. His thumb brushes a slow, thoughtful circle against your skin, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders ease, if only just a little.

“Don’t worry, you’ll tell them today,” you murmur. There’s a quiet encouragement in your voice, a steady belief that seems to seep right into him. Your fingers trace lazy circles over the back of his hand where it rests on your belly.

Quinn nods, his lips twitching into a small, tentative smile. It’s not the full-blown confidence he probably wishes he had, but it’s something — a flicker of determination breaking through the haze of nerves.

“Yeah,” he says softly, the single word carrying more resolve than hesitation. “I will.”

He sounds ready. You believe him. So does he.

And so the morning unfolds beautifully. Ellen, with her usual warmth and efficiency, packs coffee and snacks into a little canvas bag, insisting with a bright smile that everyone take advantage of the clear weather to walk the trails. There’s a lightness to her tone, a sense of simple joy that seems to catch on everyone as they prepare to head out.

Out in the forest, the world feels peaceful, quiet but alive. The rustle of leaves underfoot mingles with the occasional chirp of a bird or the soft swish of wind through the trees. The trail is dappled with sunlight, patches of golden light breaking through the canopy above. Quinn walks beside you, his shoulder bumping yours every now and then as the two of you amble along.

He’s quiet at first, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, but there’s a softness to him that doesn’t feel like nervousness — it feels like he’s soaking it all in. The crisp air, the sound of his parents chatting a few paces ahead, the steady rhythm of your steps beside him.

“You good?” you ask softly, nudging him with your elbow. Your breath fogs slightly in the cool air, and he glances over at you, his lips quirking into a small smile.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low but steady. And for a while, it feels like he means it.

At the overlook at the end of the trail that feels perfect, too. The sunlight glints off the trees, the breeze is cool and gentle, and his parents are close, their laughter light as Ellen unpacks the thermos of coffee. You can feel the moment hanging there, just waiting for Quinn to take it.

He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles. You glance up at him, catching the way his jaw tightens just slightly, his lips pressing together like he’s rehearsing the words in his head.

“Now’s a good time,” you say softly, tilting your head toward him. Your voice is quiet, meant just for him, but there’s an encouragement in it that you hope will nudge him past whatever’s holding him back.

Quinn nods, his shoulders straightening a little as he draws in a breath. 

His gaze flicks over to his parents, who are standing a few feet away, cups of steaming coffee in their hands as they admire the view. They’re relaxed, happy. Completely unsuspecting.

For a moment, it feels like he’s going to do it. He takes a step forward, clearing his throat softly, and both Ellen and Jim glance over at him. 

“What is it, Quinn?” Ellen asks, her voice warm, a smile playing on her lips.

You watch as Quinn’s hand flexes at his side, his fingers twitching like he’s trying to grab hold of the words before they slip away. 

“I—” he starts, but then his gaze falters, dropping to the ground for a fraction of a second. He hesitates, just long enough for the nerves to creep in.

Jim’s brow lifts slightly, his smile curious. “Everything okay?”

Quinn freezes, his jaw working as if he’s wrestling with the weight of the moment. You see the exact second he decides against it — the subtle shift in his stance, the way his eyes dart back to the view like he’s searching for an escape.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice low but steady. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

There’s a beat of quiet, and then Ellen laughs lightly, her attention shifting back to her cup. 

“Good,” she says, clearly not noticing the undercurrent of tension. “Come have some coffee before it gets cold.”

Jim watches Quinn for a second longer, his gaze thoughtful, but he doesn’t press. He just claps a hand on Quinn’s shoulder as he passes, squeezing lightly. 

Quinn exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging just slightly as he turns back to you. His lips twitch into a faint, sheepish smile, and he shrugs like he’s trying to laugh it off. But you know him too well to buy it.

You don’t say anything, just lean into his side a little, the warmth of him grounding in a way words wouldn’t be.

“Just… not yet,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like he’s saying it to himself more than to you.

You nod, giving his hand another squeeze, a quiet reassurance passing between you. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your voice just as soft. “You’ll know when the time’s right.”

He breathes out slowly, his gaze flickering back to the view for a moment before settling on his parents again. And even though the moment passes, and the group begins to move again, their laughter breaking through the quiet hum of the forest, you can feel it. The way his hand tightens slightly around yours. The way his shoulders stay just a little too tense as you walk.

He’s still building up to it, you know that. But he’s getting closer.

Back at the house, the moment arises again, this time while everyone is lounging in the living room after lunch. Quinn sits beside you on the couch, one hand cradling his coffee mug, the other resting on your thigh. His parents are across from you, their chairs pulled close to the fire, and the warmth of the room feels almost tangible, a gentle weight of familiarity and love.

He’s relaxed now, leaning back into the cushions, his gaze sweeping over the room like he’s soaking it all in. His hand tightens slightly on your leg, and you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker with something you recognise — nerves, anticipation, resolve.

Ellen catches his eye and smiles, tilting her head slightly. “What’s on your mind, Quinn? You’ve been out of sorts today.”

Your heart skips, and you sit up just slightly, willing him forward with the quiet encouragement in your expression. 

This is it. He’s going to say it. You can feel it.

He clears his throat, straightening a little. “Just... uh,” he starts, his voice steady but hesitant. He glances at you, then back at his mom, and his lips twitch into a small, uncertain smile. “Just thinking how I’m gonna miss this when we leave,” he finishes, his tone light but not entirely convincing.

Your shoulders relax, a mix of understanding and disappointment flooding you as you press your knee gently against his. Quinn glances at you, his jaw tightening as he picks up on your unspoken it’s okay. Next time.

Ellen smiles warmly, tilting her head in that soft, motherly way. “It’s not long until Christmas,” she reminds him, though her voice carries a faint wistfulness, like she’s reminding herself too.

Quinn nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Not long.”

The following morning unfolds in the quiet, unhurried way that comes after a weekend of family time, everyone savouring these last hours together. The kitchen is warm and familiar, filled with the smell of coffee and the soft sounds of Ellen moving around, flipping pancakes on the griddle. Jim leans against the counter by the sink, drying dishes, while you’re perched on a stool at the island, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Quinn stands a little apart, leaned back against the counter with a piece of toast in hand, his damp hair sticking up in every direction, evidence of a quick shower.

The conversation drifts easily — something about Jim’s plans for the yard that afternoon, Ellen’s pancake technique, a joke about Luke’s questionable cooking skills. But Quinn is quiet, and not in the usual, thoughtful way. His eyes flick between his parents, to you, and back again, a pattern he’s been repeating all weekend. You know he’s been carrying the weight of the news, the excitement and nerves tangling together, keeping him from saying it despite countless opportunities.

And then, just like that, it happens.

“We have something to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but quiet enough that it cuts through the easy flow of conversation. 

The kitchen stills, all eyes turning toward him. Ellen pauses mid-flip, the spatula poised over the griddle, while Jim straightens from his spot near the sink, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What is it?” Ellen asks, her voice soft but expectant, her gaze darting between you both.

Quinn shifts slightly, his toast forgotten on the counter behind him. His hand brushes over the back of his neck, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to back out again, if the nerves will win one last time. 

But then he glances at you, his expression searching, and you nod gently, giving him the encouragement he’s been looking for.

“We’re having a baby,” he says, the words tumbling out in a rush but steady, sure. His voice catches just slightly at the end, but his eyes stay locked on his parents, watching as the meaning sinks in.

For a moment, the room is silent. Ellen stares at him, her eyes wide and unblinking, her hand coming up to her mouth. Jim’s towel stills mid-fold in his hands, his gaze flicking to you as if for confirmation. And then Ellen gasps — a sound so full of joy and disbelief it feels like it fills the entire room.

“Oh my God,” Ellen whispers, her voice trembling as her hand covers her mouth. Her eyes dart between Quinn and you, wide and shimmering with emotion. “A baby? You’re having a baby?” She looks at you then, as if she needs your confirmation to believe it’s true.

Quinn nods, and the soft, tentative smile that had been tugging at his lips finally breaks free. It spreads wide, unstoppable, lighting up his entire face. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and steady but filled with something raw and achingly real. “We’re having a baby.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels suspended, as if the house itself is holding its breath. Then Ellen moves, her emotions bursting forth as she crosses the kitchen in a blur, her arms outstretched. She pulls Quinn into a fierce hug, her laugh bubbling up through a flood of tears.

“Oh, Quinn,” she says, her voice breaking with joy. “A baby. My baby’s having a baby.” Her hands cradle his face for a moment before she hugs him again, tighter this time, as if she can pour every ounce of love she feels into him.

He laughs softly, wrapping his arms around her as his chin rests against the top of her head. “Thanks, Mom,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

When Ellen pulls back, her focus shifts immediately to you. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, rounding the island with tears streaming down her face. “A baby. Oh, I’m so happy for you.” She pulls you into a tight hug, her warmth and joy washing over you in waves. “You’re going to be incredible parents. Both of you.”

Jim moves forward more slowly, his hand landing firmly on Quinn’s shoulder as a wide smile spreads across his face. 

“This is incredible news, son,” he says, his voice steady but with an unmistakable quiver of emotion. “Congratulations. To both of you.”

Quinn exhales then, properly exhales, like the weight of all his nerves and hesitations has finally lifted. 

For the rest of the morning, the kitchen hums with joy. Ellen flits between the stove and you, her emotions spilling over every time she catches Quinn’s eye. She can’t seem to stop smiling, crying, or imagining the tiny new addition to the family. 

“How have you been feeling?” she asks, her eyes searching yours with a mother’s concern. “If you need anything, you’ll let me know, right?”

Her hand briefly brushes over your arm, the gesture warm and reassuring, and you nod, assuring her that you’ve been well, that Quinn has been attentive, that everything is as it should be. It’s impossible not to smile at the way her joy bubbles over, filling every corner of the kitchen like sunlight.

Quinn, for his part, has shed every trace of hesitation. He talks easily now, the nerves replaced by an earnest kind of excitement. He shares the small details — the due date, how you found out, how ready the two of you feel — and every word seems to deepen the pride in Jim’s expression. He stands quietly nearby, his presence grounding and constant, his smile unwavering.

When it’s finally time to leave, the hugs linger. Ellen pulls Quinn close, whispering something through her tears before letting him go to hold you just as tightly. Jim’s hand finds Quinn’s shoulder again, squeezing it once in a way that says everything without words. There’s an unspoken promise in their goodbyes, a warmth that stays even as the front door closes behind you.

