#they got oxygen concentrators on

[minimumlie]

Being in a nursing home is wild sometimes.

Whenever I can’t hear what the resident is saying, I have the Wonderful! Fantastic! Genius! solution to just turn off their oxygen concentrator so I can hear them better :|

[oosey0]

got a job took a break from drawing and came back with a new oc and a vision

[rabbithaver]

finally on my way home yippee

[misstycloud]

A loser's qualities~

Oral(f.reader receiving), facesitting, mean reader

--------

You stared at yourself in the mirror and recalled all the times people would call you beautiful; they were right, you were absolutely gorgeous. It's not bragging if it is true. Your hair was silky smooth and shiny, your lips were lovely and kissable , your style was to die for.

You really had everything in life.

It was soon time for you to meet up with your friends. You had all decided to grab dinner and then watch the latest hit film currently being shown in theatres. It would be a fantastic evening. You applied your make up skilfully, making sure not a single eyelash was out of place. Nothing would be able to stop your perfection.

As you combed through your hair, a choked sound interrupted your concentration. The gagging sent vibrations through your entire body. Ah, it seemed your toy was running a little low on oxygen. Stifling a sigh, you looked down to see the top of a sweaty forehead, hair was sticking to it like glue.

"mhm....!." your boyfriend gagged. His hands gripped your thighs harder, his nails digging into your flesh.

Really, all that talk about wanting to be a good boyfriend and he couldn't even handle ten minutes? Idiot. Your irritation grew as you lifted yourself just enough for the young man under you not to be choked by your pussy. He took greedy gasps of air and coughed a couple times. His entire face was covered in your slick and his lips were almost swollen of the work they'd been forced to do- which was virtually nothing as you hadn't even cum once. You knew he didn't have much going for him but to be this useless was absurd.

You stared at your boyfriend with disappointment.

He noticed your annoyed look and nearly cried. The last thing he ever wanted was to disappoint you, especially when the whole thing had been his idea in the first place. The two of your were supposed to stay in for the night and be comfortable- you had promised him this since months back- but suddenly you got a call from your friends, asking if you wanted to go out. When you told him of your plans he reminded you of your promise and in retaliation you emphasised on your need for fun and excitement; there was no way you would miss the fun for some boring movie he wanted to watch. He already knew begging would be pointless so he came up with another plan to make you stay. In a desperate attempt to keep you he wanted to show how fun he could be.

Unfortunately for him, you were less than pleased with his performance.

Your boyfriend panicked at the thought of underperforming. This wasn't just a matter of wether you were ditching to hang out with your friends, this was now a matter of wether you would find him valuable as a partner at all. He wasn't much of a looker, he had no friends and stayed in his corner all the time. The only advantage he had was his intellect. Too bad you didn't find too much value in that either.

He believed if he could please you as a man then your attitude toward him would shift, but it appeared he couldn't even do that, despite all the materials and videos he'd consumed in his spare time(he wanted to be prepared).

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He fucked up. "Please, I can do it! I-I just need more practice..." he cried.

You rolled your eyes at his typical cry-baby behaviour. Did this man ever shut up? "I don't think practice is ever gonna help you. You're really hopeless, y'know."

He whimpered, "N-no, I said I can do it. Sit down, sit on my face!" he said as he tried to forcibly pull you down to rest onto his face. When you didn't budge he instead leaned up to place hasty kisses on your thighs. He licked and sucked on your skin, enough to leave marks. Despite him sucking-ass at eating you out, you had to admit, seeing him so pathetically glide his tongue over your thighs and beg for your attention sent heat to your core.

You supposed you always had a bit of a thing for pitiful men.

You smirked down at him. "Really? Are you sure you can handle it? It didn't seem like it before."

"Yes, yes I can! I promise I'll make you feel good if you just let me."

You pouted, faking uncertainty. "I don't know, baby. You didn't make me feel good at all before. I'm not convinced you can do it." You loved the way he shivered and let out a mix between a whimper and a moan at your nickname. Oh he just loved being your baby. "You haven't made me cum at all. Don't you want me to cum?"

"Of course I do, (Y/n)! I want nothing more than to pleasure you enough to..-to do that!" He blushed furiously under you.

Aw, he was still a little shy in the language.

"I'll make it happen, I swear." your boyfriends eyes dazed over for a second, blush still present. "I'm simply not used to it, that's all."

"You're not used to make girls cum on your face?" you teased.

Of course he wasn't. Before you he hadn't as much as held hands with someone of the opposite sex. He completely fit the die-alone virgin stereotype.

For the first time in the entire evening he had the courage to look you in the eye. With force determination he said, "I will learn for you (Y/n). If you teach me I'll be sure to satisfy you. I'm a very fast learner."

That was true. If he wasn't then he wouldn't be able to have the highest score out of everyone. His big brain was his only redemption.

"So, tell me, how do you want it?"

——-

(It’s the first time I’ve tried writing anything explicit, so hope it’s alright.)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Train Me in Resistance

Pairing: Personal Trainer!Bucky x Roommate!Reader

Summary: You finally give in to your annoyingly hot and impossibly persistent roommate’s offer for a personal training session.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical exhaustion; slightly suggestive themes; sexual tension; slight mention of panic attacks; mutual pining; dramatic reader

Author’s Note: Ahh omg this brought me so much joy!! I’m such a sucker for Bucky and Reader being roommates, it’s crazy. This request was amazing, my darling, thank you so much for sending it in!! Hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

Your keys jingle as you step into the apartment with a bag of overpriced groceries and a head full of static.

You’ve been having a gut feeling the whole way home and it won’t leave you alone.

And to top it off, you’re wearing leggings - traitorous, already one foot in the grave - and an old sweatshirt that’s a little oversized.

Bucky’s eyes sparkle when he sees you and you want to turn around and slam the door in his face.

“Oh ho ho,” he exclaims, rising from the floor where he’s been doing pushups for no reason. “Is that workout gear I see?”

You open your mouth to lie, or deflect, or curse him out.

“Don’t start,” you say, tossing your keys in the bowl by the door. “They were the only clean pants I had.”

“Pants are pants,” he shrugs, a grin forming his mouth. “You’re halfway there.”

He’s got his arms crossed and his stupid trainer tank is doing terrible things to your concentration. There’s a drop of sweat on his collarbone that you hate yourself for noticing.

Your heart jumps. Stumbles. Recovers with a limp.

“I’m nowhere,” you mutter, already walking past him to the kitchen.

“Nowhere’s closer to somewhere,” he calls after you, that grin still in his voice.

“Leave me alone, Barnes.”

His laugh echoes.

Bucky has been asking you to let him train you for months.

Months of come on, it’ll be fun and just one session, doll and you don’t even have to leave the apartment, doll, I’ll bring the gym to you. He says it as if he’s Santa Claus.

Setting the bag with groceries on the kitchen counter, you begin to put the items out and away.

You’ve got exactly four seconds of peace.

Four. That’s all it takes for the sound of his footsteps to find you again.

The floor creaks. The refrigerator hums. Your spine straightens on instinct.

And there he is, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, now fucking shirtless with a pair of resistance bands as if they’re holy relics and not the medieval torture devices they obviously are.

“You’re out of excuses, doll,” he claims. Smirking.

You don’t look at him, but you close the door of the kitchen cabinet stronger than needed.

His smirk is something you can feel all over your body. It’s the kind of smug that sips your oxygen when you’re trying to breathe.

“I wasn’t aware leave me alone was a limited-time offer,” you mumble as you pick up the freshly bought cereals and use them as a momentary fortress between you and his delusional fitness evangelism until you reach the cabinet they belong in.

“I’ve asked nicely,” he says, walking around the counter like a jungle cat with a mission. “I’ve begged-”

“You threatened to unplug the Wi-Fi.”

He grins without shame. “Persuasion comes in many forms.”

You glance up and the mistake is immediate, visceral. Because Bucky Barnes is beautiful in that very specific way that ruins good sense. All tight muscle and menace and Monday-morning stubble, wearing track pants and having left his tank somewhere in the apartment unhelpfully. Gosh, you’d like to do things to his abs.

After every grocery is packed away, you make your way back to the living room and plop down on the couch.

Bucky follows. Of course, he does.

“Come on, doll. Just a small session.”

“I’m not doing a training session with you in the middle of the living room,” you counter, trying to disappear into the cushions. “This is a sacred space.”

“You eat cereal here,” he deadpans, standing over you. “Sometimes off the floor.”

“That was one time, and it was your idea.”

“You cried during some dog commercial last Thursday,” Bucky goes on. “Don’t talk to me about sacred.”

You raise an amused brow. “Yeah, and you looked genuinely worried, might I add. Even went to hold m-”

“Thing is,” Bucky interrupts quickly. “This is the perfect place for a little training session.”

You let your head drop back against the couch and groan, long and loud and theatrical enough to satisfy some deep internal need for performance. He waits. You squint one eye open.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” His grin brightens. “Because I care. I’m nurturing. Like a plant. Or a small invasive fungus.”

You sigh so hard it could be legally classified as wind.

But you fold like a lawn chair.

“Alright,” you grumble, dragging yourself upright the same way as a reanimated corpse. “One session. But if I die, or you make me do anything that makes me hate you more than I already do, I’m keying your motorcycle.”

His face lights up like a Christmas tree. You might as well just hand him a medal for Most Stubborn Personal Trainer Alive.

“You’re gonna love it,” he beams, and you’re afraid his smile might send you to heaven.

“No, I’m going to tolerate it. Briefly.”

He’s already dragging the coffee table to the side as if it’s weightless - which, to him, it probably is. And suddenly, the floor beneath your feet turns into a battlefield of yoga mats and kettlebells and Bucky’s overachieving expectations.

He rearranges the couch, puts the TV on mute, and you eye the plants watching silently from the windowsill, already seeming to judge you.

Bucky sets up a speaker, picks the most aggressively upbeat playlist known to man, and claps his hands once as though he’s about to conduct a Broadway show.

You glare. He grins.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he begins lightly, elated. “Let’s start with some dynamic stretches.”

“I already regret this,” you groan, dropping to the mat with dramatic flair.

He chuckles warmly. “That’s how you know it’s working,” he says, stretching in a way that should be banned in a shared living space.

He begins slow. Gentle.

First, it’s breathing.

“Focus on your core,” he says calmly. “Engage.”

“And how the fuck do I do that?” you mutter annoyed.

Bucky snorts, but he’s patient. “You’re doing better than you think.”

You hate how your stomach flips at the praise.

Next, it’s glute bridges. Then something called bird-dog which he demonstrates with the kind of precision that makes you irrationally angry.

And then comes planks. And it feels like your entire skeletal system is trying to defect from your body.

Your arms are trembling and your abs are plotting a rebellion, and you’re pretty sure your spine has given up on modern living.

And you whimper. A real, honest-to-god whimper. High-pitched. Involuntary.

Bucky pauses. Only for a second.

You don’t see his face at first - your focus being narrowed to the floor, the mat - but you feel the way his breath catches. His silence seems to grow something.

And when he does speak - when he finally moves and crouches beside you, voice like a hand sliding down your spine - it’s not the same.

“You got twenty seconds left,” he says, too quiet, too calm. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something you’re not meant to hear. As if maybe he’s heard that sound in his head before. In a different kind of room. In a different kind of situation.

You risk a glance up.

His jaw is tight. His gaze flickers too quickly from your face to the floor and back again, trying not to look at you too hard. His towel is in his hand and he uses it to - so, so gently - swipe the sweat from your brow.

It’s a small gesture but it lingers.

You swallow hard.

“I hate you,” you whisper through clenched teeth and dying muscle.

His mouth twitches. He seems to recover from wherever the hell his thoughts went to, but his low voice is not entirely steady when he answers.

“You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs.

Too gentle. Too earnest. Too close.

His hand brushes your shoulder. Lingers again. You’re no expert in tactical touch but he might overdo it a little.

And god help you, you feel your body respond in ways that have nothing to do with fitness.

You drop to your stomach the moment the timer beeps - collapse like a marionette whose strings have been cut - and try to ignore the way your pulse is doing jazz hands underneath your skin.

