#the time spent studying rarely pays off

[that-angry-noldo]

we have a saying in ukrainian, "горить сарай - гори і хата", which basically translates to "if the stalls are burning, let the house burn too", and if it doesn't describe my attitude towards school perfectly.

[azrielsrealmate]

never just a best friend

azriel x reader

summary: your best friends offers a massage after a stressing day, only that his hands end up slipping to dangerous places.

warnings: smut

word count: 2k

Your feet ached, your head throbbed, and your skin itched in places you couldn’t reach to scratch. And your back—God, your back hurt.

You just needed a break. A break longer than the eight hours of sleep you rarely had time to get.

Azriel’s gaze from where he sat at the edge of your bed made the back of your neck burn. So you hurried to pull your shirt over your head, and the feeling disappeared, knowing he’d look anywhere but at you while you changed. You almost sighed in relief, almost rubbed the space between your brows. But instead, you unclasped your bra and slipped into a shirt several sizes larger than what you usually wore.

You hadn’t deliberately chosen Azriel’s shirt to breathe in the comforting scent of cedar and mist instead of the tobacco and beer your idiot ex had left lingering everywhere. You really hadn’t. But it was a relief you hadn’t known you needed.

“What happened?”

A simple question, but spoken in that voice, deep yet so soft, like silk brushing against clean skin, it almost made you sob.

What happened wasn’t the question; the question was why you felt so easily overwhelmed. You turned to look at him, and the caramel color of his eyes softened as he read how overstimulated you felt. He stood up, and even from the distance between you, you could clearly see how tall he was.

He crossed the space in mere seconds, and his scarred palm found your cheek, cradling it tenderly. Your eyes closed involuntarily. The warmth of his hand melted your mind, sending the hot liquid of it out of your body in the form of a sigh.

“What happened?” he repeated again.

You sighed.

“Adrik.” You said the name of your ex, not needing to open your eyes to know that Azriel’s features had hardened.

You spent so much time watching him that you’d almost memorized his micro-expressions.

“I ran into him at the café next door, and…” your best friend’s thumb stroked your cheek, encouraging you to continue. “Well, obviously, it didn’t end well.”

“What did he do?” Azriel asked, his voice rough. So different from how he’d asked what happened earlier. You could hear the sharp undertone clearly.

You’d been through this before.

You shook your head and moved his hand away from your cheek, your thumb tracing a small caress on his skin before letting go. You took off your pants, because you slept with little clothes, and you sighed heavily, walking toward your side of the bed.

“He just stuck to me like the worm he is.” You didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to the poor drunk Adrik if you let go of the weakening reins on Azriel. The muscles under your skin tingled pleasantly just thinking about it. Adrik had treated you so poorly, and it would be so easy to let Azriel handle him…

But, no. No. You weren’t doing this.

You sat on the bed, feeling your body tense slightly under his gaze. He studied you as if he wanted to squeeze out that feeling he knew existed in you, the one you worked so hard to push down, to extract and stretch it so he could examine it.

“What do you mean by…” his brows furrowed, finally processing your words.

You didn’t let him finish.

“Damn it, Azriel, he left after two minutes. Please, just lie down, I’ve had the worst day ever,” you pleaded, feeling a cramp run down your back. “And to top it all off, my back hurts,” you complained.

You heard Azriel exhale. It took him a fraction of a second to speak.

“I can see the tension in your muscles from here,” he said.

You rolled your shoulders, as if that would bring relief.

“It’s not that bad.”

He didn’t pay you the slightest attention.

“Where did you leave the oil from last time?” The last time he’d worked a wonderful massage on your back, you could swear it could have made you finish faster than Adrik ever had.

The silence in the room grew thicker as Azriel waited for your response. You knew he wouldn’t move until you told him. Not because he was pressuring you, but because he wanted to take care of you. As he always did.

“It’s in the nightstand, top drawer,” you replied, trying to sound casual, even though you knew exactly what it meant once he put his hands on you.

Azriel walked over to the nightstand, pulled out the small bottle of oil, and held it in his hand for a moment, assessing your state. His eyes met yours, and something in his gaze made your breath quicken slightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a massage, but this time, there was a tension between you that you couldn’t ignore, not when it made anticipation itch in your skin.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructed, his voice soft but firm. Your heart skipped a beat, and you hesitated for a moment, but seeing the calm in his eyes, you made up your mind. Slowly, you removed your shirt, revealing your body covered only by a tiny black thong.

Azriel swallowed, his eyes darkening slightly as they roamed over your figure. You felt a warmth spread across your skin under his intense gaze, but you remained still, waiting for his next move.

He approached, leaned in, and his large, warm hands grabbed your hips, quickly dragging you until you were sitting where he could rest his hands on your shoulders first, beginning with a light pressure. His touch was firm but gentle, and he began working on your tense muscles, gliding down your back with expertise. The oil, warm against your skin, made it easier for his hands to move as he focused on relaxing you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt a knot dissolve under his fingers. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear.

“Let go of all that tension,” he murmured, his voice rough with concentration as his hands traveled down your back to the curve of your waist, his thumbs pressing gently at the base of your spine.

A low moan escaped you, and you closed your eyes, allowing the pleasure of the massage to envelop you completely. Azriel continued, his hands moving confidently, exploring every inch of your lower back, dangerously close to the edge of your thong. His touch was addictive, and though you tried to stay calm, you felt your body reacting to every caress, every calculated pressure.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look,” Azriel whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin as his hands paused for a moment, just above the line of your thong. The heat in his voice made you shiver.

Opening your eyes, you turned your head slightly to look at him, finding his face close to yours, his eyes locked on yours. The tension in the room became almost palpable, and in that instant, you knew you had crossed a line.

Azriel lowered his hands, sliding them down your hips to the edge of your thong, slowly—too slowly.

He stopped in the curve of your hips, squeezed the flesh, in his hands, feeling and appreciating them. And slowly, he guided one hand toward your abdomen, the other toward your ribs.

You whimpered slightly, needily, your breath heavy.

“Be patient,” he murmured against your ear, your eyes fluttering closed. You felt the warmth of his hand move up to cup one of your breasts, relishing its size. Your brows arched. “Az…” you sighed.

His other hand slid down to slip under the fabric of your black thong, finding there a wetness that made him hum in satisfaction.

“So wet, all this for me?” You moaned again, struggling to keep your eyes open.

His scarred fingers explored your wetness, tracing a line from your entrance to your clitoris, spreading all your arousal. He drew a circle on your clit, torturously slow, tentative, you might have said if your brain weren’t mush.

Your back arched again. “Azriel,” you moaned his name, and he, in turn, growled in your ear.

“Do you like that?” he asked, and you realized he wanted an answer when he stopped his fingers.

“Yes, yes!” you pleaded, almost desperately.

Azriel let out a low sound, almost a growl, upon hearing your response, satisfied with the power he had over you in that moment. His hand remained still, his fingers barely brushing your clit, enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the relief you so desperately craved. The tension in the room was palpable, each passing second seemed to stretch time, amplifying the desire that wrapped around you.

“If you enjoy it so much,” he murmured against your neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine, “then you’re going to wait a little longer.”

The sweet agony of anticipation spread through your body as Azriel maintained that light, frustrating touch that made every fiber of your being burn with desire. You tried to move, seeking more of him, more of that contact that promised so much, but his hands became firm, holding you in place.

“Don’t move,” he ordered gently, and there was an authority in his voice that made you obey without hesitation. There was something about the way Azriel controlled you, how he handled your body with such precision, that made you feel vulnerable and at the same time completely safe. You felt the heat of his body against your back, his hardness pressed against you as his scarred fingers moved again, this time applying more pressure on your clit. The pleasure that blossomed from that simple touch was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan, arching your back to get closer to him.

"Good girl," Azriel whispered, his tone laden with satisfaction as he increased the rhythm of his caresses. You felt his other hand slide up your abdomen, moving up to caress your breasts, squeezing them with a possessiveness that made your breath catch in your throat. His lips pressed against your neck, sending waves of pleasure through your body as his fingers continued to play with your wetness.

“I want you to come for me,” he growled against your ear, his voice a comman. And with that, his movements became more intense, more urgent. The sweet torture he’d imposed on you faded into a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that it left you trembling, your moans turning into cries of pleasure as you approached the edge. His fingertips skilfully working on your clit.

Azriel’s fingers worked with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice of an orgasm, until you finally exploded in a wave of pure pleasure, your body trembling as you were suddenly blind and deaf from pleasure. You let out a long, satisfied moan as Azriel’s name escaped your lips in a sigh, your whole being consumed by the heat of that moment.

And even as the pleasure began to fade, Azriel didn’t stop. His hands continued to explore your body, his lips still pressed against your neck, leaving wet kisses that sent delicious shivers through your spine. The sensation of his touch, so skilled and confident, combined with the residual pleasure of your orgasm, left you breathless, utterly spent in his arms.

When you finally came down from that blissful high, you turned to look at him, finding a possessive gleam in his eyes, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

Well, you had never considered him just your best friend.

"I hope your back doesn’t hurt anymore.”

[c0s-lettuce]

hopeless - fiyero tigelaar x reader

gender not mentioned, reader is friends with galinda

synopsis: fiyero is an interesting, if not irritating, presence in your life. but he surprises you most when he asks you to tutor him.

word count: 1132

a/n: jumping on the fiyero bandwagon hehehe. timeline may be a bit off, forgive me. hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! <3

You were surprised when Fiyero began caring about his academic progression. It was out of character from what you had come to know of him. You saw a lot of him when he first arrived at Shiz, thanks to Galinda wanting desperately to befriend the Winkie Prince.

Nothing about him impressed you all that much, especially after his awful treatment of those poor books in the library. Sure, he was good-looking and seemed to have the entire student body at his heel, but looks can only get you so far.

You went to the Ozdust that night at Galinda's behest. Fiyero was there, of course, looking far too smug for your liking. He seemed to take an interest in you. But when your indifference was made evident to him, he simply reminded you that his plan to corrupt his fellow students included you.

And from that day on, you could never manage to shake him off.

Everywhere you went, he was there, trying to distract you, following you around or rambling on about something that you couldn't bring yourself to pay attention to. It was bothersome at first, but eventually became a part of your daily routine.

It wasn't until much later, with the approach of midterms, that Fiyero suddenly started begging you for help. He wanted you to help him study. He even called you clever, beautiful, and kind somewhere in the process of his pleading, no doubt trying to flatter you.

He mentioned something about finally having a reason to stay and not wanting to get kicked out of another school. You agreed begrudgingly, mainly because you knew he wouldn't stop asking if you didn't. But also because you couldn't fathom the thought of him going away. Much to your chagrin, the prince had grown on you.

And so, you made plans to meet, deciding on the quad at first. A good decision; you still didn't trust Fiyero being in the library. As the first study session approached, you started growing a little nervous. You hadn't spent time with him in such a manner before. You suspected it was just the 'Fiyero Tigelaar Effect' that so many Shiz students suffered from and reminded yourself it was no big deal.

However, it was definitely a big deal to Galinda. She pranced into your room unannounced the morning before your first meet-up with Fiyero, later prompting your roommate to talk to you about boundaries. Galinda insisted on helping you prepare for your 'date', lending you a pair of over-the-top shoes and attacking your hair with a brush.

Despite the girl's efforts, it made no difference to Fiyero later that afternoon, who just smiled and told you that you'd been 'galinda-fied'.

As the days passed, Fiyero managed to stay consistent with you, only sometimes changing locations based on his heart's desire. The two of you move to the garden, the cafe and even the Oz-forsaken library. At first, you suspected this whole arrangement may have been some ploy for him to 'corrupt' you, but after a few sessions, Fiyero does the unexpected.

He turns out to be completely serious about this. He listens to you, he tries to understand, and he very, very rarely decides to distract you.

You're almost impressed.

That brings you to now, just a few days before midterms start. You and Fiyero are cramming in one last study session.

The two of you are currently situated on the floor of his dorm room. He sits with his back against the the side of his bed as he racks his brain over a linguification paper. You sit facing him, your arm resting on the mattress, propping up your head.

Fiyero furrows his brow and mumbles some words to himself. You should be helping him, you think to yourself, but your attention has been entirely diverted in the last ten minutes. You're not focused on the paper but on Fiyero and his adorable facial expressions instead. To your defence, the two of you have been at this for over an hour.

"Can we take a break?" he speaks up after a while.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard, but you quickly recover. You decide you could do with a breather yourself.

"Yeah, of course," you tell him.

"Thank Oz," he mutters, unceremoniously dumping the paper on the floor.

You watch as it joins the multitude of textbooks and worksheets that are scattered about.

Fiyero slumps against the bed, tilting his head back to rest on the mattress. "This is hopeless. I'm never going to get it."

You turn your attention back to him, smiling reassuringly. "Sure you will. Don't give up now."

"You have too much faith in me," he replies.

"And you have not enough," you tell him.

He lets out an exasperated sigh in response, covering his face with his hands. You watch him as silence falls between the two of you. It's unfair how he makes being distressed look so good.

A few more seconds of silence pass before Fiyero speaks again. "I just thought of something that might help."

"Oh? What would that be?" you ask.

"A little motivation, that's all," he shrugs, sitting up slightly. "If I pass my midterms, will you let me take you out?"

You raise an eyebrow, slightly amused by his idea. "You mean on a date?"

"Of course," Fiyero smiles. "We can go somewhere proper. A nice dinner or something."

"Right, and we'll just conveniently ignore how we're not allowed to go out at night."

His expression becomes mischievous as he leans closer, "Well, you do remember what I told you at the Ozdust all those weeks ago, don't you?"

You hum in response, catching his drift. So maybe this was one big ploy after all.

"Please?" he asks again, his voice softer. "I'll be good. I promise."

You let out a sigh of your own. Yours is of a different kind of exasperation than Fiyero's. After all, how could you ever say no to that face?

"Alright," you agree, "A date, as long as you pass everything."

He beams brightly, your answer pleasing him more than he's letting on. "Yes, great! Thank you. You won't regret it."

You smile in return and decide not to tell him you would still want to go out with him regardless. Perhaps actually having to work for something might do the prince some good.

He's still grinning as he picks up the linguification paper and dutifully resumes reading it. It's a stark difference from his earlier befuddlement, and you're not sure if he's only pretending to understand or if your agreement to his terms was really the push he needed.

Either way, it meant you could go back to your staring. And with nothing left to do but wait, that's precisely what you do.

➸

[ena-writes-stuff]

— unscheduled break.

˒ ⌕ with his work consuming more of his time, the special evenings you once shared become rare. feeling the strain of this separation, you decide to visit him during a livestream.

— warnings: smut, female reader, use of his real name

— words count: 2.3k

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He had warned you an hour ago that he was going to start a stream on his secret Twitch channel. It was a well-established routine: every now and then, he would lock himself in his office to dedicate a few hours to livestreaming, attending meetings, or even catching up on emails. During these periods, you chose to stay in his room, using the time to work or study something that needed to be resolved.

Despite the routine often feeling solitary, there was a valuable compensation: when evening arrived, after dinner, you knew you would get to enjoy moments together. It was a special time reserved just for the two of you, a moment you eagerly anticipated. It was during these hours that you could snuggle in his arms, feel his warmth and scent, and be enveloped in a comforting embrace. Sleeping next to him, feeling his scent mix with yours, made everything sweeter and more meaningful. These little things, these shared moments, were what made the wait and loneliness of the day more bearable and gave purpose to the time spent apart.

But, since last week, things had changed drastically. The frequency of your time together had decreased significantly. He was increasingly busy with work, and this extra load was causing a misalignment in your schedules. There were days when you would wake up early in the morning and find his office still lit, with him immersed in his work. It seemed that instead of starting his day by your side, he was beginning earlier and ending later. Other times, you would be woken up in the middle of the night when he tried to get into bed in the dark, after you had spent hours waiting for him and eventually falling asleep.

He had promised to make up for the lost time, to find a way to get things back to normal, but that promise seemed distant and increasingly unlikely. The special moments that used to mark the end of the day, the cuddles at night, now felt like a distant echo of a time that was no longer a reality. The longing for those hours together grew each day, and the time that once seemed so well-balanced between work and personal life was now heavily tilted towards work and stress. The yearning increased, and you had the chance to have a few minutes with him at that moment, if you could manage to stay quiet enough. The desire to be by his side, even for a brief moment, was intense, and your heart pounded with anticipation for the reunion.

So you decided to do something that had long remained just a timid, almost impossible thought at the back of your mind. Entering his workspace, even for a fleeting moment, was a risk you were willing to take. The room was silent except for the constant sound of the keyboard and Alexis' own loud voice. As you opened the door, you made sure the creak was as discreet as possible. The door itself made a low noise, a sharp sound that seemed to fill the space for a moment, but not enough to penetrate the ambient noise and reach the microphone picking up your beloved's voice.

“Hey, babe,” his voice softly echoed as he finally turned to face you. Despite the visible exhaustion on his face, he seemed determined to keep up with his work marathon. The idea of playing Fortnite for two hours as part of the job seemed surreal, but it was the reality of the moment. “I’m still live, and I think after this, I have a meeting with—”

The conversation was taking a direction you were familiar with. Your eyes wandered between your boyfriend’s face, the muted microphone, and his two computer screens. On one of them, the Fortnite game continued; his character was standing still, a clear indication that he had stopped focusing on the game to pay attention to you. The screens' glow reflected off the glass screen, mixing with the fatigue in his eyes.

“I miss you,” you said, your voice heavy with the sincerity of your feelings.

He blinked, as if the simple recognition of your desire for connection had awakened a new level of awareness in him. “I miss you so much too, my dear,” he replied with a tired smile. “Just a little longer, and the stream will end. After that, we can meet and talk more.”

“No,” you cut off the idea, with a slightly whiny tone, not wanting to think about when that would actually happen, allowing yourself the luxury of ignoring any other complaints or excuses he might make. “Here. Now.”

The words came out softly, almost a whisper, as you moved closer, your body gently leaning toward him. Your lips sought his with a touch of delicacy, as if they were made of the same ethereal material as dreams. The kiss started soft and exploratory, the taste of his sweet kiss filling your tongue, as you indulged in a subtle game of intimacy.

Alexis, in turn, responded with an instinctive caress on your waist, his hands sliding slowly in an affectionate gesture. He wasted no time giving in to the kiss he had been longing for, his emotions spilling into a deep and genuine kiss. Each touch, each movement, seemed like an unspoken promise, a reaffirmation of the desire that had grown between you. The moment extended, the connection between you both strengthening with each passing second, while the world around seemed to disappear, reduced to a sequence of soft sighs.

“It’s better if we stop; I think chat is already missing me…” Despite the frustration of losing contact and pleasure, you merely nodded, acknowledging that he was right and that it was the best course of action. The tingling sensation you felt as you dragged the back of his hand across your cheek brought immediate relief, as if a painter was spreading colors on a blank canvas. He really knew you, inside and out. “But I’m really tempted to just…” he whispered, not needing to finish the sentence for you to understand what he was thinking.

He wore a black pair of shorts that contrasted his tanned skin, and on top, he had a tank top, both of which screamed 'comfort' when you looked at him. His dark hair was tied in a ponytail, a move that must have been a daily routine. With a mix of curiosity and boldness, you gently brushed my fingers against the sudden bulge that had formed between his thighs. The intimate contact was undeniable, and after so long of abstinence, he was putty in your hands.

Your palms slightly tingled with the power it gave you; as a studious and outspoken individual, this kind of control was intoxicating, if not a bit unexpected.

“My love, can you please help me out?”

As Alexis’ voice zapped through your system, your legs betrayed you, buckling underneath your weight. Like a marionette pulled by strings, you tumbled to the floor in front of his office chair. A fiery wave of desire blossomed within you, an urgency to kneel and serve him, to satisfy his every whim. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the keys of his keyboard, his voice quivering as he tried to string together an excuse for the delay. He knew he was failing, couldn't hide the truth: you being to obey, to give in to his demands, all while he broadcasted to his viewers who were oblivious to the situation. The lack of webcam, a small mercy, spared them the spectacle.

Your heart raced, nerves and hunger warring within you. Sweat dampened your skin, the clinging tendrils of your hair a reminder of your flustered state. The thought of pleasing him, of serving him, sent a shiver down your spine as you lowered his pants, the underwear he was wearing followed suit, revealing his erect manhood that seemed to be craving for your touch. With your heart racing, you stood there for a moment, taking in the sight before you, your gaze lingering on the pulsating flesh that begged for attention.

Lovely.