Quinn doesn’t say much as he helps you into the car, his hand brushing over your back as he opens the door. But as he settles into the driver’s seat, he glances back at the house one last time, his expression soft, a little dazed. When he turns to you, his smile is quiet, content, the kind that makes your heart ache in the best way. 

As you drive away, the crisp Michigan air shifting through the windows, his hand finds yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in that familiar, absent minded way, and you realise that for the first time all weekend, there’s nothing holding him back. The weight is gone, replaced by something steadier — joy, contentment, and the simple knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Burn Out

I would. Absolutely do the cast but. Consider. The casts parents instead.

Also as you can probably guess, I'm feeling burnt out so my writing may not be as good as it usually is but fuck it we ball. Yes I will be using headcanon names for the Cast Parents because. um. I can.

Family Headcanons here if you want to read.

Also there's no Diasomnia except for Sebek. Sorry. Don't attack me please I beg OTL NO SPOILERS PLEASE OTL ----------------------------------------

Dr. Carlotta Rosehearts is not the type of woman to be easily impressed. Burn out is something only the weak experience, though if you weren't raised by her, she can hardly blame YOU for your poor constitution. While she's not all that sympathetic, she can find a small, easy task for you to complete to feel like you've been productive, useful, and otherwise intelligent.

Dr. Lawson Hatter, Riddle's estranged (engineer) father couldn't be any MORE experienced with burn out. He's awkward, he's odd, but his antics are sure to put a smile on your face. He can spot someone trying to work through burn out easily - not in his house baby, he's spinning that chair around and away from the desk, you're coming to get snuggled up and watch a movie with him and his kid(s). He'll make you tea (or coffee if you want it), a bunch of snacks, and promises to help you with your work later. Right now is time to let that all go and let your brain be mush for a bit. It's okay.

Amelia and Tarrant Clover - they're a little burnt out constantly themselves, but there's always room at the table for one more. Their home is only a good option if you like little kids though, because they WILL treat you like you're their big sibling almost immediately. They don't mean to come off as a little uncanny, but they genuinely do love having guests so much. Be prepared for So. Much. Food. If you can't really handle the hubbub of the family, that's okay too. Amelia will invite you to join her for her evening prep. She has a way of making you let all those feelings come out when it's just the two of you, and by the time you're done crying, she's got fresh banana bread and hot chocolate in front of you, with a pat on the back. She'll hug you if you want it too.

The Diamond couple have way too much tension between them to be of much help to you. Cater's older, but not eldest, sister, Catrina, is rather reserved and quiet when she's allowed to be. She'd be the one to take you into her room, do your hair, maybe some aromatherapy and tai chi. She's learned a lot of ways to relax over the years, she's just happy to share it with someone who is too exhausted to be fake with her. willing to let her help.

Dylla Spade hi, hello, did you want to make a top three guardians list? Dylla is there, promise. There is no overworking in her house. She can appreciate the dedication, but 1. you are actively harming yourself, 2. you should never work that hard in a workplace, why are you doing it for free /hj. She'll try to interrupt once or twice with the bribe of a small snack, or with going out somewhere, but if you're stubborn she's got to pull out the big guns. Big guns being she puts a photo of baby Deuce on the desk next to you and tells you if you want to know the story you're going to stop, go take a shower to give your brain a transition period out of work and go meet her in the kitchen. She's not the best cook but by god you know everything she gave you she gave with love.

Jack Trappola-Hearts is not Ace's dad, (ew, says Ace in the back of my mind), but his big brother. He's got a humble, somewhat dated one-bedroom apartment. He'll sleep on the couch though, so you can have the bed. (If Ace is there, Jack will sleep on the floor). He likes keeping you entertained and smiling, so he'll take you around town to (free) but fun areas. He doesn't expect you to verbally respond if you don't want to, and if you need to, he'll happily create a way for you to communicate when you're ready to go home. He'll keep you distracted from your responsibilities and burdens until he knows you can tackle them full force again.

Falena Kingscholar has a BIG and BRIGHT personality. He means the best, but he can sometimes be a little insensitive to your efforts, (as he was to his brother). He's also very busy and repressing his own burn out and Other Emotions, but don't fret. Kifaji will look after you. He's careful to not hover, but he always pops in with exactly what you need. He can't be as attentive as he would like, but he does know where the younger prince used to sneak off for naps. He may or may not drop a hint or two as to where those places are, and he may or may not have made sure to set the area up with soft lighting, music, blankets and curtains to give you some elevated sense of privacy without being overwhelmed by your surroundings (hopefully).

Vovó Bucchi (yes I borrowed a headcanon name provided by @kamiraaah (sorry for the tag, if you want it removed lmk!! ^^) can't help but make fun of you a tiny bit, but it's all just to remind you that hard work is meant to be rewarded. Hard work is meant to be balanced out with something else. While you're clearly bright, you're apparently not bright enough to realize when you need a break on your own /lh. She'll ask you to tell her about the things you HAVE accomplished over the past month while cooking food for the family, (and yes, having you be her taste tester all through out it), and wait til you're done to ask what you've done to motivate yourself to keep going. If you've got nothing, she's going to tell you to come home with Ruggie at the end of every other week. Yes, home. You're hers now. Good luck escaping custody.

Citlali and Ande Howl couldn't be more opposite in how they try to help you through burn out. Citlali is just a 4'2 ball of energy and affection, you best believe she's got hugs for days, homemade quilts to pile on you, a hot chocolate she meant to give you about 40 minutes ago but forgot while she was rambling, (she'll heat it back up), a child to hand you - wait, no that's going to her husband, that's not your responsibility. She'll talk your EARS off, but you come to love it. Ande is much more stoic, a little intimidating to some, and very awkward. Mans does not know how to come off as friendly. He offers a hug if you need it. Best hug of your life. He will also show you where you can go to brood get a breath of fresh air and relax.

Clara and Ginerva "Nonna" Ashengrotto (you MAY NOT call Nonna anything but Nonna. Only Nonna's friends can call her Ginny, and 'Ms. Ashengrotto' is her daughter.) Clara and her mom are both all too familiar with the dangers of burn out. You get burnt out, you make bad decisions, bad decisions lead to trouble down the road and honey you do not need to make your life any more complicated than it already is. Sit down, stuff your face, listen to jazz, be happy. Basic rules. Your plate will not be allowed to be empty, be prepared to probably eat so much you pass out, which will be the one and only bad decision you make that day, but it's better than Nonna asking why you ain't eatin' her cooking. If you do get too full, don't worry, they'll tease but they'll pack up what's left and the other 27 meals they prepared for you to take home. (Nonna is partially deaf so you will have to raise your voice a bit so she can hear you clearly).

guysguysguysguysguysguysguysguys it's my favourite next do you know who's my favourite I know who's my favourite I literally wrote this just so I could write for her do you know who's my favourite fuck YEAH YOU DO

Valeria Leech (and her husband I guess but I'm pretending Constantine Leech is not there because I want to focus on the queen that is Mama Fucking Leech)(He would be kind of detached anyways he doesn't know you and he doesn't owe you nothin', his wife just said he wasn't allowed to eat you). ANYWAYS. Mama Leech has a lot of energy, Floyd had to get it from somewhere and it is absolutely from his mama. While she can be a little all over the place, clearly her boys appreciate you if they went through the effort to bring you to her, and that means um. You're her kid now too. She will treat you like she treats her sons. This means an overwhelming amount of physical touch (she will tone down if asked or if her husband reminds her that not everyone is comfortable with that), a lot of food being offered to you, you get the (second) best bed in the house, she has already bought you new clothes- ordering on land clothes, but also things tourists to the Coral Sea would wear. Because how can you expect to overcome burn out when you're stuck in a rut and nothing has changed. You need a good sleep schedule, a good meal, and a way to feel fabulous about yourself. And probably a hug and a good cry session. And maybe a hobby to let out all that steam, do you want to learn to fight hand to hand or do you want to collect tiny glass figurines, she'll buy the same subscription as she has if you want she LOVES little glass figurines they're cute and delicate just like elvers are. She will cry when you have to go back to land, promise her you'll call her if you need her for anything. Whether it's a hug or hiding a body. She's got your back. Also in the top 3 mama's tbh but I'm very very very biased but I also still think I'm right.

Akram al Asim is a little lost on what to do, but Kalim cares about you, so so does he. He doesn't really know what to do on an emotional basis, so he gives you money and tells you that if staying in the palace is too much, you're welcome to go stay in one of their private mansions instead. And if you need more money to just ask. So staying at "home" and having someone cook and clean for you while you get to do nothing is a 10/10 way to help burn out. He does not know how to help people that are stubborn or reject his gift unfortunately, he just kinda stands there like a deer in the headlights, then just welcomes you to stay in his home as long as you like. (This is a bad idea, you're a friend of Kalim's and given the family dynamics we know about you may very well be used as leverage, um. yeah. That's not very cash money.)

Nasir and Amani Viper can offer their home and to share dinner with you, but they are kept busy all day. They can recognize burn out - they've seen it in their son, and experienced it themselves, but they've never gotten a break to work through it. They'll tell you to rest, to eat, to make yourself at home, but it's a little awkward to relax when everyone around you is working.

Eric Venue oh dear. oh dear, oh dear oh dear. Burn out is a killer of creativity darling, and we simply cannot have that. Again, not someone who can help all that much directly, he'll toss a little money at you and get you into a luxurious spa to get you to relax again, to rejuvenate your skin and your mind. Also concerned for your mental health and MAY have paid off a therapist to become your friend so you'll never know you're receiving therapy throughout the entire thing, you'll cry, you'll let that out, and you'll never see that friend again. But you don't know that yet and for now you feel better!

The Hunts fall into the bottom category of parents. Ibis Hunt, Rook's next eldest sister (bc I think the Hunt's named their kids after birds), will try her best. She practically raised Rook, so she knows what a good night out by the campfire can do, campfire dinner, marshmallows, a couple goofy songs on the guitar, and a horror story if you think you can handle it. She'll keep your mind off of things.

Meemaw (Marja) Felmier can and will bop you over the head with her cane if she sees you trying to work when you clearly can't anymore. "You're so worn slap out y'ain't got 'nother ounc'a thinkin' in there. Y'got a hankerin' for somethin'? I'll fix it up right quick. Come on now, carryin' on on an empty stomach ain't gonna fix y'problems." She purposely has you sit on the comfiest chair on the house, layers you up in blankets, gives you a stuffy and warm apple cider because she KNOWS you're gonna pass right out. And when you wake up, there will be Marja's famous apple crumble with homemade vanilla ice cream waiting for you, trust.