Above you, Bucky exhales through his nose as if holding something in.

Then he’s continuing.

And you feel awful.

Your arms feel like wet noodles. Your thighs scream. You make dramatic noises every time he tells you to squat and whine a little too convincingly just to see if he’ll let up. He doesn’t.

“You’re doing great,” he says for the sixth time in ten minutes, voice syrupy as if trying to keep a toddler from crying.

“You’re a sadist,” you shoot back, halfway through a set of lunges, your hands flopping like fish as you try to balance.

“And you’re a liar, ‘cause I can see your form’s getting better.”

He might even be right. Your muscles are starting to shake less. Your core is actually engaging, whatever that means. You’re not entirely sure if your soul has left your body or if you’re just weirdly beginning to enjoy this.

It’s when you manage a particular decent set of push-ups that you hear it in his voice. He’s impressed.

“There she is,” he murmurs, not even looking at his timer. “Knew you had it in you.” He says it almost absentminded.

You freeze on the floor for a beat too long.

“What?”

He’s kneeling beside you now, a few droplets of sweat running down his chest, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder to adjust it. “I said, you’re killin’ it.”

You roll your eyes to recover from the sudden tightness in your chest.

“Is this your whole game?” you ask, panting slightly. “Trap unsuspecting women in their own homes, trick them into exercise, then compliment them until they’re too tired to fight back?”

Bucky smirks. “Only the special ones.”

You blink.

He stands, offers you a hand. You take it before you can think better of it, and he pulls you up. His grip is warm and rough and entirely too solid.

Training goes on and you actually find yourself growing interested.

You stop huffing. Start asking questions. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration, not complaint. Your hands stop flopping through movements and start learning. Training.

Bucky watches. He smirks but doesn’t say anything.

He’s just kneeling beside you - half-naked and smug and proud and infuriatingly patient - with a voice so low you feel it more than you hear it.

“Alright,” he starts after a set of squats. “Take a breath, sweetheart.”

And you let yourself sink down. Only because he says it in that voice that drops like honey. Only because he’s looking at you as if this one set of squats is a moment in history.

You’re sitting on the mat, arms draped over your knees, catching your breath and trying not to look. But he’s right there. Right there. Smelling like soap and heat and something faintly woodsy. And he’s still shirtless. Skin golden in the late afternoon light. Muscles mapped out like topography.

You should look away. You don’t.

“You’re starin’,” he states without looking at you.

“I’m dying,” you correct, dragging your gaze to the ceiling. “I’m having a cardiac event.”

He laughs, and you can’t stop yourself from watching his throat when he does, how the sound starts somewhere deep and moves like gravity. “That’s just blood flow. Healthy stuff,” he eases amused, but fondly.

You flop onto your back with a breathless groan.

The exercise is not even the problem of this session. The exercise is not why you declined his offer to do some training with him for so long.

It’s him. Having him watch you this intently, letting his hands linger a little too long when he adjusts your position. The shift in his voice when he compliments you. The way his eyes dip to your lips when you aren’t looking. Except you are. You’re always looking.

You’ve lived with him long enough to know the difference between his real smile and the one he uses on the world. You’ve seen him groggy and gorgeous at 6 am, making pancakes in pajama pants, humming lowly. You know the creak of his boots when he’s home late and trying not to wake you. You know the way his laugh changes when he’s really happy - like, all the way happy. Rare. Sharp. Wild.

And now you know how he looks like when he wants to touch you and doesn’t.

He crouches beside you again and offers his hand.

You pretend not to see it.

“You said one session,” you sigh, still lying down, closing your eyes. “You said I wouldn’t die.”

“Technically,” he starts, amused, “you’re still alive. And you’re doing better than you think.”

His offered hand reaches out to brush a slightly damp strand of hair from your temple. He tucks it behind your ear. And then he lowers his voice, quiet now, serious in a way that makes your stomach flutter. “You really are doing great, doll. You’re not weak. Knew you weren’t.”

That makes something flinch in your chest.

Because he’s seen you on the bathroom floor after a panic attack. Held you through a job you hated and a breakup you didn’t see coming. He knows how messy you get when you care too much, and how you laugh too loud when you’re scared.

And still, he says you’re not weak.

You open your eyes. He’s already watching you. His expression unreadable.

Your heart is pumping so hard and you don’t think the exercise is the cause of it.

There’s too much heat you’re under right now, so you sit up, but a little too fast. The room tilts.

Bucky reaches out immediately - hands on your back, around your waist, steadying you.

And then you’re too close.

You feel the heat of his bare chest against your shoulder. You smell cedar and sweat and something that must be Bucky because it makes your heart do an Olympic floor routine in your ribcage.

You could lean in. Right now. You could just slide forward, let your mouth meet the hollow of his throat. You wonder what he’d do.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

And for a second - just one stupid, stretch-of-silence second - it feels as though the entire world is balancing on the line between maybe and almost.

Then Bucky clears his throat. Pulls back. “Alright, lazybones. Back to work.”

He offers you a hand again.

This time, you take it.

Not because you’re too tired to stand. But because you don’t want him to stop offering.

[stellarsecrets86]

Venus In Signs In Groom Persona Chart

✮⋆˙Venus in Aries

Future spouse is direct, brave, and doesn't mess aroundexcept perhaps when he's messing around at love or humor. He's got a rough, boyish form of charm and probably fell in love with you immediately and without second thought. There is a quality of his confidence that is irresistible and an added measure of the hero complex: he'd like to rescue, pursue, and conquer. He loves with passion and intensity, sometimes close to a fault of impulsiveness. He's the one who skydives and proposes or composes 3 a.m. poetry readings with guitar accompaniment. Marry him, and get ready for spurts of romance, passionate fights (and passionate makeup sessions), and a desire to go out there and conquer the world. He likes to have a partner who allows him to take charge but also keeps him intellectually engaged. Quickness to anger or jealousy may be the areas on which he needs to work. This is a husband who has to feel alive in love if it's not exciting, then he questions whether it's worth it. Passion and spontaneity are his default settings, and slow love is his secret ingredient.

✮⋆˙ Venus in Taurus

Meet the man who does slow love, deep foundations, and lasting pleasures. He is not flashy, but he is consistent and possesses a voice that can lull you to sleep after a long day. His sensual quality is secure and tangible; he loves to touch, snuggle, cook for you, and spoil you in little but sensual ways. He's the husband who arrives home with flowers at random, or knows exactly how to have your tea. He's not a hurrier-he's a constructor. Security draws him in. He may be possessive or resistant, but his commitment runs deep. With marriage, he likely cherishes creature comforts: comfortable home, quality time, security, and physical bond that improves with age. He is not necessarily über-verbal, but every action is a silent vow. He works on trust, reliability, and sensuality. He's the protector.

✮⋆˙Venus in Gemini

Your future spouse is witty, smart, and endlessly curious. He might have been attracted to your brain first and face second or maybe your sense of humor regarding punning at a party. He demonstrates love in the form of talking: texts, jokes, thoughts, and constant questions. He's a gabby flirt with a cheeky, young heart, age aside. And diversity is his oxygen; if the relationship becomes stale, he'll psychologically leave before he physically does. He needs in marriage a companion who will facilitate his duality he's there and agitated, intensely concentrated and occasionally unfocused. Intellectual closeness is simpler than emotional depth. He might surprise you with spontaneous new hobbies, pursuits, or trips. Novelty matters in the relationship: mix up the routine, stimulate his intellect, laugh a lot together. He's not clingy but thrives when he is intellectually and socially challenged by his partner. Boredom is the foe banter is the love language.

✮⋆˙Venus in Cancer

This guy leads from the heart and protects what he loves like a crab protects a velvet shell. He's highly nurturing, emotionally attuned, and yearns to build a home not just cohabitate one. He's the one who remembers your notes, remembers your grandmother's birthday, and cries when your dog dies. Marriage to him is coming home. He's emotionally invested from the start and seeks a marriage with emotional security and shared values. He may lean towards traditional roles, especially if that's what he learned growing up, but his caregiving nature keeps him emotionally present and committed. But he's moody and sensitive, requiring reassurance and routine. He's not flashy, however: he enjoys intimate gestures such as hand-holding, home cooked meals, and gentle affirmations. He's the type of companion who wishes to raise children, enjoy holidays, and grow old together watching birds eat in your yard. You can expect warmth, protection, and the fullest emotional fidelity.

✮⋆˙Venus in Leo

Your fs is destined to love like royalty. He's melodramatic with affection, extravagant with love, and perhaps slightly addicted to applause. He's proud and charismatic, and must be worshiped but he spends worship lavishly as well. His ideal relationship is one that's epic and heroic, with a hint of romance, loyalty, and theatrics. He's generous with compliments and energy; he might overwhelm you with presents or stage dramatic nights on the town. He's the kind of man who'll pen a love letter and recite it in moonlight. But he has a giant heart behind the drama he wants someone with whom he can glow, not merely shine alone. Loyalty is paramount in marriage. Betrayal wounds horribly, and disrespect can generate deafening drama. But love him publicly, honor his pride, and he'll be your greatest cheerleader, protector, and snugglebug. He's the husband who will build your love into something of a legacy and a perfect Instagram one at that.

✮⋆˙ Venus in Virgo

He's not flashy and dramatic, perhaps, but he shows love in the most dependable ways: being there, fixing what is broken, and planning ten steps ahead of what you'll need. He loves through actions, not declarations he’ll alphabetize your spice rack but may forget to say “I love you” unless prompted. He may be modest or even shy at first, but beneath that calm exterior is a deeply devoted partner. He holds himself to high standards and may expect the same sometimes too much so. In marriage, he's the one who remembers appointments, refills your prescriptions, and teases your coffee making abilities with affection. He is a critic, but usually out of concern and a desire to improve things. Emotional vulnerability is something he learns over time, usually through trust. Give him safety, routine, and appreciation, and he'll be the kind of husband who improves with age: plain but valuable.

✮⋆˙ Venus in Libra

Your fs shows up in a tuxedo, flowers, and probably with a sonnet already composed. He's the gentleman sophisticated, romantic, and obsessed with fairness and beauty. For him, love is something idealized and sacred. He's drawn to equity, beauty, and gracious give-and-take in relationships. He wants a true partner in every sense equal, elegant, and emotionally perceptive. In marriage, he's the one who plans anniversaries, negotiates with wardrobe, and makes sure both are heard. He can sidestep conflict like the plague and overcompromise, so resentment is pent up. But he deeply does crave peace and intimacy. Watch for elegant courtship, heavy emotional diplomacy, and long-term concern to keep romance alive. He's a "us" believer as a unit and will give up more than he should to maintain harmony. Spoil him like both your best friend and sweetheart, and he'll be loyal through every high and every low just make sure to keep things reasonably nice and relaxed.

✮⋆˙Venus in Scorpio

This man doesn't fall in love he plunges. Rich, deep, and intense, he's drawn to transmuting, all consuming connection. He wants to know every single nook of your head and can't abide superficial relationships. There's something mysteriously seductive about him picture smoldering eyes and a secret he'll never really reveal. He is hugely devoted and fiercely protective within marriage, but needs emotional integrity and trust above all else. Betrayal is an atom bomb. He may have jealousy issues or control tendencies, but this stems from deepest fear of loss. It's an epic romance novel, not a casual romance, to be in love with him. If you can do the work, get in touch with your shadows, and hold space for each other, he'll give you a loyalty that's unbreakable. But don't do it with emotional dishonesty, he can sniff out lies like a psychic bloodhound. For wishy-washy love, swipe left. He's the ultimate ride or die with a Scorpio smirk.

✮⋆˙Venus in Sagittarius

Your future husband is half philosopher, half wanderer, his heart beating to the rhythm of curiosity and laughter. He's a big-lover, loud-laugher, and most drawn to open-minded, adventurous, and spirited partners. He requires intellectual challenge and liberty like oxygen. Don't put him in a cage he'll begin plotting an escape route. In marriage, he's the playfully supportive man who wishes to grow, discover, and develop together. He may avoid intense emotional drama but will arrive with energy, hope, and great respect for your uniqueness. He's committed when inspired and honored. Laughter, shared growth, and a vow of shared liberty open the door to his heart. He shines with travel, meaningful conversation, and common purposes. He's the husband who inspires you in your passions and challenges you to see the world in a new way. With him, love is a journey never captivity.