Your mouth moved to his throbbing member, lips wrapping around it as your tongue teased the sensitive tip. You swallowed greedily, desperate to take him in, before pulling back to tease. Your hand joined in, skillfully caressing his length in a rhythmic dance. You were eager and satisfied, ready to serve.

As your eyes watered, you tried to keep your focus, swallowing hard as you felt the thick cock invade the recesses of your throat. The sudden force caught you off guard, but you couldn't show it. Your gaze flicked to Alexis’ face, a silent reminder of where you were, a girl with her mouth full, sucking off your boyfriend that tried his best to focus on the game and not to moan in pleasure. Your hands worked diligently, gripping his shaft tightly. You caressed him fervently, your fingers playing teasingly with his heavy, aching balls. With each stroke, you reminded yourself why you were doing this — for him. Your tongue danced eagerly along his length, willing to give him everything he craved.

You fixated on his every reaction and micro expression, drinking in the visuals he provided. Your attention was abruptly pulled away when he let out a dangerously loud whimper. Your hands flew to his mouth, shushing him. "You're being too loud, baby," You whispered, your lips curling into a soft, amused smile. You watched as he hurriedly muted the microphone, the shuddering moan that escaped him only further fueling your excitement when you saw he unmuted again. "Hush, love. Quiet, remember?" You reminded him, keeping your voice low.

You watched as Alexis nodded, the rocking motion coming to him with ease. You could sense the rising pleasure within him, and though he strained to suppress it, soft whimpers and gasps of air still managed to escape. Your hand found its way to his thigh, gently squeezing and whispering, "Shhh, shh, baby. I know it feels good, baby."

It became increasingly clear that the intense pleasure his body was experiencing was taking a toll on his performance. Sure enough, he lost another match in the game, slamming his hand against the table in what could have been frustration from losing, or an attempt to alleviate the mounting arousal. The tension in the room was almost palpable.

"FUCK!" Alexis screamed, gripping a fistful of your hair and forcefully pushing his erection against your face. In a split second, he decided on a plan — pretending to be so enraged the he’d cut the live stream. He reached for his computer, shutting down the stream as his cock invaded your mouth once again. Now it was just the two of you and that was the perfect moment that you would be able to worship him.

He fixed his gaze in your eyes, being able to see the way you stared at him. The look of his own perdition. He sighed heavily, moving his hip while the low moans escaped. For a moment, he tilted his head back, just feeling the pleasurable sensations that ran through his body when he had your tongue sliding so well through his cock.

You really knew how to drive him crazy with your touches and if for some moment he thought he didn’t, he had been too foolish. His cock went in and out of your mouth easily, he was already in ecstasy, fucking on cloud nine.

There was a sheer ecstasy that washed over his face. His body trembled, a testament to the intense delight that consumed him. Drunk with lust, he succumbed, the intensity of his orgasm palpable between you. He allowed himself to spill any drop of sperm into your throat, letting the overwhelming sensation take over him.

Your gaze drifted to Alexis, who had collapsed into his chair, his body slick with perspiration. His heavy breaths echoed in the silence of his office. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, leaving a smear of moisture in its wake. You couldn't help but notice the flushed hue that spread across his features, a testament to the pleasure he'd just experienced.

Observing him in this vulnerable state brought a twisted sense of satisfaction, knowing that he, the studious and outspoken one, was now rendered weak.

He finally looked down, his eyes expressing a mix of concern and regret as he observed the uncomfortable situation you were in. "Shit, I'm sorry, my love…" he murmured, his voice laden with remorse, as he carefully lowered himself to hold your hands. With a gentle and protective gesture, he began helping you to rise, offering support and trying to alleviate the discomfort you had been enduring for the past few minutes. "Come here, sit on my lap," he said with a voice that conveyed tenderness and a genuine desire to make you feel better. He adjusted his position to ensure that you were comfortable and secure, his gaze fixed on you with a care that seemed to say more than words could express.

And that’s how you both finally managed to enjoy the lost time. You were comfortably seated on Alexis's lap, feeling the softness of his touches and the sincerity of his affection. Each tender kiss on your shoulder and each sweet word whispered in your ear seemed to fill the space between you with a renewed and profound intimacy.

As you settled into Alexis’ embrace, a new perspective began to emerge.

Maybe interrupting him at work from time to time wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

[dropsnectar]

Fawning Rose: Vine Monster x GN!Reader

The Adventures of an Elven Herbalist Part One

NSFW or NSFT

This is my first time writing anything in 6 years so keep that in mind. Also my first smut fic. Or monster fic. I literally learned about the sexual parts of plants for this fic. Don't know how I got here but this was fun! btw if you don't like oviposition, I marked the parts with three !!! before and after that scene, so you can skip it if you want.

WORD COUNT: 3167, or 7 pages on Docs

It had been a long journey from your home country, having to cross an entire sea to get to the sleepy elven town of Hairevick. An Herbalist, you could craft pills to treat a human flu, create a poultice for a dwarves sore, work-tired limbs; even brew potions to help a beastmen ease out of a mating season-- but it was still lonely. Their were no elves about, except for the rogue eccentric nomad. 

Feeling as you had fully mastered your craft in that area, and curious about your kind, you set forth in hopes of bettering yourself. However, when introducing yourself to your neighbors, you found everyone to be polite, but detached. As far as elves went, you were quite young, and the people of Hairevick were elder and not so trusting of outsiders. But worse of all, everyone here seemed to have an excellent knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and their uses in maintaining health. There was no need for an herbalist, especially one so unfamiliar with their lands. 

You spent the entire week mourning your state over glasses and pints of botanical alcohol-- The local tavern drinks were amazing!-- until you finally met a sympathetic face. 

He had long silver hair and the wisp of a ginger beard around his sharp jaw; a peculiar trait. He greeted you friendly enough, asking how you were settling in. It turned out that he owned a store in town, selling odds and ends. He even had a little apothecary in the corner, where those who couldn’t be bothered to make a forest run would buy herbs and tinctures. 

Starved for companionship, you bombarded him with questions about clients, and local herbalism. He was jovial, and after quite a few dregs of honey yarrow grog, offered you a book on the local flora. After some midnight bonding over stories of patients, he gave you a proposition. 

He was having some issues procuring some materials from a special plant, a Fawning Rose. It had incredible healing properties, but a bad habit of uprooting itself and fleeing from anyone who wasn’t a youth. If you could lure it out and bring back anything, be it petals, roots, greens, he would pay you handsomely. Maybe even give you some lessons on how to work with local plant life.

It was for this reason that you found yourself two days into a trip to the heart of the Haire Wilds bordering town. It was not going well. 

***

The cool air caressed your skin as you entered the grove. You had caught a peculiar sweet smell, somehow floral and buttery at the same time, and had followed it with hope filling your heart. The scent had gotten so thick you could taste it, strong as a tea on your tongue. Blue wildflowers covered the ground, interrupted by the common tree route or vine. 

Your eyes followed the vines or small roots, colored a sage with a speckled gradient to midnight blue. They traveled up into the middle of the grove. Sunlight, so rare this far into the Wilds, fell down in large delicious specks from the trees. They refracted off a large flower, almost two yards in width. Its petals were raspberry pink, turning blood red in the middle. Vines from its base led upwards and rested on the low boughs of the nearest trees, framing the flower and its various young buds like some sort of ethereal art study. 

You grew excited, feet tripping over roots as you ran forward, losing a shoe. You lost balance again and landed face first into the crook of a particularly large vine and hit your head. Hard. 

Hot pain crashed through you, making you curse as you steadied yourself. You tried to get up but the heat struck your temple like lightning as you moved upwards. Alright. Best to stay down then. 

As you waited, you were able to see past the stars in your eyes and notice a slight powdery substance on the vines. It, too, was pink. 

Maybe it was the thrill of finally finding the damn thing, or the head injury, but you felt different. You could hear your heart pumping hard in your chest, pleasantly tight. Your breath was ragged, the air pushing a hard, chilling heat through you. 

Like a particularly good run, your mind registered. A high. 

Your limbs started to tingle at the tips.

The rose’s perfume felt more like a mist now. You were only a few feet away from the base flower, and the scent had turned heady. Your hunger from a missed meal seemed to be surfacing, goaded on by the delectable smell the plant was giving off. While the pain eased and the stars disappeared from your eyes, you noticed that the lightheaded fuzzy feeling stayed.

Uh oh. Not a concussion.

You had to work hard to bring the fear into your mind. There was very little anyone could do to help you out here. The best you could do was not move around too much, and hoped the Fawning Rose would cooperate.

Suddenly, you notice some movement from the roots under your palms. 

No no no not now! Please, I haven’t harvested you yet! You thought as you tried to scramble up. 

The roots moved upwards with you, shoving you onto your side. Sliding around your feet, one took your other shoe with it as it slithered about under you. Another seemed to upend itself and squeeze cooly between your toes. You jumped a bit, but your gaze and mind were slow.

Something thick gilded itself on your shoulder making you look up. Vines, three, four, five of them descended and started rubbing themselves against you like cats. The movement was kicking up clouds of the pink pollen, making you sneeze as you wiggled against the plants outer limbs.

A part of you was horrified, thinking that perhaps you had scared the thing off. After all, you had been warned that this type of rose was particularly skittish. But the plant did not seem to be gathering itself to run away, rather it was pulling you closer to itself, the dragging tearing at the underside of your clothes.

Try as you might, you couldn't seem to think. Foggy, fuzzy, your mind was like cotton. The tingling in your fingertips has spread through your body, and an embarrassed part of your brain noticed your lower body was starting to awaken too. A warmth was beginning to pool in your gut, slow and lazy. Tingly. Fuzzy, like your head.

The vines continue to rub against your body, tearing the rest of your clothes away until only skin remains. They were relentless, cool against your hot skin. Their outer layers were textured but still smooth; a foreign sensation but extremely exciting. It felt almost like something was licking you, the powder giving a wet feel as it spread itself all over. Liquid heat glazed the innermost parts of you, much to your embarrassment. 

Aphrodisiac. You finally registered. You started to curse out that damned store keeper. 

You’d been played. 

You were now at the base of the flower, with even more roots and vines cradling and moving over your body. You were… pushed? Pulled? A foot into the air, close enough so that some of the smaller buds were leaning over you, as if they were getting a good look at you. You felt a knowing, a presence from this plant now. It really was looking at you.

Some desperate part of your mind, far far back in your mind, tries to set off danger bells. That you needed to get up and run.

Ooze started to secrete from the smaller buds, and the already overpowering scent of floral butteriness seemed to multiply. It dripped out onto your belly, warm and tingling, then your chest, your inner thigh, even a bit on your cheek.

The syrup dribbled down into the planes of your mouth as you wriggled under the vines. A particularly mischievous one pushes through the plush cheeks of your ass and moves up, poking at your entrance, causing you to gasp. 

The liquid touches your tongue. It tastes just as it smells, deliriously delicious. Sweet. Hot. It was divine compared to the little rations you’ve been eating the last few days. Like youd been starving and had sudden.ly been given free reign of a pastry shoppe. But no pastry could top this silky butteriness

What little heat that had kindled inside you was now a roaring flame, putting your past arousal to shame. You groan, and pull your head up, sticking your tongue out for more. A part of you is screaming to stop and run, but it is a stupid part that is buried instantly under your sudden overwhelming need. You are desperately horny, and you deserve to feel good after all the trouble you've been through lately.  

Still sticking out your tongue, you start to moan even louder as the vine messages your entrance with its thick girth. At the same time, one of the buds above your face seems to notice your desperation, and leans down to your lips.You lick at its plush petals and sweet sweet nectar seeps into your mouth. It tastes much like a floral pastry and you suck greedily as it pushes itself deeper in. 

The petals are so soft, yet still firm in your mouth as a river of nectar floods your throat. You giggled around it as it started to take its full effect. You felt light as air, so good. 

The vines had moved over to allow a bud to circle itself around your most sensitive part. You gasped out as it started to suck you, making stars flood your already glistening eyes. Your wet lashes fluttered as it began to suck wave after wave of pleasure out of your body.You had never felt so good, you noted somewhere in your sex drunk mind.  The whole time, the bud leaked nectar, completely soaking all parts of your groin.

The nectar left your skin feeling sensitive,  and completely soaked. This seemed to please the vines, which continued to massage the oil about you, then finally push in. You cried out at the sensation. Drool started to pool out of your mouth, mixing with the nectar.

 The vines rubbed lazy curving lines around your walls, making your hips jerk and shake. They seemed to know what they were doing as they started out slow for a time, then sped up their pace, thrashing about inside you. You clench around them, overwhelmed by the unyielding sensation. The pooling heat in you was building high, and you could tell the walls were about to break.

A rogue, mischievous bud had decided to examine your hole, tracing around your entrance in lazy circles. The petals were so soft, softer than skin. The texture made you feel desperate. As if to read your mind, the bud stopped. It must have been blooming because you felt little feelers, probably stamans, tracing about your genitals, wet with its lovely, delicious pollen.

 You swore and whined and pleaded for more as the vines fucked you through it, voice garbled by nectar. Another, thicker vine veined in indigo added itself to its companions and you finally came. The rush was like being tossed in the ocean, a shock that completely enveloped your entire body in cold, pulsing ecstasy. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your juices spilled down on the forest floor below. 

The echoes of the waves of pleasure were still rocking through you when the vines surrounded your body started to move you upwards again. The vines were slow and delicate as they handled you, as if you were precious cargo. You were brought upwards, almost as if they were about to set you on your feet. Your neck was out, as you were still suckling the addicting flower liquid. 

You noticed through your long damp hair that you were positioned just over the center of the Fawning Roses main flower. A drop of nectar slipped out from inside you and dribbled down and onto the flower's green pistil. The stigma was thick, with four fat lumps at the top. The stamen surrounding it swayed, almost as if there was a breeze. Their magenta anthers rained down more pollen, causing a beautiful gradient against the deep red at the middle of the large petals. It was a truly breathtaking sight. 

A single vine wiggled towards your face and pushed back your hair. You found the gesture almost sweet, leaning into its touch. You remained like that for a time, before the vines started to lower you on to the stigma. 

No no no, you tried to whisper, some understanding dawning; but the bud was being aggressive with its feeding, pushing further in your mouth. It had a job, and its job was to make you so desperately horny and stupid, you’d let this flower breed you. 

The stigma was a hard fit at first. Its lumpy texture felt so good rubbing against you, you couldn’t help but hump back into it. The vines around you squeezing your skin, tilting your hips this way in that, trying to make the fit. The surrounding stamen started to rub their anthers against you, two started focusing on your nipples. You continued to hump the stigma, smearing the nectars from your groin all over it. Then, finally, finally, You were able to squeeze it in. 

The vines had taken over the humping for you now, pushing you down harder and harder onto the pistil. The lumps dragged against your walls in such a beautiful way, that you screamed out babbling whines. Your skin was covered in nectar and bright pink pollen. Every part of you was being squeezed, rubbed, oozed upon with tingling liquid, that you weren’t even sure you had a body anymore, just pleasure. After you came for the fourth time, you started to feel a pulsing within the pistil.  It was like the thing seemed to grow within you.

! ! !

Ridges started to squeeze against your entrance, rubbing against your walls. They moved up, up, up, into the deepest parts of you. There was a sudden burst of warmth, then something small and squishy. You marveled at the texture, as the flower continued to lower you down on the pistil, now at a slower pace, in smaller movements. You ached so badly, but the new sensation of the objects and warmth inside you made you wanna keen louder. They felt sort of like eggs.

Seedpods. You registered lazily. You were being turned into a seedbed. 

This realization only seemed to turn you on even more. They felt so good, rolling about inside your walls. The warmth they brought rivaled the cool temperature of the pistil, a delightful duality. 

You moaned with every bulge, push, then pop of warmth and heaviness. It was getting to the point now where the vines were pulling you up off the pistil to make more room for the seeds. 

! ! !

You were cumming so much now you lost count. It was getting to the point that you were just continuously orgasming, as the seeds and the pistil dragged against your most sensitive parts. 

You may have been like that for hours, days even, the nectar kept you so dizzy you couldn’t tell time. But at some point you were so full that the pistil seemed satisfied. The wriggling stamen around you stilled, and the vines carefully lifted you off the pistil, giving one last drag within your walls.

The bloom inside your mouth slowly dragged itself out, making you whine in protest. The vines carefully laid you down at the foot of their roots, arranging your body in a comfortable position. The vines slowly retreated from your body. They lazily moved about, sometimes knocking into each other in a way that was almost comical. Their movements seemed lazy, almost like it too was spent. 

As the last vine left your skin, it caressed your cheek. Within you some affection of your own seemed to bloom. The haze that was in your mind was starting to dull, and replaced itself with the need to rest. Your heavy eyes closed and you gave into sleep.

***

You awoke without opening your eyes. You could feel that the curving mound of roots you’d been sleeping on had been replaced with fluffy grass and soil. The smell of freshly tilled earth flooded your nose, and you jolted upright, eyes wide.

The grove was quiet, and empty of the Fawning Rose. All that was left behind was you, the upturned soil it had left behind, and light dusting of pink pollen on the trees. Even the sweet pastry-like smell had left the grove.

You looked down at your naked, sore body and groaned. You could see a trail of bruises from where the vines had gripped you, along with dried out nectar and tons of pink pollen. Your stomach puffed out a bit more than normal, meaning all of this had NOT been a dream. Much to your surprise, nothing hurt though. Your body felt great, healthily spent like you had just run a marathon. Considering how hard you had been working there should have been some pain, but there wasn’t. Just the pleasant pressure of the seedpods against your insides.You recall the conversation with the shop owner at the tavern. Looks like this is the flower's healing abilities at work.

You continued to search around the grove. Your clothes were still in shreds on the forest floor, but your bag was safely tucked under one of the trees the flower had rested its vines in. With some effort, you managed to get yourself off the ground to pick it up, waddling the whole way. 

The pollen was still working its magic on you, but you guessed you had been exposed to it long enough to build a slight tolerance. Or maybe the growing rage within you was doing the trick. You pulled out one of the many glass bottles, and a silver knife. You went to work, scraping the dried nectar and pollen off your body, into the jars.

I’m gonna charge that asshole so much money, his kids will be poor. You seethed as you spent hours getting your money's worth off of every plane of your body. You’d have to birth those seed pods later too. Your insides grew warm at the thought. 

You tried not to think about how you were going to have to walk home naked, where you’d been and what you’d been doing laid bare upon your skin. It’d be free advertising tho, you tried to reason. 

You'd make a killing. Aphrodisiacs were rare, and extremely expensive, especially to a crowd of immortals. I think I'll sell these seed pods on my own though. You smiled. 

You’d make sure to be properly prepared the next time you went into the wilds.

Might do a part two, maybe with slimes next time? Also sorry about any switching of tenses, I have a hard time with that! Hope you guys enjoyed!

[uselesssomebody]

𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕦𝕡 - post!d&w!logan howlett x reader

complete masterlist | logan howlett - coming soon!

words || 𝟚.𝟡𝕜

summary || in which the reader gets stood up, and logan consoles her - in more than one way

a/n || self indulgent :)) guess what happened to me guys !!