Dr. Isla and Rodian Shroud are HUGE advocates for self care, but know sometimes it takes another person to pull you away from what's frustrating you. Isla will GLADLY take you on in a gaming competition - and she might even take it easy on you. And you'll hear her full Aussie accent come out any time you over take her in the equivalent of Mario Kart. Rodian is much more likely to be subtle in the way he helps, asking you to come assist on a project. Idle prattle turns into a deeper conversation that lets you open up to him, and the simple tasks he gives you to make you feel like you're being useful help a lot too. If you do end up crying, he'll offer a hug, and then a place to sleep off the rest of the emotions. You'll wake up to a 3D printed figurine of your favourite animal, cookies, and a thermos that kept the milk cold. The last of the Mom top 3 imo. (Mom's do not include grandma's btw thus the exclusion of Vovo and Marja /lh)

Baul Zigvolt okay listen. Modern day? I can't help imagine him with a big beer belly and a laugh to match. He's lost all the intensity he had in chapter 7 (thus far, no spoilers please lol). If you're feeling burnt out, he's giving you food the way he would have given it to baby Sebek - he's still adjusting to humans, so forgive him for cutting everything up so small, but hey, hopefully you won't choke? And some water. He's got a lovely voice, so with your permission, he'll read to you or tell you stories from when he and Lilia were younger - or if you really want it, he'll sing you to sleep...that's his goal anyways. He will not let you sleep in though LMAO, you went to bed early, get ready to be up at the crack of dawn lol.

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

Anyways, thanks for reading my Partially Coherent Ramblings. Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist

@my-cursed-brain @fluffle-writes @distant-velleity @starry-night-rose @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @lumdays @nemisisnemi

[riality-check]

Heimerdinger’s class is set up… unconventionally. That is how Viktor thinks of it when he is being diplomatic. Ordinarily, he thinks of it as bullshit.

There is no graded homework, which means there is no homework in Viktor’s eyes. The material is trivial for the most part, and he does not see a need to waste time on practice problems he can guess the answers to. The class has two midterms, each worth a quarter of the grade, and one final project.

One project. Worth half the grade. Viktor read the syllabus five times to make sure he was not having a stroke.

To make it worse, the project had one instruction: make something.

When Heimerdinger failed to follow up that statement, Viktor worried the professor was the one having a stroke.

Viktor creates throughout the semester. He makes a semi-permanent cover for the smoke alarm in his dorm, fashions a hydraulic hinge to ease the load of pushing his unduly heavy door open, and copies the keys to the library so he can get to the better study spaces before it opens and someone else can steal the high chairs by the good windows.

He is not secretive about any of this. He is sure his roommate - Viktor does not remember his name, but he does remember how he talked of what the Academy was like when his father and grandfather attended - complained about his endless tinkering after he got his room reassigned. Yet he is only approached once by other students of the Academy.

A few other students on his floor, the kind that his old roommate frequently fraternized with, the kind with soft hands and heavy watches, approach him about building a machine to count money for their “semi-legal” poker matches. They tell him that he can even be in charge of the money for a cut, if he’d like.

The coin would not hurt. It would be nice to have something extra to spend, to be able to go into town with the rest of them and actually buy something instead of keeping his hands in his pockets. It would be nice to get fresh fruit from the market instead of the meals served at school. It would be nice to be able to afford a trip back down. He has some people he would like to visit. Some people he owes for being here.

He tells the other students no, that he cannot do it, but he would like to play if they ever had an open seat.

Viktor has no intention of ever wasting time gambling, nor does he have the money to begin the habit in the first place. He just wants to confirm what he suspects. And the other students do that for him, with tense smiles of whiter than white - strange that they have so many sweets here and yet they do not rot - that fail to reach their eyes.

They are perfectly content to have a trencher count their Piltie coins, but they would never want them sitting at the same table.

Viktor only makes useful things. It has been that way since he was a child, and his first semester at the Academy is no different. Everything he creates, from the window screen he rigged out of layers of wire scraps from the engineering laboratory (copied those keys as well) to the heat/ice pack he fashioned from chemistry lab leftovers, has a use. With the project deadline fast approaching, he figures he should do the same for Heimerdinger’s singular, inane project.

So, he makes a cane.

As the semester progressed, and as he learned from Heimerdinger’s surprisingly engaging lectures, he realized his current cane was insufficient. This should not have been surprising; he had been using it for years. It had cracked along one side, and it was a little too short as a result of his most recent (though less than impressive) growth spurt. In truth, he had probably needed a new cane for some time now, but he often had more pressing matters to attend to. If he had it his way, he would only replace it if it broke, but that would be worse long term. 

He knew that. He was not stupid.

The course gave him dedicated time to perfect a design that would, hopefully, last for a time, since he had almost certainly stopped growing. The course, being introductory, did not have a lab, so Viktor made his own. In his dorm.

It is little wonder his roommate leaves halfway through the semester. Viktor supposes maybe he was in the wrong for using his contraband soldering iron (found in the trash, only took a little coaxing to work again) past midnight, but he is of the opinion that his roommate should not have been bringing people back to the dorm to have sex with them. On weeknights. With Viktor there. Trying to sleep.

He thinks it breaks even.

In total, he makes two dozen canes. He plans every design diligently using the equations and principles copied down from Heimerdinger’s truly atrocious blackboard scrawl. He tries various materials and carves them into different shapes, testing what fits his hand better, what balances better, and what holds the most weight.

(He learns early to test the last factor leaning toward his bed. When a model he fashioned for the express purpose of testing the minimum amount of material necessary to function predictably snapped, Viktor failed to put his other hand out in time and smashed his face on the unforgiving floor.

Once his nose stopped bleeding and he could overcome the screaming pain in his leg to pull himself into his desk chair, he wrote down his observations.)

He pens all his observations, complete with schematics, equations, and graphs of the various factors that make a cane a good cane. It takes up ten sheets of paper, front and back, because why waste perfectly good space?

Viktor finds throughout the process that most canes are not good canes. They are uncomfortable to hold for long, or too weak, or too unstable, or some combination of the three. The more models he makes - and, in many cases, breaks - the more he realizes that most of the canes he has seen in the Undercity are not good canes. They are cobbled from scraps, from old parts torn from metal and wood and whatever else available. They are fragile and jagged, unyielding and practical. Just like his people.

If he can make a good cane quickly and cheaply, that could mean something. That could improve lives for so many people, however little.

Viktor would like to do more, but, as he has done all his life, he recognizes his limitations. He is a first year university student from the Undercity. He is the only university student from the Undercity. As much as his ambition craves doing something grand and good, he is not in a position to accomplish that yet. He must walk the tightrope. Roll over on command. Ask “how high” whenever they tell him to jump, always looking confused if he ever mentions the pain.

He grits his teeth. There is only the work.

All the final projects for all of Heimerdinger’s class sections are presented at an end of semester research symposium, open to the entire Academy. It is… overwhelming, to say the least. Heimerdinger teaches an inordinate amount of sections, judging from the plethora of people Viktor must dodge in order to arrive at his assigned table. He sets up his presentation, which does not take him very long, and looks around to see what he typically sees in Piltover.

Waste.

The other research projects are… Viktor cannot tell what they are. They are loud and flashy. They clack and whirr. Some of them play music, others destroy little block towers. Others still build them up.

Viktor cannot see a practical use for any of them. They are toys.

There was a time when he built toys. It was a time before he was confronted with the true magnitude of his own limitations - now that he is aware, constantly, he wonders how that was ever the case - and the cruelty some of humanity was capable of. He built toys for nothing other than the fact that he could, that it was fun to put parts together and have them work, that success delighted him.

But things change. Viktor grew up. He lost the time for toys, lost the drive for anything impractical. He became devoted to what mattered: survival and altruism. If it was not necessary, if it did not help, then he could not afford the waste.

The other university students, some who have surely known hardship but clearly never learned to starve, can. They build toys, contraptions that buzz and whirr and shine to the dazzlement of their audiences, who gather around their presentations to ooh and ahh over them.

No such audience gathers near Viktor. They pass him by curiously, eyeing him as the oddity and paying no attention to his work. They whisper behind their hands, and while the other voices in the room and the clack of the other frivolous machines drown them out, they are obviously talking about him.

City of Progress, and yet they refuse to see beyond appearances.

The rage bubbles up in Viktor, but he swallows it down. He smiles politely at passersby and converses pleasantly with those few who ask about his project. He bites his tongue when their gazes wander to the spectacles he is surrounded by. He resists the urge to sit on the edge of the table. 

They did not give him a chair. Good that today he experienced next to no pain.

Toward the end of the three hours, Heimerdinger arrives at his table. 

He only examines the presentation curiously. He does not comment. He simply writes on his notepad and offers a kind smile. Then he moves on to the next table, where he enthusiastically greets a student who made a glittering music box.

Viktor sees his grade during the next class. Stellar marks, but no comments. Satisfactory, but unremarkable.

The semester ends, and his other classes return the same grades. Perfect, but nothing more to say.

Viktor does not like attention. He is used to lingering eyes on him, whispered remarks as he passes by. He has been examined by doctors and openly judged in public. If he could exist without that clear prying that so many seem entitled to, he would. But with how he is built (wrong, he is built wrong, there is no amount of sickly sweet sugarcoating for it) that will never be a possibility.

But he wants his work to have attention. To be worth something. To be discussed. He wants to be known as an inventor, not a cripple.

So, as he spends the winter holidays between semesters fixing the subpar heating in his dormitory because he could not afford to go home, he resolves to be done keeping his head down. To cut the tightrope. To fly instead of jump.

If they are going to stare, he will meet their eyes. If they are going to whisper, he will answer. If they are going to make him a spectacle, he will construct a spectacle instead.

There is only the work. And he will outwork them.

Read the other part here.

[wolfclan-gen]

WOLFCLAN: MOON 18.5

Indigoleaf bounded down the slope into camp, shaking snow from her fur. She'd been looking for moss for Dusty's nest when the wind suddenly picked up, and brought with it so much snow that she could barely see a tail-length in front of her muzzle. If it hadn't been a straight hike back to camp, she might have gotten lost in the squall.