✮⋆˙ Venus in Capricorn

Your man is the solid, reliable, driven one. He won't show up with flowers but he'll show up on time, every time, with a 10-year plan and your insurance policy filed. To him, romance is less about frills and more about foundations. He takes love in earnest and may wait until he's "ready" to settle down with a relationship. But when he does settle down, it's for life. In marriage, he's protective, possibly old fashioned, and always future-oriented. He loves by duty: doing, arranging, and being grounded. He might struggle with emotional displays, preferring physical expressions of love. But get past his defenses, and he softens up, showing a vulnerable side that few people ever see. His loyalty is zealous, and he works hard to maintain harmony. If you want a partner who's substance over flash and who'll build an empire with you this is your guy.

✮⋆˙Venus in Aquarius

This man is intellectual, quirky, and remarkably impersonal when it comes to love. He's not clingy he's too busy plotting how to build a utopia with solar panels and a retro jazz club. He's a believer in equality, freedom, and mental connection first and foremost. When he does get married, he wants a best friend to begin with and then a romantic partner preferably in one deal. Although he may not be heterosexually hyperemotional, he's incredibly loyal in his own rule-bending way. He needs room, experimental architecture, and a mate who respects his independence. Get ready for offbeat evening outings, cerebral arguments, and a romance more like artistic collaboration. He is attracted to the intellect first, and if you respect his ideals, he'll be hopelessly besotted with you. Don't expect gooey sweetness, though he's Tesla coil, not teddy bear.

✮⋆˙ Venus in Pisces

He is romantic, dreamy, and sentimental. He may live half in this world and half in a fantasy world. He's empathetic, emotionally expressive, and sensitive to the unspoken needs of his spouse. He loves extravagantly and may even get lost in it. Marriage to him is a mystical experience, where love becomes healing, transcendental, and sacrificial at times. He might struggle with boundaries or idealize you so much that he ignores warning signs. But when grounded, his love is remarkably moving. He'll write songs for you, cry at movies, and sit with you in silence when words fail. The catch is keeping him earthed and validating his rich inner life. With this type of husband, love is not necessarily emotional it's paranormal.

[PS: For entertainment purposes only. Enjoy! ]

[angelickks]

LUCKY CHARM       lion kaminski

synopsis                Lion Kaminski has only ever fought for two things—Stan’s approval and your hands in his hair. In the hours before every underground fight, he doesn’t come alive until he sees you. You are the ritual. The reason. The tether. After the fight, when his body is wrecked and his soul frays at the edges, you hold him together with slow kisses and whispered promises.

warning(s).            nsfw. mdni 18+. established relationship. reader's nickname is "lucky." language. canon-typical violence. some bruising/blood. lowk softdom! reader. emotional dependency. breeding kink undertones (possessive language). touch-starved trauma. praise kink. quietly feral lion. no use of y/n. not proofread.  angel talks.         HAAAAA told u. i needed this fr cuz i love him sm.

pairing                    walter "lion" kaminski x fem!reader

#NAV.ᐟ jack o’connell mlist ⋆.˚ how they met

BEFORE EVERY MATCH, Lion waits. Quiet. Still. Like he’s not fully there until you touch him.

Itʻs the night before the fight. The motel smells like cigarette smoke and bleach. Thin curtains, bad pillows, the kind of bed that groans even under your soft weight. You're painting your nails—black with little stars—because it’s the one girly thing you still get to do when you're on the road with them. You sit cross-legged in one of Lion’s ratty old shirts, sleeves pushed up, your lip tucked between your teeth as you concentrate.

Lion’s watching you from the foot of the bed, knuckles bruised and swollen in his lap. He should be asleep. Fight’s tomorrow. But his eyes are heavy-lidded and stuck on you like gravity.

"You're gonna chip ‘em," he mumbles.

You look up and smirk. "You watching me that close, baby?"

He doesn’t answer. Just ducks his head, a faint blush creeping up under the hollows of his cheekbones.

You put the polish down and crawl across the mattress. Your knees brush his thigh. “What’s goin’ on in that head, hmm?” You whisper, voice soft like lullabies and lull in the storm.

He doesn't say much. He never really has. But his hand—rough, scarred, and trembling—rises to curl against your cheek.

“You’ll be there tomorrow, right?” he asks. And you know that question isn't about attendance. It's about survival.

"Yeah, baby. I'm always there."

Stanley’s pacing outside the locker room like a cat in a cage. Lion's got his hoodie on, fists tight in the pockets, head bowed like he’s praying to whatever’s left.

But he doesn’t move until you walk in.

You look out of place here, too pretty, too soft—like moonlight in a dungeon. You don't belong here, not in this washed-out world of sweat and blood and broken noses—but you come anyway. Like you always do.

His girl.

Lucky.

The whole ring, that’s what they started calling you too. Fighters spit to the side when you walk past, tap their gloves, muttering prayers under their breath like you're some saint.

But they don’t really know. Not like Lion does.

Because for him, his "Lucky" isn’t a charm.

You're oxygen.

No one dares mock you anymore. Not after they saw what happened the last time someone tried.

Lion sees you and straightens. Like his spine’s been tied to your heartbeat. Like your presence reassembles him.

You walk over, lip gloss glinting under fluorescents, wearing one of his oversized flannels over a top that reveals just the right amount of skin to have Lion’s head spinning, just a little. You've got two rings on your fingers and that necklace he gave you the night he won in Trenton.

“Hi, baby,” You say softly, kneeling in front of him.

He exhales like he’s been underwater.

“Hey.” His voice comes out low, barely there. Hoarse from the weight he carries and the fact that he doesn’t speak unless it’s to you.

“Head okay?”

He nods. Lies.

You take his face in both hands and kisses the tip of his nose. “You been thinkin’ too much again.”

He nods again. That one's honest.

You move closer, hands sliding down to his chest. Your fingers splay across his ribs. That’s where you always touch him first. Like a key fitting into a lock.

“You need me to do it?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer with words.

Just presses his forehead to your collarbone and breathes. So hard you feel his ribs move under her palms. That’s his answer.

You pull back enough to see his eyes. They're glassy. Desperate. Like they’ve seen the worst of the world and still found one soft place to land: you.

Your thumbs graze his cheeks. “Look at me, Lion.”

He does.

You start the blessing.

His hands are already out, palms up, desperate.

You take them, cold and calloused, and press kisses to every knuckle, slow. Deliberate. Your thumb brushes the scar near his thumb—the one he got the first night they met. Back when you weren't “Lucky” yet. Just some girl in the back of a dive bar who stitched up his hand without asking questions.

You kiss his jaw, then his forehead.

“Win or lose,” you whisper into his ear, “you come back to me.”

He nods.

You rest your hand over his heart. “You feel that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s mine. It stays mine. Okay? Right here—you stay mine. You don’t lose that.”

Lion closes his eyes and leans into you, like he’s trying to breathe you in. You kiss his lips, slow. Not deep. Just enough. Just to center him.

When you part, Lion’s hand cups your neck like he’s grounding himself. Like he’ll lose control of his body if you leave too soon.

The crowd roars. Or maybe it doesn't. Lion doesn’t hear any of it. Blood drips down his lip, ear ringing, body sore like always—but the only thing he cares about is finding you in the blur.

He wins.

He always does when you're there.

The fight’s a blur of fists and flashes and his own blood dripping from his eyebrow—but you're there in the hallway after, holding gauze in one hand and his hoodie in the other.

And when he stumbles off the ring, dazed and shaking, he walks straight past everyone. Straight into your arms.

You catch him like he’s a crashing wave and you're sand. Your arms around his ribs. Your lips brushing the crown of his sweat-soaked hair.

“I got you,” you whisper. “Always.”

He presses his forehead to yours. Closes his eyes. Breathes you in like the first inhale after drowning.

“Take me home,” he says.

Lion never had soft things growing up. Not for long.

His life’s been cold water, cold concrete, cold hands. Everything that ever touched him left a bruise. So when you, his Lucky, came along—with your lip gloss smiles and pink hair clips and the way you always said his name like it meant something—it rewired his entire system.

He doesn’t know how to ask for touch. Doesn’t know how to beg. So he clings instead.

Sleeps with a fist in your shirt. Rubs his face into your neck like a feral cat. Kisses your wrists like prayers.

You call it sweet. Call him your baby in that soft, sing-song way that makes his teeth ache.

You don’t know it’s obsession.

That it’s faith.

That he wakes up in a cold sweat some nights terrified you’ll leave and take all the warmth with you.

When the world finally goes quiet and the cuts dry under stinging antiseptic, he never asks to be touched.

He just lays there—quiet, watchful, fists clenched—and waits. Like he’s hoping you'll crawl into him without him having to say it out loud. Like he thinks asking would scare you off.

But you know. God, you know.

He only breathes easy when you're on him. Above him. All over him. Like your weight alone keeps him from floating out of his body. Like you're the only thing holding the pieces of him together.

So you straddle his lap in the dim, creaky motel bed. The room smells like cheap soap and old blood, but Lion smells like salt and adrenaline and sweat-soaked cotton.

His hoodie is half-off. His eyes are glassy. He’s starving.

“Baby,” you whisper, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You with me?”

His hands come up slow. Almost like he’s afraid. Then they land—tentative, reverent—on your thighs.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I just—fuck, I just missed you.”

“You saw me three hours ago.”

His mouth twitches, almost a smile. But his voice is a wreck. “Doesn’t matter. Miss you the second you’re not on me.”

You lean down and kiss him, slow and deep, and Lion whimpers.

Whimpers.

Because it’s too much. And not enough. And because every part of his body is begging to be kept.

When your hips rock forward, he gasps. You're warm, slick, barely grinding against him through your panties—and he’s aching.

“Please,” he breathes. “I need—I need you.”

“What do you need, baby?”

His jaw clenches. His hands shake.

“You. Just you. All of you.”

It’s not fast. Not rough. Not like what people expect from someone who fights for a living.

It’s slow. Deep. Devastating.

Lion is gentle. Not because he’s afraid he’ll break you—but because he needs you to stay. Because every thrust is a confession. Every breath is a vow.

“You feel like home,” he groans into your neck.

You cup his face, keep him close. “You are home.”

He loses it a little then. Voice cracking, hips stuttering, arms locking around you tighter like you're slipping away and he’ll never survive it.

“You’re mine,” he pants. “My Lucky. My girl. My fuckin' girl.”

The air shifts, his hips moves faster, like he’s scared you’ll leave.

Like this is the only moment he gets.

Like if he doesn’t show you—prove it—you’ll vanish and he’ll shatter into dust.

He’s kissing you everywhere. Your neck, your chest, your shoulders. Mouthing at your jaw like he’s praying. Whimpering your name.

Chanting it.

“Lucky. Lucky. Lucky—fuck—please, don’t go—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, nails digging into his back. “You have me. I’m yours.”

And that breaks him.

His head drops to your shoulder, and his body shudders. “I love you. I love you so much I can’t fuckin' breathe—”

He falls apart inside you—arms locked tight around your back, lips at your collarbone, moaning your name like it’s holy.

You feel every tremor. Every broken breath. Every part of him unraveling in your arms.

And you hold him through it.

Because Lion Kaminski doesn’t need a lucky charm.

He needs someone to catch him when he falls.

Lion doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t speak.

He just stays inside you, face buried in your chest, breathing like a man dragged back from the dead.

You stroke his curls. Kiss his forehead. Murmurs to him like he’s your favorite secret.

“You’re safe. You’re loved. You’re mine.”