➵ i know i've been literally dead but i may be back! not sure fully yet lol but i've missed writing. shocker, college is in fact hard and i've spent a whileeee adjusting. that also means my writing is prob a bit shit here but i just wanted to get this out

➵ first time writing logan - i watched deadpool & wolverine and oh my godddd this man can fucking get it. haven't watched the x-men movies so i kinda had to guess his accent, sorry if it's inconsistent. this is set after the events of deadpool & wolverine

➵ shall i revamp the blog theme guys? i don't have any ideas but idk if you guys are bored by it haha

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smut/a wee bit of angst

➵ fingering

➵ age gap (not a plot point)

(tell me if i miss anything)

having 2 people in a one bedroom apartment was already cramped. 3 is insane. as much as wade tried, he felt bad for poor hugh's - *cough* logan's back for constantly swapping between the dingy couch and the mattress on the floor to sleep.

and the wolverine was never the type to ask for help, it pissed him off. they had been nearly atomized together for christ's sake!

another room on the floor had opened up, and as much as wade wanted to kick blind al off to that room instead, he knew the old lady wouldn't be able to pay the whole rent herself, and he had to make sure she didn't use too much fun-time sugar under fox's watchful eye. luckily, neither did logan have to live alone, as wade was quick to find a down-on-her-luck college girl who needed cheap rent.

so, now wade's stuck with an ornery old woman, and pretty-boy - well, man - logan got to have a cute girl as his roommate. just his luck. he checked in on his fellow invincible often, and as much as logan didn't talk, wade knew he didn't mind her one bit.

she tried to be a good roommate - cook breakfast for the both of them, pick up a sweet treat for him too if she was getting one for herself, and trying to keep to herself with the studying. but she couldn't help the little crush that she had on her roommate. like, come on.

older, mature, mysterious, downright yummy? what's a girl to do? she kept it to herself, but seeing him smirk or chuckle when she realizes she's accidentally been staring at him in that leather jacket or shirtless going to bed. at least she doesn't make him uncomfortable, but it feels pretty dismissive - how he sees her as such a fucking kid that he can't even take her attraction seriously.

logan took it very fucking seriously.

every day was a mental challenge - truly, god gives his worst temptations to his strongest soldiers. the liquor on his breath was still strong, not now because his life was ruined, but rather because his mind was.

this cute, young girl who looked at him like he was the solution to all her relationship issues, like his old-man body was good enough to fucking eat? it was a miracle that he hadn't taken her. and she just looked so beautiful as she got ready for bed, or as she bobbed her head to music while she studied, or as she buzzed around the small kitchen to cook her third cheap pasta for the week.

it didn't help how she'd always ask how he is, buy him little things to keep his mood up, and always offered to take the couch. he'd rather eat glass than let her sleep on the couch, but nonetheless, she offered every day.

fuck. it was impossible to sleep when she was just behind the wall, in her fucking shorts and tank. unbelievable. he needed a fucking drink.

some nights, he'll come home in the evenings to an empty house. it's rare - she doesn't have too much money to go out, but when she does, she'll usually warn him she'll be home late. he always makes sure to stay awake until she gets home, and even had the privilege of going into downtown to pick her up after the friends she was with had managed to lose her. she had hiccuped, tearing up in embarrassment as she watched him approach her drunk form leaning on a tree outside. she had thought the stern arch of his brow was because of her calling him so late, when really, he was just angry that her friends had the audacity to put her in such a dangerous situation.

"it's windy." he grunts, and she looks down at her short, strappy dress, ashamed.

"s-sorry. we drove here." she tries to explain, and logan relents, brow going from angry to grumpy.

"yeah." he finally sighs, walking with her back to their place. seeing her hands go to cradle her elbows, he places his leather jacket over her shoulders, and she swallows thickly.

"you don't have to-" but he's lighting a cigar as she speaks, in just his wifebeater he'd been lounging in. she decides to shut up, silent until they reach the house.

he helps her in and then waits outside to finish the cigar, and after she gets in, she sighs softly, carefully placing the jacket down. she starts trying to make logan some dinner as a thank-you, but passes out at the dinner table half-way through. luckily, she hadn't had the stove on, and logan's heart melts as he sees her, halfway through mixing a few eggs, head lolling off the chair as she drools a little.

cutie, he thinks, separating her fingers from the fork and bowl, and carrying her into the bed. as he tries to set her down, her fingers clutch his arm, and a small, sleepy whine leaves her.

logan's not a man to blush, but hearing that little beg for him to stay makes him fucking burn. he looks down at her, a hand running through his hair, and he gently tries to let her down again. she just holds on tighter, groaning, "warm..." a little mumble escapes her, and logan huffs. of course it's not that she wants him, she's just cold. he sighs, sitting down and letting her cuddle into his arm.

he had planned to leave once she'd passed out, but it was late, and he was old, so he had ended up just sleeping next to her anyways. the sun's rays the next morning pierce his eyes, and he sighs softly, waking up next to her. he swallows thickly, watching the way the sun hits her form, bathing her exposed skin in orange and amber.

the moment is broken by her startling awake. for a moment, she sighs happily, thinking that this was just a continuation of her dream about logan, where she wakes up next to him after a night of great sex, and they both live happily ever after. then she blinks.

his bicep feels bigger than in the dream, his face looks a little more real, he's- real?!

she squeaks, immediately sitting up.

"logan?"

"don't go getting any ideas in your head." he immediately defends, sighing. "you called me last night."

she bites her lip.

"you took me home?"

"put you in bed too. then ya fucking kept me on ya like a boa." he's joking, but she still struggles to tell between his grumpy voice and his joking grumpy voice.

"fuck, i'm really sorry, must have ruined your night-" she starts, and he gets up, ruffling her hair.

"it's okay. better knowing you were safe." it leaves her a little star struck, especially when he then goes to continue making the omelette she had tried to make last night.

he's cooking for her for once and she gets such a nice view of his broad back in that wife-beater. maybe things aren't that bad.

knowing how she always texts if she's out late, he's a bit confused to come home to an empty room. he huffs, trying not to panic, but he can't help how much he care for the girl. he leans back, lounging on the couch.

as an hour passes with no texts, he's about to get up and ... do something. look for her, call her - something.

just then, she walks through the door, purse dropping on the floor with a thud.

that's an attitude he hadn't seen before. she looks like a deer in headlights when she notices that he is in fact home.

"o-oh." she blinks, quickly picking up the purse, as if to console it. "wade said you weren't home." logan raises a brow, a little curious why the other man would say that.

"long day?" he finally comments, and she breathes out.

"shit day." she corrects. logan's brow furrows.

"hmm." he murmurs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch. an open invitation. she hesitates but... he looks warm.

conservatively, she sits beside him, hands in her lap. she's not even paying attention to whatever channel logan has on as background noise.

theres maybe 5 solid minutes of silence.

finally, she sighs.

"i'm gonna go to bed." she murmurs softly, getting up. logan wraps his fingers around her palm.

"talk to me." he mumbles gruffly, and she knows that's a pretty big first step for him. she bites her lip, sitting back down, and takes a deep breath.

"got stood up." it's little more than a whisper, and she feels a pout forming on her lips, which she tries to reverse, to little avail. it's silent again, and she wonders if logan heard her.

of course, he did - spending a moment processing who the hell would stand her up.

"i'm sorry." his rough fingers press over hers, comforting, and she can't help but sink more into him than the couch cushions.

it feels nice, more right than the kisses she'd shared with the guy she'd been seeing.

"whatever." she tries to mumble, trying not to show her hurt.

"he's an idiot." his hand slips around her shoulders, and he can feel her pulse quicken.

"i'm an idiot."

"he's an idiot." he repeats sternly. "who was he?" she bites her lip.

"some... guy." logan suppresses a scoffing bark.

"not if he's got you like this." he looks down at her. she's ashamed to look up at him.

"i don't know... i just really liked him. i thought he liked me too." she feels a tear slip out, and logan's fist squeezes in anger as he sees her quickly wipe it away.

"he should be singin' his prayers that he even got your attention." that makes her giggle - strained, but there. he prefers the sound to her defeated mumbles. "look at me." he murmurs, taking her chin and angling it to face him. his eyes travel down to the cute dress she'd put on for her date - low cut, perfectly form fitting, "he's a fucking idiot." he whispers, hand slipping down to her waist.

"yeah?" she whispers, significantly less focused on aforementioned 'fucking idiot' now.

"yeah, princess." he murmurs, hand gently running up and down her side. he knows he shouldn't, but he can practically feel the jump of her heart at the endearment. "you like that? princess?" his voice almost has a teasing lilt, and her lids flutter at the difference in tension from 2 minutes ago.

"a little." her face looks so bashful, so unsure. after that depressing feeling of not being wanted - god, he wants to pull her out of that so bad.

"should be treated like a princess." she shifts imperceptibly closer.

"got a guy who'll do that for me?" she teases, and logan scoffs softly.

"you know i do." his voice carries that gruffness even with how quiet he is, speaking into the small space between their lips. "you know, princess."

she breathes out shakily, leaning forward, when logan pulls her chin, pressing his lips to hers. she whimpers softly, finding her hands and placing them at his nape, not wanting to let go. it's not rough, but needy, his other hand slipping to the hem of her dress on her thigh. she hums into his lips, as he pulls away, a little breathless.

"don't - we shouldn't." he whispers, and a pout graces her lips - a proper one.

"why?"

"yer upset." he sighs, but doesn't move away.

"about?" she says playfully, having fully forgotten about her evening; she'd been waiting for this for so long. he lets out a gruff bark of a laugh, pulling her closer, and she adjusts, getting on his lap.

"come on, bub." he scolds again, and she hums, leaning down to kiss him.

"please?" she whispers, against his lips. he groans.

"jesus, what're y'doin' to me?" his head tilts back, and she giggles, exhilarated that she's got him like this. her hands trail down his arms - god, his arms - tracing the veins, somehow always bulging, as she gently leans forward again, kissing him. this time, theres a bit more tongue, and he pulls her closer roughly, gnashing their teeth together. she moans softly into his mouth, fingers finding his rough palm. he grips them tight - not enough to hurt, but just enough to show that he's holding back.

"i'm not made of glass." she teases, and he scoffs softly.

"i could snap ya'n half." his mumble finds his way back into her lips, and she has to control herself to not showhow much the little quip affected her.

"maybe i want you to."

"jesus." he flips her over, onto her back, "got this pretty little dress on, fuck, that guy's an idiot." his hands travel down her thighs, and she bites her lip, a massive grin on her face.

"you like it?" she murmurs softly, playing with the strap of her dress.

"whadya think?" he huffs, and she giggles.

"and if i told you i got it for you?" logan presses a hot kiss to the side of her thigh.

"i'd tell ya to get a dozen more." his lips move up her thigh slowly, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"god, logan." her whispers of his name are like music to his ear, and he leaves a small bite by the hem of her dress.

"gotta tell me if i hurt you." he mutters, more seriously, and she smiles.

"only fun if it hurts."

"i'm serious, princess." she relents.

"i'll tell you." he sighs in content, gently riding her dress off.

"this okay?"

"more than okay." she helps him, pulling the dress over her hips, her lacy panties peeking under the fabric. when he spends just a bit too long staring, she giggles, "you can touch." she affirms, and he barks out a gruff lap.

"could'a guessed that much." his fingers trace the hem of them, travelling down her inner thighs. her breath hitches, and she gently rolls her hips, desperate for more.

"please, logan." she whispers, breathing a bit labored. though he'd love to tease, he's getting desperate too.

"gotta tell me what ya want, princess." he murmurs, and she bites her lip, almost shy again. it's cute.

"touch me?" she murmurs, almost like it's a favor she's asking. he kisses her thigh again, before gently peeling the panties off. he lets out a soft groan at how slick she is, fingers catching her arousal as they travel down her slit. she lets out a shocked gasp - practically a moan - and he fucking loves it.

`'need them, princess?" he smirks at her, and she nods, almost pathetically.

"god, i do." he obliges, gently prodding her entrance with his middle finger. he slips in with little resistance, but jesus, he can feel how tight she is.

"fuck, yer gonna be the death of me, princess." he groans softly, and she lets out a breathy giggle.

"thought that doesn't happen to you?"

"well, never had a girl as pretty as you." he murmurs, slipping another finger in. she flushes, back arching as his fingers do, body warm as she rocks her hips in time with his ministrations.

"faster?" she begs softly, and he could never say no to those big doe eyes. he starts moving faster, her slick absolutely coating his fingers, and she moans louder, hips moving in a more stuttered rhythm.

"like that?" that teasing lilt is in his voice, and she nods furiously.

"j-just like that-" she stammers, mind already foggy, "god, i'm close, please don't stop."

"not in a million years, princess." she lets out a loud moan as she can feel herself unraveling, the orgasm so powerful that her thighs shake around him as she cums. she pants as he helps her ride through it.

"good girl, just like that, princess," he consoles, "so fuckin' pretty for me, ain't cha?" he grins, as she starts to come down. as her breathing slows, so too do his fingers, before slowly sliding them out of her. he gently rubs her clit, just to see her jolt at the stimulation, before chuckling, and placing his soaked fingers onto his tongue.

she lets out another moan as she watches him, with lidded eyes.

"i'll cum again." she warns, playfully, and he's gleeful. she tastes like fruit.

"i plan on it, princess." she feels her cheeks warm.

"that's the hardest i've cum in a while." she admits shyly.

"sounded like it." he teases, but before they can get anything else out, there's banging on the wall that connected them to wade and blind al.

"these walls are paper thin!" al's screech sounds a little traumatized, and her scolding make both her and logan whip around, embarrassed.

"for once in my life, i agree with her! shut up, lovebirds, i wanna fucking sleep!" wade's voice is equally exasperated.

there's silence, until she calls back a bashful, "sorry!" she turns to logan, almost laughing, but still flushed with shame. "maybe we should stop. he scoffs.

"nah, just means i gotta teach ya to be quiet."

safe to say, she's not thinking at all about her date tonight.

[cherryheairt]

Law of Attraction

Chapter one: Shielded

Chishiya x reader fanfiction

Starts pre-Arisu entering Borderland, months before

The Beach must have taken months to establish with all of the people that had been there far longer than Arisu and his friends. This is set right before the Beach's foundation.

warnings for all future chapters: harassment, threats, physical violence, death. typical AIB stuff

Your days were busier than ever since you started college. Studying to be a teacher, which many often pouted their lips and expressed their sympathies when you told them, was not actually as easy as people thought. You had to complete a few hundred hours of your externship on top of classes and your part-time job to pay for said classes.

The work would be fulfilling, eventually. When you finally finished shadowing Mr. Sato, the biggest pain in your ass, you could be free to begin your first official year of teaching and quit your miserable job as a bartender. Contrasting fields, yes, but the tips paid the bills well.

Each night, your shift ended at around two in the morning and you went straight from the bar and to your apartment, passing out and waking up bright and early at seven for your weekday classes. Luckily, most shifts at the bar were on Thursdays and weekends, while all classes and externship hours were during weekdays. After class, it was typically back to the bar to open.

You couldn't complain too much. Besides having a non-existent social life beyond a classroom of fourth-graders and classrooms of college students, you flew under the radar pretty well. No one had it out for you, nor you for them, but any off days you rarely had were not spent in the company of friends or even friendly coworkers, just by yourself in your little apartment waiting for time to pass. A boring and uneventful life. Sometimes you wondered what it was all for, and you had yet to find your answer. You told yourself that after graduation it would all turn out perfect, and you'd live normally while balancing your social life better, maybe even get married after a few years of healthy stability. But that itch was still on the back of your mind, asking, ‘for what?’

Today was booked with all three. After your unpaid shift with Mr. Hana's class and your ‘School and Classroom Culture’ class, you headed to work.

The club was crowded at the end of the week. Friday had brought in a chill every time the door opened, leaving the sweaty atmosphere to be momentarily paused as groups flitted in and stumbled out. You were working on your umpteenth round of the cheapest vodka shots the establishment offered, enjoying the chill despite the brash complaints around you about it. Sliding the shots onto a tray, you nodded for Hana to serve her table.

“Thanks, babe!” She chirped with a wink and shouldered the tray off to the table of cheering ladies.

Onto the next.

A man with jet black hair hovering just over his shoulders and a middle part framing his face sat right at the bar. He seemed jittery and slightly nervous, as if you might say ‘no’ to any request he may have. He was in work uniform, an office you guessed, looking beyond him to see a group of guys dressed the same and gawking at the girls dancing.

“Excuse me?” He began, glancing over his shoulder.

“What can I get you?” You perked up, putting on your best customer service place. Nervous guys were a million times better than the cocky ones who thought they were entitled to seeing more skin or even a dance from you, despite the readily available shows up front. The thrill of what they could not have, you supposed. Guys like this were a blessing, despite their eyes giving away their desires.

He licked his lips shortly, glancing down at your own chest on view through your black tank top before shooting his eyes quickly back up. “Three—no, nine, probably— sake shots.” He stumbled.

You raised a brow, counting him as the sixth. “Is that it?” You asked, moving to pull the bottle from its shelf and a multitude of glasses.

“I'm driving everyone home.” He explained with a slight flush. The men in the back chortled at one another's jokes while he seemed in no rush at all to join them again. After you poured the triple round tray, she handed it off to the guy.

You hadn't even made another full drink for the lady next to him before he was back, tray under his arm and the guys at a table downing their shots behind him. “Here,” he mumbled, politely placing the tray on the sticky counter.

You nodded appreciatively, topping the mojito off with some mint leaves on the rim. The lady smiled and thanked you before rejoining her group of friends, leaving the man standing in front of the bar awkwardly alone.

Seeing as he was the only one, you allowed yourself a brief break to wipe the counter. “Not going to join your coworkers?” You asked curiously.

He squeezed his hands together, shaking his head with pursed lips. “Co-workers.” He corrected.

You nodded understandingly, knowing he must have been coerced into being a DD for some coworkers who didn't want to spend their time sober. “How about a soda?” You offered with a small smile.

Hours passed quickly, customer's faces all bleeding together. The man eventually left with his intoxicated group after lingering around the bar and watching his co-workers and the girls both from a safe distance. You didn't think much about him after, focusing on cleaning your station and heading the hell home.

Hana brushed against you behind the bar, helping herself to a generous double shot of a lemon drop cocktail-her absolute favorite despite your sour face whenever she offers one to you-and leans against the counter to sip on it while you finish up.

"Doing anything tomorrow? I was thinking of getting dinner with some girlfriends and barhopping afterward." She suggested with a lift of her glass.

"I can't." You sighed. "Got a project to finish, then work again tomorrow night."

Hana leaned her head back as if she were wounded. "You alwaysss 'can't'. Come on, babes, live a little. You're only twenty-two, and you live like an old hermit."

You couldn't disagree. "Next time, Hana. I promise."

She sends you a sympathetic smile. "If you ever need anything, you got my number."

"I know. Thanks," you offer weakly.

Despite the chill on the walk to the train, you still felt the residue of the club on your skin and clothes. You smelled like beer and liquor over old perfume, something you'd unfortunately grown used to. Although your own insensitivity didn't stop others from giving you disgusted glances passerbys gave you as if you were stumbling around the streets of Tokyo begging for cash.

Relaxing into a seat, you felt the grogginess of the day wash over you. As much as you fought against it, you fell asleep in your empty train car.

Jerking awake at the dinging of the last stop call, you promptly collected your belongings. You jumped up and off the train, climbing the stairs and out onto the dark streets. Completely empty and nearly pitch black, you were stopped in your tracks. No people being outside at 3 a.m wasn't a crazy thing in this part of town, but the streetlights being down? You clutched your bag tight, wondering if you'd stepped into a horror movie shooting.

As you continued down the path towards your apartment, you brought up your phone to glimpse at the local news and electrical issues.

When the phone wouldn't even turn on, you began to panic. Shoving your things into your bag, you started to briskly walk home. The way was only lit up by the full moon, making reflective street signs possible to navigate around with.

When the first firework ‘popped!’ in the skies and whined all the way down, you jumped. “Fireworks?” You muttered aloud, stepping off the sidewalk to get a better view in the street. Abandoned cars littered it, but you forced yourself to ignore them in favor of this all being a high-budget movie scene. That hope could only last so long.

If the streets were really being rented out, then why wasn't the skyline of Tokyo at least still lit? It was virtually impossible to clear an entire city for a piece of media, no matter the budget.

Finally, you spotted a faint light coming from a distant building. You sprinted towards it, seeing it as your only chance for answers or other people. Let it be a prank, you silently pleaded.

When you reached the place, you read the lit sign, humming at the frank realization that this place was something like an office building. It was tall and skinny, with a logo you didn't recognize on it. Another building sat parallel to it with a bridge connecting it but it stayed unlit. Gingerly, you stepped into it and flinched as a robotic voice called out.

“One player registered. Waiting for others. Please take one phone per person.”

It was then she realized there was a silver table with a bunch of lines neatly lined up. When she grabbed one, it spoke again. “Reading facial I.D.” When you saw your name written across the white screen in bold black letters, your heart dropped to your stomach.

There was no time to dwell when another person wandered into the building. You turned to them, hoping that this person might be the one who revealed any answers, but were only met with a mirrored face. A woman, slightly taller than you with pajamas on but an alert expression. “What's going on?” She asked, voice small.

You looked behind her, seeing a foreign man enter with a disciplined calmness. “I don't know. You're the first people I've seen.” You told her, earning a frown. You both seemed to have the same idea by looking at the older man. He shrugged, glancing around.

“I was wonderin’ why all those fireworks was goin’ off.” He said tiredly.

More people entered, and a familiar face finally showed up. The man from the bar, who immediately also perked up upon seeing your face. You found each other quickly, standing side by side after everyone picked up a phone. Even if you didn't know each other, the slight comfort was like grasping at straws.

He whispered to you, suspiciously looking at all of the other strangers. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

With a hopeless shake of your head, the man sighed and melted into the wall. Cutting off the scared murmurs, the robotic female voice spoke again. “Registration closed. There are fifteen players.”

A white screen lit up at the top of the elevator.

Displayed on it as well as being read out loud: “Game: Fishbowl. Difficulty: Three of Diamonds.”