"Glad you made it back, we were about to go out looking for you." Rapidwind meowed as he approached her, with Polecatspot and Badgerstripe a few steps behind.

She greeted him with a nod. "I wasn't far. I'm afraid I came back empty-pawed, though. The wind cut right through my pelt."

"A little moss isn't worth getting frostbite over. Me and the others," the deputy swished his tail to indicate the two warriors behind him. "Are going to try to pile up the snow to block some of the wind from blowing into the cave. And, speaking of frostbite, Shimmerstar needs to talk to you." He continued up the slope, Polecatspot and Badgerstripe following with fur fluffed up against the chill.

Indigoleaf turned to the center of the cave where Shimmerstar was waiting. It took a few moments for her to notice green eyes peering out from the leader's shadow. The kit's black tabby markings on dark gray fur blended in with the gray rock, especially when the light in the cave was already dim. She padded over to the two, glancing questioningly at the kit before turning to Shimmerstar. "What's going on?"

"I found a kit." Shimmerstar replied. They paused for a moment, and before Indigoleaf could ask for more detail, seemed to realize how vague that answer was. "She was on the scree, when the snow was setting in. She wouldn't tell me much about herself, but it was clear a kit couldn't survive that storm. I asked her to come to camp, at least until the storm broke. Can you give her a look-over, make sure she's okay?"

Indigoleaf nodded, and looked down at the kit. She had a strong green gaze, and a resolute expression. Based on her size, the healer thought she might be about the same age as Rapidwind's kits. "Hello, little one. What's your name?"

"I don't have one." The kit mewed back flatly.

"Oh, okay. Well, I'm Indigoleaf. Where are you from?" She leaned forward to give the kit's ears a closer look and a sniff, to make sure frostbite hadn't set in at the tips.

"Nowhere." The kit replied.

Ah, so Shimmerstar wasn't kidding. The kit really doesn't feel like talking about herself. "Here, raise your paws up so I can have a look. You must be really tough to get so far up the mountain. Does anything hurt? Or do you feel numb anywhere?"

The kit leaned back and raised her paws, and Indigoleaf inspected them as well. They were chilly, but not dangerously so. "I'm a little cold." The kit admitted.

"We'll get a nice warm nest for you, and some prey." She circled the kit, checking that her tail was free of frostbite. "It's a good thing Shimmerstar found you. Up on the mountain, the gales are strong enough that it could even carry me off of a cliff. I don't know how long the storm will last, but you can stay with us for as long as you need to."

"Thanks." The kit seemed to relax a little, and Indigoleaf detected tiredness in her eyes. She wondered how long the poor kit had been alone - it couldn't have been too long, since she didn't look like she was starving. But that probably also meant that her separation from her guardian was still a fresh wound, and one she wasn't ready to talk about.

Indigoleaf swept her feathery tail around the kit. "If you don't have a name, can we give you one?"

The kit nodded. Shimmerstar looked thoughtful. "How about something based on how we met? Though, Snowkit or Blizzardkit don't really fit."

"Maybe Stormykit, or Galekit, or..." Indigoleaf suggested.

"I like Gale. Galekit." The kit answered.

Indigoleaf purred. "Galekit it is. Now, let's go find a warm nest for you."

[theseshipsshallsail]

Sequel to the dancing fic, now starring Elio's filthy mouth... 😏

BIGGER THAN THIS (MORE THAN US)

“You know… that’s probably my favourite position,” Elio declares as he shuts the bathroom door behind him; left hand raking the chestnut curls now plastered to his dewy forehead.

He looks straight at him - a piercing sharpness in his gaze - and something ignites in Oliver’s belly no matter how recently they’ve lain in each other’s arms; sweaty and sated and knuckling the sleep from their gritty eyelids.

“Your favourite?” his sleep-deprived brain summons the wherewithal to ask.

“Sì,” Elio murmurs; coy to the point of transparency. “My favourite.” 

He grins - a brash, flirty sort of thing - then rocks back on his heels with a lazy shrug.

“It’s the anticipation, ouais? That raw moment of longing before you brush your cock against my waiting mouth…”

It’s bad enough he’s distractingly semi-naked, but one deft tug, and he casts his towel aside, also.

“...before I taste the pearls of pre-come that reaffirm your need.”

Oliver’s blood flows south at a gallop. “Good God, Elio…” he whispers hoarsely, not entirely certain his deity of choice, but covering both options, nonetheless.

“I like to lick them with my tongue,” his boyfriend reveals, taking a deliberate step as Oliver sits down blindly at the foot of the bed. “To trace the scar at your crown that marks us as equals. Binding us together since time immemorial.”

He crosses the remaining distance in a blink; clambering into Oliver’s lap with proprietary ease, then urging his dumbstruck shoulders to the chamomile-scented sheets.

“I like to hear you moan,” Elio explains, the strings of his bracelets tickling Oliver’s nipple as he leans in close. “Et toi?” Spearmint breath gusts warmly across his cheek. “Do you like when I make you do that?”

The realisation strikes him to the core - as if Zeus himself had hurled his trusty lightning bolt - and a violent shiver darts up Oliver’s spine as he grasps the other man by his nape. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, dragging his nose along the ivory temptation of Elio’s neck.

“There's no more secrets between us, mon cher. No more hiding. Not now we’ve finally let each other in.”

Elio’s right. 

There aren’t. 

Including the fact Oliver’s eager erection is currently tenting a fresh pair of cotton boxers; normal refractory period be damned.

“And when I’m nice and comfortable on those stacked up pillows,” Elio purrs, lips skimming the shallow indent of his jugular notch. “When I’ve tasted and teased and got you straddling my chest… nudging past my gag-reflex to stretch my stuffed-full throat? Oh…” 

The little heathen knows exactly what that does to him. 

“Is it selfish, I wonder? To undo you so completely?” The low timbre of Elio’s voice is thoroughly hypnotic. “To drive you to the brink again and again ‘til it’s all you can think about?” A pause. “‘Til I’m all you can think about?”

“Sweetheart…”

“But you’re mine, now,” Elio says, sucking a mark at the curve of his hip. “And I am yours.”

“In every way possible,” Oliver agrees, hauling him up the length of his body, then kisses him with such fierce desperation any notion of gentleness or finesse soon flies the proverbial coop.

They only pull apart when black dots encroach upon his vision, and banding a forearm around Elio’s slender waist he proceeds to flip them over; burying his face in his scallop-shell clavicle as he kicks his underwear to the floorboards below. 

“You’re not too sore?” Oliver checks, settling into the cradle of his thighs, but Elio merely smirks, the hardness at his groin an answer in itself when he purposefully arches against him.

“Sto bene,” he assures, seeking out the small, foil sachet they’d lost in their earlier encounter. “I want you.”

“You have me,” Oliver repeats, tearing it open with his teeth. “You’ve had me, you menace.”

“And now I want you again,” Elio tells him, tilting his ass to assist as lube-slick digits drift behind his scrotum; massaging the puckered ring of muscle that’s remarkably yielding to his touch. 

It doesn’t take much to work him open, and when Oliver replaces three fingers with the head of his leaking cock he groans at the supple heat. Bearing forward with steady intent until he’s fully seated: Elio’s legs encircling his lower back whilst his palms squeeze his churning buttocks; guiding a rhythm that swells and spirals and doubles in intensity.

Hearts racing.

Lungs heaving.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust until they’re gasping a primal song of pleasure into each other’s gaping mouths. 

He was terrified, quite frankly, all those weeks ago at Monet’s berm: to name this connection they’ve forged between them. To articulate the desires that’ll shape the path ahead. But every transformation requires a catalyst. Of which Elio Perlman is most definitely his. It won’t be easy. Nothing worth fighting for ever is. Yet they’re finding a way to make this permanent - solidifying their plans in the harsh light of day - and tears spring unbidden to Oliver’s eyes as he teeters on the edge of exhaustion.

“I love you,” he whispers, a statement and a vow. “I’m in love with you,” he continues, compelled to make the distinction. 

Elio hums - monosyllabic, it seems, in the wake of his orgasm - but actions speak louder than words as he reels him in by his Star of David; kissing him like they have all the time in the world.

[anneapocalypse]

but seriously... what if she/they/he/any pronouns El Trevelyan for the Veilguard Era.

[thehappiestgolucky]

Listen hear me out

I am no immune to sapphic creature propaganda AND I like aspec Spearmaster (Demi Romantic Ace)

I was also mostly contemplating how to handle LttM and FP in this au and landed on “Hunter had already delivered the neuron but had a lil more cycles than in game. Met Spearmaster on her way back and saving its life so they go to their iterators together. Spearmaster learns potential friend has illness and doesn’t like that it won’t be cured so goes back out with them to find a cure.” and ended up loving them being a queer platonic couple.

It’s more of an ‘endgame’ kinda deal because Artificer needs to go through some development and therapy - but again. Not immune to murder sapphics.

[pausegame]

Did nothing but play Inquisition yesterday and it was ✨ magical ✨ 🥲😭🙏❤️❤️

[theostrophywife]

focus on me.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader request: I NEED MATHEO OR THEODORE X FEM READER AND SHE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS AND ARM VIENS AND SHE WALKS INTO HIS DORM AND IS GOBSMAKED TO SEE HIS ABS AND SHE WANTS TO RIDE THEM AND SHES JUST SO OBSESSED AND THINKS HES THE HOTTEST MAN IN THE PLANET- AND SHE FOLDS LIKE A PRETZEL WHEN HE GIVES HER THOSE EYES- JESUS IM A CATHOLIC BUT THEO AND MATTHEO COULD BE MY NEW RELIGION- author's note: big thanks to @writingsbychlo for listening to me rant about this man in her inbox. posting this now so she can wake up to her mans. the way that i would fold for mattheo so fast (theo look away). anyways, enjoy this purely smutty fic 😮‍💨

You were supposed to be studying. 

When you came into his dorm, you specifically told Mattheo not to interrupt you under any circumstances. Usually, you preferred the library but some prat had accidentally set off a dung bomb, which meant closure until further notice. 

You tried studying in your dorm, but your fellow housemates decided that there was no better time to throw a back to school bash in the common room than the night before your Ancient Runes exam. Harry and Ron, who shared the same class, appeared completely unbothered as they chugged firewhisky straight from the bottle. 

Your roommate Hermione was long gone. Probably holed up somewhere in the dungeons with Draco. You followed your friend’s cue and snuck into your boyfriend’s dorm, narrowly avoiding Filch. It never seemed fair that the Slytherins got individual rooms, but tonight you had never been more thankful for it. 