He whispers it back without even meaning to:

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

[bethsvrse]

Ex boyfriend Mickey Barnes makes my brain go brr

nsfw, head canons, kinda fluffy, pls pls send in requests for him

pt 2 kind of

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey Barnes who had no idea you signed up for Kenneth’s Expedition. He who freezes when he sees you for the first time on the ship. His brain short-circuits, his mouth goes dry, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like he might actually die for real this time and never come back. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be back on Earth, away from him, where he could at least pretend to move on. But now? Now you’re right in front of him, and all he can think about is how much he still wants you.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who becomes obsessed all over again. It’s sick, how fast it happens. One second he’s reeling from the shock, the next he’s watching you like he used to—memorising the way your hands move when you work, the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. He tells himself it’s just old habits, but that’s a lie. He’s right back where he started, desperate for you, aching for you, unable to focus on anything that isn’t you.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who gets territorial the second he sees you talking to someone else. He’s not stupid, he knows he has no claim over you, not anymore. But that doesn’t stop the jealousy from twisting in his gut, making his fingers clench at his sides when he sees another guy laughing at something you said. Mickey’s always been a little self-destructive, and now he’s pacing outside your quarters, trying to convince himself not to knock.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who can’t stay away. It starts small—passing you in the hall, lingering too long when you make eye contact. Then it escalates. He starts sitting next to you at meals, cracking jokes like old times, watching your reaction like his life depends on it. And when you laugh? Fuck, it’s over for him. He needs you again.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who starts touching himself to the thought of you again. It’s pathetic, but he can’t stop. Every night, his hand is wrapped around his cock, eyes squeezed shut as he pictures the way you used to moan for him. He remembers exactly how you sound, how you feel, how you’d tug at his hair when he was between your legs. He swears he’ll stop, swears he won’t do it again, but then you smile at him the next day, and he’s right back in his bed, stroking himself raw to the memory of you.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who finally breaks and kisses you. It happens fast, you’re teasing him, just like old times back on earth then suddenly, he’s got you against the wall, lips crashing against yours, hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It’s desperate and messy, and when you kiss him back, he groans like a dying man finally given oxygen.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who fucks you like he’s making up for lost time. He’s all over you, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, muttering how much he missed you against your throat. He wants you whining for him, wants to remind you exactly how good you had it. When he finally pushes inside, it’s slow, deep, possessive—like he’s trying to carve himself back into you, make sure you never forget who you belong to.

Ex-Boyfriend!Mickey who knows he’s in trouble. He told himself he wouldn’t do this again. Wouldn’t fall for you all over. But now you’re lying in his arms, breathless and he’s tracing lazy circles on your back, already wondering how long he can keep you this time.

[rnadett]

An Analysis of the Concept of 'The Grey' in Arcane.

Also, I forgot to mention, but here's another confirmation that Jayce knew about The Grey, as he completely redesigned the mask.

The versions on the left were the last ones before Jayce, specifically designed for the concentrated gas. These still had a pipe outlet and an oxygen tank. In the version designed by Jayce, there was new technology that helped see through the dense Grey via lenses, and it directly filtered the air, eliminating the need for pipes and extra oxygen tanks.

This mask is closer to the one used by the enforcers, with the distinction that the lenses in Jayce's version are even more advanced, not only protecting the eyes but, as I mentioned, offering better vision. (This feature is visibly switchable on and off in ep 2 of s 2.)

Also here's one more thing about the grey:

It disperses quickly, even within a closed office, when it comes into contact with the air. The Grey back then was only present in Zaun because: 1. There was no ventilation system. 2. Since the factories were still in operation, they continued producing the Grey non-stop. Later, these factories were closed, and the Chem-Barons began using it for different products. The only remaining places where the Grey was still present were the closed pipe system and the fissures in the mines where it got trapped. Also, when the Grey was present in Zaun and the ventilation system was running at the same time, what do you think they did with the Grey? They let air flow from Piltover to Zaun, so that the Grey would dissolve as quickly as possible.

The Grey is a fictional gas in a CREATED show where the laws of physics work differently than in our world. Just like magic (Arcane), the Grey cannot be compared to the laws of our universe.

....

False, one-page or one-sentence ragebait posts always spread faster than detailed content, even though, to get an accurate picture,

it's important to examine the details, not just take something out of context without meaning.

If you're interested, you can find more in-depth analyses on my profiley such as why it was Heimerdinger, whose 200 years of neglect and inaction created the entire conflict between Zaun and Piltover.

(or there is the youtube link: https://youtu.be/y7Y__xyDyG8?si=Td3EuTLMMdcFkTko)

Thank you for reading it!

[great-and-small]

One of my inner mantras when I’m out in nature is this: if something is worth a look, it’s worth a close look. So when I stopped to look over a railing at this nondescript corner of a pond, I forced myself to pause and spend some extra time looking closer at the scene at hand. Aside from the larger fish swimming below (which I am regrettably unable to ID) I greatly enjoyed watching the little “minnows” just under the surface. These fish are lively and entertaining to observe as they forage for food and squabble with one another, but they’re often overlooked by even the most ardent wildlife enthusiasts here. I grew up catching and observing minnows for fun and I’ve got a real soft spot for them, so here’s a little deep dive into these shallow water fish!

While a big school of minnows may not look like much at first blush, hardly anyone could deny the beauty of a Sailfin Molly after they’ve had a proper look at the fish.

If you’re trying to spot this species in a group like this, look for the blue tail and orange head of a mature male (quick mnemonic- red head= Molly like Molly Ringwald) but remember there can be a ton of color variation in mollies. These fish are feisty and bold; you’ll often see them chasing other mollies to defend their territory. If you watch closely enough you might get to see a male flare his oversized dorsal fin in a courtship display that is quite impressive.

Perhaps less visually striking but no less interesting in behavior is this little fellow, the eastern mosquitofish.

The Eastern mosquitofish is considered an invasive species in many places where it has been introduced by human activity, but here in their native home you can’t help but love em. The species is so named for their favorite prey (water borne mosquito larvae) and you can imagine how this particular behavior would be appreciated by us mammals that live near water! Mosquitofish (like the sailfin molly) often inhabit water that is lower in oxygen concentration, and have thus evolved an upturned jaw that allows them to take in water closer to the surface where it is richer in oxygen. It also happens to give them an adorably tough little expression for such a tiny fish.

While observing this group I got a special treat and spotted an Eastern mosquitofish with a genetic mutation!

This is a melanistic male, which is a mutation that is fairly well documented in my area. Although you might think that males with this mutation would be more susceptible to predators due to their flashy appearance, there is some research suggesting these melanistic males are actually targeted by predators a bit less than wild-type males. There is also at least one study showing that some females of the species prefer the look of these handsome black-and-white males, making it more likely to be passed down than other mutations might be. When I was a kid we called these “Salt-and-pepper” minnows.

If you live in the Southeastern United States and have a stream, pond, creek, or lake nearby, why not do a little nature scavenger hunt to see if you can spot some Sailfin Mollies and Eastern Mosquitofish for yourself (with huge extra bonus points if you can find a melanistic male Mosquitofish). If you live elsewhere in the world- see if you can find some small fish filling the same ecological niche and we can learn about them too!

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ ROOFTOPS AFTER DARK

summary — in which a new vigilante has popped up in hell's kitchen, and he keeps taking up space on your rooftop. already annoyed that he's making your life difficult, you're ready to tear him a new one.

pairings — matt murdock x invisible!reader

pronouns — none

word count — 1306

note — invisible!reader is so special to me i have so many small ideas half-written.

IT WAS YOUR ROOFTOP. there was no reason to be so civil and let the strange man in a black mask take up mantle on it . . . but you were curious. 

reports had been popping up for weeks now. they were calling the masked man the devil of hell’s kitchen and naturally you were curious. even more so curious when he got to places before you did, leaving behind a pile of groaning, unconscious men that should’ve been yours to take down.

it wasn’t just a jealousy thing. sure, you had been doing this way longer and brought little attention to it because you kept yourself invisible for most of the time. some of which you even staged as accidents. sometimes scaffolding just . . . fell . . . and happened to land a few bad guys in hospital. but here was this guy, the proclaimed devil, and he was making your job harder. he was leaving trails that left you having to hide away for a while, watching from a distance while he did the most insane martial arts you had ever seen in between getting his ass kicked.

knowing nothing about him, you remained invisible, stretching the ability to its absolute limit to cover your breathing and heartbeat also. there was something about him and his mannerisms that made you wary — the way he would tilt his head when he heard something was strange. then again, considering the god-awful mask that covered most of his face, you just assumed it had something to do with being a knock-off superhero with a shitty design. 

each footstep was silent. crossing the rooftop without a sound, you didn’t stop until you were hardly a metre away, watching, calculating. he was doing that head tilt thing again, each siren in the distance catching his attention, but the way he paused in the silence as if he could hear something that wasn’t there was intriguing. it was like that every time, and when you followed, it always led you into watching him take on the demons lurking around the dark alleys. 

he was well-built in a way you hadn’t managed to notice before. the skin-tight, black long-sleeved shirt hugged every muscle from his shoulders down to the point where he may as well have been wearing no shirt at all. there was no way it possibly protected him from anything, very much unlike the black tactical gear you sported that was thick enough to form lightweight armour. it was almost like he was asking for a beating.

without much of a thought, you broke concentration on your heartbeat, not that that had ever been a problem before. people couldn’t just hear heartbeats.

with the fist that was suddenly flying towards your face, apparently the devil could.

you reacted on pure instinct, ducking immediately and layering a shield back over your heartbeat to mask it once more. for good measure, you jumped high enough to twist your legs around his neck, maneuvering until you used as much force as you could to drop both of you to the ground, pinning him effectively. he felt stronger as he struggled, but he didn’t let up so easily. 

“woah,” you gasped in the cold night’s air, replenishing the lack of oxygen in your lungs. “look!” you felt that familiar shudder spring down your spine as you turned yourself visible again. “i’m . . . i didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” you couldn’t help but trail off, trying to decipher how he even knew you were there when there was no way he could see you and your breathing was masked. all you did was drop the cover on your heartbeat . . .

his head tilted again, lips forming a thin line as his hands found your arm. you watched, unsure, not exactly wanting to loosen your grip on pinning him just yet. “who are you?”

“no one, really,” you answered with a shrug. he wasn’t struggling anymore, and letting go of him was probably the nicest way you could go about this situation right now. you released his limbs, watching as he quickly got to his feet and put distance between you. “who are you?”

“no one,” he answered, lips curling in a silent taunt. 

“you know this is my roof, right?” you drawled, not bothering to stand up and instead getting comfortable on the cold roof floor by crossing your legs. “like, it’s been my roof for well over a year now, man.”

the devil’s head tilted again in the same direction as your movements. it was as if he were tracking them with every sense he had. “you’re never here when i am.”

“i’m always here.”

something seemed to change in him, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place, the flick of a switch sparking a light through the darkness. “always here, huh . . .” he trailed off, “you’re the ghost they speak of, aren’t you?” you watched as he crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging against his shirt. you noticed that he didn’t look in your direction when he spoke, facing just off to the left of you as if you weren’t there at all.

the only thing ever printed in newspapers about you was as indirect as conspiracy could get. every bad person something terrible had happened to had been at the cause of an accident that couldn’t be proven to be at the fault of another person. there were few theories that some sort of ghost was lurking around hell’s kitchen, doing the dirty work and covering it up, and though they were right because it was you, they would never learn of that. it was more so something to place the blame on because it was so absurd. the devil’s handiwork painted sharply across the front pages, your little ghost clean-up act was barely even thought of anymore. it was more of a joke than anything, and you had heard people at your day job laughing at the absurdity of it all. all they would ever know was that various strings of bad luck struck down bad people.

“mhm,” you hummed, not affirmatively nor in denial, but just a gentle acknowledgement that you were listening. “you make an awful mess around here, don’t you think? you’re gonna create some enemies by ending up on the front page of the new york bulletin every week.”

“i get shit done,” his voice was a lot more gruff than it had been seconds ago. “i get information before the ambulance gets to them — before the cops.” it was a dig that you didn’t take too kindly. you weren’t interested in information from any of the people you took down, you just wanted to see justice be served because the cops were nothing but useless and you were sick and tired of watching yet another family be let down. 