“Diamond?” You asked, getting no answer from anyone else.

“Objective: Find the exit to the mazes on each floor. There are 10 levels total. Clear conditions: Make it to the roof before the timer runs out.”

“That sounds easy enough.” A teenager's voice broke through the silence.

“Yet it doesn't explain why we're doing a game in the first place. I'm going home, fuck this.” Another guy grumbled, obviously too irritated to continue playing the random game. When he turned his back and went through the entranceway doors, the small red-lined lasers shot through him like knives.

The room erupted in panic and screams. No one was silent or still, and you stood next to the wall with warm splatters of blood on your face and clothes. With a trembling hand, you reached up to wipe a bit off, revealing the same red that touched everything else in the lobby.

“Game start. Time: Three hours.”

“Is that all we have?” You whispered, the taller man beside you eyeing the scene and the dead man silently. He seemed to straighten from his slouched and nervous posture, eyebrows knitting together like he just solved something. Without a word, he brushed past you and to the stairwell.

It let him open the door, and he disappeared up the stairs whilst everyone still flurried about.

You were quick to follow, not wanting to meet the same grizzly fate as the dead man. There would be time to figure out whats and hows and whos later—when you were safe at home.

Up the first floor of stairs, the second level's door opening and displaying a big ‘1’ on it.

The man opens it, and you are surprised to see office-like cubicle walls climbing to the top in wide rows. It was like the real office was gone and changed out with an entirely new structure. Along the white walls were some paintings still hung up and some plants somehow decorating the ugly carpet in a few corners.

He took the lead, stepping with a newfound confidence. “Wait!” You urged. “What if there's more lasers?”

He looked over his shoulder, shrugging. “Maybe, but we'll just have to find out.”

Slightly irked, you followed still. After about ten minutes, you were both utterly lost. Others had joined and started to play as little ducklings following their mother, but you supposed it would be hypocritical to judge when you had done the very same.

“We've been around the floor a hundred times!” He exaggerated, brushing his hands through his hair.

“Have some patience.” You bit. “You're freaking me out.”

Going back to the stairwell, you retraced your steps and started again.

Using the method of right-hand-to-wall as you typically followed in video games, you began to lead in front.

More minutes passed and more dead ends appeared. The windows where the main walls of the building showed the empty night sky and the next door building reflecting the moon light still. You checked your phone, seeing a flashing ‘2:32: left on your timer. Thirty minutes had passed and floor one wasn't even completed.

“Shit.” You started to run back to the start, practically having it memorized by now. You ran into the stairwell again, wincing when you half-expected the doorway to laser you down but continuing in your rush when it hadn't. The doorway to the third floor was locked, as expected, but different from the second floor, it had a small pin pad on its knob.

How obvious. All fourteen of you had spent over thirty minutes looking for a door when it was behind you all along. “We need digits!” You yelled into the doorway.

A few stragglers waited at the doorway, not having any use while most continued their search. “Look for any numbers!” The man shouted louder in your echo, leaving the room to burst into murmurs and leave plants and paintings tossed around.

The teenager came running to the door, panting but with a satisfied smile on her face. “Look! It has a ‘4’ on the back!”

The players all cheered, and you held the painting backwards to inspect. “How do we know what order to place them in?” You muttered to yourself. In a matter of minutes all of the paintings that carried numbers were laid in front of the doorway.

‘4’ ‘2’ ‘3’ ‘1’

“There's way too many options.” An old man with a hunched back spoke up darkly. “There's no time to do this for every floor.”

“Flip them.” Your club companion said.

On the fronts were simple but quite beautiful paintings of scenery. A pond, a park, a forest, and a beach.

An idea shot into your mind as you inspected the order of them. Kneeling in front of them, you arranged the paintings in the order of their backgrounds. Sunset, to noon, to afternoon, and finally to dusk. “Read them out to me in this order.” You told the man, who nodded as his eyes lit up in realization.

At the keypad, you fingered the digits he yelled out to you. “Three, two, four, one!”

It clicked open. You cheered and beckoned for the rest. After the first puzzle was solved, eight more went by smoothly. It was the same concept, only getting slightly harder as it went up. Stages of a frog, generations of a family, technological ages of humanity, and so forth until the 10th door was unlocked. Only one more door and you would be out.

When the door opened, you were stunned to see that all the walls were glass. The entire room was see-through, including the outer walls and the view from the height was nearly nauseating from all the clarity. “Everyone…” Someone called out in fear. They stood on one of the last steps behind the group. “Water is rising.” They lifted their feet up, revealing sopping wet shoes and ends of her pant legs. She scrambled to the upper steps, and everyone followed suit to get away from the water. This time, there was a clear red door on the other side of the room.

You swallowed harshly at the rapidly rising water, realizing that even closing the door behind you didn't make it any slower as it seemed to ooze out of the very walls themselves. Cubicles showed themselves, lighting up on the floor in a blinding white. “One player per room. All living players must solve their puzzles before the time runs out.”

The buzzer went off and doors opened to allow all fourteen of them into the rooms. The man and her were parallel, eyes meeting with you showing signs of nerve and him seemingly gaining confidence on his own.

A screen rose in front of you, sticking out of the water and coming to life with a riddle on its screen. “What does everyone's screen say?” You asked, hoping to collectively solve it.

“Something about two birds.” The teen replied with a desperate look to you.

“Mine is a math equation.” Another said.

The old man piped up, beginning to read off his own question though he was easily drowned out in all of the noise.

You looked to your own, which seemed daunting on its own. What happens when you get it wrong?

Your answer came in a nightmare. The old man had selected a random option in hopes of guessing correctly, and everyone could only watch on as his cube was immediately flooded to the brim with water. His lights turned bright red and you turned your gaze away and covered your ears to prevent the sight and sounds from implanting themselves in your head forever.

When it all got quiet, you checked your phone again.

‘0:08’

Eight more minutes. Your cube's water was already to your waistline and climbing still. You focused on your own question although the urge to answer other's pleas for assistance and confusion nagged at you insistently. The sound of more water and more screams and choked gargling was all that was left in the room as your water rose above your head, too.

‘What is the last number in the sequence?

895371’

You scanned over the sequence repeatedly, seeing flashes of white lights turning red around your peripherals and one turning green.

Entering a sloppy, ‘1’ in the keypad, you kicked up to the top of the cube to gasp in what little air was left at the top. Looking around you saw no one except for the club man. Your own cube's lights flashed green, and the click of the doors could vaguely be heard above the sound of rushing water. You both dived under, pushing at your doors.

His budged open immediately and he swam up and towards the exit door that lead up. You kept pushing at your own, heart racing and running out of air, but nothing made it open. Going topside again, you shouted out. “My door is jammed!”

He stopped in place, the few inches left of water between him and the ceiling showing his wet lashes looking down his nose at you. Clenching his jaw, he looked rapidly between the door and you. Finally, he clicked his tongue and pushed off the glass to your area.

In sync, you held your breaths for the last time and swam down to the door. You nodded, signaling for him to pull and you to push. After a few tries, the water-jammed door pried open and you swam together towards the red door.

You tried your hardest to ignore the lifeless floating bodies that were at the top of each cube.

It opened outwards, the two of you being flung against the wall by the water that rushed down the stairwell. A shout of pain left his lips below you and you scrambled up, panting out and apologizing for cornering him and possibly bruising his ribs.

The water didn't stop there, following you both as you ran up more stairs and onto the roof. Hands on your knees, you coughed up the remaining water from your throat and lungs and sat down, elbows shakily supporting your body. What had happened in the last three hours? You had just witnessed thirteen people die in one night when you hadn't seen a single death in your life prior.

Who put you here, and for what purpose were you playing these games?

Your phone chimed. “Game cleared. Visa days added: 3 days remaining.”

You and the man stood alone on the roof, not a single other survivor from the game alive. You weren't sure if there was any person in this world left alive, either, besides from you and him.

“You owe me.” He said with an ominous one. “Don't forget that.”

“I won't.” You promised. Then after a long pause, you added your name in a smaller tone.

“Niragi.” Was all he offered, and you briefly wondered how just over three hours ago, this man was meek and clearly a pushover in every aspect of his life. Now, everything about him seemed straighter and more intimidating.

Sticking by him, you were unsure if it meant being thrown to the wolves at the first sight of danger or defended in a play of arrogance. Though your common sense urged you to leave at the first sign of his distraction, you stayed firmly planted by his side.

Perhaps there was some benefit to this strange and peculiar world, no more work and no more rent. Safety was in numbers, after all, and having a guy like Niragi might save your ass again.

This is not a Niragi fic, although it may seem like it at first; more like a toxic and controlling relationship (think Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Grey). Changing his character slightly, Niragi has not attempted to SA anyone and will not in the future- his character had so much potential beyond that. His appearance change (piercings) doesn't start in his personal life like in canon and his job as a game designer was an office job instead of a WFH job

[onlyswan]

summary: in which music waters a wilting flower on a chilly autumn night and jungkook is stuck by the glue onto you.

> idol!jungkook x reader / strangers to lovers / fluff, slight angst / wc: 4.4k

> warnings: mentions of oc’s toxic ex bf, slutshaming, and alcohol

> in which masterlist!

note: the in which couple’s first encounter reveal?! has arrived with a bam cameo at the end <3 recommend reading the ‘first times’ in the masterlist next if you haven’t yet :D as always reblogs and/or feedback are appreciated 🥰 and yes. i love beabadoobee.

—

“sir, will you help me-“ you panic, eyes pleading for help as you look between the door and the owner of the music shop. “i think it’s stuck.”

“oh! of course, of course. i apologize about that.” the middle-aged man, quick to your aid, ducks out of the counter. “i ought to get this thing changed soon. spent a fortune on it but it’s not doing what it’s supposed to do.”

you copy his chuckle, watching him push up the still half-closed door before shoving it open to the side.

“thank you!” you politely bow your head before stepping out.

“come back again next time! i’ll give you a discount!”

“really? a discount? then i have no choice but to come back!” you whine playfully, smiling at the promise of saving money in the future. you present him another bow. “have a good night! close the door now, it’s cold.”

the 90’s love song playing inside becomes muffled when the transparent glass completely shuts out the outside world once again. instead, the lead vocalist’s voice is replaced by a golden and dulcet humming by a stranger.

you scan for the source of the sound, and at once, you discover it when you whip your head to the right. scrolling through his phone, he’s sitting at the far corner of the old wooden bench— the same boy who was paying at the counter when you stumbled into the store. unbeknownst to yourself, your heart skips a beat. you were transported to a field of flowers when you brushed past him, and you met his big brown eyes briefly when he turned to leave.

burdened by the heavy and uneven weight you’re carrying on your shoulders, you decide to rest on the other side of the bench while you wait for a taxi to pass by. you spare a glance at the oversaturated band posters on the off-white wall behind it before sitting down as their audience.

the humming ceases when he feels your presence beside him.

you cautiously set down the padded guitar bag on the ground, securing it in between your thighs, anxious of getting so much as a scratch on the precious instrument. it’s a dear friend’s birthday tomorrow, and you only found the time and the money to purchase her gift today.

you check your wrist watch. 10:13pm. you fell asleep in the library while studying for a test, and because of that, you’re probably going to be home at around midnight. this place is pretty far and secluded, but apparently it’s known for its good and rare finds. you went here with your friend two months ago just to window shop and one of their bass guitars caught her eye. naturally, you couldn’t resist. her birthday gift has to be this. for some reason, it just feels easier to spend money on your loved ones than yourself.

will you even manage to send a birthday message before you pass out to sleep again? god, you hope so.

you feel your empty stomach grumbling angrily, and you’re not sure if it makes a sound or if it’s all just in your muddled head. yup, you missed dinner, too.

“i’m so hungry.” you cry out quietly, resting your forehead on the neck of the guitar.

fine, maybe you subconsciously said it a little louder than quiet. it was a shot in the dark, curious if the stranger beside you would have any sort of reaction. you hope for a glance at most. he has beautiful eyes, ones you almost feel envious of.

“me too.“ the sulky response slips out of his mouth with an exhausted sigh.

the sound of his voice makes you perk up in pleasant surprise, gazing at him with an amused, tight-lipped smile. on the other hand, he stiffens from the realization of what he just did. he stops manspreading, straightening himself up and awkwardly clearing his throat.

“sorry… it was a reflex.”

“it’s okay.” you reassure him with a quick laugh.

you tear your eyes away from him, watching the moths frantically flying under the street lamps. it’s silent for a moment, except for the shop owner’s on-going playlist and the occassional singing of the abundant crickets.

you face him again with a flair of innocence.

“do you want a granola bar?”

he lifts his head to look at you, the screen’s light reflecting on his tan skin, and that grants you the ability to see his breathtaking eyes. there might’ve been countless instances when they hated how small this bench is, most likely a tight fit for three people, but right now, you wouldn’t have it in any other way.

“it’s just that… i’m going to eat it and it feels rude to eat alone knowing you’re hungry, too.”

his teeth sinks in lower lip, contemplating for a few beats before nodding his head. “yeah, sure. i’d like one. thank you.”

you bring out the tupperware from your messenger bag, unfastening the sides open and separating the lid. as your own wordless way of telling him that they’re not poisoned, you grab one first, taking a small bite, before offering the container to him.

“here you go.”

you stifle a cackle when he pulls down the sleeves of his black hoodie as if he’s preparing to eat a whole course meal. he’s so fucking cute, gentle and dainty while picking up the granola bar along with the parchment paper underneath it. that leaves you with three left. you set down the tupperware between the two of you, loosely putting the lid on top.

“huh?” he exclaims with big round eyes, hand hovering over his mouth as he chews. “did you make this?”

the question makes you wince nervously. he didn’t like it? you could’ve sworn it's the best batch you’ve made so far. “uhm, if it tastes good, then i did. if not-”

“no, no. i like it.” he giggles, waving his hand to shoo your worries. “it’s not too sweet, and it’s soft? how did you make it chewy?!”

“oh-” you breathe out a sigh, clutching your chest in relief. “i just follow a recipe i found online! my neighbor gives me honey like every week so i found a use for it.”

“well, it’s really good. thank you.” he gives you a kind smile, scrunching his nose before resuming to eat the snack you spent your sunday night preparing.

and it’s quiet again. you look the other way to hide the proud smile playing on your lips, the fluttering of your unguarded heart raging and stubborn. maybe if you put food in your mouth, you’ll stop talking… not.

“i’m ___.”

he swallows before replying, distinctive dimples near his mouth making an appearance. “i’m jungkook.”

jungkook. it suits him so well. it’s perfect.

“do you play the guitar?“ jungkook asks curiously, motioning at the instrument you’re holding.

“oh, no- i just got this for my friend’s birthday. she’s in a band.” you share with a chuckle. “what about you? what do you need those giant speakers for?”

“ahh, they are big, aren’t they?” he scrunches his nose, glancing at the two boxes beside his feet. “i just figured buying new speakers would motivate me to work on music more.”

“are you a singer?” you gasp dramatically for effect. “or perhaps, a rapper?”

“i mean…” he smiles sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “i guess i can rap, too.”

“that’s cool. i think you have a pretty talking voice, too.”

“aigoo, thank you so much.” he jokingly bends down his torso for a bow, clasping his hands together with the small remaining piece of granola bar in between before taking it in between his teeth.

the harmony of your laughter bleeds through the chilly air, providing your hearts a wave of much needed warmth.

“thank you too. you gave me an idea what to gift my friends next time.”

“speakers?” his face lights up like of a kid unboxing presents beside the christmas tree. you’ve never met anyone who looks this passionate at the mention of the said device— this whole interaction is giving you the urge to dive deeper into the world of music beyond the sphere of being a casual listener. “they’ll love it. it’s the best gift for me personally.”

you tilt your head to the side. “you know a lot about them?”

“hmmm, i don’t know.” he purses his lips as he hums, eyes falling on the ground as he ponders. “they’re important for shows and work so i naturally learn a lot about them… i often look for reviews and new releases. it’s like a hobby?”

“really? then i’m sold. i need you.”

the carelessly casual words escape your mouth before you can think twice.

“need me?” he repeats your word in surprise, pointing at himself.

you disguise yourself with a nod and a coy smile, acting nonchalant as if you’re not screaming inside. you’ve always been this shameless when you have nothing to lose, but he’s just so pretty that you want to learn shit like what his favorite food is and whether your zodiac signs are compatible even though you don’t believe in them.

“help me choose the best speakers to buy, one year from now. i don’t know anything about music at all, so i always have a hard time with gifts.” you’re pouting sadly by the end, your words bearing the weight of truth, albeit you’re also using them as an excuse to glue yourself onto him.

in your mind, five seconds feels like it’s stretching into eternity. he breaks out into a shy grin, playing with the parchment paper left in his hand before folding it over and over again until it becomes the same size as the nail of his thumb. he stuffs it into the pocket of his washed denim jeans.

“okay then, i should help you. give me your number?”

your hands graze each other as you lay hold of his phone, clueless instruments of your and jungkook’s youthful impulses and anticipation.

“do you have other ___’s in your contacts? should i name myself ‘___ from mj’s music box’?” you inquire half-jokingly, raising your eyebrows at him.

”ey, come on. there’s no need for that.” he chortles, staring back at you with an unnamed emotion in his eyes, but you quickly revert your attention to the screen and you don’t notice.

“i don’t think you’ll remember me just by my name a year from now, though.” you mutter to yourself as you tap on the screen. after that, you tap the call button to save his number on your phone as well.

you’re already handing him back his phone when he finally constructs a reply-

“is that so? then make it difficult for me to forget.”

and the air gets robbed from your lungs. it makes you wonder how many hearts he has broke, being this handsome and charming, and if you’ll even drag this out and stick around long enough to find out.

“be careful of your words. i’m pretty competitive.” you playfully taunt him, softly tugging his wrist to put the device on his delicately wide palm. “don’t blame me when i end up being the only person you think about.”

he matches your energy, a cocky smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he shakes his head. “psh, why would i? that doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”

why are you thinking of ways to keep this flowing instead of retreating and coming up with an obvious excuse to leave? as always, you find yourself most liberated when you meet new people, even when you know they’ll only be a fleeting presence in your life, here to leave a stain or a scar. you wish a taxi never arrives. you wish to be left stranded here for the rest night so you can hear him talk about the first song he ever wrote and you can tell him about the stupid song your first boyfriend wrote for you.

but alas, the universe intervenes with your fantasies and the approaching blazing headlights almost blind your blurry eyes.

you wave your hand to hail the taxi, and you smile at jungkook one more time. “time for me to go.”

“oh, okay.”

the vehicle parks infront of the bench. he watches you hurriedly toss the granola bar you never finished into the transparent tupperware, a feeling akin to disappointment gnawing at his guts.

“wait- weren’t you waiting for a taxi, too?” you wonder out loud as you slide the resealed container inside your bag.

“i’m fine, i have a ride. you go take it- oh, oh- let me help you with that-” he stands up abruptly when he sees you struggling to stand up, lifting the guitar to relieve you of the barrier.

“thanks, jungkook.” you laugh airily, getting on your feet, closer to him than you’ve ever been. he’s taller than you originally thought, and it’s hard to ignore the fact that his flexing forearms are veiny… (you have a suspicion that he’s doing it on purpose. the guitar bag isn’t that heavy.) those, paired with that pretty baby face— he’s so manly and so adorable in a way you’ve never seen in anyone else. he’s a beautiful, refreshing sight to behold.

you’re holding your breath, as if that would freeze the hands of the clocks, halt the earth from spinning on its axis because it’s the only way for you to stay without blaming yourself. the love songs haven’t stopped playing, and a slow acoustic sets out to delude you that this is a scene from an indie romance film, a beginning of something beautiful, but it rarely is. it never is.

his bunny teeth sink into his bottom lip, tainting it a darker shade of pink, before his tongue sneaks out to lick it. “you can go inside.” he generously says, slightly raising his arms to gesture at your cherished gift he’s grasping securely.

you only nod in understanding, walking past him and proceeding to open the door to slide into the backseat. you assist him in putting the guitar inside the taxi and over your lap, and you force your brain to shut down before you can speak again and your friskiness gets you into trouble.

“get home safe, ___!” he brightly chirps, waving at you goodbye.

your cheeks are starting to hurt from all the giddy smiles, but you just can’t stop, not when he has this contagious and bubbly expression painted on his face that’s simply impossible not to adore.