Mattheo had set up a whole battle station for you on his desk. There were fresh ink pots, newly sharpened quills, and blank parchment waiting for you when you arrived. After kissing your sweet and considerate boyfriend, you went straight to work. 

By the time midnight struck, the parchment was filled with glowing runes, making your ink stained hands cramp from drawing out the symbols over and over again. To Mattheo’s credit, he kept to himself and read quietly on his bed while you studied. 

You were so engrossed in the material that you barely registered him kissing you on the cheek before leaving to take a shower. That little mistake cost you because as soon as he walked back into his dorm with nothing but a towel on, you nearly spilled fresh ink all over yourself. 

Water trickled down Mattheo’s chest, the little droplets snaking through his perfectly chiseled abs only to disappear beyond his v lines, which pointed like an arrow to what you knew was hiding underneath that towel. 

The fabric hung dangerously low on his hips as he walked over to his dresser to pick out something to wear. You watched with rapt attention as he braced himself against the wood, those delicious, juicy veins protruding from his forearms and nearly making you dizzy with desire. 

Finally, Mattheo turned. The silence had caught his attention and he smirked when he saw you ogling him. 

“See something you like, pretty girl?”

You flushed. “Just got a little distracted.”

Mattheo’s grin grew. He sauntered over to you, leaning over so that he had you caged against the desk. 

“Oh?” he asked, his voice low and husky and absolutely fucking sexy. “Maybe it’s time for a break then. You’ve been such a good girl studying so hard all night. I think you deserve a reward, my love.” 

Your breath hitched as Mattheo’s lips grazed yours. He tilted your chin up, giving you a perfect view of those brown eyes. Then he gave you the look and you knew you were done for. 

It was a look that said he wanted to devour every inch of you until you couldn’t even recall your own name. You gave in. Of course you gave in. How could you not?

“Maybe for a second…”

Mattheo took the opening. One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you up with him as he pressed you against the desk. His other arm crept up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fisting your hair through his fingers as he kissed you roughly. 

“Do you even know how fucking sexy you are, princess? My smart schoolgirl in her tiny little skirt.” 

Mattheo carefully moved your studying materials aside before picking you up and setting you down on the table. He gripped the top of your thighs and brought you to the edge while sliding his tongue against yours. You whimpered as he grinded against you, showing you exactly how hard he was underneath the towel.

“Been thinking about bending you over this table all night,” Mattheo whispered in your ear. His hand climbed higher up your thigh and you felt your body instantly respond to his touch. “Bet you’re soaking wet for me already, aren’t you angel?”

You moaned as he toyed with the waistband of your panties. “Matty, please.” 

Your boyfriend smiled at your nickname for him, knowing that he had you right where he wanted you. “What is it that you want, darling?”

“Touch me. Please.” 

Mattheo smirked as he tugged your panties off. His lust filled gaze drank you in as he dragged two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Fuck. You’re so wet. Is this all for me, princess?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, nipping at his neck. “It’s not fair. You play dirty, Matty. You can’t just walk in here with nothing but a towel on.” 

“Why not, angel?”

You sighed, tracing the hard planes of his chest. His muscles flexed under your fingertips as you gently raked your nails against his six pack. “Because you’re sexy and I can’t help myself.” 

Mattheo chuckled darkly, plunging two fingers in your pussy. You bucked against his hand, watching in stunned silence as he withdrew it only to stick his middle and pointer finger into his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he tasted you on him. 

“This is exactly what I mean,” you whined. “For Godric’s fucking sake, how am I supposed to concentrate after that?”

“Maybe we can compromise, angel.” He shuffled through your parchments and stuck one to the wall. “I’m going to trace the runes inside of you and if you get them all right, then I’ll give you your reward.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. Mattheo grinned before giving you a quick peck. “Pay attention, sweetheart.” 

His fingers dipped through your folds once more and you gripped his arm, fighting the moan from escaping your lips. Mattheo curled his fingers inside of you, drawing a familiar shape. 

“Urus,” you said in a breathy voice. “It means strength.”

“That’s right, angel.” He shifted as you ran your hands down his arms. You could feel his veins throbbing underneath your palm as he fingered you. “Don’t get distracted now. I know how much you love my hands. I promise they’ll be wrapped around your throat by the end of the night if you get all these right. Now focus.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering close as he traced another rune. “Algiz,” you answered. “For protection.” 

“Hot and smart,” Mattheo announced proudly. “How’d I get so lucky?”

His lips grazed yours and you willingly parted for him, fluttering around his fingers as his tongue slid into your mouth. He pumped his digits inside of you, teasing and taunting. 

“Let’s try something harder, princess.” 

Mattheo’s skillful fingers prodded against your walls, sketching a complicated shape. You closed your eyes and focused. It was a tricky one, but you remembered the cris cross pattern. 

“Inguz,” you said decidedly. “Fertility.” 

“That’s right,” Mattheo said with a smile. “You're doing so well, sweetheart. One more and you can have anything you want.” 

“Anything?” you asked with a small smile.

“Whatever that devious little mind of yours desires, my love.” 

“Okay,” you replied. “I’m ready, then.”

Your boyfriend nodded, staring right into your eyes as he marked the last and final rune. It was an effort not to get lost in those warm, brown eyes. But you steeled yourself, determined to claim your prize.

“Rerth. For luck.”

“Good girl,” Mattheo said with a smirk. “Fitting since you’re getting lucky tonight, angel. Where should we start?” 

You bit your lip, cocking your head at him. It was nearly an impossible choice. You wanted to kiss him. Bite him. Lick him. All of the above and more. 

But there was one thing that stood out from all the other deliciously sinful choices. You pressed your palm against his abs and grinned. 

“I want to ride your abs.”

Mattheo’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected it, but fuck he was so down. He would’ve given you anything with the way you were looking at him right now. 

“You never fail to surprise me,” he said fondly. “Well come on then, let’s make your filthy little fantasy a reality.” 

In one smooth move, he lifted you off the table and deposited you on top of his bed. Mattheo reclined against the headboard and watched with hungry eyes as you straddled his stomach. He smiled as you slipped the tie off your neck and looped it around him. 

It was a simple move, but so fucking sexy and possessive at the same time. You were claiming him. Mattheo was yours and you were his. You belonged to one another—mind, body, and soul. 

Mattheo trailed kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks on your skin as his deft fingers made quick work of the first few buttons on your blouse. He leaned back and admired his work, his hands gripping your hips while you grinded your soaking wet sex against his muscles. 

He didn’t think it would feel this good. There was something about you using his body to get yourself off that fucking turned him on like no other. Mattheo lifted your skirt up, fisting the fabric in his hands and watching as you coated him with your arousal. 

The little whimpers you were making sounded like music to his ears. “My good little slut,” he said, squeezing your tits as you rode him with reckless abandon. “You’re so fucking filthy, baby. Using me to get yourself off. I’m just your fuck toy aren’t I princess?”

“So good,” you murmured. “You feel so good, Matty.”

The desperation in your voice set him off. He gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and bucked forward, smirking in satisfaction when you moaned. The ridges of his abs rubbed against your clit, providing the perfect amount of pressure to the sensitive area. 

“Keep riding me,” he said in a low, rough voice. “Just like that, angel. Such a good girl for me.”

You closed your eyes, lost to the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Mattheo gripped your chin, his voice rough around the edges as he spoke. “Open your eyes, darling. I want to watch you cum.”

His rich brown eyes pinned you in place, drinking in every detail. That sexy smirk curved against his lips as he hooked his arms behind his head, admiring the view of his girl riding him. 

“Look at you, baby. You’re making such a fucking mess. Such an innocent face, but you turn into a filthy whore when you’re with me.” 

“Only for you, Mattheo.” 

“Damn fucking right,” he said, sliding his hands under your skirt to rub at your clit. 

You bucked against him, riding out the high. Heat exploded in your core and seeped into your veins. Mattheo kissed you roughly, staking his claim on you as he devoured your moans. 

“That’s it, princess. Cum for me, pretty girl.”

The orgasm felt like a lightning strike. It hit you all at once, making your walls spasm as you came all over Mattheo’s abs. He cursed when he felt you soaking him through, utterly turned on by the mess that you’ve made. Mattheo had never been harder in his life. 

Your boyfriend peppered kisses on your face, pulling you taut to him as you came down from the high. Mattheo brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, tilting your chin up so he could press his lips against yours. He groaned and held your hips down, grinding his boner against your ass. 

“I’m not done making you cum, princess. You’ve got one more in you, don’t you angel?” 

As sensitive as you were, your pussy throbbed at his words. When it came to Mattheo, you could never really get enough. 

“I thought I only got one reward. You’re spoiling me, Matty.” 

“There’s no question about it. You’re my spoiled rotten little princess. But this reward isn’t for you, it’s for me.” He smacked your ass, gesturing for you to get up. “Now come on, angel. I was serious about that desk.” 

He smirked as he walked you back to his desk, his hands disappearing underneath your skirt as he massaged your ass. Mattheo kissed you roughly before he flipped you over, bending you on the desk so you were face down and ass up. He flipped your skirt up, hissing when he found you soaking wet again.

“You just can’t help yourself can you, princess?” He pumped himself in his hand before sliding the tip of his cock along your folds. “Gods, you’re fucking wet. Are you ready, baby?” 

You whimpered, rocking your hips against him for more friction. Mattheo held you in place, fisting your hair in his hands. 

“Use your words, darling. I want to hear you beg like the good little slut that you are.” 

“Please, Matty,” you whined. “I need you so badly that it hurts.” 

He kissed the base of your spine, grinning as he eased his length inside of you. Still sensitive from your last orgasm, you gripped the edges of the table as Mattheo buried his cock within your walls. Your legs felt like they were going to give out any minute, but he kept you upright, cursing when he felt how wet and tight you were. 

“Fuck,” he grunted as he thrust into you slowly. Mattheo gripped you from behind, picking up the pace. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice. “Gods, pussy’s so good baby. You’re doing so well. Taking all of me like my perfect little whore.” 

Mattheo fucking adored the way you blushed at his filthy words. He leaned over, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you into the table. He thought he was going to pass the fuck out when you grinded back into him, meeting his movements to take more and more of him. Mattheo leaned over and shielded your head from the wall, making sure you were protected as the table shook underneath you. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your breathy little moans was enough to send him over the edge, but he wanted to make good on his promise. Mattheo always put his girl first. The boys were right. He might be just a little bit pussy whipped. 