“find your own roof,” was all you could say, covering up both your breathing and your heartbeat once more. the devil reacted by pursing his lips, looking from left to right as if you had disappeared. “wait . . .” you mumbled, and his head swiveled back to where you were, like he had finally pinpointed your location. the location you hadn’t moved from since you took him down mere minutes ago. “ . . . you can’t see me.”

he made no move in denying it. instead of saying anything, he turned his back to you and jumped over the edge of the building. by the time you stood up and rushed over to the edge, nothing but dimly lit side-streets stared back. still, in the depths of the night, you shouted, “find your own fucking roof!” and hoped he heard it from wherever he had disappeared to.

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐌𝐞𝐥 𝐇𝐂'𝐒

Headcanons about my 2nd wife because she’s under appreciated in the writing community😔

She’s a professional spoiler—gives you all types of jewelry, clothes, even as small as simple notes; it’s her love language

As you slowly woke up from sleep, turning to the nightstand, there was an envelope. A smile plastered across your face, you were quick to open it, knowing it was from her. It was written in her beautiful handwriting, small doodles in each corner.

I love waking up next to you every morning, it’s a beautiful sight to see when I open my eyes.

A sketch of you laid at the bottom of the paper; your every feature highlighted by her skilled hands.

Although she has a neutral and put-together attitude in public, once she’s alone with you, she’s allows herself to be vulnerable.

Makes a lot of sketches of you, when you’re sleep, concentrated, eating, basically doing anything.

She gets a bit silly sometimes, whether it’s making faces or gestures unconsciously.

“And uh—em…” she moved her hands around in circles as she struggled to explain something. You slightly furrowed your eyebrows, a small smile on your face, “What are you doing?” Her eyes averted from your face to her hands, feeling embarrassed.

Absolutely an art nerd; she will talk about every single painting she’s ever admired and explain microscopic details

Has had frequent nightmares since being trapped in the oculorum. Moments before, she’d watched her only friend die, destroyed in a matter of seconds at the hands of the Black Rose. She was kept there for months, fearing for her life, being deceived left and right. Her own brother, she truly thought he was alive…it was all a lie.

She sat up straight, chest heaving as she tried to collect her thoughts. Kino, Elora. She felt suffocated, as if oxygen was being stolen from her lungs. A hand found it’s way to her back and she flinched until she heard your face, “Mel, it’s just me.” She turned and looked at your face, full of concern and sympathy. There wasn’t a verbal response but she clung to your body, silently hoping that this wasn’t a hallucination.

It wasn’t until she felt you squeeze her body twice that she was fully relieved. You have this act of reassurance where you squeeze her twice so she knows that what she’s experiencing is real.

Often gets up really early to watch the sun rise. It’s so unreal how all the colors blend together in the sky and created this gorgeous image.

Has like the best diet ever, of course

Tells you stories of her childhood in Noxus, what her mother was like, why she got exiled.

Her hands are always cold for no particular reason

You jumped when you felt a freezing sensation trace your back. She pulled her hand back, “It’s just my hand,” she smiled. “Why are your hands always ice-cold?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows, she gave a small shrug in response. You took her hands in yours to warm them up a little, “I appreciate this,” she said softly as her eyes met yours.

Is usually the big spoon but won’t mind being a little spoon. She loves having your arms wrapped around her.

If you give her an attitude, she will somehow eliminate it without even saying anything.

You gave a huff, “It’s not like you’d know anything about it.” The words came with an eye roll, you’ve been like this since the morning and she was getting pretty tired. She’d ignored it, assuming you’d figure it out on your own but clearly you didn’t. She raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowed, and she saw the moment where you realized. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled out apologetically. “Apology accepted, but don’t make it a habit,” she uncrossed her arms and held your hand.

[hotheadedhero]

Threshold

AN: Think I still got Rise Raph deep-rooted in the brain, especially his savage mode, soooooo enjoy the result of my obsession :3

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: violence, couple of bad words, kinda angsty (are you surprised?), savage Raph being protective <3

Dark. Pitch black. Quiet.

When did it get so dark?

The last thing Raph remembers is-

Crud. His head is pounding. He pulls himself up from the strangely cold floor and rises lethargically only to cause further incursion against a ceiling. Ow. One hand nurses the top of his head as the other feels around. He’s inside some kind of box, smooth all around and cold - must be a metal. How did he get in here? He was… he was out. Somewhere. That’s it, he was out with… with… with you! Yeah, date night, that was it. Then, something happened. Damn it. He can’t concentrate with this drumming in his skull. Him and you. Out together. Then… then? 

Shit!

His shoulder suddenly barrels into the side, and a second time but no budge. He remembers now: the two of you were making your way back from an anniversary date when a group got the jump on you. They must have knocked him over the head and trapped him in here whilst he was unconscious. That means they have you. No. Not on his watch. Not as long as he’s got breath in his lungs.

Surveying his circumstances, he realises just how serious these guys are about keeping him at bay. No windows, not even a keyhole for light to pass through, nothing but darkness. This box also appears to block out a decent amount of sound. Just him and the crackle of his breathing as it comes in and out in shorter successions. His palms stroke over the cold, metal walls before he punches one. Then, again. He slams his fists in the same place over and over in the hopes of creating a weak spot. 

Nothing.

His annoyance and dread only grow. Just what is this thing made of? No. No time to speculate. It doesn’t matter how sturdy this entrapment is. What matters is finding a way to break it. Whoever has done this is going to pay sorely. Raphael is protective of everyone he cares about but when it comes to you, he feels a bit more passionate; decisively out for blood. A concerning revelation he hadn’t the cause to encounter until now but he won’t worry about that now. He needs to make sure you're not hurt. He needs to get out.

Once again, his hands ball up and he punches every spot he can feel. He's not going to give up. He'll keep going until his knuckles bleed if he has to. Every whack makes the metal ring in his ears. Every jab stings as bruises form on his fists. With every hit, an image of you flashes in his mind, scared of what danger you may be in. The interior lights up with the bright red of his ninpõ and he carries on. He has to protect you. There’s no way of contacting his brothers for their aid. He needs to get out.

Eventually, he comes to a stop. Raph gave it all his might and hasn't even made a scratch. The perpetual darkness and his stunted gasping pushes him closer to the edge. He falls to his knees, head spinning, his mind dizzy and disoriented. Right. That’s right. This cage is a complete seal, which means it's more than likely that there aren't any cracks for even oxygen to pass through. His air is finite and he's wasted it all on this futile attempt to break out. No. He needs to get OUT!

The large snapper cries out in frustration, only for his screams to bounce back at him with an even fiercer roar. You’re alone with the threat out there. He’s alone in here. He can feel himself slipping. The only assurance he has is himself and his self-assaulting shots of paranoia. Why can't he get out of this forsaken box?! No. No. Nonono! He needs to stay. He's not going to be much help if he ends up going berserk. Raphael’s teeth clench and he clasps onto his head desperately. It feels like his brain is splitting in two. Crap! Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it to-

On the outside, some tunnels down, you have your hands tied, held behind your back with little give. The ropes bite into your wrists as you twist and turn, trying to find some leverage to loosen them. Your surroundings are cold and unwelcoming, filled with the faint scent of metal and something else you can’t immediately place. It’s unpleasant but recognisable. The sewers. More specifically, New York sewers. That’s a relief in some respect, knowing that you’re still in familiar territory. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. Raph is out there, and you need to find a way to reach him. Your heart races at the thought of him being in pain or worse. You can't let that happen. You have to find a way to get to him, to tell him you're okay, to let him know that you're fighting too. Think. There must be a way to get out of this before those hoodlums come back. Everything around you is as bare as the ideas in your head, in that you have none. With a huff, you adjust back into a sitting position. Something pokes at you where thigh meets hip bone. Something sharp. A shuriken! You’re glad for your need to be ready for any given situation but wish you had opted to place it in your back pocket instead. The top half of your body swivels one way and you force your legs to turn the opposite. Your fingers twitch and stretch in desperation. With each movement, the ropes dig deeper into your skin, but you push through the pain. You suck in a sharp breath and twist yourself further. A nail scratches against the metal and then the tip of your fingers. You frantically stroke towards yourself until it’s released from the captive pocket and clanks onto the ground. There’s no time to get breath back, however. You quickly stumble on an axis and clasp onto the star, wasting not another second as you delicately rub it back and forth against the ropes. The fibres begin to fray, and you can feel the bindings loosening. Hope surges within you, igniting a fire in your belly. You just need a little more time.

Just as you’re about to free your wrists, two figures, masked and menacing, step inside the concave structure of grey brick and stone, their eyes glinting with malice as they size you up. You do the same, noting the slightly inhuman shapes of them. They must be Yokai of some description if you had to guess. Do the turtles have beef with any Yokai? You don’t recall.

"Well, well, look who decided to wake up," one of them sneers, stepping closer.

You swallow hard, adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Where's Raph?" you demand, your voice steadier than you feel. “What do you want with us?”

The other figure kneels down to your level and chuckles darkly, “Our only interest is that big pet of yours. He’s got a pretty price on his head for the battle nexus and we intend to collect.”

The battle nexus: a major blood sport attraction that used to take place in the hidden city back when Big Mama was running shop. An event that you thought to be deceased many years ago. You suppose it’s only natural that someone would eventually want to resurrect it for their own nefarious desires. What better way to do that than with a behemoth turtle who showcases great strength? If their only priority is Raphael then what’s the point in keeping you around? You’re glad they’ve kept you alive but they could have just as easily left you behind. You’re almost afraid to ask but you need to maintain conversation whilst subtly working on your restraints.

“Why keep me around then?”

“Leverage,” the one in front of you states simply and you can feel the smirk in his voice. “Our guess is that he’ll be more agreeable if he doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

The two laugh and you frown. A sense of dread swirls in your stomach. Sickos. Taking advantage of someone’s love and care just to torture the life of another. Each cackle from their hidden lips only feeds into your desperation that much more. It takes another moment and then, finally, your shoulders can relax and you take a calming breath. You join in their laughter, rising in volume as they quieten. When they silence completely, you do the same with a long, melodic sigh.

“You made just one teeny tiny miscalculation.” Suddenly, your arms land at your sides and you fall back, bringing your feet up to kick the first tyrant in the face. “Dating one of the Mad Dogs means picking up a few tricks!”

With one down, you push yourself forward onto your feet, quickly tossing the throwing star in the other guy’s direction. It catches him on the leg and he howls in pain, falling to one of his knees. That works for you. You see your opening and take it, running as fast as you can down the long tunnel. With determination fueling your every step, you run, ready to face whatever awaits you, knowing that the moment you find Raph, you’ll both be able to get out of this.

"Raph!" you shout, desperate for him to hear you. "I’m here! I’m coming!"

The sound of something scraping against metal echoes through the sewer hall, and you can only assume that it has to do with him. Running on that theory, you sprint in the direction the sound came from, bounding past a couple of goons and bringing you to a large junction where four tunnels meet. In the centre of this junction is a large metal cage and it cries from something inside trying to get out. He’s in there. This is it! 

You run past five or six more masked figures to get to the box. Maybe you should have thought this through better. Yet again, they won’t be a problem if you can figure out how to open this thing; a switch, a lever, anything! But there’s nothing. In a last-ditch effort, you pick up the first thing at your disposal - a broken pipe - and whack it against one of the corners. The hit reverberates and sends a shockwave through your bones, making you drop the pipe. How are you supposed to get this blasted cage open?!

You reach for the rusted tube of metal again but a set of arms snake around you and lift you from the ground, tearing a scream from your lungs. Freedom was so sweet, yet so short. You shout hysterically for your Raphael, hoping with all your breath that it’ll reach him, that it’ll give him the strength to breach him of his capture. 

"Sorry to burst your bubble,” one of the crooks from before laughs, although breathless from his run here, “but that box has been infused with mystic energy! It would take a miracle to-"

SCHREEE-EEEECH!!!