“you too, jungkook.”

his meticulous eyes briefly wander around your figure, checking if you’re too close, and then he carefully slams the door shut. you sink into your seat, swallowing the lump in your throat before telling the taxi driver your address.

you don’t want to think too much, so you close your eyes, hoping to get more sleep to recharge your mental and social batteries. unsurprisingly, you grow restless not even five minutes after. the soothing piano ballads faintly playing in the radio aren’t much help either. an infuriated scream hangs on the tip of your tongue, and you bite it down into dust. instead, you dish out your phone from the pocket of your bag to save jungkook’s number… but then the venomous voice of your ex calling you degrading names ranging from ‘an ungrateful, attention-seeking bitch’ to ‘a slut’ after you broke up with him echo in your tumultuous head, and you begin feeling pathetically small and nauseous. for a split moment you find yourself contemplating whether you should just delete it or not. out of guilt or out of fear, maybe both, you’re not quite certain.

what ultimately pull you out from the dark abyss of relentless overthinking are the first notifications you ever receive with his name attached to them.

Jungkook:

hey this is JK

i just thought of this now ?!..

trade my music equipment expertise for your magical granola bar recipe? :)

you bury your face in your hands, silently crying out— “ah shit, this is so annoying. why does he have to be so cute? i need a drink.”

—

“i’m hungry.” the grumpy complaint spills from your tongue now that bam, your not-so little happy pill, is out from sight.

“me too.” jungkook juts out his bottom lip, lifting his head from your shoulder to look at you. “do you still have strawberry wafers in your bag?”

his question prompts you to hug it defensively. no, just no. “i’m saving them for emergencies-”

he puts his index finger infront of his lips, shushing you with a shake of his head. he tuts. “i know. this is an emergency, baby.”

cornered at the armrest of the couch, you have nowhere else to go. you unwillingly surrender to satisfying his craving, grimacing as he starts rummaging through your bag. this is exactly why you told him you should eat brunch before bringing in bam for his grooming, but jungkook insisted that it won’t take too long. sure, maybe the grooming session itself won’t… but the waiting in line part? that definitely took too long. making an appointment is technically futile when you’re visiting on a weekend.

“mhmmm, i love it.” he moans in satisfaction, devouring the slice of wafer in only two consecutive bites.

you glare at him when he offers you the plastic bag with a teasing smile, seizing it from his grip to snack on the treat while you continue to wait at the lounge area. you’re the only fur parents left here, the last clients before the staff goes on their hour-long lunch break. the sign on the door has been flipped to say ‘CLOSED’.

jungkook wraps one arm around you, pulling you closer by the shoulder and cupping your face with his warm hand to plant an apologetic kiss on your cheek. “i’ll cook you a hearty meal for dinner when we get home.”

you melt in his hold, leaning further against the backrest to release the tension from your body bred by hunger and impatience.

“really?” you feign nonchalance as you make the futile attempt of hiding the pleased smile curving on your lips. “i want chicken. the one you made before, with the creamy and spicy sauce.”

your mouth is practically watering as you describe the dish, the smell and taste of his cooking still vivid in your senses’ memory. it’s making the food you’re eating painfully insipid, but it’s better than nothing.

“and wine, too. no- actually, i’m craving tequi- argh, i’ll settle with wine.”

“okay! chicken and wine for dinner!” he agrees straight away, pressing a kiss on your temple before pinching one more stick of wafer between his fingers. he breaks it into two halves and gives one of them to you.

you accept it wordlessly, but a peculiar feeling is slithering its way into the tight confines of your heart, and you can’t withdraw your eyes from closely observing your gorgeous boyfriend. he brushes off the crumbs that fell on his white t-shirt and his lap after he finishes his share, still chewing as he tenderly takes the empty plastic from your hand. just as you predicted, he finds entertainment in folding it as small as possible.

“this is giving me déjà vu.”

“déjà vu?” he tilts up his head, doe eyes widening as you’ve captured his attention.

“uh-huh, you know when we first met…” you trail off, sending him a threatening look when the confused expression on his face stays unchanging. “you remember, right?”

his mouth hangs open before his eyebrows knit in irritation, posture straightening as he stammers with his defense. “what kind of question is that? you’re hurting my feelings- you were wearing a varsity jacket with the number 6 on it!”

“jungkook, i wore that like everyday for four months.”

his expression softens, pierced lip forming a pout. “do you even know that i-i… ah, i’ll show you instead!”

“show me what?”

he digs his hand in the pocket of his dark blue denim jeans, dishing out his wallet. you peer at him with curiosity as he rapidly unzips it to comb through his cards, pausing at his driver’s license and removing the white paper hiding behind it.

“no way-” you splutter, nearly choking on your own spit as your hunch grows enormously.

he unfolds it to reveal the faded blue ink that writes the most crucial and specific details of the first time the universe conspired to make your paths cross.

“look, i still have the receipt from the night! november 11…”

you notice him squinting at the faint characters, and you momentarily disconnect from the surge of mixed emotions to pull out his prescription glasses from the collar of his t-shirt. you affectionately wear it on him, weaving your fingers through his hair to brush away the loose strands from his bun blocking the lens.

“thanks baby- it’s november 11, 2017. at 9:55pm!”

jungkook originally kept this receipt for a month incase he had to return the speakers due to unforeseen defect or damage. but then you never stopped talking, and you became the only person he thinks of 24/7 just as your coquettish warning told. the thought of throwing it out never occured to him. instead, he preserved it in his wallet because he carries it with him everywhere he goes. he would even argue that it’s his most important property in it. he can have his credit cards cancelled then replaced, but this piece of paper is once in a lifetime.

mj’s music box closed down due to the pandemic. he hasn’t told you this, didn’t want to break your heart when he found out. he knows that you treasure the place as much as him, if not more.

meanwhile, the new-found knowledge has rendered you speechless, unblinking, buffering.

“what’s with that face? you’ve never seen this in my wallet?” he quizzes you in bewilderment, smiling humorously.

“of course i haven’t! you want me going through your wallet without permission?!” you whine, hugging his arm and hiding yourself behind his back to calm the intense pumping of your heart.

oh, your sweet, sweet jungkook— he never runs out of way to make you fall in love with him all over again.

“my love, you know i don’t care about things like that.” he chuckles, astonished by how you still highly value and respect his privacy and boundaries despite how long you’ve been together. it just occurs to him then, that at the very core of your relationship, this is probably why he never once regretted moving in with you. he says it all the time, but he just feels so goddamn lucky to have you in his life. he loves you. he loves everything about you. even the things he doesn’t like, he loves.

“aren’t you going to eat that?”

you’re overflowing with his love, you can’t stomach anything else.

“i won’t.”

“i’ll indulge myself then.” he cages your hand in his, raising it for the wafer to reach his lips. he bites it all the way down like a bunny eating a carrot, ending the journey with a chaste kiss on your knuckle. “you’re too quiet… are you crying?”

you shake your head profusely, tightening your embrace. “i love you so much, i can’t think. i just want to hug you.”

he smells a different type of sweet nowadays— more manly, more mature, binding you in an enrapturing spell, and with a suble hint of a baby scent that somehow makes him much more intoxicating. it’s overwhelming to think about— the amount of perfume bottles you’ve bought and consumed after asking one another if they smell too basic or too strong; the amount of times jungkook changed his wallet and took the receipt along with him because it only felt right.

“mkay, i’m not going anywhere.” he whispers, nosing at your hair.

and so, he stays stuck by the glue onto you as he gulps down a bottle of water, as he returns his wallet in his pocket with grunts of difficulty, as he deletes a promotional text on his phone sent by his service provider. he suspects that you’ve already fallen asleep. after all, you did spend the entire night dancing to the songs he sang along to. you wore the crocheted blanket you made as a cape and a dress, flowing with your graceful movements controlled by the lyrics and the beat and the melody and his compliments and his giggles.

he’s proven wrong when you slowly turn your head, cheek squished against his bicep. with heavy eyelids, you search for his hands, tangling them with your lonely ones.

“want to hear something silly about that day?”

“i’m all ears.” he beams eagerly, watching you twiddle with his long and slender fingers.

“do you know why i offered you my food?”

“because you couldn’t let a pretty boy like me succumb to starvation?”

“weeeell, there’s that…” you admit to his confident guess. “but aside from that, i wanted to see your nails closely.”

“my nails?”

you make a noise of confirmation as you trace his tattoos, a laugh seeping from the cracks of your relaxed demeanor. “to see if they were clean and trimmed or not.”

“so…” jungkook, the most hygienic man you’ve ever met, is digesting what you just confessed to him. “if they were dirty, you never would’ve told me your name?”

“hmm, yeah. because i always badgered my ex about it and you know how that relationship ended, so i thought enforcing those type of rules would help because i don’t want to deal with that shit again.” you cringe at younger you’s naivety and desperation, smiling shyly. “and it kind of… worked out so well? it sounds so funny to me now. i actually love myself for that.”

“fuck, baby,” he sighs.

he can’t imagine how a human being could ever dare to treat you with anything but gentleness. literally, can’t. it makes him sick to his stomach, makes the blood in his veins boil. he feels disturbed by the memories that still haunt you, and he feels angry because he is powerless and he can’t erase them no matter how hard he tries.

he caresses your face, planting doting kisses on your lips. the ghost of his affection lingers, like an invisible lipstick mark. “i wish i met you sooner.”

“what are you saying? i think we met at the perfect time!” you console his frustration, grinning when the epiphany lands on top of your bittersweet flashbacks. “out of the 365 days of the year, we met at 11/11. you’re my wish come tru- bam!”

the shocked, high-pitched squeal freefalls from your mouth when bam excitedly jumps on your laps out of nowhere, the weight of his upper half crushing your thighs underneath him. the dog smiles at you, panting.

“bam, i missed you but i was just about to tell your dad something romantic!”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[transforming]

Dane's Unexpected Vacation

Here's a little something I put together, as a commission for @tf-lover, who's been such an amazing friend of mine in the TF community, with a shoutout to his amazing work and his collaborations with @mrwavellswaps! Enjoy!

-----

It had been a particularly long week for Dane De Bruin. 

It was nearly a year ago when his life changed forever, from being a skinny young teacher who was tired of his life and having to deal with annoying teenagers, to a bona fide magical hunk, and now having a boyfriend in the form of the marvelous Mr Wavell. That was a whirlwind, magic carpet ride of a journey all on its own, not only becoming such a stud but also discovering he probably had powers of his own. Dane worked and trained with Mr Wavell, in the real world and in their home in the pocket dimension, to figure out what magic he has deep within him, as he channeled Wavell’s powers to help others find true happiness and fulfill their hidden desires.

He knew that loads of guys had a kink for soft, squishy pecs like his, and as much as he could make money appear from the snap of his fingers, he also thought about the thousands of pounds he could earn just from showing off his man-tits. That said, he began venturing into social media, posting at least once a week on Instagram for thirsty fans who’d be willing to pay him anything to support him, and even send him cute drawings that would especially highlight his knockers. It got a kick out of him, and in a way, he was helping people feel satisfied and fulfilled, and he was feeling great about that.

On top of all that, most recently he had been helping out Mr Wavell collect testimonials on the Homo Bomb he had dropped on the town of Bellmare, dividing up their research across the town’s residents. It was quite fascinating to see how the magical bomb changed the townspeople, varying from the simple change of straight men turning gay, already gay men turning into their fantasies or crushes, to the rare anomalies of women becoming men. The beach town was definitely a notable case study for the books, and it was worth examining on how happy people could be with the help of sudden magic being dropped upon them, all thanks to his boyfriend.

-----

However, in the past few days, Dane started to notice that he was getting quite tired, and it threw off everything he had been doing. He felt less motivated to go to the gym, and without a nice enough pump to show off, he delayed posting anything new on Instagram. Even channeling Wavell’s magic for his own use has been more strenuous than normal, and with Wavell busy collecting his side of testimonies from Bellmare, they haven’t had much time to themselves: whether it was to have a bit of fun in the bedroom, to work on strengthening Dane’s magical abilities, or simply to have lunch together.  It was similar to the draining feeling he experienced long before when he was a teacher, dealing with these pesky kids who didn’t listen to him, or dealing with an admin that ignored his needs for support in the classroom – except that he was drained from everything that he enjoyed doing as Dane. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Dane knew he was being stretched thin, and that he was on the verge of majorly burning out. He was in desperate need of a break. One day, when he finally mustered up enough courage, he eventually sat down with his boyfriend.

“Wavell, babe, I need to talk to you,” Dane said, looking forlorn and exhausted.

Wavell walked over from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine in his hand, handing one to his lover. “What is it, Dane?” he asked as they both sat down.

Dane sighed. “It’s been so amazing spending time with and falling in love with you babe. I’ve loved every moment we’ve spent together, and honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything else. The magic, our relationship and getting to channel your magic, the sex…” Dane chuckled a bit. “Even this Homo Bomb has been crazy interesting to observe.”

Wavell smiled and wrapped his arm around Dane’s waist as he took a sip of his pinot. “And I love you so much, baby. I still can’t believe you’re my boyfriend after all this time. How long has it been? What, nearly ten months since I made you into Dane?”

“Yeah, just about.” Dane smiled, as he took a sip of his wine. “I love you too, babe. Like I said, everything we’ve done together has made me feel so much happier, and life feels so worthwhile with you…” Dane paused, hesitating for a moment, but enough for Wavell to notice.

“I can sense a ‘but’ coming in,” Wavell said, kissing Dane’s cheek. “Dane, don’t worry, you know you can always tell me anything.”

Dane sighed once more, as he slumped his shoulders and finished his glass of wine in one gulp. “I can’t exactly pinpoint why, but I’m just feeling really drained. I’ve noticed it in the little things. Not feeling enough hype to work out, I don’t feel as strong as I know I could be after all our training and after using your powers, and in general I just feel a bit tired.”

Wavell looked down, thinking about it for a moment. In his experience, he knew that magic was enough to keep one energetic and dynamic, but he’d also heard enough stories of other warlocks and possessors of magic to know that not getting enough rest and relaxation could completely destroy their magic and revert them back to what they used to be, or even worse, drain them out of existence. A few of his own friends had disappeared in the past. He pulled Dane close, kissed him softly, and let him rest his head on his lap, 

“You definitely need some R&R, Dane,” Wavell replied, smiling sweetly as he caressed Dane’s hair. “Your powers are still relatively new, and I don’t want to see you completely drained out when you’re still growing them to their full potential.”

Dane felt tears well up in his eyes, and after a deep breath, he felt them stream down his cheeks. “I know, babe. I just… I didn’t wanna let you down.” Dane sniffled, while Wavell rubbed his V-tapered back, comforting him.

“You’ll never let me down, babe. Never. But you shouldn’t ever be ashamed to tell me you’re tired, or to ask for a break when you need one.” Wavell wiped the tears from Dane’s cheeks, as he ran his hand down Dane’s arm to calm him. 

Wavell smirked as he lifted Dane’s head off his lap and embraced him. “You deserve this break. And luckily, I know just the guy to help you out.” 

Dane raised an eyebrow. “Who is this guy?”

Wavell chuckled. “His name’s Drew, and he runs this new resort where magicians like us can go to relax. It’s a new venture he’s exploring, an idea that came to him when he was taking a break of his own after running Transformation College years ago.”

Dane’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘The guy who created Transformation College is back?’, he thought. “I thought he’d disappeared long ago. He’s around again?”

Wavell nodded. “Yep, he’s back, and he’s hoping, since he’s running a resort, he can take it a bit easier than last time. The college really burnt him out,” he chuckled, “but I think Drew’s Transformational Resort could benefit you. Plus, knowing him well, he’ll cover all your expenses.”

Dane smiled, and kissed his lover with a renewed passion. “I fucking love you Wavell.”

“And I love you more, Dane. You deserve a break, and don’t worry about the Homo Bomb testimonies, I can cover that. For now, all you need to do is relax, yeah?” Wavell smiled brightly. The couple got up and headed towards the front door. Holding hands, they stepped out of the house and towards a little tropical hut with a bamboo door on the eastern end of Wavell’s pocket dimension. “Here we are. Just straight through that door and you’ll be at the resort.”

As he held the doorknob, Dane looked into Wavell’s eyes one last time and held his hand. “I’m gonna miss you. I wish you could come with me,” his voice quivered as he said that to his lover.

“I’m gonna miss you too, babe. But I know if I’m gonna be there, you might not be able to recuperate fully, considering we still don’t know what your magical powers are, if you have any. Plus, I don’t know if we’d even be able to relax at all with how much sex we’d have,” Wavell chuckled. He squeezed Dane’s hand once more, kissing him softly, before Dane opened the door and entered through.

-----

Once he was fully through, he was quickly blinded by a bright white light. Dane closed his eyes tightly, then when he opened them again, he found himself on the shore of a pristine white beach, on a secluded island completely surrounded by miles and miles of ocean. He could feel the water wade between toes, and the sand stick to his soles, as he looked around, the door to Wavell’s dimension nowhere to be seen. He then noticed that he was shirtless and just wearing a pair of beach shorts, which surprised him. “Woah, this is trippy,” he muttered to himself as he walked off the beach onto the grass further in, seeing a collection of small beachside villas, two larger buildings, and what appeared to be a lobby, where a young, shirtless and handsome stud stood behind a desk, holding a small flower in hand.

Dane walked over to the desk, but before he could speak, the young hunk turned and smiled. “Dane De Bruin?” he asked.

Dane stepped back. “H-how did you know?”

The handsome stud, who looked around college age, smirked. “Wavell told me everything before you arrived.” Dane chuckled, Wavell was always one step ahead of him. “I’m Drew, by the way,” the himbo-looking stud said, reaching out his hand for Dane to shake.

Dane reciprocated the handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Drew. Did Wavell already tell you why I’m here?” he replied. Drew simply nodded, and quickly turned around to grab a passion fruit tequila welcome cocktail for Dane, handing it to him.

“We offer a lot of services, but our main purpose here at Drew’s Transformational Resort is magical rejuvenation, helping magicians such as yourself regain control over your powers, and come back feeling relaxed and reborn,” Drew smirked naughtily as he spoke. Luckily, Dane didn’t notice. Drew led Dane down a small, rustic path through the resort, passing by the restaurant and then the spa, all of it looked amazing and luxurious. They stopped at a villa, and Drew opened the door. It was a simple space, but a beautiful one too: a king-sized bed with an extremely soft coconut mattress that felt like sleeping on a cloud; an outdoor shower surrounded by a wall filled with orchid vines; a door that led to the back porch, which had its own swimming pool and jacuzzi; and further out, Dane’s own little cove, which was surrounded by coconut palms and hibiscus trees. It was all spectacularly beautiful.

“Wow,” Dane said, blown away by it all.

“I really worked hard on curating unique experiences for all my guests,” Drew replied, smiling as Dane walked around his villa and took it all in. “And first on the agenda for your Ultimate Relaxation and Rejuvenation package is a whole spa day.” 

Dane turned and beamed at Drew. “Lead the way then Drew. I’m so excited for this.”

Drew smiled back and handed Dane his key card for the villa, before he led the way back up the path to the spa. As he looked around, Dane noticed a staff member at the hotel that looked like Drew. Then another one that drove a buggy. And then another at the front desk of the spa. The Drew working at the spa chuckled. “Yep, this whole resort is run by me.”

Dane laughed, impressed. “That’s amazing. So you could basically clone yourself?”

Spa-Drew nodded as he took things from Reception-Drew, leading Dane into a massage room. Dane quickly stripped out of his beach shorts and hopped onto the massage bed, while Spa-Drew placed a pair of AirPods into his ears, which began to play calming jazz music, canceling out all the noise and letting Dane doze off to sleep as Spa-Drew got to work. Once he knew that Dane was completely asleep, thanks to the binaural beats he added to keep Dane asleep in a deep trance, Drew took out a magical kit of essential oils, ointments, scrubs and tools. He smirked, and opened the bottle of plumeria essential oil.

Rubbing some between his hands, Drew began massaging Dane, kneading his back muscles and defining them even more till they were shredded. Reaching his shoulders, Drew built up Dane’s traps, and broadened his shoulders just a bit, his hands defining Dane’s delts, then worked his way down his arms and sculpting them like clay, defining them even further till they looked more youthful and strong. As Drew rubbed the oil all over Dane through the massage, a golden sun-kissed tan began to seep across Dane’s body, washing out his pale white skin until it looked like he spent a lot of time at the beach, and all his body hair receded, leaving him smooth and supple like a baby.

Drew smirked as he peeled off the towel that covered Dane’s ass. Lathering his cheeks up with more oil, he massaged them and rounded them up till they were bubbly yet firm with muscle. Finishing up the backside, Drew knuckled down on Dane’s thighs, shaping them till they were like well-defined tree trunks, and softly pressed on his calves till they gained a more aesthetic diamond shape. Upon reaching his feet, Drew squeezed every part –stretching Dane’s toes, knuckling his soles and pressing his ankles, till Dane’s feet shrunk by just a bit to accommodate his now slightly shorter stature.