Even without the sex, you could’ve asked Mattheo to kill for you and he would’ve done so without question. 

“I fucking love you, darling. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you,” he said, every word laced with conviction. “Forever and always.” 

“I love you too, Matty. Forever and always.” 

He kissed your cheek, the action surprisingly soft compared to how rough the sex was. You felt like you could’ve melted onto the floor. 

“Cum with me, my love.” 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you as that familiar heat spread burned in your core. He held you as the orgasm rocked through your body, sharing in the euphoric high while the two of you finished together. His grip around you only tightened, hugging you from behind while he slowly pulled out. You were barely keeping upright as it was, your legs threatening to give out under you. 

Without a word, your boyfriend scooped you into his arms and brought you back to bed. He cradled you against him, whispering praises and encouragement while stroking your hair. 

“You did so well, baby. I’m so proud of you for remembering all those runes. You’re gonna ace your exam tomorrow.” 

“You really think so, Matty?” You snuggled against him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Mattheo stroked your back and placed a kiss on your temple. 

“I know so, darling. You have no idea how proud I am for having such a smart girlfriend. I love bragging about you to our friends.” 

You flushed. “Well, I couldn’t have done it all on my own. I had some help from my smart, sweet, and sexy study partner.

Mattheo grinned and kissed you gently. “Glad to be of service, my love.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

please let me know if you'd like to be added.

[beloveds-embrace]

so i have a habit of calling be love/babe/darling as a term of enderament (even in friendships) and was wondering how the dukedom guys would react to being called love or darling by the reader for the first time? I grt it probably wasnt as socially acceptable back then but the thought still plaques my mind

Historical accuracy who? We don’t know her shhh

Original post

But they’d love it! At first, you had tried really hard to stop yourself and semi-succeeded by only calling your maids like that. Your parents always hated that habit of yours, a leftover from your nanny’s own habit. They had warned you again and again and again to not let your tongue run, to keep your words polite and demure, only fallen women working in brothels would speak so freely.

And you did keep it under control for a good while; with your interactions few with John, you could remind yourself not to let your tongue loose and call him honey right off the bat when he simply calls you by your name. It’s harder with Kyle, you almost slip and call him darling, same with Johnny. With Simon it’s easier because on the times he visits, you leave him to his meetings with John and don’t bother them. (Or what you thought were business meetings at that time lol)

But once they start getting closer to you, it’s inevitable that the nicknames start slipping out.

“Kyle, darling-“ you are rushing today, and the words slip out before you realize. You just spare a thought to wonder why he’s frozen solid like that. “Where is my hairpin? I was so sure we left it on my vanity?”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you say to Johnny when he brings you a platter of fresh deserts while working, not lifting your head from the papers in front of you other than to flash him a quick, grateful smile. You don’t notice how long it takes before Johnny stutters out a ‘welcome, m’lady’ and leaves you be.

“Simon, honey?” You ask on another occasion, voice too worried to notice what you’d called him. No maids around, and no one would question you calling you husband’s ‘close friend’ by his name in your home. “Is your leg okay? You are leaning on it too much, shall I call the doctor?” His silence is typical to you, but too busy fussing over his leg, you don’t see his face. Until you look up, eyes widening at his averted eyes and red-tipped ears. “Are you sick, Simon? You should be resting instead, you know?”

And at last… “John, love,” you sigh softly, controlling the tremble of your limbs. You look away from the newspaper, though you believe it should just be called a glorified gossip magazing, and close your eyes. Duke Price’s Duchess remains barren of a child! Is a divorce in their future? “It’s alright, it is what it is-“ you try to calm him.

Up until now, from the moment you’d both read the headline, John had been fuming. He wasn’t loud in his anger, but it was clear in his ticking jaw and clenched fists. So you expect him to continue in his anger.

“…I will deal with it.” John promises, voice low but no longer a rolling thunder. He sits down calmer now, when you finally open your eyes to look at him. He’s simply gazing at you, and his hands clench in the air before he sets them down on the table. “They won’t be slandering you any longer, wife. I promise you.”

You wish you could pinpoint what soothed him, but alas. Though you know he will try his best and maybe this news agency won’t make anymore comments like this about you, others will still continue to do so.

“It’s alright.” You repeat, but the words ring hollow and the smile on your face is empty. You push your plate away. “Now, if my husband permits it, I don’t believe I can stomach much more.”

“You never need my permission for such things,” he tells you; a sentiment he’d told you from the very first day. His face softens. “Go rest. Today, I will take care of everything that needs to be done.”

Darling, sweetheart, honey, love… they wonder if you know how much those words repeat in their minds.

[hoshifighting]

staff!jeonghan

WARNINGS: fluff, smut, fame problems, paris trip, idol!reader is a sweetheart with her staff team, teasing, hair pulling, makeup smudging hair destroying sex, face slap, paris sex.

staff!jeonghan who started way back when your career was just taking off. you were still fresh, the kind of new that had people curious but not quite sold on the idea of you making it long term. jeonghan wasn’t even supposed to be sticking around. dude was just a freelancer, floating between gigs like it was nothing. hairdresser one week, stylist the next, maybe even photographer’s assistant if he felt like it. didn’t care much either—just did his job, got his check, and dipped.

he was there the first time you came in for a shoot, thinking, oh, here we go again, another idol who doesn’t know shit about shit, and probably treats their staff like trash. honestly, he didn’t expect anything from you. he had his walls up like crazy. you’d been doing this for, what, a hot minute? and you were already getting attention, which just made him think, “yep, this one’s probably the snobby kind. won’t even acknowledge us when she’s walking by.”

but then you went and did the most surprising thing—like blew his expectations out of the water kinda surprise. you saw him—no, not just like saw him, but like saw him. took a minute to actually chat. asked how his day was, if he needed anything while he was running around fixing the stage lights or whatever. you even remembered his name by the end of the first day, which? yeah, idols usually don’t bother with that.

fast forward a couple months, and jeonghan’s still hanging around. he didn’t plan to stay, but something about you changed that. it wasn’t even the work, really. it was more like you made things different for the whole staff—hairdressers, makeup artists, stylists, all of them. you had this habit of, like, breaking all the usual rules. you’d bring coffee for everyone in the morning, none of that half-assed, "just for my personal team" bullshit, you made sure everyone was taken care of, because they take care of you as welll.

then there was that time when you randomly called up your manager one day like, "hey, i’m taking everyone out to eat after the shoot." and jeonghan was standing there, trying not to look too surprised, but inside he was like, who the hell does that? especially in this industry where staff usually gets a handshake and a “thanks for your work” at most. while you’re out here throwing cash around to make sure your team is happy. it’s wild.

he remembers the first time you handed out those holiday bonuses. it wasn’t even from the company’s budget either; it was straight up from your own wallet. like, your money. you didn’t even make a big deal about it, just casually handed out envelopes and said, “merry christmas, you guys.” you should’ve seen their faces—everyone was shook, even him, and he doesn’t get surprised that easily. it was one of those moments where the room just, like, collectively inhaled. there was silence, and then someone—probably one of the stylists—goes, “y/n, this is... you didn’t have to...”

and you? you just shrugged, all casual, like it was no big deal. “nah, i wanted to. thank you for taking care of me, you make part of all of this too.” you pointed to the stage.

jeonghan couldn’t even look at you right for a second because it was, like, damn, okay, she’s for real. that was the moment he decided he wasn’t just gonna treat this gig like all the others. working with you? yeah, it felt different. and not in some sappy, fairytale shit kind of way, but in a “maybe there are still people in this industry who aren’t complete assholes” kind of way.

“so you’re sticking around, hannie?” you asked him one day, catching him off guard while he was fixing up your jacket right before a stage performance.

he smirked, his usual cocky, nonchalant self, but there was something softer underneath it. “guess i don’t have a choice. you make it too easy.”

he was your go-to guy now, the one you trusted with everything, from making sure your hair wasn’t fucked up during press tours to giving you a reality check when you were stressing over the dumbest things. and he liked that. he liked being the one you leaned on when you didn’t wanna bother anyone else.

but it was more than that too. you were just different. the way you treated people, the way you made sure everyone around you felt seen, felt valued? it wasn’t fake. it wasn’t for show. it was you. and jeonghan? well, he wasn’t the kind of guy to stick around just for anyone. but for you? yeah, maybe he’d go the long haul.

jeonghan was always there, like a constant shadow that somehow made everything feel lighter instead of heavier. as your career blew up, he didn’t just keep pace—he matched your energy, your needs, every twist and turn that came with your fame. whether it was press tours, backstage chaos, or those ridiculous interviews where some clueless host would try to push your boundaries, he was always ready.

you’d be in the middle of a tv show, mind racing, and then there’d be a subtle shift. jeonghan standing just offstage, watching with a sharp, gaze of his. and it wasn’t like he had to do much—sometimes just a look was enough to let you know he had your back. like that time they tried to switch up your routine last minute, making changes that didn’t sit right with you. you didn’t even need to speak up, though. before you could say a word, he was already stepping in, throwing that effortless, yet somehow intimidating smile toward the team. “nah, we’re sticking with the original plan. my artist doesn’t do changes without notice.”

“your artist,” you’d hear him say that a lot, like a protective label stamped right over you, like you belonged to him—not in a possessive way, but in a way that made you feel safe. secure.

it wasn’t just about the work either, not even close. jeonghan made the loneliness that came with fame feel less suffocating. that part of fame nobody talks about—the part where you can’t make real friends anymore, where every new person in your life feels temporary, transactional. except him. he was loyal.

when you had those long, grueling days full of photoshoots and interviews and events, and all you wanted was to escape, jeonghan was the one who made sure you still had a piece of normal.

like that one time in paris. you were there for a fashion show, sitting front row with all these industry giants who couldn’t care less about anything but themselves, and jeonghan was right beside you, but afterward, when it was just the two of you, he was the one who dragged you to some random hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, far from all the cameras and flashing lights, ordering too much food and laughing at how terrible your french was.

“you know, you’re lucky you’ve got me,” he teased, watching you struggle with the menu. “otherwise, you’d be stuck ordering water and bread for the rest of the trip.”

you elbowed him playfully. “i’m just trying to be cultured, okay?”