A piercing shriek cuts through the open air and everyone halts. Bangs like thunder trail after, followed by another loud, ear-splitting scrape of metal. All eyes slowly glance over to the box where a couple of large, dark-green spikes are poking out from the side, having cut through. They disappear back inside and are soon replaced with two hands that proceed to push the metal away. You smile victoriously. You knew your big lug would find a way to break out. That spiky shell is sharper than he gives himself credit for. You attempt to run forward and reunite with him but this damn bastard won’t let go of you.

Raph erupts from the confines of the metal box, hunched over and huffing with a gravelliness that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. The atmosphere shifts like a storm brewing on the horizon. He stands tall and intimidating, the dim light casts shadows over his hulking figure, muscles coiled like springs ready to unleash chaos. The moment he spots you, a deep growl rumbles from deep within his chest, resonating with an anger that has been building in the darkness.

Still, no one has attempted a move, no one brave enough to do so, but one is eager to see this standstill put to an end. “Don’t just stand there! Attack!”

The crooks scramble, thrusting their weapons in his direction and he responds with a guttural battle cry, lunging at the nearest bandit - a hulking brute who barely has time to raise his weapon before Raph’s fist connects with his jaw. The impact is followed by a nasty crack and the crook is sent sprawling backwards into a wall before slumping to the ground like a ragdoll. This beast - your boyfriend - doesn’t stop there, moving with an agility that almost seems unnatural. He pounces forward with a speed that belies his size, taking out more assailants one by one and without restraint. Each attempt on his life is met with devastating retaliation and another nameless body on the ground.

Heart racing, you stand helplessly caught in the grip of the larger thug who has yet to release you. You can only watch in awe and horror as the dark side of your boyfriend further emerges like some fiery reincarnation. It’s as if he’s become something other than himself, a creature of pure rage, driven by a rudimentary wrath that eclipses the calculated fighter you know. Raph’s movements are fierce, but there’s something primal about them, a wildness that feels almost foreign. It’s as if he’s been overtaken by something deeper, something instinctual that drives him to protect.

When there are none left to fight, you call out, “Raph!” your voice breaking through the chaos.

He stalls, sits on pause for just a moment, and his head cranes to the side to face you. That’s when you see it, that’s when it makes sense; his eyes. They hold no shine, nor do they ignite with relief upon realising your presence. Clouded over, ghost white, they are completely and utterly devoid of your Raphael. You think you’ve grounded him, even slightly, but the sound of your voice and your helpless form only torches his fury further.

Those blank eyes stare just to your left and at the thug still holding you. You feel his entire body stutter, hear the gulp in his throat, and a whimper just before he lets go. He runs off with a trip and gets away as fast as he can, being the only one who has managed to flee the area unscathed. You’re weirdly glad for that. In a morbid kind of way, he can hopefully warn others not to ever mess with you guys again.

You gradually tempt yourself to look back at your hulking goliath of a boyfriend. You’ve heard about Raph’s “savage mode” but you’ve never seen it yourself. There’s never been an instance in which it could happen. From the moment you two have been together, you’ve practically been tied at the hip. You don’t want to fear him of all people but you recount stories of this beastly persona, how even his own family have not been entirely safe in the midst of his presence. There’s no telling if you’re in danger right now.

He makes his way towards you and it’s as though you’ve been turned to stone. Worst-case scenarios flood your better judgment to the point that you can’t bear to look. Remaining dead still, you listen closely to his movements, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart in your ears. It sounds like he’s right in front of you and then… behind you? Slowly, you take a peak and turn. He stares off where that last thug had run off, seemingly chalking up whether he should chase after or not. If you had to guess. He appears to decide against it and circles you again. There’s been no move to actively acknowledge you, which you hope is a good sign.

“Raph?” With no idea of what’s going on inside his head, all you can think to say is his name.

He huffs and makes a glance at you, only to return his attention to the room. A strong arm is held out in front of you as he breathes gruffly. His head jerks side to side in case there are any more threats to vanquish but it’s clear to you that they’re all beat. You need to find a way to calm him down so that you two can get out of here. Pronto. He backs up closer to you and lowers himself more. Before you can wonder what he’s doing, he suddenly grabs you and pulls you into his chest, holding you there with one arm.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, big guy. It’s okay. You got them all.”

Your efforts to lull his antsy behaviour are for nothing. He huffs from his nostrils down at you again and runs off. His grasp on you is secure, strong, and safe like any other instance you’re wrapped up in green muscle. You thank whatever higher forces that even this feral side won’t hurt you but you still need to get your Raph back before anything goes out of control again. You imagine he must be taking you somewhere safe, where is what you’re concerned about. There’s no telling who you may cross paths with and who could get hurt while he’s like this. Granted, the sewers aren’t regularly populated but it would just be your luck if there were workers down here at this time or something.

You keep trying to usher him to calm down but he continues on his quest, running through the maze of sewers. There’s no getting through to him. He only skids to a stop when something clinks around the corner and gets down on all fours minus the arm holding you. The source of the scuffle is nothing more than a group of mice looking for a good meal. Despite the lack of threat, he’s still on edge, body tense and rigid around you. You try to wiggle free of his arm and reach out for his cheek, softly petting the rough skin.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you calmly usher. “We’re okay.”

He takes in a shuddery breath and shakes his head. There’s a battle in his mind, an instance in which he wavers. Much is clear when his hold loosens. You scramble against the floor and onto your feet, taking a hold of his face before he can straighten himself out or blow up again. There’s a combative roll of his vocals, sounding shot, and his head leans down into your hands. Hunched over like this, he almost looks like a big, wounded dog in need of comfort.

“Raph… keep safe,” he grunts quietly.

Those blank eyes flicker up, a spark of recognition igniting behind them. It’s like watching a storm cloud begin to part, revealing the sun beyond. He’s in there. He’s coming out. Little by little, your soft-hearted giant is trying to return. You smile down at him, hopeful, and softly pull him closer. As you hold him against your chest, you plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. He relaxes into it and gingerly wraps his arms around you.

“I am safe,” you whisper, stroking a hand over his head. “You always keep me safe.”

He hums back lowly. You both stay like this for a moment; the security of his hold around your waist, your fingers delicately caressing his head. You don’t mind how long it takes for him to fully relax. You’ll take all the time in the world if you have to. Though time seems to be on your side when he suddenly gasps loudly. His arms go taut and you hold onto his head, paving a hand over the top of his shell.

“Hey, heyheyhey! It’s okay, I gotcha,” you reassure. “Just breathe.”

His breathing is ragged, each inhale shaky as he processes all of the chaos that unfolded. Raphael can’t piece together what happened. He knows what happened to him to get to where he is right now but he doesn’t know the extent of what he’s done. The echoes of his own growls and the sounds of battle play back in his mind but without any cohesiveness. It’s so terrifyingly frustrating. It’s there and it isn’t. He quickly looks up at you, eyes frantically darting around, then back on you in search of any injuries.

“Where- What happened to- I didn’t-” He swallows hard and trembles against you. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you answer quickly, “you didn’t. You could never.”

You hold onto his face, grounding him as best as you can. The fear still lingers. His chest is still collapsing under every half-breath and stuttered gasp. He can’t bear the thought of hurting you. Even if it isn’t entirely him, he would never- could never forgive himself for such a thing. As he continues to crumble, you know it’s going to take more than words to calm him down.

“Raph, look at me,” you say softly, urging him to focus on you. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. I promise.” You kiss his forehead and speak into the skin. “Just breathe, okay? In and out. Just like we practised.”

He nods, albeit slowly, and tries to mirror your breathing. His head hangs low whilst he tries to collect himself. You watch as his body rises and falls, your heart aching more with every pained whimper croaking in his throat. His vulnerability is something you’ve rarely witnessed, reserved for the few times that he’s had night terrors. 

Gradually, the frantic energy starts to dissipate. He leans into you, resting his forehead against yours as he tries to regain his composure. You can feel the tension in his muscles begin to ease. His eyes slowly open and he expects to be faced with distress but all he finds is a gentle, sad smile. He only wishes he had the strength to give you one in return. At least he’s gotten a grip on himself now. His nerves are shot but he’s steady again. That’s the main thing.

“There we go. I’m so proud of you.” You softly peck the space between his eyes and smile more assuringly. “Let’s go home now, okay?”

Coming to a slow stand, he breathes out and nods. “Yeah… yeah. Let’s go home.”

[goooofy-goooober1121]

HII I love your work!! I was asking if u could do a Viktor x reader where they’re just enjoying their time together as academy students. I don’t mind it being gender neutral but female is preferred as well. I hope you’re having a great summer 💕💕💕🙌🏾🙌🏾💝💝🌺🌺‼️‼️👅👅👅

HEHEHE HI ANON MY SUMMER IS GREAT I HOPE YOURS IS TOO <3

Requests Are Open!

Reblogs Always Appreciated!

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

Tags: Fem!Reader, STEM major reader, Chemistry trash talk, Viktor's european ass does not tan he burns, sort of academic rivals for a sec? Reader wears a skirt and lip gloss. No other specified features for Reader she's all yours for projecting <3 also she talks about ingesting poison to get out of chem work (same girl) Oh and lowkey corny, down HORRENDOUS Viktor. uhhh yeah overall just fluffy and such :3

Two Types of Chemistry

Viktor always thought the Academy would offer him more to life than Zaun could. 

Opportunity, he reasoned. Maths and sciences, languages and histories from around the world. It would teach him everything he needed to know, and more; the best coffee combinations for late nights, the best shortcuts for when his body ached and hissed like a feral feline at physical strain…

And, as you so confidently asserted, the best companion for studying the absolutely horrid material that your general chemistry professor assigned you both.  

Appropriately challenging material, Viktor had reasoned. 

Torture from a professor who hates her students, you answered. 

You had insisted on reviewing the material for your upcoming final exam outside on the campus green. The weather was nice; the sky was clear, the temperature was the perfect balance between warm and cool, the sun’s rays kissed your cheeks, and the grass cradled your bodies like a mother would her infant. 

Fresh air, you told him, would counteract the toxins forcibly shoved down your throats as you recited thermodynamic laws, solubility rules, and acid-base chemistry values. 

“I’m going to burn,” Viktor huffed, shuffling himself beneath the shade of the green’s long-standing oak tree. “I will emerge roasted and red and it will be all your fault.”

“Red like litmus paper when it’s used in an acid,” you answered, nodding solemnly as you scribbled it down into your notebook.

Viktor rolled his eyes, scoffing with no real annoyance. He turned to his own notebook, tapping his pen in his left hand as he scrutinized his own notes. “If you doubled the concentration of a reactant,” he began, “and determined the order of the reaction to be third order, how many times must the rate have increased?”

“Eight,” you answered, not looking up from your notes. “The Ostwald process converts ammonia to nitric oxide by reaction with oxygen in the presence of a catalyst at high temperatures. A vessel is initially charged with 4.80 moles of gaseous ammonia and 5.80 moles of oxygen gas is sealed and heated at a fixed high temperature. When equilibrium is established the reaction mixture is analyzed and found to contain 3.80 moles gaseous nitric oxide. What is the quantity of ammonia gas in the equilibrium reaction mixture?”

Viktor scribbled for a moment in his book before replying. “One mole. A thirty-five liter vessel at 700 Kelvin initially contains hydrogen iodide gas at a pressure of 5.80 atmospheres; at equilibrium, it is found that the partial pressure of hydrogen gas is 0.56 atmospheres. What is the partial pressure of hydrogen iodide at equilibrium?”

“4.68.”

“4.68…?” 

You tossed an eraser at him. “Quit pestering me for units.” 

He flinched away from the piece of rubber, laughing lightly. “What? You will need them or our professor will count your answer as incorrect.”

“Fine. 4.68 atmospheres.”

“There you go.”

It went on like that for a good while, bouncing chemical complexities off of each other like you were playing a game of twenty questions. That’s one of the things that had encapsulated Viktor about you since the day you met (once he got over the chagrin of you answering a question before he could in your shared physics lecture). You were undoubtedly brilliant, and once you two got over the sparks of competition, you both discovered you made quite the pair. 