Drew took a good look at Dane’s backside before turning him over, lifting Dane up with ease as if he were a paper doll. Once Dane was fully turned around, Drew chuckled as he continued pouring more oil all over Dane’s body. Fondling Dane’s pecs, Drew squeezed the soft, supple man-tits till the hairs receded and the pecs were more sculpted and firm with muscle, then worked down on his abs and sculpted each one till the ridges were sharply defined and looked like a washboard. Since the legs were technically done, Drew simply ran his oiled-up hands over the quads and shins, which caused any remaining leg hairs to completely disappear, then lifted up Dane’s arms to pour a strong, musky oil into it, rubbing it into his pits until the rest of his body began emanating the same intense smell.

Dane’s body was completely transformed, from looking like a big muscular Daddy to a young bodybuilder physique, but Drew wasn’t quite done yet. He smirked as he lifted the still-sleeping Dane across the room to a parlor chair, then grabbing the rest of his tools. First things first, Drew applied some shaving cream onto Dane’s face, massaging it deep into his jaw, then pulled out a razor and began shaving off all of Dane’s stubble and precious mustache. No stubble or facial hair was left behind, as Drew left Dane’s face squeaky clean like a baby. Grabbing the aftershave, he mixed it with some of the plumeria oil and massaged it into Dane’s face. It began to reshape, as his skin began to pull tighter as it regained its youth, pulling Dane back a few years in appearance till it looked like he was in his mid-20s, but the aftershave prevented him from growing any facial hair again. 

As he kept up his work, Drew massaged the upper part of Dane’s face, the golden tan creeping up and washing his face, as Drew reshaped Dane’s eyes to have a more almond-like, distinctly Asian shape, while plucking out his eyebrows to define them further and make them look less bushy. Carefully, Drew opened Dane’s eyes and popped in a pair of dark brown, permanent contacts, and pierced Dane’s ears with simple silver diamond studs, making him look even more youthful. Finally, Drew pulled out a pair of scissors, a shaver and a comb, and cut off Dane’s luscious locks till his hair was shorter, with tapered fades on the sides, like a jock’s type of haircut, then topped it off by rubbing some coconut oil into hi hair until Dane’s rich brown waves turned jet black and straight. Dane was too deep in slumber to notice anything amiss, or even feel what was going on, he just felt very relaxed.

Once it was all finished, within just an hour of Dane’s arrival at the resort, Spa-Drew handed Dane over to one of the other Drews, who took him back to his villa, and dressed him up in a tank top, gym shorts and sneakers, and pulled out the AirPods. The magic of the massage and the oils Drew used had definitely rejuvenated him, and had helped rebuild the strength of his magical powers, but gave him a completely new appearance.

It was around sunset when Dane finally woke up, feeling plenty rested after having slept for most of the day. He smiled. “Fuck me, that –” Dane shut his mouth. His voice. It sounded different. Younger, for sure, but it wasn’t the deep, gravelly voice he knew to be his own. He looked down and saw a fitter, more shredded body than his, and his eyes widened. He rushed over to the mirror, and finally saw what had happened – he looked nothing like how he came in – he now had the appearance of a young Asian jock.

“Do you like the new look?” Drew said, leaning against the doorframe leading to the cove. “Enjoy your vacation, Dane. Just relax, get away from it all, and enjoy the new body – it’s yours until you get bored of it!” Drew chuckled as he ran off, leaving Dane stunned.

How will he explain this to Wavell when he goes back?

-----

I hope you all enjoyed this story!

Speaking of commissions, I will be opening up commissions to everyone very soon - keep your eyes peeled for a detailed post on it!

You can also tip me over on ko-fi, if you can't or don't want to commission! You don't have to tip me, but any support is always welcome.

[casuallyawkardd]

Dating Miguel O’Hara

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x GN!Reader

Summary: An overview on what dating Miguel O’Hara would be like. Starting from how you meet/get together to actually dating and the long run

Warnings: fluff, angst, age gap kinda?? I picture reader in their early/mid 20s and Miguel in his early/mid 30s

A/N: Wow, two in one day, a rare sight indeed 😂 This is SFW but like if ya’ll want a NSFW it’s here and send in requests if you have them! Or just your own headcannons I don’t care I have no one to talk about this man with🤷‍♀️

Meeting

Miguel is a workaholic, so he doesn’t leave the Spider HQ hardly ever. He usually spends his time in his office/lab working, in the cafeteria on the hunt for an empanada and maybe in his private quarters if Lyla convinces him to take a break. Aside from going out to save the world, both his own and others, Miguel is basically a homebody....except for when it comes to one thing.

Coffee.

Miguel lives off of the stuff. His superhuman abilities can only keep him going for so long. He needs an extra boost to keep him going through the long nights. That being said, he’s very picky about his coffee and refuses to touch the liquid trash the cafeteria offers. Which is how he meets you.

You’re a college student, in your senior year actually, having spent the last three and a half years working at a small cafe for some spending money. It’s nothing special, somewhere that’s a secret delicacy to the locals of Nueva York. It’s quiet, which is what Miguel likes. It also stays open late, something he appreciates as well. 

The first one to fall is you. To you, he’s the handsome regular who always comes in ten minutes before closing, orders a Red Eye, requesting that a questionable amount of espresso shots be added to his black coffee, and grumbles a ‘thank you’ before leaving. Does he know you’re the person behind the hand that slides him his coffee? Probably not. But seeing his face every Tuesday/Thursday night is fine with you. 

Call it a middle school crush, if you will.

One night you decide to change the routine, preparing his drink before he’s even arrived. Like clockwork, the bell at the front door rings and he comes in. You throw him off as you present the coffee and tell him the total before he can get a word in. 

He finally looks at you, really looks at you. 

You think it’s the first time he’s actually lifted his head, making him even taller than he already seemed. Miguel pays, mutters the same ‘thank you’, but leaves a much more generous tip than usual. 

Catching Feelings

Things go on as usual, that is until Miguel notices that it’s no longer you serving him his drink. Whoever the new guy is, he doesn’t make the coffee like you do. It tastes shitty now. How do you even mess up black coffee???

When he finds out you switched to working mornings, he’s suddenly getting his coffee at the buttcrack of dawn. You take this as a good sign, daring to strike up conversation. You had tried in the past, but only ever received grunts as replies. To your surprise, he indulges you and even asks questions of his own.

“Why’d you switch shifts?”

You explain that you had started taking classes in the afternoon, prefering to end the day studying and doing homework rather than wiping counters and serving half awake customers. He keeps going.

“What are you studying?”

“How much longer until you graduate?”

“Any jobs lined up?”

It’s the kind of questions you’d hear from your distant relatives who don’t know you well enough to ask anything interesting. But when he does it...your stomach finds itself in knots. He’s no longer some handsome regular. Miguel is funny, in a sarcastic, blunt sort of way. When he chuckles, it rumbles in his chest. His smiles are small and brief, usually only one corner of his mouth turning up rather than a full on grin. 

Miguel doesn’t notice that you’ve wormed your way into his thoughts. It’s a slow process. The small talk building up on itself with every visit until one day he realizes he knows that when you were little, your older brother pushed you off the slide at the neighborhood park and that’s why you have a small scar on your temple. How you love your anatomy/phys class, but hate the TA that runs the lab. How it’s ironic that you make the best coffee he’s ever tasted and yet you personally prefer tea. 

Hell, even the other spiders are starting to become aware that something has him distracted. How his ‘quick coffee runs’ progressively taking longer and longer and that he smiles a little when he tosses the empty, cardboard cup in the trash. It’s all an inside joke until Peter B. opens his stupid mouth. 

“So who are they?”

“Who’s who?”

“Don’t be coy, O’Hara~”

Miguel doesn’t know what his friend is talking about until he’s alone later that night, watching his screens. He finds that he can’t focus as well as he usually does, thinking maybe he needs some coffee. The thought makes him freeze.

“....God dammit.”

Dating

It doesn’t take long before he asks you to be his partner. Not because he’s fallen ‘madly in love with you’, as Peter likes to say, the thought seeming childish to Miguel. Rather, it’s because he wants a reason to keep you around. 

Hear me out.

You go on a couple dates when his schedule allows it. Rather when Lyla/Jess/Peter convince him to touch some grass... He enjoys going to the science museum, tagging along with you to the gym and treating you to a nice dinner from time to time. But like I said....he’s a workaholic. What most would consider quality time with a potential new love interest, he views as time away from his job. Worrying that the multiverse will collapse at any minute if he’s not watching it. 

When he asks to be exclusive, it’s more of an excuse for himself to keep seeing you. He likes you, likes how he acts when he’s around you. Likes how you make him feel. Miguel wants a reason to keep seeing you and not have the reason be to satisfy his coffee fix.

It helps that you’re both busy, that way he doesn’t feel like the only one who has to take rain checks for date night. He was upfront from the beginning, telling you that he was Spiderman and letting you know what you were signing up for. That he’ll try to be attentive, especially in those crucial first months of dating, but that he wouldn’t be able to always give you the attention that you deserved.

It’s a lot to hear, but you agree to be with him. He’s too pretty to pass up, you think. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? It doesn’t work out and you break up? You’d been there and done that with past partners; it was nothing new. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for dating a man like Miguel O’Hara.

He’s got more pros than cons, being written in the books as your first ‘mature’ relationships. The honeymoon phase is short lived, only a few weeks as you two enjoy the new relationship. He shows you around HQ, you invite him to events at your college, the typical stuff. Afterwards, you two go back to being busy, you’ve got finals/graduation/job hunting and he’s got a Spider Society to run. The result being that you call each other more often than talking in person. Miguel doesn’t do texting, you thought you were reserved with your emojis, but Miguel brings a whole new form of dry to the table. With a call, at least you can pick up on his tone. 

Miguel, from the beginning, isn’t one for PDA. Reserving the times when he holds you and kisses you breathless for when the two of you are alone. That being said, he’s affectionate in his own way. Holding doors open, remembering what you like to order from your favorite food places, standing between you and anyone he deems as sketchy. Spoiler alert, it’s anyone who isn’t a fellow spider. He cares and you know it, which is what matters. 

Future

Okay girliepops, yes that’s a gender neutral term, let’s be honest with each other. 

If you want to be a for lifer with him, it’s not gonna be an easy road. He may have more pros than cons, but the cons are a lot more severe. 

He gets absorbed in his work. He’ll go for long periods of time without contacting you. Hell. you two will probably be on and off for a good chunk of time. It’s not that he doesn’t love you like when he first fell for you; rather he struggles to find a healthy balance. He’s used to the world being on his shoulders, being responsible for the fate of the multiverse, at least that’s how he sees it. 

Normally you’d drop him like all your other exes, but you’re in too deep now. You reminisce on the good times because when things are good between you, they’re really good. 

You decide to be the push the both of you need. Even if it’s considered ‘toxic’, you give him an ultimatum. He either prioritizes you or the rest of the multiverse. Miguel scoffs at the idea at first, thinking the choice is obvious, but then he really thinks about it. Realizes that he’s as much in love with you as you are with him, arguably more so. He’s mad, but not at you. Mad at himself. Mad that the idea of you out of his life is almost the equivalent of when he lost the life he had with Gabriella. That he’d be a fool to let you slip away.

“....God dammit!”

You two get married shortly after that incident, ya’ll have been together for years at this point if you include the on and off phase of your relationship. It’s nothing fancy, just signing some papers and throwing a party with a small group of friends and family. Similarly to when you first started dating, Miguel considers the marriage an excuse to be around you more often. The voice in the back of his head that tells him to go home to sleep rather than on the platform. That reminds him that there’s something worth going home to now. 

Is he the perfect husband? God no. He’ll fall into his old habits of putting work first and you second, but he does better about it and it doesn’t happen as often as when you two were just dating. The thought of getting to crawl into bed, wrapped in your arms as he falls asleep, motivating him more than anything else to keep the multiverse safe.

[swannieluv]

Help with studies

pairing: Platonic!Tighnari x GN!Reader – wc: 900 – tw: peeling the skin off your lips, academic pressure – a/n: This is more of a personal thing I wrote. But I hope it can comfort someone who goes through the same thing <3. Sorry for any grammar mistakes </3– likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!!

Studying is hard, and it gets even harder when you don't know how to study in the first place. Being a good student throughout your whole life was somewhat… easy? You thought it was just the fruits of you paying attention to classes, but it wasn't exactly like that. Sometimes you would write, read the contents before the lecture even started, doodle on the desk, or think of whatever scenarios appeared in your mind.

With the textbook, full of images and descriptions written in a bold black font, open in front of you, desperation started growing. Why wasn't your brain just understanding the texts previously highlighted during class? You were sure you had understood everything when learning, yet it was like knowledge had disappeared from your mind.

You just kept staring absentmindedly at the page, as if nothing around you was happening. It was just a few minutes later that your state was interrupted by a voice calling for you: the familiar voice of Tighnari, one of the few you can call friend — though you're both often mistaken for siblings, for being often seen together.

“[Name]?” He was holding a pot with a small plant. That's right, you had asked him for a decoration for your desk, perhaps a change of air would help.

There were not so rare occasions in which you had to ask for his help. Tighnari’s way of explaining stuff was direct and left no space left for doubts, plus he always added extra information you missed during study sessions.

He left the plant next to a pile of notebooks before opening your curtains. “Look. I'm not a specialist, but I can't help but notice your troubled expression these days.”

You lost track of how many hours had been spent doing absolutely nothing. But the sunset was enough to remind you of the fact that nothing productive had been done and you were doomed.

“I don't know anymore, everything feels so… strange. I'm intelligent, right?” Tears gathered in your eyes before you looked up at him. “Please tell me I am or else I don't know what to do?”

Intelligence had been associated with you ever since childhood. It started by wanting to show off, talking about complicated things such as atoms, stars, and every other information you could reach. Then, getting medals and certificates for getting good grades.

Everyone talked about how good of a child you were, about how far you would go in the future. It felt wonderful looking at your twisted reflection on the back of the medals, as your parents patted the top of your head and praised your achievements, hanging it on the wall to show.

But as you grew up, the compliments stopped. Your success was predicted and there wasn't anything new in the golden painted medals of cold iron, now forgotten in the back of the drawer. Before you knew it, the habit of peeling the skin off your lips and the twist of your stomach had become your companions during tests.

As you joined the Akademiya, things suddenly changed. It was during the first year when you got the first bad grade ever, nothing too low, but not enough to be the best. Then, you cheated on a test for the first time and felt terrible.

It was during that time that you met Tighnari. He was paying the Akademiya a small visit when his ears caught on the sound of muffled crying, leading him to your hiding spot.

That was how you met Tighnari, being comforted by him as you cried in front of someone else for the first time. And for some reason, the two of you started bumping into each other too often.

“I know you want to be the best. But remember, you're a human being and just like everyone, you're prone to making mistakes every now and then.” He had a gentle smile on his face, before asking for permission to pat your head, which you gave.

“It's just… it's not only because of what the others will think, but also because I don't want to disappoint myself.” Your answer made your eyes tear up a little, alongside the beginning of a running nose that made you try to suppress those feelings back.

Tighnari took your hand, preventing you from wiping away those tears. “It's not healthy to keep it to yourself so… cry if you feel like doing so. I don't see anyone here who would judge you.”

And so, you cried. There was no other way to show your feelings, as the words you wanted to say never made their way out of your chest. But Tighnari didn't care if you told him everything or not, just wanting to comfort someone he can relate to.

Perhaps Tighnari didn't get along with you only out of sympathy, but because he did see his younger, overachiever, self in you. He didn't want you to go through the many frustations reserved on your way alone. And he knew that it was difficult to open up for anyone when being smart was one of the best qualities someone could have. But everything had a downside.

“Tell me what you need to understand, and I'll help you.” He kneeled and picked up a book on the ground, opening its pages to take a look before handing it to you. “It may not be exactly my field of knowledge but—”

“Tighnari,” you interrupted him with a tired, yet grateful, grin on your face. “Thank you.”

A sigh escaped from his lips before he reciprocated your smile. Things were difficult, but Tighnari would help you to at least get a decent grade; and what if you didn't? After all, a number can't define who you are or your potential.