“sure, sure,” he snickered, but the grin on his face was soft, like he was glad to be there with you. “leave the culture to me.”

he was there on the quieter days too. you’d be at home, no schedule to follow for once, just free. but that freedom? it felt empty when you didn’t have anyone to share it with. jeonghan got that. he’d show up at your place without even needing an invitation, like he just knew when you needed him there. sometimes he wouldn’t even knock. you’d just hear the door click open and his familiar voice, “you better not be working in there.”

you’d laugh, shouting back from wherever you were in the apartment, “i’m not, calm down.”

next thing you knew, he’d be on the floor of your pristine living room, surrounded by lego pieces because, for some reason, that’s what the two of you did on your days off. it was ridiculous, really, two adults crouched over colorful plastic blocks, but it made you feel like a kid again, like before everything got so complicated.

you’d crouch down next to him, watching his hands move, and without thinking, you’d wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. it wasn’t even romaaaantic, more like instinct. jeonghan had this way of making you feel safe, like you didn’t have to be the perfect version of yourself all the time. you could just be you. and hugging him like that, clinging onto him like a koala, it was the only way you knew how to show him just how much he meant to you.

“you’re clingy today,” he murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice, just that familiar teasing.

“you’re soft,” you shot back, squeezing him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his cologne was subtle but always the same, something that reminded you of quiet, peaceful moments, like this.

he tilted his head a little, catching your eyes “oh, yeah? not what you said last time.”

you puffed your cheeks out, crossing your arms dramatically, the sulk settling in. “i’m done being clingy with you, jeonghan.”

he grinned like he was waiting for that exact reaction. it’s almost like he lived for these moments—when you’d pout and try to act all tough, but really? he knew exactly where this was headed. you weren’t fooling anyone, especially not him.

“oh yeah?” he tilted his head, gaze dripping with amusement as he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. “you sure about that?”

you tried to hold firm, but the way his voice dropped a little lower, teasing. you shifted your weight, crossing your legs under you on the living room floor, avoiding eye contact. “mmhmm. you’ll see.”

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, leaning back and watching you with a glint in his eyes, like he was just waiting for you to crack. “you’re too cute when you sulk, y’know that?”

your heart fluttered, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek, determined to keep up the act. “whatever.”

he moved closer, a hand sliding around your waist, tugging you just enough so that your body leaned into his. “nah, don’t pout, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing lightly against your jaw. “we both know how this ends.”

and he was right. because, every time you tried to act like you were done with him, like you were going to keep your distance, it only ended one way—with you wet underneath him, a needy mess, begging for more.

like that first time in paris. paris had done something to the both of you. it was supposed to be a normal night, just you and him hanging out after the fashion show. nothing special, just another city on the endless list of places you’d been together. but somehow, that night went different. the second the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you’d scarcely made it through the door before his hands were on you, grabbing, pulling, claiming.

“thought you were gonna keep your distance,” jeonghan had teased as he pressed you up against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, making your knees weak.

you were already panting, feeling the warmness of him beaming off his body. “shut up, hannie.”

he chuckled against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you, making you gasp. “aww, so cute when you’re needy.”

and fuck, were you needy. by the time he’d pushed you onto the bed, tugging at your clothes, you were already whimpering for him, already soaked.

he’d dragged you to the edge, rough hands all over your body, pulling, squeezing, leaving marks everywhere. your hair had been perfect for the show, all sleek and done up, but that shit didn’t last long. the second he had his fist tangled in it, pulling your head back, it was ruined. thrusting into you from behind, his cock splitting you in half with each brutal thrust. “such a fucking mess.”

you’d tried to keep quiet, biting down on the pillow as your body rocked with every movement, but every time you let out a whiny moan, jeonghan was right there to mock you for it.

“aww, hannie’s being too harsh?” he cooed, as he tries to sound sweet. “hm? poor baby can’t take it?”

you’d only moaned louder, your body trembling as he slapped your ass, the sting making you cry out. he’d leaned down then, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “use your words, sweetheart. tell hannie how bad you want it.”

you couldn’t even speak, just a mess of broken moans and gasps as he kept slamming into you, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were right on the edge, that’s when he did it. his hand came up to your face, smudging the glitter from the show as he slapped you—not enough to really hurt. he is a careful guy.

“fuck, y/n, look at you. such a pretty little mess,” he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pounded into you from behind, relentless. “you gonna come for me? c’mon, baby, let me hear it.”

you whimpered, nodding, your mind spinning as his cock hit that perfect spot over and over, making you roll your eyes, drool, everything u had right of. but just as you were about to cum, he pulled out, leaving you empty and desperate.

“aww, no no no, not yet,” jeonghan cooed, a wicked grin on his face as he turned you onto your back, pushing your legs open wide. “hannie’s not done with you.”

your heart pounded, your entire body aching for release, but you didn’t dare move. he was in control, and you knew better than to push him.

“what’s the matter, baby?” he leaned down, his lips brushing over yours as he teased you. “too much?”

you shook your head, barely able to get the words out. “n-no… please…”

his smirk widened, that wicked glint in his eyes making you shiver. “please what? gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as you looked up at him, desperate. “please… fuck me…”

“good girl.”

[artemis-pendragon]

Okay so I'm not in the hurricane evacuation zone by any means but I do live in a horrendously natural disaster-prone region SO!! Here are the best tips I've gotten for surviving in a disaster zone.

1) Write your name and your emergency contact's phone number in DARK PERMANENT INK somewhere visible on your skin (wrist is good) so if you're unconscious or dead emergency response can ID you and get in contact with your family/friends

2) If you have any particular medical needs or conditions write that too!! Specific medications + doses, warning signs and symptoms to watch for, etc

3) During the disaster, if your circumstances change or may change soon, record a new voicemail message explaining these changes so anyone who calls you knows your most recent status and location. Whatever details you think might help!

4) Stock up on Rx meds before pharmacies close. Get some OTC meds too and make a watertight and portable first aid kit. If you're gonna be in flood conditions and your Rx bottles aren't fully sealed, wrap the lids with duct tape to make a tight seal. If you've got tampons and pads in the house, stuff those babies in there! Good for everything from periods, to bloody noses and open wounds in an emergency! Plus they're super absorbent and can be used to temporarily block up small spaces and cracks

5) If there's no bottled water left in stores buy the biggest and cheapest bottles of soda you can, dump them out, and fill them with fresh water. If you have sinks and bathtubs that aren't expected to flood, fill those bad boys up with fresh water, too. Store as much water as you can!!

6) Put all important documents such as Social Security cards, birth certificates, marriage certificates, or anything else you want to save into waterproof bags. Ziplock baggies double sealed with duct tape along the closed seams are great! Double bag if needed!

7) Special cool new thing I learned about hurricanes that I'm probably the last dumbass on earth to know but just in case I'm not: even if a hurricane makes landfall as a Cat 3, if it was a Cat 5 over the ocean on approach it will bring in Cat 5 surge. Downgrading the wind speed doesn't downgrade the flood potential

8) TAKE THE BACKROADS OUT OF MAJOR CITIES OH MY GOD PLS DONT GET STUCK ON THE FREEWAYS IT'S HELL

9) Last but not least, if you can't afford to evacuate or don't have a place to stay, some people under videos and posts tagged with current natural disasters are offering temporary places to crash for those in affected areas for free!! I've seen multiple cases now of people offering up their guest rooms or couches to evacuees and their pets in the last week that have worked out ❤️

If anyone else has more tips, and more experience with this type of disaster specifically, please add on!! Love you all and hope everyone stays safe 💕

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[katz-rambles]

Hi ! Could we have a childhood friends to lovers ViktorxReader please ? 🥰 I am CRAVING for new works

Yess!! I love this trope it's sooo cute!!

2k words, so I hope you enjoy, Anon!

(fluff, gn!reader, reader is a professor, making out, getting caught, Viktors a bit of a tease (when is he never though), I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

When your family left the under-city, you knew everything would change. You were glad that it happened, it opened a whole bunch of doors for what you could become when you grew into an adult. But it also meant leaving your old life behind, one of the things you still think about to this day. Your heart aches when you think about the people you knew, you just hope that they ended up in a good place. When the shimmer trade spiked, you thought you'd never see any of the people you knew ever again, most of them probably either succumbed to the drug, or was killed during the many times the enforcers went down. You didn't like to think about it, but it's the harsh reality of Piltover.

Now you're walking the halls of one of the most esteemed universities inside of piltover, not as a student, but as a professor. You climbed your way to the top, and you know that your family is proud of you. They're the only reason this became possible, so when you got offered, you jumped at the chance. You're not complaining either, it's a well paying job with good benefits.

The day seemed to be going by incredibly slow, each hour felt like a year. You had a pile of tests on your desk that you had to mark, you've gotten through about half of them. But there's only so much marking someone can take before you feel like ripping your hair out.

So, instead of ripping your hair out, you decide to go on a coffee run and get some fresh air. You've been inside your office for so long, you're surprised you're still standing. One of the downsides to being a professor.

The walk to the Cafe down the road from the university isn't a long one. It's about three minutes, so long enough that you can get some well needed fresh air, but not long enough that you're regretting your decision.

When you reach the university, hit coffee in hand, you run into one of your former students, Jayce Talis. He gives you a friendly wave and comes up to you, “hey, professor. How's your day been?” He asks, awkwardly trying to make small talk and you have to cover your smile by pretending to clear your throat. “It's been well, thank you for asking. How's yours been?” You smile at him, not wanting to seem impolite by just ending the conversation there. He shrugs and sighs, you get the feeling.

Just when you're about to ask a question someone calls Jayce over, and when you both look over you're met with the sight of someone who you thought died long ago, but there he is, standing right in front of you, his cane in hand. You've heard of hextech, you're not in your office that much, and you've heard that Jayce didn't do it alone, but you never knew who his lab partner was. You also know that Heimerdinger has an assistant, but you were never able to catch said assistant's name. But you expected everything and anything, but him. You could have sworn he was dead.

“Viktor,” you manage to get out, although it's been years since you've last seen him, the memories you two made together as children stay fresh in your mind. Plus, he's incredibly attractive, everything from his overgrown hair to the way he leans on his cane, still managing to be taller than you, though not by much. It all had your mind swarming. His eyes rake over you before he looks back to your eyes, “Milý,” he breathes, a faint smile on his face as he continues, “you’re.. ehh.. hi.” He chuckles, standing a bit straighter on his cane. Before either of you can say anything else, Jayce buts in, “I hate to ruin a good moment, but the council wants to see us, Viktor.” Viktor nods and gives you one last nod before limping after Jayce.