That was, until the immovable object called ‘your need for a break’ clashed with the unstoppable force of Viktor’s work ethic. 

You tapped out after the fifth round of questioning— Le Chatelier’s principle followed by a set of buffer equations— flopping comfortably onto the grass. Your skirt fluttered around your knees as you did, landing softly back onto your thighs like leaves from an abscising tree. 

“I’ve had enough,” you groaned. ���I can’t do it anymore. Someone needs to feed me carbon triple bonded to nitrogen.”

“Chemistry is not so severely hellish that you need to ingest cyanide,” Viktor huffed, noting something down in his notebook. 

“Maybe for you.”

He spared a glance down at you and found his eyes never left. 

Looking at you, laying in the sun like that— the way your lashes brushed your cheeks, the way the warm light made your skin glow incandescently, the way your lip gloss shimmered like sweet fruit juice on your lips, and the way your hair sprouted like flowers, his favorite flowers, from the holy halo of your head— it made him stop and simply stare. 

You were picturesque, a work of art that none of the most brilliant artists in the Academy could ever hope to recreate. He wished, for those silent seconds, that this moment could remain a perfect photograph in his mind; that he could file it away in the deepest recesses of his memory, manufacturing a mental place of worship where your image could be sanctified for as long as he could manage cognition. 

And when the day comes when he is old and gray and forgetting, and the inner machinations of his brilliance begin rusting and creaking at their joints, he knows that you— unforgettable, radiant, exuberant you— will remain forever untouched in that mystical, sacred hideaway of his memory; a girl shining like gold, held dear to his heart until the day he meets his end. 

It struck him, then, heart turning in his chest like the sun does in the sky. 

The Academy could teach him plenty of things: maths, sciences, languages, histories; study strategies, resilience, how to run on three hours of sleep and a prayer. 

It couldn’t teach how it felt to feel the warmth of care. Of gentleness. Of embrace and compassion and laughter. 

So Viktor moved, groaning softly as his hip clicked and his leg stiffly protested, to move from his shady spot and lay beside you in the sunshine and grass. If you were the teacher, he decided, he’d learn those things a million times over. 

You turned your face to his, but he was already looking. 

“You’re going to burn,” you reminded him softly.

“Sunlight is good for the mind,” he answered, eyes flitting, just for a moment, to your lips. “Serotonin. Vitamin D. Circadian rhythm and such. I could stand a few minutes.”

You smiled. How he loved that smile. “Yeah? You’ll risk getting all crusty and achey and peely?”

“Yes.” 

His reply came quickly, breathlessly.

“So long as it is with you.”

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

A/N: can you tell I hate gen chem.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Headcanons {Hashiras x f!reader}|Their reaction when you tease them

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Characthers: Rengoku, Sanemi, Tengen, Giyuu, Gyomei

Plot- Imagine the Hashiras having a wife who has a great playful spirit and who is always teasing them. Like, dedicate her life to testing their patience.

A/n: I decided to make an introduction and a little scenario for each one. I hope you like it✨️

Tw: Very suggestive, double entendre jokes, dirty talk

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Rengoku :

❤️‍🔥 He was also very energetic and playful like you. That's why you two got along at first sight.

❤️‍🔥 The jokes and teasing only intensified when you two got married. Especially the jokes that always made him blush since it always came either to tease him or to get his attention. And it worked.

You were home alone on a Sunday afternoon and he seemed to be very focused on reading a book. You were looking at him, leaning against the wall behind him, looking at the way he looked too quiet for your taste and decided to "tease" him a little. You approached him and slowly leaned over the back of the couch and over his shoulder, reaching the edge of the page and turning it slowly. Kyojuro looked to the side and gave a little smile, which you saw and responded to. "Is this the book about fire breathing?" You asked as you read the page "Yes. It was through it that I learned. Do you find it interesting?" He asked, looking from you to the book "Yeah, a lot." You nodded, using your finger so as not to get lost in your reading. "It's an interesting breath... I wonder if it also explains how to breathe when I see you naked." You said and he coughed a little at your words No matter how long you had been together, he could never get used to your jokes. They always caught him by surprise. "I didn't know you got breathless. I'm sorry for that." He said with a laugh "But I do. Why do you think I even roll my eyes?" You said and he laughed even harder "No, stop. You're going to kill me laughing." He asked as he laughed out loud and you ended up laughing along "I was incapable of such a thing. I was just trying to get you out of concentration because you were looking so serious." You said, caressing his face that was smiling and blushing "But now I'm not anymore." "Good, that way you can give me a practical lesson about fire breathing, if you know what I mean..." You winked suggestively and he chuckled "It's harder than it looks, you know?" He raised an eyebrow, returning your suggestive air "I don't think so, you know. You're good at what you do." "Oh, thank you!" "You're welcome, dear. Now, come on, teach me too." Kyojuro smiled sideways and placed the book on the table before standing up and taking you in his arms "If you run out of breath, just let me know, okay?" He joked and you smiled

Sanemi :

🤍 He is serious and rough, but with you he seems to be more relaxed and comfortable. Besides, you are everything to him and he loves you.

🤍 Even when you are annoying and unbearable (purposely to get his attention when he seems distracted by something). He tries to ignore you, but as the jokes go from funny to "ulterior motives", he can't hold back.

🤍 He quickly realizes where you are going with this and yes, he does what you want. Unless he is in a bad mood and wants to ignore you just because you teased him.

One time you were sitting on the porch of the house while he trained in the space in front. It was hot and as he was working hard he ended up taking off the top of his uniform which made you lower your head a little and smile, embarrassed, with the view in front of you. Even though you had seen him like this several times, the presence of this man always did things to you. He stayed like that for a while and you were already starting to think about provoking him because of the situation. He might not know it, but when he took off that shirt, you stopped knowing what the word oxygen was. He then finished and slowly approached you and you had to pretend that you weren't on the verge of fainting. "What are you looking at?" He said as he dried himself with the towel, watching you look him up and down "I was thinking about something really interesting right now, you know?" You said, getting up from the floor and facing him "Oh, yeah? What was it then?" "Like, I noticed just now that when you took off your clothes the air got hotter. Can you... explain that to me?" You looked at him with an ironic interrogative look "Are you trying to get somewhere, huh?" Sanemi took a step towards you and you changed your expression to something more innocent "Me? Don't get me wrong, Nemi. I was just curious because this keeps happening every time you do it. Don't you feel it?" You continued to tease even though he walked with slow and intimidating steps and looked you up and down as if you were his prey Oh yes, you definitely are... "You're really trying something, aren't you? You shouldn't be talking so much in the position you're in." He cornered you against the wall and you giggled nervously. Teasing that man was a dead end. "You talk too much, brat." He said, running a hand around your neck and giving it a little squeeze, bringing his thumb to your lips. "What's wrong? The cat got your tongue, huh?" "No, it's right here, look." You stuck your tongue out at him playfully and tried to run away, but he grabbed your collar with one hand and slammed you against the wall again, making your heart beat fast with the sudden movement "You're not afraid of danger, are you?" He frowned, looking at you, who still had that laughing look that was getting on his nerves. "Not gonna lie, but with you throwing me against the wall like that, I think it's hot, not dangerous." You bit your lip and he giggled "You think so?" "Yes. Do it again." You asked as if it was the most normal thing to ask "Not only will I throw you into a wall, I'll also ruin your legs." He picked you up and carried you into the house "That's it Nemi, throw me against the wall again!" You shouted with joy "Shut up."

Tengen:

🩵Tengen is extroverted and flahsy in everything he does. And of course he loves having people like that by his side. You fit perfectly in these standards and that's why he made you his fourth wife.

🩵Your playful and fun side was what captivated him the most. Especially when you made those dirty jokes to answer his when he was also feeling cheeky (which was always the case).

🩵The other wives also admired you for your personality and for being the one who stood out for these same behaviors.

Tengen was sitting in the living room and it was just you and him there. The other three wives had gone out that night, leaving just you two there alone. A dangerous combination, indeed... He looked at you while you seemed to be arranging some things, and seeing so 'far', he then decided to play his first card. "This house seems so empty and boring now..." He said with a long sigh of boredom "Will they still take a while?" You wondered "Probably, when they're together they always take forever..." Tengen looked back at you and licked his lips. "Why didn't you go too?" "I wasn't in the mood." "It doesn't even seem like you, such a cheerful and outgoing girl." "Well, but it doesn't mean I'm not, just because I didn't went with them." "You're right, but now that I think about it, I think we should have gone too. There's nothing to do here." He settled himself on the couch and you stopped what you were doing for a moment, turning to him slowly with a little suggestive smile "Well... You could do me, if you want..." You looked away and he looked at you in surprise "What did you say?" "Didn't you hear?" "I want to hear that again just to make sure." He said with a smirk "I said," You approached him and sat on his lap, holding his shoulders and looking at him with a teasing look. "that you could do me." "Oh, Really?" His hands went to rest on your waist as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you with ulterior motives "Why not? Or are you waiting for the audience to put on a show?" You said and he laughed "You're pretty funny, you know? Well, it wasn't such a bad idea, but I don't know if you'd agree." "Well, I didn't want to surprise the girls like that. At least I think we should choose another room in the house." "Anything in mind?" "Bedroom?" "Classic." "You don't like it?" "Honey, as long as you agree, I'll even do it on the roof." "That sounds flashy for some reason, but I still prefer the bedroom." You decided and he smiled "As my princess wishes." He ran a hand over your face, caressing your cheek. "So, bedroom?" "Yes." "Let's do it then."

Giyuu :

💙This man's virtue is called patience, but when it comes to the light of his life, the same light that has an outgoing smile and that takes him out of that depressing world of his, he sometimes doesn't know how to deal with it.

💙But the truth is that he falls in love with you every time you tease him and try to get him out of that thick shell of sadness. He really values ​​your effort and recognizes that you are making a point of staying by his side and wanting to love him.

💙However, he can be quite shy when you start taking things in another direction. And you can see it in his flushed cheeks.

One time, you were coming back from training and when you got to the bedroom, you found Giyu sitting on the edge of the futon, looking into the corner, with a thoughtful expression. You looked at him and he didn't even look back, even though he knew you were there. Of course, you didn't miss the opportunity to take him out of that "little world" of his. "Giyu? Are you okay? Do you need anything?" You said, approaching him "No, no, it's okay. Don't worry, I'm fine." He nodded promptly when he saw you approach and question him He felt safe and protected by your side because you cared a lot about him and the care was something he greatly appreciated. And coming from you, it only made the situation better since you were the one who took him out of his depression. "Well, I saw you so distant just now, you seemed sad." "No, I'm fine, really. Don't worry, dear." He assured with a tiny smile "Okay, if you say so." You sat down next to him on the bed, turning to the side and looking at him, who looked at you He had a slight blush on his face just from your presence there next to him. "Were you having dirty thoughts before I got here?" You asked and he quickly changed his expression "What? Where did you get that from? I was just a little distracted." He looked away, completely embarrassed by the question you had asked "Don't get me wrong, I was just asking for the sake of asking. It was okay too, I mean, we already..." You looked at him suggestively and he looked at you sideways "Are you teasing me again?" He asked, with a long sigh (from someone who was already used to that kind of conversation) and you looked away, with a false innocent look on your face "I don't know what you're talking about." "Yes, you do." "Well, I mean," You sit on his lap with your arms around his neck. "You probably already know how this is going to end, so why not recreate your darkest thoughts?" You whispered seductively in his ear "I already told you I wasn't thinking about that." "Are you going to tell me you haven't done this at least once?" You looked at him with a smirk "Well, since you insist on it so much..." He picked you up and turned you so that you were on your back on the mattress. "I'll show you then."

Gyomei :

🤎This man also has patience in his surname and that's why you also like to push his buttons from time to time with your jokes. It's not easy, especially when he's meditating or praying. This moment is very important to him, so you've learned to respect it.

🤎But when he's finish it, you go after him with your silly and cheerful personality.He really likes your charisma, quite the opposite. He admires you a lot for your good heart and is grateful to hear your laughter.

🤎But he also can't hide the blush on his cheeks and the will to fulfill your desires when you start using your words to see his most intimate side.