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part one

art by the lovely @stainedlilac

author’s note: been cooking this one up for sometime. about 4k words. 18+! mdni! ao3 link. this will be a looooong one. if you like it, PLEASE tell me omg. tell me in the tags or send me a message please and thanks.

~~~~

Terzo is serving a death sentence. 

It isn’t like he had much of a choice.

He remembers the game night clearly. The typical arguments and accusations of cheating had subsided and it was a rare moment of fun and relaxation with his brothers.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a gurney and gasping for air. They told him his brothers were dead. They told him they had removed his head for a photoshoot and then reattached it again. They gave him a choice: die now or take their money and never speak to them again.

Terzo lives in solitude. The mansion he was put up in is large with enough rooms to fill all of the stories of his time at the clergy, which already feels like a lifetime ago. But it is just him. Only him. He spends his days in the quiet, stewing in his bitterness of how his reign came to an end and how the clergy had pushed him aside. The longer he is alone, the more angry he becomes. 

What is he supposed to do now?

They left him with nothing. Nothing besides money, which feels like the ultimate insult.

He lets his own home fall into disrepair. Trinkets and memorabilia from his past life pile up around him until he is forced to shove it all into one room to get it out of his sight. His days are filled with nothingness. He doesn’t know who he is anymore or what he’s meant to do. The purpose he had spent his life preparing for had been ripped from him. 

He doesn’t pay his bills on time so on more than one occasion, his power is shut off or he doesn’t have warm water. He eats cereal out of collection plates that bear the name of his old band. He is never completely dressed and doesn’t shower or clean himself for days on end. 

What is the point?

One day, there is a knock at the door. An unfamiliar feeling of dread washes over him, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach as he creeps to the window. Terzo sighs deeply once he realizes there is no one at the door. He shuffles outside and stares at a brown envelope on his doorstep. The speed at which he snatches the envelope and slams the door behind him almost makes him dizzy. He manages to steady himself back at the window, his eyes narrowing as he looks to see if anyone is watching. 

Terzo tears through the envelope. What he sees sends red hot anger coursing through his veins. It’s a magazine and on the cover of it is his bloodied, severed head. He nearly rips it apart. The sight of his own father standing behind Copia, the little rat that sniveled his way to the top — 

He exhales sharply out of his nose as his eyes fall to his severed head and he runs his fingers across the cover. This was all he ever was to his father and to the clergy leadership: a prop. A puppet to push out to the masses and parrot the word they approved of and the second he had any thoughts or ideas of his own, they threw him away.

Terzo tosses the magazine on a nearby console and storms into his study, his fingers brushing through his wild hair. He can’t live like this; he can’t. It’s tearing him apart inside, twisting him into a withering husk of a person. He needs to make a change and he knows it.

He needs a new toy to play with.

He picks his head up, his eyes flickering to the closed double doors to the dining room. His life’s work is piled up and discarded there, filling him with a combined sense of longing and anger.

Terzo needs everything gone. 

***

You stare at the ad on your computer screen. It seems too good to be true. It must be too good to be true. You’ve never been a personal assistant before but it clearly states “no experience necessary for applicants”. Your fingers drift over the mousepad to the apply button. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The worst that could happen is you get denied or never hear back but that is par for the course with job hunting anyway. You click apply and fill out your information, submitting the form after uploading your resume. 

You are sick of your current job working at a call center. Sure, it pays the bills but you haven’t gotten a raise in the two years that you’ve been there and your expenses have gone up. The fact that you struggle to make ends meet even with a roommate makes you spiral at least once a week. Not to mention that the job itself is soul-sucking, draining you of all positive energy so that once you are done working for the day you typically go right to bed.

You need a change. 

You don’t want to get your hopes up but it’s hard not to fantasize about what you could do if you are able to secure the assistant job. The idea of having spending money to buy takeout instead of living off cereal, oatmeal and ramen is getting you excited. Or maybe, as a personal assistant, your boss will feed you each day so you’ll be able to save money on groceries. The bar is so low for improving your day to day life. 

The thought brings an important revelation to the forefront of your mind: you didn’t know much about who the person requesting an assistant. You pull up the job posting again and read over the description. The only information it gives is in the title line of the posting (which you completely missed when applying): Personal Assistant to Golden Bachelor.

“Golden bachelor?” You say to no one at all as you google the term. You didn’t think people referred to themselves as “bachelors” anymore in this day and age. Well, it makes sense that a rich, lonely man would need an assistant to help him run his life - he’s probably always had assistants and can’t function without one. You’re not one to usually judge but when it comes to rich people they are fair game. 

You close your laptop and roll over on your bed, grabbing your comforter to cocoon yourself in. Exhaustion grips your body and the weight of the comforter starts to soothe you off into an unfortunately restless sleep. Not that you aren’t used to it.

***

Terzo is unimpressed with the applicants so far, despite the fact that it very clearly says “no experience needed” in the post he made. Also, the fact that there are so many applicants and he has to go through each individual application and read about these people and their silly jobs. 

Ugh. Boring. 

His leg bounces as skims through the applications on his laptop in the dim light of his study, reading glasses perched low on his nose. His study is practically empty besides his antique desk and chair that seemed to have come with the house. There are plenty of built-in bookshelves and cabinets lining the walls but they are all empty and full of dust. The walls are a dark blue that look black in the evening light with hardwood floors that creak with every step.

Terzo gives a sigh and removes his glasses, sitting back in his chair with a huff. This isn’t as easy as he thought it would be. He was expecting the first applicant to be a hit but when that person had nothing particularly interesting in their resume, he was feeling defeated. And then the same would happen with each of the other at least fifty he’s gone through by now. He wished he had an assistant to go through these but… well, then what kind of paradox would we be in, then?

He reaches into the pocket of his plush, purple robe for his pack of cigarettes, opens it and then brings it to his lips. Terzo presses a finger to the tip of the cigarette and it immediately lights, taking a deep, long drag of it. Coming back from the dead had its perks, especially because of whatever dark magic the clergy had used to do it. He still isn’t sure exactly what he is capable of but  he figured this little trick out when he nearly almost set fire to the entire house while trying to open the curtains in the sitting room. 

Terzo is already halfway through the cigarette, his eyes glazing over as he zones out while facing his computer. A notification pops up accompanied by a little “ding” to indicate a new applicant. He groans and rubs his eyes behind his glasses, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. 

“Un altro.” Terzo grumbles to himself. One more and then he’ll have a drink before slipping into unconsciousness, potentially on the couch in the sitting room where he spends at least half his nights. He leans forward in his seat, eyes fixed on your application after pulling it up. His tongue darts and licks his painted lips.

Your resume and application oozes desperation, so much so that he can almost taste it. The message introducing yourself is sweet, to the point and the most promising he’s seen thus far. A low growl rumbles through his chest as he copies your name and pastes it into google. He clicks the first Facebook profile to come up with your name, which may or may not be you. There’s no information on the profile other than a pixel-y profile photo of what resembles a young woman. Terzo stares at the photo for some time as he finishes off his cigarette, placing it into a golden ashtray that is almost completely full of ashes.

“Il mio topolino.” He purrs and opens a new window to reply to you, offering windows of availability for an interview.

***

It’s been days and you’re starting to think the whole thing was a scam from the start. Every time you send him when you’re available and can make it to an interview, that date and time comes and goes, and he sends a follow up asking for another time. You’re on the verge of giving up, of letting go of the fantasy of making a considerable amount of money with the potential for perks. 

That is, until there is finally a window of opportunity for the both of you. You almost turn it down at this point from being jerked around so much but the pay is just too good to pass up. You make sure to tell a few friends the address and the time of your interview so that they’ll know exactly where you are in case this is a scam and you are about to be abducted. He even follows up with you the morning of, telling you that he is looking forward to the interview so it seems like it is happening.

It takes you some time to settle on an outfit which ends up being a pair of navy blue slacks, white blouse and a pair of flats, and you put your hair up into a neat ponytail. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide that you look professional enough. 

The drive to his house is silent, by design so that you keep your focus on the interview. You’re not familiar with the area he is located in even though it is in your town. There is an old gate at the front of his driveway that is open and probably not functional judging from the state it’s in. The driveway is long and rocky, and the further you travel down it the more uneasy you feel. The house comes into view and you have half a mind to turn the car around.

It’s massive. Most of the windows are dark, complimenting the dark color scheme of the house exterior. It looks haunted. You stare at it through the dashboard window of your car, nervousness creeping up your chest. Your eyes fall to the clock in your car and it reads ten minutes until the scheduled interview time. A shaky breath falls from your lips.

To be early is to be on time.

The walk to the front door feels like an eternity and it’s hard to fight the feeling that the house is somehow watching you. The closer you get, you realize that the siding is a dark hunter green with black shingles which really contributes to the overall spookiness of the Victorian mansion. You reach the front door and take a moment to smooth out your outfit and adjust your backpack on your shoulders. Your lungs fill with air and you lift your hand to knock — but the door swings open before you have a chance to do so.

You are met with a pair of haunting, mismatched eyes. 

He doesn’t look the way you imagined. His hair is messy, sticking up in most places with some of it falling into his face. He is wearing a plush purple robe over what looks like a dress shirt and he is in a pair of black slippers. You can’t tell if he is wearing any kind of pants. What stands out the most is his painted face, sharp black paint cutting into his cheek bones and around his eyes. Despite the rest of his appearance, the paint is crisp. His eyes look weary as they look you up and down, just as you had done to him.

“You are here for the assistant job.”

A statement, not a question and a very thick italian accent.

You blink at him a few times and then hold out your hand. “Yes, sir. I have my resume here for you to review and—“

“You’re hired.” His expression is still tired and he turns away from you. “Begin cataloging and packaging my memorabilia.” He waves his hand and starts to trudge away from you.

“U-uh, shouldn’t you show me around first or something?”

Terzo spins on his heel back in your direction and starts to walk toward you. The closer he gets to you, the more you can see the wrinkles that had been obscured with his paint. His bright, white eye sparkles in the low light. You tuck your folder against your chest, a blank expression across your face. He looms over you and his eyes drift over your shoulder before he points behind. You turn your body slowly, looking to the double doors.

“In there – the dining room. That is where the memorabilia is.” 

His breath tickles the side of your neck and it gives you goosebumps. You can only bring yourself to nod slowly, trying to think of the salary that was promised in the ad and then step toward the doors. He watches you for a moment before slinking away. You hear him leave and a sense of relief washes over you as you open one of the double doors.

The dining room is a complete mess. There are half filled boxes everywhere, different fabrics and strange items littered across the floor. The dining table is covered in piles and piles of books. You close the door behind you and immediately start to think through a plan of attack. It was already after lunch so you only had a few hours to get started. This is not what you were expecting but then again, the amount you were getting paid made it worth it.

From what you could tell from rummaging through his things, he had been in some sort of spooky music group. There are posters with concert dates, ticket stubs and several different books full of photographs of him and masked men performing on stage. You think that it makes perfect sense given everything you’ve observed from him so far, especially his dramatic paint. Still, there is something darker about him - something that chills you when you think about it.

Your thoughts run wild. In the photos, he looks regal like he is some kind of prince, commanding the attention of the crowd. There are photos of women swooning, of him holding people’s hands and kissing the back of them while their faces light up. He seemed immensely popular from the size of the crowds and the interactions you’ve been able to see from rummagining. 

What happened? Did he retire? Did the band fizzle out? He didn’t seem all that old… You wonder why he is here, in this home in your town. It doesn’t seem like a place for someone of his profession or status. You carefully start to organize the tour memorabilia on the table, trying to keep like items together before diving back into another box on the floor. 

Terzo isn’t too far away, in fact he is right outside of the door for most of the time you’re working in the dining room. After every little noise he presses his ear to the door, listening to your movement. The feeling of excitement starts to warm his body up, his skin tingling as he starts to think up how he wants to play with you. It takes all of his self control not to burst in the room and scare you, just to see the look on your face. 

Oh, he wants to mess with you. He wants to see your smooth skin turn pink, to make you squeak and stutter just by lingering a bit too close to you. Terzo stifles a groan at the thought and presses his head against the door. Unbeknownst to you, you are his little mouse to chase, to tease, to bring some liveliness back to his boring life. He can’t help but scratch his nails against the door and gives another soft groan at the thought of someone giving him attention again.

He wants you now but he knows he must wait. He has to bide his time, he has to slowly draw you into him until nothing else matters to you. There’s movement from the dining room and Terzo quickly takes a step back from the door, but the sound fades and he’s left in silence. A deep sigh falls from his lips as his mind turns back to you. Even from just meeting you, he can tell that you are going to be perfect for him to prey on. 

Terzo slips out of the sitting room.

You hear something from behind the door but when you lower the box onto the table quietly, it’s gone. A shiver runs down your spine. Even with being completely alone in the dining room you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. Maybe it’s an effect of this old house - maybe it’s haunted. You shake your head, figuring you are being a little bit too influenced by the prayer candles and spirit boards you’ve been sorting through. 

Your fingers pull at the flaps of the box, the last one from the floor for you to go through. Once it’s open, you sink to your seat and stare at the contents.

Condoms. Condoms with his face on them. Condoms that say “Popestar” and “Missionary Man”. You pick one up from the box and turn it over a few times in your hand, your mouth agape. 

“You haven’t gotten much done, eh?” 

His voice makes you jump, the condom wrapper you have been examining flinging from your hand. He watches it fall to the ground before settling his gaze back on you, a darkly amused look on his face. He must have crept in from the kitchen.

“I-I mean I just started.” You struggle to put a sentence together as you are distracted by his mismatched eyes. “Actually, I haven’t technically accepted the position yet.”

“Oh? So you don’t need the job?” The venom in his voice makes your skin crawl.

“No, no, I do — I do need the job.” There is a sick kind of satisfaction oozing from his annoyed expression. “I am just going to need to have the job offer in writing, including pay.” You almost whisper but you keep your eyes locked on his. You need that money. His lips curl into a smirk and he nods.

“I’ll have it for you tomorrow, topolina.” Terzo purrs as he leans against the table. Your eyes drift and you notice the now unbuttoned dress shirt giving way to his hairy chest. He leans down, his robe coming completely open, and picks the condom up off the floor and tosses it back on the table. “You will be back tomorrow, si?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” You realize you don’t even know what you’re supposed to call him yet. 

“Ah, bene.” His eyes sparkle of mischief and he hovers just next to you for a moment, looming over you. The tension rises in the room and you can feel your chest start to tighten. Terzo  gives a soft growl, then exits the dining room, his long robe trailing behind him. You rest your head in your hands and exhale slowly. You make a decision here and now: you’ll stick with this job until the first paycheck and then you’ll figure out whether the obvious red flags are worth the pay.

As you gather up your things, you decide to leave a copy of your resume there, just in case he wants to review it. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and grab your phone, heading out of the dining room but something stops you midstep. The distant sound of him singing fills your ears. You can’t tell what the song is but he sounds incredible. Your eyes flicker over the mountains of memorabilia as you finally get your feet moving.

He finishes singing as soon as you’ve stepped outside of the house, hovering by one of his bedroom windows to watch you get into your car. A growl rumbles up from his throat and he can’t help but run his fingers down his chest but stops just short of his briefs. He exhales slowly — he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself but the arousal he feels just from you perceiving him is too much for him to handle. 

Terzo had forgotten what it felt like not to be alone. 

He thinks about you on your knees in front of him, singing his praises, telling him how good he is before tugging at his waistband. His hand snakes down to palm himself through his briefs with a soft moan and starts to make his way to his bed. Terzo sits on the edge of it, his cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, the tip of it poking through the slit. He pushes them down and frees himself, his hard cock resting on his stomach.

Terzo thinks about you begging to taste him, begging for him to use you however he wants. His cock jumps and he takes it in his hand, lazily stroking it as growls rumble in his throat. He leans back on to the bed, his legs still dangling off the side. He could have anyone he wanted when he was Papa. People would beg him to take them to bed, to get a taste of Papa Emeritus. At the time, he felt a deep loneliness and self-loathing despite the attention or perhaps because of the attention, but he hardly ever turned it down. There was always the one moment he thought that they were there because of him, because of who he was and not because of the title he held, and that moment made it feel okay.

Terzo would take that over the loneliness he feels now.

His eyes fall shut, his lips part as soft moans fill the room. He strokes his cock more vigorously now, his thumb swiping over the tip every few strokes. He thinks of you behaving like the other siblings and ghouls that had wanted him so very badly. On your knees still, begging for your communion. You would open your mouth for him and stick out your tongue, ready to receive.

“Oh, cazzo.” He squeezes his eyes shut and gives a thundering moan as he finishes, thick ropes of cum landing on his chest and dress shirt. Terzo pants and lets his hand rest on his stomach, his chest rising and falling while his eyes drift back to the window.

He can’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

[queen-of-the-misfit-toys]

Teacher's Pet

Warnings: 18++, implied oral sex (f to m), teacher/student (COLLEGE/UNIVERSITY) dynamic

Word count: 0.7k

This is just a short fun thing because LT in glasses gives off professor vibes 😁.

__________________________________________

"Miss Beckett, will you please explain the institutional theory of art?"

Sophie's head shot up at the mention of her name.

"Ummm…what?"

"Please explain the institutional theory of art to the class. We've only spent the last two hours discussing it."

"I'm not quite…I don't…" She stammered, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"We're all waiting." Benedict smirked.

"I'm going to kill him for this. Oh he is dead!"

Sophie thought as she squirmed in her seat and,finally, shook her head.

"I know you don't know, Miss Beckett, as you've not paid one whit of attention today, or any other day in fact. Please see me immediately after class in my office."

She glared at him, cringing at the snickers and stares from her classmates, as he winked at her and turned to write on the whiteboard. "Alright everyone, your next assignment is due on Tuesday. And please let me know if you need assistance. That's what I'm here for. Have a great weekend!"

"What in the hell was that, Ben? Calling me out in front of everyone? I thought you loved me!" Sophie yelled as she slammed his office door.

"I cannot have you pissing away every class, Soph! If you have any hopes of passing you at least have to pay some attention. Have you even started the paper that's due? I know you haven't been working on it at home. I hope you've used some of your rare study time wisely." He rounded the desk, grabbing her hands. "Our situation is precarious enough, Darling. You shouldn't even be in my class. I can't be seen to show you any favoritism."

"Oh, I don't think anyone could get you on that, Professor Bridgerton! You've been nothing but brutally hard on me and it's not fair! It's not my bloody fault my real professor quit and I was forced to take your class."

"It's not my fault either, Soph! I didn't ask to be the only other art professor who will deign to teach lower level courses. And I'm not being hard on you. I ask no more of you than I do the rest of the students. I just need you to do the fucking work!"

"I'm trying, Benedict, really I am. It's just…just."

"Just what?"

"Art history and theory is fucking boring, Ben! I try and try to find something remotely interesting and I can't! I can barely stay awake during lectures, even with you teaching them. I've even tried imagining you naked in class and it doesn't help. Why do I have to have art? I'm an engineering student for God's sake!"

She slumped into his chair and spun around a few times.

"Can't you let me off just this once, My Love? I promise I'll try, really try, to pay attention and do the assignments. I just don't have the time to do this paper. Not with my graduate project due in two weeks time."

Benedict sighed and came to kneel in front of her.

"Sophie….you know I can't comp you. You must have done something towards it. I assigned it six weeks ago. It's half your grade for the class! And you have to have an art class to graduate, Darling. You don't want to have your big engineering project be all for naught, do you? Hmmm?"

"Will you at least help me a little?"

"Of course I will, Darling. That's what I'm here for. I can't…and won't…do it for you, but I'll guide you to what I want from you. Is that acceptable, my girl?" He stood, pulling her out of the chair and flush to him, and kissed her head. "I'll tell you what. I will cut your paper to 15 pages instead of the twenty-five everyone else is required to do. I can't give you full credit of course but it will still give you a passing grade if you do the rest of the coursework this term. It's the best I can do, Soph."

"I'll take it, Professor Bridgerton. Thank you." She wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled his neck. "Is there any chance for extra points, Professor? Special projects or…duties? Hmmm?" She whispered as she started nibbling on his ear.

"Sophia Maria! You cannot fuck your way into my grade book! The very idea!" He chuckled.

"What about sucking my way in?" She asked as she dropped to her knees, kissing her way down his torso.

"Soph no..nooooo..ohhhhhh, well..ummm." He stammered,his cheeks reddening and his hand landing in her hair.

"I'll take that as a yes, My Love."

[creeperkiwi]

01— way more cake for me

The first day of school at Westwing Primary Academy was as imposing as the institution itself. Brooke barely understood what it meant to be there, but even he could sense the difference between this place and any other school. The building, with its tall towers and stone arches, looked like a castle straight out of one of the hero tales he loved so much. The hallways echoed with determined footsteps, and the display cases were filled with trophies gleaming under the light of bronze lamps. At only five years old, the building felt immense and cold to him, and the murmurs and laughter around him seemed to form an echo that followed his every step. No one stopped to greet him. No one noticed the small boy walking behind the group, trying not to get lost.

The teachers took attendance as they entered the classrooms, and Brooke felt a small sense of relief when he heard his name. Not "Reeve," just "Brooke." No one looked up, no one whispered in awe. It was as if the surname carried no weight at all. And, in a way, that made him feel less intimidated.

When the bell announced recess, the children quickly scattered to the playground. Brooke followed the flow of students, holding his small green lunchbox in his hands. Some children were showing off impressive abilities: one froze the water in a fountain with a single finger, while another created small flames at the tips of his fingers.

Brooke sat in a corner, opening his lunchbox and watching from afar. He knew that not all the children at the school had abilities, but those who did were always the most admired. His eyes settled on a group of kids playing heroes and villains. He heard them mention names he recognized—heroes from the great list, children of heroes whose exploits he had read about in books.

He wondered if they would ever play as the Reeve family. But he quickly dismissed the thought; no one talked about him as a Reeve. At home, his family rarely mentioned his name. And here, at school, he was just another kid, invisible amid the noise of everyone else.

He stayed in his corner, carefully unwrapping his lunch as if each movement was a ritual. His eyes moved constantly, catching details that seemed to go unnoticed by everyone else.

He loved to observe. Not just people but everything around him: how the sunlight reflected off the glass windows, creating patterns that spread like golden spiderwebs on the ground; how the wind made the leaves of the trees dance, carrying distant murmurs of laughter. The playground, with its bustle, was a living canvas full of hidden stories.