Seeing someone who you hadn't seen in a good decade or so was not on your bucket list. You sit down in the chair behind your desk and lean back, letting your head just barely dangle off the back of the chair. You bring your hands up and rub your face, taking a deep breath and groaning. The sound is muffled by your hands. You sit back up again and sigh, you shouldn't feel this way. But you can't deny the way that you felt your heart race when you saw him again, he has such a boyish charm that just pulls you in, the same as is it did when you two were kids. You just chalk it up to a shock factor, you haven't seen him in years. You're just shocked, that's what you tell yourself.

The whole day all you can think about is him, you almost feel giddy, almost like a schoolgirl again. You take a breather, you've made a good amount of progress on the tests so you can afford a quick walk. Plus you have a class soon, and your classroom is on the other half of the university, and you've still got to set up your notes, you internally groan at the thought of giving another lecture. This is your fourth today.

When you finally reach the classroom, the professor that was using the room before you is just finishing cleaning up. You opened the door, only to be met with Viktor and Jayce, and then Heimerdinger soon after. You give a polite nod to Heimerdinger, and smile at Jayce and Viktor. You take your bag off and grab your notes, placing them on the table in front of you, before speaking up, “I thought your lecture ended a while ago, what are you still doing here?” You try and make your tone seem polite enough to cover up the, almost, rude question.

It's Jayce that speaks up first, “Heimerdinger thought it would be a good idea for us to sit in for one of your lectures, since the subject your an expert in is arcane.” You nod and chew the inside of your cheek. You're an amazing talker, and can easily give an hour long lecture, but with Viktor there, you feel anxious at the thought. Although it makes sense, hextech deals with arcane and what better person to listen to than someone who's an expert in it. You try and finish setting up without letting your mind wander too much, but your eyes keep on drifting from the papers in front of you to Viktor. When you look over at him, you find him already staring and he quickly looks away from you.

Now it's just a matter of waiting, you have ten minutes until your class starts so why not help Jayce and Viktor with their problems. You let them, mainly Jayce oddly enough, to ask you any questions they may have and you answer them to the best of your ability. Soon enough your class starts and you have to push away the temptation of staring at Viktor the whole time. Though, a few times you caught him, out of the corner of your eye, looking at you, and you embarrassingly stumbled over your words those times. You swear you saw the ghost of a smirk on his face at your reactions. Everything about him is so damn enticing, it's infuriating. How can one man be so wonderfully perfect, it doesn't make sense to you.

After your lecture, you're leaning over your desk, your mind swarming with thoughts, some not as innocent as you'd like.

When you're met with a hand on your back that has you letting out an embarrassingly loud yelp. Lo and behold, Viktor’s standing right behind you, with a smirk on his lips. “You seem awfully.. eh.. jumpy today, is everything alright?” He asks, moving his face closer to yours, and your heart is racing so fast you're convinced it'll jump out of your chest. His hand on your back moves lower until he rests it on the curve of your hip, gently squeezing it. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.” You sigh, doing your best to not stutter or hesitate on your words. Viktor chuckles, the sound is something you'd pay to hear again, and moves his face closer to yours again. “Well, we can't have one of the best professors sleeping on the job. Now can we?” If it weren't for the teasing lift to his words you'd think he was actually concerned, but you both know that you're he's not actually. He almost immediately caught onto your lie.

You have to crane your neck at an, almost, uncomfortable angle to be able to see his face. You have to loft your face up for your neck to not be strained too much and you unintentionally bring your faces closer together. In the moment everything feels heightened, you're more aware of him. The hand he has on your hip feels heavier, you can feel the heat coming from his body from the proximity of you two, and you can smell him, a wonderful scent mixed with oil from the lab, the salty smell of the bay, and the knee-weakening scent of his cologne. Right now, everything about him feels intoxicating.

His hand lifts from your hip and to your back, carefully nudging you to turn around so you two are fully facing each other. He then places his hand on your chin to lift your face up, once again. He lets go and grabs your hand, placing it on his chest before speaking, in such a quiet tone you almost didn't hear him, “do you feel that?” Under your palm you can feel each beat of his heart, it's fast, probably just as fast as yours is. All you can muster is a nod. “That's what you're doing to me.” He sighs and brings his face closer to yours, the sound of his words mixed with the tone of his accent is something you're slowly becoming addicted to.

You bring your free hand up to hold his face, your finger traces his cheekbone and then you rest your palm on his face. “Good.” You smirk and his eyes flick down to your lips, and you take the hint, closing the gap between you two. He presses you against the desk and reciprocates the kiss, just as eager and desperate as you are. Each second that passes by feels like an eternity, and you hope it never ends. You've wrapped your arms around his neck and his free hand is resting on your hip. You're the one to pull away first with a quick gasp for air. Viktors face has a red flush to it and you swear you fell deeper in love right then and there.

“I've waited so long to do that, when you left for the top-side the only thing I regretted was not telling you how I felt.” He chuckles, stroking your hip, and you smile and lean in to kiss him again, this time it's him who closes the gap. His lips against yours feels right, you've kissed other people, men and women, but none have felt as right or as good as this. It's a bit messy, and rushed, but it feels right. You slide your hand back down to his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm is something that has you feeling giddy. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. The moment, unfortunately, had to come to an end, the sound of the door opening, not only were you two caught but it reminded you that you two were inside a classroom, thankfully it wasn't a student who caught you, just an incredibly shocked Jayce. You look at Jayce and then back at Viktor, who looks just as shocked as Jayce, and you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles. “This is a place of learning, you two!” Jayce scoffs and throws his hands up, and Viktor groans, taking a few steps back.

“Good thing we're learning then, or we were learning.” Viktor teases, giving you a quick wink before going over to Jayce who looks even more shocked than before, he looks at you and then back at Viktor before groaning in defeat and chasing after Viktor. You're not sure what's going to happen between you and Viktor next, but you're sure that, whatever it is, it will be amazing.

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. a flicker of a flame.

about. when satoru notices the flicker of cursed energy within your unborn child, he starts to feel the weight and nerves of becoming a father.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, expecting parents, reader is pregnant, hospitals, nerves about being parents, listen idk how gojo’s cursed technique works so here u go >:( canon verse, expecting father!gojo, fem!reader.

“i can see it…like…flickering inside of you.”

satoru carries an expression of intrigue, like a child who’s just discovered a new sensation.

you flip the page of your magazine, not bothering to spare your husband a glance while you instead choose to admire the many strollers and their offers that decorate the page. “don’t be weird, satoru.” you tap a perfectly manicured nail against the one you like most, leaning over to show the item to him.

“but it’s there… like actually there.” the sorcerer replies, keeping his voice low despite the loud ambience of the maternity ward’s waiting room. people crying, people celebrating, families already full of children gathering around to hear more exciting news. “i like that one. it’ll fit in the hallway too. do you want it in grey or in black?”your husband passes you a pen from the depths of your tote bag in his lap, letting you circle the stroller in the magazine so you know to come back to it.

this time, you do him the honours of looking up at him — a fresh glare settled on your glowing features. “satoru gojo please stop referring to our baby as an ‘it’.” you sigh in exhaustion, watching him slump in his seat because you know he hates it when you’re irritated with him. “i thought you were excited about having a baby girl. and the grey one, it goes with your eyes.”

that seems to perk him up enough, earning you a kiss to your cheek that has you smiling like a fool in the nurses office. “sorry, sorry…” satoru starts to coo warmly, a soft tone that’s usually reserved for you and his students. “it’s just that… every time i look at you, i see two vessels of cursed energy instead of one. there’s a flicker of a flame there, right where she would be. it’s blowing my mind.” he points to your bump, nestled away under the layer of his clothing since they’re the only thing that makes you feel comfortable right now.

you close your magazine slowly, fighting the flutter of your heart and the warmth that spreads through your body. you know that your husband is being cautious, overly observant and extremely over protective — being pregnant and having a baby in your line of work was dangerous. scary, even. but you knew that satoru wanted this with you, and you him. that he cared a little too hard or worried slightly too much because while he was the strongest, you’d become every target and every weakness to him.

you and your daughter.

an unborn child who may possibly have the powers of a god among men.

so, instead you tuck away the irritation that comes with your hormones and let your gaze slink over to the large man squished into the abnormally small seat of the waiting room — just to be by your side. “do you need me to explain how pregnancy works, satoru?” you quip and rest your head on your knuckles, just to make him laugh and ease up a little.

a wiry smile starts to tug at the corner of his soft, pink lips. “i’d rather you show me but i think we got the fun part nailed.” gojo’s face splits into a wide grin, making you roll your eyes. “we made her, yanno. she’s alive in there because you’re keeping her safe.”

“and you too, mister six eyes.” you tap his skull, brushing against pure white locks, as gojo leans over you affectionately — probably in demand for a kiss (which you give).

the receptionist calls your family name from the front desk — no doubt to call you in for your neonatal appointment. another set of scans to help confirm your little girl is nice and healthy before you tell the rest of your friends and family later today.

gojo wanted to hand out copies of your scans to everyone at dinner. show off.

but as you stand, satoru goes quiet, offering you his hand as aid. “do you think…do you want…” pressing his lips into a thin line, your husband mulls over his words whilst guiding you down the hall to the doctors office — nodding to the receptionist to thank her as you pass. “i hope she doesn’t have what i have. i wouldn’t wish this burden on anyone.” he looks you straight in the eye, blue eyes piercing your soul. you feel your baby move and kick, forcing you to wonder if she’ll have the same mind blowing eyes as her father. “i hope she’s like you. beautiful and strong and—“

“ours. she’ll be ours and the best parts of both of us. her daddy’s strength, bravery, good looks and her momma’s wits, pretty ‘get me what i want eyes’ and smarts too.” you laugh, bright and loud as you cut gojo off — turning to look at him with a happy smile. “if she turns out like that, the best parts of both of us she’ll be perfect. i’ll love her because you gave her to me, we can figure out the rest later.”

that seems to reassure satoru, who sags in relief by your side as he wraps an arm around you, his large palm splaying across your baby bump. “you’re right, you’re right,” he grins again, feeling her little feet mercilessly kick at his palm. “as long as she’s healthy, we’ll be fine. i love you.”

“we love you too.” you swoon a little too much.

satoru gojo will be a great father, you think, your baby girl is so lucky — she has the strongest daddy in the world and he loves her a little too much already.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.