You were walking through the garden of the house when you saw Gyomei in the background, sitting on the porch with his eyes closed. You noticed that he was meditating and before going to him you waited until he finished. Even though he was blind and focused on meditation, he was quick to notice your presence there. "I'm already finished, you can come closer, Y/n." Gyomei said, opening his eyes and you looked at him in admiration "I sometimes have my doubts about your blindness." You approached him "I may not see but I have good ears. I could hear your footsteps, you waited for me to finish the meditation, didn't you? I'm sorry if I made you wait." He said with a tearful voice but you quickly intervened before he started crying again "No no, it's okay, my love. I waited with great pleasure just to be able to talk to you. Don't worry, okay?" You ran your fingers over his face wiping away the tears "Yes." He nodded. "So, tell me what you came to talk to me about, dear?" You then sat on his lap while running your hands over the tight fabric of his uniform "I'll be honest, I wish I had a friendship as strong as the buttons that hold the hard, wonderful muscles underneath your uniform." You said, licking your lips as you smoothed his body with your hands "I'll take that as a nice compliment. Thank you." He said with a completely innocent smile that even made you rethink if you were really going to say what you had in mind next. But you couldn't help yourself and ended up saying. "Mei, are you busy right now?"You tilted your head to the side, looking up to meet his eyes "Not right now, unless the master calls me. Why?" "Like... I thought you could... show me the real reason why they call you the stone pillar." You said, running your fingers along his neck and he got a little nervous "I mean... They call me that because of my stone breathing." "Yes, but there must be another reason, right?" You ask, suggestively "What did you expect to hear?" "I don't know. Maybe that you had something that looked like one." You gave a teasing smile and little by little Gyomei had to put the pieces together to realize the situation. "Do you understand what I'm saying, my dear?" "I think so." "Well, then tell me again. Do you have time?" You whispered against his lips, sending shivers down his broad back "I have all day for you, my dear." "Good, let's make the most of it then."

[jpitha]

The Oxygen Breathers: Sales Pitch

It wasn't until Late Summer Storm was being strapped into the small human ship that he realized that it was really really happening. Sure, he had seen the extremely small ships the humans had brought out to show off; a resurrection of a very old design, they said. And sure, he had noticed that one of them had two seats instead of one. They had said that one was for training or ride alongs, would he like to try it out? And sure, in a moment sans sanity, Late Summer Storm had agreed to the ride.

That as going to be it, right? They'd find some incompatibility, or there would be some political fallout and he wouldn't have to go. Face would be saved by all.

But no. The humans were so excited about the prospect they - to use one of their own strange idioms - 'moved heaven and earth' to make it happen.

First was political. Summer had hoped that Innari high command would balk at the idea of one of their own being wedged into a prototype human ship, but to his dismay, they were excited about the idea. They were so excited in fact that several members of the Isolators had paid him a visit and informed him in no uncertain terms that he was to be cooperative, polite, and above all, interested in what he was being shown. Interested enough to recall it, and write a report on the state of humanity's technology. His feathers fluttering nervously at a visit from the secret police, Summer agreed. He would report back on what he learned about their singleship, the one they called a fighter.

Next was logistical. Innari don't breath the same gas mixture as humans. It's not as dramatic a difference as say, the Von, who have much more methane hexafluoride in their breathing gas, but humanity's breathing mixture has frankly an irresponsible amount of oxygen in it. Oxygen narcosis occurs for Innari who breathe human concentrations and pressures of oxygen, and they die shortly after. The Innari medical community has published research papers stating that they are pretty sure that the humans suffer from oxygen narcosis too, they're just... used to it. 'Fortunately' for Summer, the human fighters had plumbing and fittings for hardsuits and supplemental breathing gas. Summer would wear a pressure suit and bring a atmosphere generator and his human pilot would do the same.

When the appointed day arrived, Summer stood in the too bright lights of the ship bay of the human Nullship Kon-Tiki. His pressure suit - a brand new one, printed up by the Innari navy, tailored and form fitted to his body - felt heavy and squeezed his feathers uncomfortably because of their higher gravity and atmo pressure.

Among the human workers bustling around without pressure suits - or really that much in the way of clothing either - someone walked in wearing a heavily armored pressure suit. Made of segmented pieces of reinforced coropolymer, they looked like they were headed to the front lines of a war, not a joyride.

"Late Summer Storm?" The voice said over his radio. He could speak their language, but he had his suit translate with subtitles in the bottom of his vision. It helped when they got going and spoke too quickly, or used some obscure idiom that needed translation. They translator also helped with body language. "I'm Captain Meghan Delrin, I'll be piloting today." They saluted sharply, and Summer noticed how maneuverable their suit was, even though it was quite heavily armored.

"Thank you, Captain. Please, call me Summer. My full name is unnecessary now." He said, turning to look at the fighter. "I am... interested in our upcoming flight."

"Are you now?" Captain Delrin laughed. Summer was surprised at the sound. He hadn't heard a human laugh before. The staccato pulses of sound were much different than the more musical Innari laughter. "You look like you're on your way to a funeral."

Summer's eyes flicked down to the translator for help with the phrase. She thinks you look despondent it said, helpfully. "Oh, please don't misunderstand Captain. I am grateful for the opportunity and I am excited to learn what your fighters can do, it's just..." He struggled for the word in their language. "Scary." That was probably closest.

To Summer's surprise Captain Delrin lifted her glass face covering, revealing her own face squeezed tightly in the foam of her helmet, surrounded by wires and blinking lights. He had no idea they were crammed into their suits so tightly! They moved so fluidly he had assumed their suits were much more loose fitting. "Summer, I want to make this crystal clear. We are doing everything within out power to make sure that this flight goes without incident and is even boring, but-" she raised a gauntleted finger "-we're scared too. If we weren't, we would run the risk of making mistakes. Scared is good. Scared means you're careful." The glass folded back down. "Come on, Summer, Let's get seated and belted."

The fighter was so small that there wasn't a door, per se. The clear canopy slid open and flipped up, revealing the two seats, side by side. Captain Delrin sat on the left, and Summer's seat was on the right. His seat was filled with pieces of closed cell foam, to fill in the gaps and hollow spots making up the differences between their bodyplans. Summer had spent a few hours in the fitting room with some very terse engineers sitting down and standing up, sitting down and standing up, until they were satisfied. As he sat, the seat was comfortable and he was belted in by more engineers. When they were finished, they looked at him for confirmation. He nodded and made the gesture he was taught - his outer manipulators and sensory feathers curled around into a fist, except for one pointing straight up. The human returned the gesture, saluted, and backed down the ladder.

As Captain Delrin was belted in, she had been pressing buttons and flipping switches. The fighter began to hum and throb as it came to life, motors rising in pitch and maneuvering jets puffing. Summer's sense of balance was thrown off for a moment, and then it recovered. "What was that?" he asked as Captain Delrin continued to start the fighter.

"Gyro" she said without stopping. "We can spin the ship for free with it. Good for tracking targets and maneuvering. Why? Did you feel it?"

Summer nodded, and then realizing she wouldn't be able to see the gesture said "Yes, I felt it. Is it magnetic?"

"It is suspended in a mag field, but the gyro itself is not, why?"

"We're sensitive to electromagnetism. It was how our ancient ancestors navigated our world."

"Huh. That makes sense I guess." She said, looking at him now. "Will it be an issue?"

"I don't know" Summer said. "But, I don't think it's enough of a reason to stop the ride."

"Fair enough."

Eventually they were warmed up and at power, and a small tug wheeled them to the launch tube. Captain Delrin explained that during a battle, the fighters could be launched every few minutes "But the ride is rough" she added.

Summer wondered what 'rough' was to a human when he heard the launching clamps grab the ship. Captain Delrin looked to an officer on the side, saluted, they returned the salute, and they launched.

Much later, Summer had to watch the video playback to see the launch. The fighter was shot out of the Nullship at a withering five gees. Captain Delrin grunted and took sharp breaths but was otherwise unharmed as Summer regained consciousness. "You made it Summer! Glad to have you with us once again." Delrin said, laughing. "We made it a light launch in deference to you. Normally we launch at twenty gee with the compensator set to ten."

"These fighters have a compensator and you didn't activate it?" Summer's whole body ached from the launch.

"What fun would that be? You have to feel some of the forces, it keeps you honest. Now then." Delrin flipped some switches and the color of her screens changed. "Let's see what we can see."

They spent the next solar hour flying around, showing Summer what the fighter was capable of. He had to admit, the maneuverability of the teeny ship was impressive. "But why?" he finally asked.

"Why what?"

"Why-" he gestured at the console "-all this. You have your Nullships, and they are more heavily armed than one of our Battlecruisers. They can travel farther, faster, and hit harder than anything in the Coalition. Why do you need fighters?"

Delrin reduced the throttle until they were practically coasting relative to the Nullship. "That's a good observation Summer. We have a few reasons. One, fighters will help us to engage multiple targets at once. The Coalition knows that our Nullships are powerful, so if they were ever to attack us, they would come at us en mass. A swarm of less powerful ships could overwhelm our targeting, and could do damage. Fighters could engage them, and divide their efforts."

Summer nodded to himself. His own government had decided that If anyone were to attack the humans, a swarm of a huge number of ships was just about the only way to have any chance of success.

"The second reason, is we're hoping to sell them." Delrin said matter-of-factly.

"You're what?" Summer stared dumbfounded. He couldn't have heard that correctly.

"We're going to offer them up for sale. The Coalition's defenses are woefully underdeveloped. Something like this is just what they need to help defend themselves.

"You'll give the other Coalition peoples weapons?"

"Not for free, but yes, why not?"

"It's just..." The Innari never shared technology. The idea of such a thing was too dangerous. Sell a weapon today, and tomorrow it could be turned back onto you. "What if the people who buy it use it against you?"

"That could happen, yes." Delrin said thoughtfully. "But history shows us it probably won't. Fighters aren't standalone things. They need parts, maintenance, upgrades, ships to haul them, printable matter, all kinds of ancillaries. If someone buys from us and then attacks..." She shrugged. "They'll find it very hard to keep their new fighters supplied and maintained. Also-" She looked out of the canopy into space. "It would be nice to have an opponent that was more our speed."

Summer was sure she was just playing a trick on him now. "Ha ha, sure thing Captain Delrin. You're telling me that you want to fight?"

"No Summer, we want to fight a good opponent. Someone who thinks on their feet, has close to our level of training and technology, someone who makes it worth while. Do you remember when you came to us and asked for our help? How we brought our ships out of Nullspace and defeated the Felimen almost instantly? It was boring."

"Boring?!"

"Boring. I was on one of the Nullships, Summer. It was practically a drill. People didn't even run. Didn't have to. We slipped out of Null, shot up a few Felimen cruisers, did a little light planetary bombardment, and slipped back into Null."

Summer was stunned into silence. The Felimen were a fierce enemy that had driven all of the Coalition people back for more than a year, winning battle after battle, claiming more and more space until the humans traded entry into the Coalition for defeating the Felimen.

It took the humans one solar day.

"If we sell some fighters to some of the Coalition who knows? Maybe in a few decades or centuries we'll finally get a good battle. Something really worth going all our for." Delrin said, wistfully. She really sounded like she wanted all out war.

Delrin took them through some more high gee manuvers - with the compensator turned on this time - and demonstrated the weapons; two missile racks, two slug throwers, one exawatt laser and enough printable matter to keep them in consumables for an impressive amount of time. She had fired at some drone targets that the Nullship had launched, and even let Summer have a go at the weapons suite. She ordered a new wave sent out and Summer took over. It was intuitive, and easy to use, and frighteningly effective. As the last drone evaporated in an orange puff of exploding missile Summer looked down at his hands. He had - without any official training - destroyed more targets quicker than any Innari ship he could think of, and this was just a single human fighter!

The demonstration over, Captain Delrin took them back in. The landing was more gentle than the launch, but only just. As they rolled to a stop, the canopy popped open and Delrin's face mask opened again.

"So! How many fighters can we put you down for?"