He noticed how the boy on the farthest swing kicked the air in a specific rhythm, always twice before propelling himself. He saw how a girl, standing at the edge of the group playing nearby, twisted a braid around her finger, a nervous gesture that repeated every time someone spoke louder than her. Small details, but for Brooke, they were doors to something bigger.

Adults always talked about grand gestures, heroic feats, and impressive powers. But Brooke found the invisible, the subtle, more fascinating. The way someone adjusted their shoe strap before running, or how a pencil left forgotten on a bench seemed to contain the story of a rushed morning. Everything had something to say if one knew how to look.

As he ate, he spent several minutes studying the table of older kids, who seemed to laugh with overflowing confidence. One of them spoke and moved his hands as if conducting an orchestra; the others nodded, though Brooke noticed not all of them were interested. Some were merely pretending to pay attention, their eyes wandering to other points in the playground. Brooke could see those small cracks in the apparent harmony of the group, and it intrigued him.

The world seemed different when you stopped to really observe it. Brooke didn’t just see what was there; he saw what lay between the lines, what others missed because they were too busy being part of everything.

When the bell signaled the end of recess, Brooke stood up calmly, meticulously packing up the remnants of his lunch. Around him, the playground quickly emptied, footsteps echoing on the stone ground as the children ran back to their classrooms. He lingered a few seconds longer, observing the footprints left in the sand, the marks on the chairs, the remnants of the stories others had lived without realizing it.

From the moment he opened his eyes, Brooke felt that this day would be special. The faint morning light filtered through the curtains of his small room, casting irregular shapes on the walls. The air was cooler than usual, and the distant sound of birds seemed to announce something important.

It was his sixth birthday. Brooke quickly sat up in bed, his heart racing with excitement as he remembered his brother Jackson's words from months ago: "Next year, we'll do something amazing for your birthday." He had imagined this day so many times that he couldn’t help but smile as he put on his best clothes—a white shirt his brother had passed down to him.

Peeking out from his bedroom door, he saw that the house was quiet, just like any other morning. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen, and his parents' voices, distant but constant, filled the air. Brooke descended the stairs carefully, his small footsteps echoing on the polished wood.

"Today is my birthday!" he thought eagerly, looking toward the living room. But it was empty.

It didn’t matter. Maybe they were preparing a surprise. His siblings were nowhere to be seen, and his parents seemed busy, but that only made his heart fill with more anticipation. He decided he should help.

He took a handful of coins he had saved for weeks—collected from streets and forgotten corners—and stepped out of the house with determined steps. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. At a small corner store, he bought a simple cake wrapped in a cardboard box with golden letters. The shopkeeper looked at him curiously, but Brooke just smiled and hurried out with his prized purchase.

Back home, he prepared everything as best he could. In the dining room, he placed the cake at the center of the table, straightening the chairs around it. He found some plates and cutlery in the kitchen and arranged them carefully. Although the table was enormous, it felt cozy with the cake and the small decorations he had managed to gather.

The hours passed slowly as Brooke waited. He heard footsteps upstairs and muffled laughter from the training room, but no one came down. Surely they were busy with the surprise. Yes, that had to be it.

The clock struck noon, then two in the afternoon. Brooke remained seated at the table, his small feet swinging beneath the chair. His smile stayed in place, though a faint hint of doubt began to creep into his eyes. By the time the clock struck five, he stood and walked to the window, watching the sky turn shades of orange.

"They're probably taking their time because they want it to be perfect," he thought, clutching the window frame with his little hands. But as daylight faded, the house remained as still as ever.

At last, he returned to the table and sat down in front of the cake. He looked at the small candle he had carefully placed in the center and lit it with a match from the kitchen. The flickering light illuminated his face as he clasped his hands together, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

"I wish everyone would come," he whispered before blowing out the candle.

But no one came.

With a lump in his throat, he picked up a small knife and cut a slice of the cake. He took the first bite cautiously, savoring the sweetness he had hoped to share with his family. His eyes began to fill with tears he tried to hold back, telling himself they were busy, that perhaps they had forgotten by accident.

"Maybe they're planning something big for later," he said aloud, though his voice trembled slightly. He ate another slice, and then another, the taste of the cake mingling with the tears that streamed silently down his cheeks.

By the end of the night, the plates he had set remained untouched. The makeshift decorations stood undisturbed. And on the table, the half-eaten cake was the only witness to a day he had dreamed would be filled with laughter and hugs.

As he climbed the stairs to his room, his heart heavy, Brooke paused for a moment at the threshold. He turned to look at the table one last time, as if hoping someone might suddenly rush down to surprise him. But the house stayed silent. With a sigh, he closed the door and fell onto his bed, clutching his pillow tightly.

That night, Brooke couldn’t help but wonder if wishes ever really came true.

The dry sound of pages being arranged interrupted the silence of the classroom. Brooke glanced toward the teacher's desk, where the professor—a middle-aged woman with a messy ponytail and a perpetually hurried frown—gestured for him to come over.

"Hey, you, can you do me a favor? Take these documents to the computer room in the north wing."

Brooke stood up without hesitation when he realized he was being addressed, carefully taking the folder from her hands. He knew she rarely asked students for help, but her gaze carried a mix of urgency and exhaustion. He wasn’t about to say no.

The hallway was silent as he walked, the tiled floors faintly reflecting the light from the overhead lamps. The computer room was at the end of the corridor, a place he'd heard of but never visited. His heart raced with anticipation as he pushed open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, the room was shrouded in dim light. Rows of old, unused computers sat silently, like sleeping giants. Dust-covered monitors reflected the faint glow of the few uncovered windows. Despite the neglect, there was something immediately captivating about the space.

Brooke placed the papers on a table and paused to observe the machines. He approached one of the computers, running his fingers across the rough surface of the monitor. He imagined what it would be like to turn it on, how those black boxes might spring to life and respond to commands.

"They're pretty, aren't they?" a voice said, startling him.

Brooke quickly turned around. Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man with slightly crooked glasses and a sweater that had clearly seen better days. He was the former computer room supervisor, though rumors around school said the space had been abandoned because the machines were too outdated.

"Are you interested in them?" the man asked with a gentle smile.

Brooke nodded slowly, still speechless.

"Come on, I'll show you something."

The man approached one of the computers and connected it to an improvised power source. With a mechanical click and a hum that filled the room, the machine came to life. Brooke leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. The green and orange lights on the monitor flickered as lines of code appeared, typed swiftly by the man's hands.

"These machines can do far more than they seem. If you know how to use them, you can create amazing things—things you can’t even imagine."

"Things like what?" Brooke asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Like whatever you want. What would you most like to create?"

Brooke hesitated for a moment before answering. He had never considered that something like this could be possible for him. But now, as he watched the machine’s lights reflecting on the walls, a spark began to grow inside him.

"I want to make things that can help... like heroes do."

The man’s smile widened, as though he’d been waiting for that very answer.

"Then, kid, let me help you get started."

A curious gleam settled in Brooke's eyes.

"Well then, tell me, how would you like to begin?" the man asked, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a wrinkled handkerchief pulled from his sweater pocket.

Brooke stood still, staring at the lines of code flickering on the screen. There was something almost hypnotic about that unfamiliar language, as if each letter and symbol held secrets waiting to be discovered.

"I don’t know," he finally murmured, almost as if talking to himself. "What can I do?"

The man studied him carefully, tilting his head slightly as though trying to decipher him.

"Well, first, we need to spark your curiosity. How about we take apart one of these machines? Learning how they work from the inside out is the first step to building something of your own."

The idea made Brooke’s eyes light up. He leaned closer, watching as the man carefully opened one of the metallic towers. The internal components gleamed faintly under the dim light of the room, connected in an arrangement that seemed chaotic yet fascinating all at once.

"All this," the man said, pointing to the boards and cables, "looks complicated, doesn’t it?"

Brooke quickly nodded, moving closer to examine every detail.

"But in reality, it’s like a puzzle. Every piece has its place, and together they make the machine work. If you understand the puzzle, you can change it, improve it, make it yours."

"Can I touch it?" Brooke asked, his voice barely containing his excitement.

"Of course. Here, take this screwdriver."

With trembling hands, Brooke held the tool and began removing one of the tiny screws holding a board in place. It was difficult at first, but with some effort and an encouraging smile from the man, he managed to loosen it. He held the small piece of metal in his hand as if it were a trophy.

"This controls the machine's memory," the man explained, pointing to the board Brooke had just removed. "Without it, the computer couldn’t remember anything, like it forgets how to work every time it turns off."

Brooke stared at it in fascination, his thoughts racing as he tried to imagine how something so small could hold so much power.

"And what else can I do with this?" he asked.

The man let out a soft chuckle.

"That depends on you. You could learn to program it or connect it to other machines. You could create something that’s never existed before."

Brooke’s heart raced. No one had ever spoken to him like this, as if he could truly achieve something great, as if he had potential waiting to be discovered.

"How did you learn all this?" he finally asked, still staring at the computer's insides.

The man seemed to ponder the question for a moment, as if recalling something distant.

"Curiosity. And many hours in places like this, taking apart things no one else wanted to use. So, you already have what you need: time and a desire to learn."

Brooke nodded slowly. Though he didn’t say it aloud, he knew he had plenty of time.

"What’s your name, kid?" the man suddenly asked.

Brooke hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Brooke."

"Well, Brooke, if you’re interested, I can teach you more. This room isn’t used anymore, so no one will bother us. You could come by after classes."

Brooke lifted his gaze from the screwdriver he still held and looked at him, his expression filled with wonder.

"Really?"

The man smiled.

"Really. But you have to promise to be careful. Here, we deal with ideas, and ideas can be more powerful than any ability you’ve ever seen."

Brooke nodded eagerly, feeling a new warmth inside him—a mix of excitement and hope. For the first time in a long while, he felt like someone saw something in him.

previous m.list next

note; I swear it's about to get interesting 😞 I just need to give a little context before I start.  Please tell me if you like it, all opinions are welcome. tysm for the support, even if it's little it means a lot to me 🫶🫶

love ya

[lumiambrose]

Kaiju no. 8 matchup for @slutforitoshi

I ship you with...

Gen Narumi

Ok. I spent quite some time deciding between reno x opposites attract or narumi x chaos. But ultimately, I think Narumi takes the cake for you.

So... dating the first division captain... definitely going to be an experience, so prepare yourself.

You’re sassy, he’s sassy; pray for anyone around you two. You give off the vibe that you would primarily flirt through being mean and insulting people. Jokes on you; Narumi does too. Although it becomes the norm for you both after a while.

“Good morning, dipshit.” After Narumi wakes up at 1pm after spending the entire night gaming.

Or “Welcome home, asshole.” After you come back from your studies or work.

Despite taunting words, his actions are the polar opposite. This man clings to you like a cat. He absolutely refuses to leave your presence, let alone leave your side. Not only that, but he’ll follow you around like a puppy; he basically never wants to leave your side.

Hates his work even more now 🤠

That is, unless you also work at the defence force. Now, typically, the JAKDF avoids relationships in the same division. But this is Captain Narumi’s relationship we’re talking about. If the captain wants something, he’ll get it. Of course, you wish to work in another division, but expect him to whine and sob about it until you cave and join the first division.

Working with Narumi is interesting? Hasegawa visits you a minimum of three times a day to convince Narumi to do stuff.

Queue you walking into his office for the tenth time that day with your pretty puppy eyes, asking him to go to work.

80% of the time it works. Narumi folds quick, extremely quick. One pleading look from you is almost all it takes. Although, on the off chance he’s feeling extra bratty today, that remaining 20% is him convincing you to haul up in his office with him and play video games instead.

Although I don’t think you’re much of a video game person, I also don’t think you’d be against playing games with him. Even if you despise them, I can picture you trying once or twice for him.

Queue Narumi absolutely demolishing the game while you’re trying to figure out the controls.

“It’s ok, Kiwi. Everyone starts somewhere. C’mere. I’ll help ya.” To which he proceeds to sit you on his lap while his fingers interlace with yours, helping you press the correct buttons.

To be honest, you didn’t learn much but it was a damn good experience ;)

You don’t have to be playing video games to spend time with him, though. You bask in each other's presence. Simply having the other nearby makes your days ten times better. Perhaps you’re reading a book or simply rotting on TikTok, and he’s not even a meter away from you playing his games. It’s the simple moments like that that you two love.

Oh. But don’t even try to pull out Yamazon alone. This man has a sixth sense for whenever you’re about to spend money. God forbid you do it without him.

Narumi instantly pulls you into his body/lap as you scroll together. Or he’ll even turn his PC on so you can both shop with a much larger screen.

Thank God the JAKDF pays well.

These situations may have also led to the two of you buying some interesting things ;)

SAVING THAT FOR LATER, THOUGH

Despite how immature and childish Narumi presents himself to be, it’s obvious he has a more mature side to him. Which becomes even more obvious during your relationship. I’m thinking something along the lines of character x must protect character. Trust me, Narumi certainly won’t cut the brattyness just because you two are dating. Quite the opposite, actually; I think you’ll enable him to reach even higher levels of brattyness. But the rare cases of him acting like the first division captain do increase. Especially with you around.

And outside of work too, there are now times where he has a much more mature air to him. On the very rare occasion, you’ll hear him lecture you on spending too much money and that you should keep your spending habits under control (to which he gives you his card five minutes later because he has more money and you should “spend yours on more responsible shit”). Or going out, Narumi will meticulously plan whatever outing the two of you may have. Whether its a vacation or a date, he’ll know exactly where you’re going 24/7 and will literally always have a hand on you so you won’t get lost.

On the topic of dates, they’re also one of the only times Narumi really strains himself to avoid his gaming consoles. While he may be addicted, he’s not an idiot. He knows how important quality time is for the both of you and refuses to ruin a date for a bunch of pixels. In fact, date-wise, Narumi tries his best to go all out for you.

It doesn’t matter what the two of you are doing; he’ll have bought a nice outfit for himself and you, and he’ll also make sure it matches with your nails and any other accessories you choose to wear. If he’s the one planning the date, everything will be thought out down to a T.

Though if you want to plan a date, first of all, he refuses to let you look at him because he is melting. He’ll tease you about how sweet you are, but that’s all to hide the fact that he’s taken aback by someone putting in so much effort for him.

For real though, he’s going to shoo you away (jokingly) so much because he doesn’t want you to watch him act so vulnerable.

I do think Narumi will open up to you eventually, but it will take a very long time. It’s not as though he doesn’t trust you. Quite the opposite; you’re the only one he trusts; he’s just really not used to having someone to call his own or just someone to care about him as a whole. But when he does open up to you, just sit there and listen to everything he says; even just acknowledging it and reassuring him that you’re by his side is enough for him. After that, my god, he is whipped.

Content warning below, minors dni:

FIRST OF ALL.

You were Narumi’s first time. I refuse to believe this man cared about women physically or mentally until you came along.

Despite being a little lost, Narumi’s a fast learner. One or two times is all he needs to map out your entire body. To know where you’re sensitive or where that one spot is that makes you see stars.

My god, his fingers. This man is already adept enough, but his fingers??? Literal heaven. Apart from any preexisting talent or skill, his fingers are intricate. He always makes it a habit to prep you with them before you take him. And he’ll only stop once you’re screaming on his fingers.

Or if he’s in the mood to change things up, he’ll have you cumming on his tongue. Though that happens rarely.

While he enjoys eating you out, he prefers anything else that allows him to see your face.

Being able to watch your reactions is a must for him. Seeing the way your face contorts in pleasure or the way your eyes squint when he bottoms out only gets him harder.

Again, he adores the positions where he can see your face, i.e. missionary, mating press, honestly any really intimate position.

But as long as there’s a mirror, he won’t hesitate to bend you over and drill you from behind.

Very vocal during sex and sees no need to shut up too. Of course, he expects you to be just as vocal as him. And if you won't, then he simply has to force the noises out of you.

Bratty top x bratty bottom. (I’m so sorry if you’re not as bratty as i imagine you to be but we’re rolling with that now.)

Narumi will tease you any chance he can get; you don’t even need to be fucking for him to. He simply loves getting a reaction out of you.

“Oh, what’s that? You’re drunk on my cock already? But you were talking so big earlier…”

“C’mon [name], you can take it. Don’t tell me this is too much.”

Has the same smirk literally every time.

Loves it when you try and put up a fight, coming up with your own witty remarks to match his. But nothing compares to when you’re so fucked out that the only response you can give him are your lewd moans.

My god, any noise you make goes straight to his dick.

Type of guy to get hard because you made a cute noise whilst stretching.

Honestly, he gets hard over anything you do.

He’s not too risky in public, but certainly won’t pass down an opportunity to see you struggle to keep your composure. Especially when you can’t do anything back.

A hand on your thigh while you are in a meeting, slowly dragging its way up and under your skirt to tease your soaked folds. All while you’re trying your very best to pay attention to what’s happening in the meeting.

“What’s wrong, [name]? You seem pale.” While his fingers are pumping deep inside of you.

Or “Quiet, [name]. You don’t want the entire defence force to know how needy you are for just my fingers alone now, do you?”

Tease™

Eats you out during any online meetings you may have because he finds it fucking hilarious.

Also because he knows you’ll pounce on him the moment you hang up ;)

[hime98]

Lonely Escape in Seoul (Lee Dong Wook x Y/N)

Chapter 6 - Quiet Days and Growing Tension

Y/N's POV

The next few days melted into a comfortable rhythm, like we had known each other for years instead of just days. Dong Wook and I spent our time together exploring the quieter corners of the city—places tourists rarely ventured. From hidden cafes to charming little bookshops, every day felt like a new adventure.

It was strange, almost surreal, how easy things were between us. I never in my life imagine that I will meet Him. But there were no awkward silences or fumbling for conversation. Even when we sat quietly, it was a good silence—the kind that didn’t need filling.

One afternoon, after visiting an old bakery Dong Wook claimed had the best croissants in Seoul, we found ourselves at a small park by the river. It was nearly empty, save for a few joggers and families in the distance. The sunlight filtered through the trees, scattering golden patches of warmth across the grass.

We settled onto an old wooden bench, Dong Wook tossing me a bottle of water before cracking his open. The quiet hum of nature—birds chirping, the river gently lapping against the rocks—created a peaceful background.

“You’ve been here for over a week now,” Dong Wook said suddenly, breaking the calm. His voice was thoughtful, quiet, as though he were speaking more to himself. “How are you feeling?”

I glanced at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Honestly? I’ve never felt more at peace. It’s strange… I came here expecting everything to be depressing and underwhelming, but somehow, this place feels like a haven.”

Dong Wook tilted his head, his gaze softening as he studied me. “Maybe it’s not the place,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s who you’re with.”

His words made my heart skip a beat. I tried to play it off, looking away with a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Meeting Gong Yoo helped me a lot."

"Yah! I shouldn't have bought You to meet hyung." I laughed hard when He looked adorably offended.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Lee. You’re only part of the equation.” I said.

“Only a part?” he echoed, feigning offense as he turned to face me. “Excuse me, I’ve been a delightful host. Do you know how many guests I let crash at my place? Zero. You’re one of a kind.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress my smile. “Wow, what an honor.”

Dong Wook grinned, leaning back against the bench. “It is an honor. Don’t forget that.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves around us as a group of children ran past, their laughter echoing faintly in the air. I found myself staring at the river, at how calm it looked, but my mind felt anything but calm.

What are we doing?

Over the past few days, there had been moments—small, fleeting ones—that made it impossible to ignore the growing tension between us. The way his hand would brush mine when we walked side by side. How he’d look at me just a second too long when I wasn’t paying attention. And the way my pulse would quicken every time he smiled.

It was impossible to deny what was happening, but neither of us had dared to say it aloud.

The Next Day

The following morning, I slept in later than usual. When I finally stumbled out of bed, hair a mess and wearing an oversized sweatshirt, I found Dong Wook lounging on the sofa. He was flipping through channels lazily, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Morning,” he said without looking up.

“Morning,” I yawned, plopping onto the couch beside him. “Why do you look like you’ve been up for hours?”

“I have been up for hours,” he replied dramatically. “Some of us are productive human beings.”

“Liar,” I shot back, pointing at the empty bag of chips on the table. “Clearly, you’ve spent the morning snacking and binge-watching TV.”

He gasped in mock outrage. “Accusations like that will not be tolerated in my home, Miss Y/N.”

I laughed, leaning back against the cushions. “So what’s the plan for today? More sightseeing? Or are we doing absolutely nothing?”

Dong Wook turned to me with a lazy grin. “How about we do absolutely nothing together?”

That sound ridiculous but my heart, once again fluttered. It sounded perfect.

We spent the next few hours lounging around the penthouse like a couple of sloths. Dong Wook attempted to teach me a card game he claimed was “super simple,” but I was convinced he was making up the rules as we went.

“Wait—how is that a win? You literally just laid down a random card!”

He smirked, clearly enjoying my frustration. “It’s called strategy. Something you might want to learn.”

I threw a pillow at him, and he laughed, ducking away.

Hours passed like this—teasing, laughing, and falling into easy conversations about everything and nothing. We talked about our childhoods, our dreams, and even our failures. It felt so natural, so comfortable, that I forgot how temporary this all was.

But as the sun began to set and golden light poured through the windows, a strange heaviness crept into my chest. I was leaving in a few days. And no matter how much I tried to push the thought away, it lingered like a shadow.

Dong Wook seemed to sense it, too. He turned off the TV and stretched, his voice quieter than usual. “Hey… want to get some fresh air?”

“Sure,” I said softly, following him out onto the balcony.

The city stretched out before us, lights beginning to flicker on as night fell. The air was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the warmth I felt standing beside him.

He leaned against the railing, staring out at the view. “You’re thinking about when You gotta leave, aren’t you?”

I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the edge of the railing. “Yeah. It’s been on my mind. This past days was too perfect, It seems like I'm dreaming..."

I looked at Him with sad smile. "And I don't want to wake up.”

Dong Wook didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at me, his gaze steady and serious. “Then I’ll make sure every moment count. So that If ever you need to wake up, You will remember everything and know that this is reality.” he said quietly.

His words hit me harder than I expected, and I turned to face him. “What… what are we gonna do after?”

It felt like the question had been hanging in the air for days, just waiting for someone to say it out loud.

Dong Wook’s expression softened, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t.. know. I wish I did.”

The honesty in his voice made my chest ache. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against mine where they rested on the railing. It was such a small gesture, but it sent shivers down my spine.

“I just know, I also don’t want this to end,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

I felt my heart racing as I met his gaze, the space between us shrinking. For a moment, everything around us—the city lights, the breeze, the noise below—faded away.

But before either of us could say another word, the loud buzz of Dong Wook’s phone broke the spell.

“Ah—sorry,” he muttered, pulling it out of his pocket.

I turned away, exhaling a shaky breath as he answered the call.

As I stared out at the city, my heart still pounding, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were standing on the edge of something—something I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for. But the clock was ticking, and I didn’t know how much longer we could keep pretending.

(To be continued)

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Author's note: This is a little sad chappp