#thinking about my writing and all of the ideas i have that would feel so good to get out and maybe someone else will read it and like it -

[dirtylittlesecre7]

Oh my gosh— someone who writes for nam-gyu? Am I dreaming?! I CANNOT find any fics of him!! Need headcannons about him rn😩 I feel like that man would enjoy making you cry and upset, like he would grin and laugh while doing so. (Cough— Hatefuck—cough..) Just need headcannons about that man so bad😩🫣

This is actually my first time asking, so I really don't know what to say🥲 but I hope you consider this🫶🫶🫶

-🌟anon

warning | nsfw content

word count | 0,6k

a/n | thank you so much for your request luv! I hope I could write something as you wanted

！he's had mixed feelings from the moment he first saw you. hate? anger? like?

oh no, not like. he just hates you so much that he wants to fuck you until you know your place.

"fucking bitch."

"huh?" thanos looked at him incomprehensibly, about to turn his head to you, but nam-gyu quickly changed the subject "nothing."

！he's insanely jealous of thanos👀 even if you don't respond to his flirting, seeing a man next to you makes him angry enough. at least it gives him a reason to make you cry more.

！he should be the only one who annoys you. if he sees someone picking on you, he'll quickly intervene, at first he'll protect you from that person, but then...

"are you too stupid to not protect yourself? no. don't even think about crying." his emotionless voice makes you tremble as he watches you quickly wipe your tears away "good. don't you dare unless I make those tears flow."

！he likes to tease you until you cry because he thinks you look so beautiful with tears in your eyes. If you turn your head and try to hide your face from him, he will forcefully grab your chin and make you look at him with your eyes full of tears. you will see that he is trying to calm down by taking a deep breath because oh...you have no idea how horny he is.

！If he can't sleep at night, he will come to your bed and bother you. If he can't sleep, you can't sleep either. but strangely, talking at night is when you get along the most. guess you are both too tired to argue, but that doesn't mean he won't say a few things about you.

okay, now please hear me out..

！this man is completely clingy when he loves you, but he is also hard when he fucks you, I can't say he doesn't like slow sex, but when he can fuck you like crazy, he doesn't really think about the other option.

！I say clingy because he can never be comfortable if his hand is not on your body in some way. he has to touch you in some way so that he feels better. when you least expect it, you may find his hands on your waist pulling you closer to him "mm...look who's here?"

！If we talk about life outside of the game, you can become his only world. yes, he likes to make you cry and upset. but only you. the others have never caught his attention and they don't. he still thinks you have the most beautiful tears.

！I can't say he's very loud in bed. he'll mostly let out short gasps and short moans. he likes listening to you more, whine for him and he'll make you see stars.

！he likes to tease you and make you cum so much that you cry from sensitivity. when you beg him to stop, he just puckers his lower lip in a mocking tone.

"aw.. does it hurt? what should I do?" he leans into your ear while his fingers, which don't stop, hit the inside of your pussy hard while you just had your 3rd orgasm "Is that all you can take? c'mon.. you can give me more, hm? ah..yes don't hide your voice from me, fuck-"

！he'll run his hand over you while you're sleeping at night, sorry not sorry. when you open your eyes and notices how his fingers are expertly tangled in your wetness, he'll smirk and say "you awake? good. now you better spread your legs for me and be loud as possible."

he's obsessed with you in some way, romantic or not, and he has no plans to leave your side.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[endursent]

Hi Ma’am! I’ve recently come across your “my partner turned into a cat” series and it’s wonderful. I was wondering if I could request something similar where reader turns into their partner’s favourite animal? Preferably with Kaveh, Neuvi, and Dottore (if you write for him). If not, that’s all good. Have a nice day!

【 content; established relationship , humour , gn!reader , temporarily turned animal (reader) 】

【 characters; il dottore, kaveh , neuvillette 】

【 note; i haven't actually written for dottore before strangely enough considering how much i love him, so it might take a while for me to get his personality and mannerisms down... thank you for the ask! 】

【 word count; 1.454 | masterlist 】

Il Dottore;

Never had you considered what his “favourite animal” is, mostly because you’re convinced Dottore doesn’t have a “favourite” anything—his interests are too unpredictable and subject to change at any moment. 

  Though you should have seen it coming that one day, his experimentation would strike you—thankfully you’re not dead, you’re luckier than some assistants that have been zapped a time or two and carried out in body bags. However…

  Why are you a fat little platypus, and why does he seem so excited about it?

  You look absolutely ridiculous, you imagine—and feel, having four legs and a beak is peak body horror that is unfortunately eating at your brain right now. And yet, Dottore picks you up like one would a cat and dangles you in front of him with both an excited and thoughtful expression. “How unexpected—and interesting. I made little change to the formula…” he plops you down on the table next to the damned formula he had been adjusting… never will you inhale “experiment fumes” again. Not that you’re supposed to be doing so in any case.

  “A fascinating specimen indeed,” he pokes around your fur and you shake yourself, but he is relentless with his prodding! “One of the few mammals capable of electroreception! I wonder if you've maintained those sensory capabilities... This requires immediate testing."

  He doesn’t leave you alone for a single second that you’re like this, always either checking something—one time you were freaking out about the fact that you had no idea how to eat or drink like this… and Dottore took out a notebook and tried to get you to bite his fingers to “test the venom”... you bite a bit harder than he likely bargained for. 

  Dottore does try to “help” in his own way, while he brainstorms how to turn you back, he creates a “suitable habitat” with burrowing zones and a “pool”. He means well, but he’s also using it to observe you like a specimen so you kick up dirt and splash water on the floor and tables in spite.

  Out of anyone, Dottore is the fastest to get you back to normal… or he could, if he wanted to. But he kind of likes seeing you waddle around trying to walk with webbed feet and seeing you knock your tail into things and make weird noises. He has plenty of experience pressing your buttons and what makes you tick as a human, why not enjoy a new side of you?

Kaveh;

He’s more traumatised than you are when one moment you’re standing next to him—and the next there’s a random ass deer there. He looks around and searches for you frantically, thinking you might have fallen into a creek or rolled downhill… very unaware of that same deer following him around and trying to get his attention. 

  He does love deer, he thinks you’re unimaginably cute but also kind of silly in the way horses are silly but not huge and terrifying. 

  Kaveh almost needs you to headbutt him for him to realise that you are, in fact, in front of him and not soaking around in a nearby river hanging out with the frogs. Thankfully, he’s smart enough to put two and two together after he snaps out of it—but now he’s just confused.

  How? You had just been right there! There wasn’t even a rustle of leaves or anything!

  In any case, he needs to get you back to the city… you walk like a human in a deer suit, unused to the long four legs and strange join positions—and as soon as you enter his and Alhaitham’s home (after getting your antlers caught in the door like an idiot if you have those) you suddenly stop. 

  “What is it?” Kaveh peeps from behind you, confused as to why your ass is just standing in the doorway.

  The house has hardwood floors.

  He doesn’t realise this, of course, and gives your behind a firm push—only for you to slip and slide and nearly tumble inside like a freshly born animal. Kaveh rushes in behind you, apologising for nearly knocking you over and trying to make sure you don’t fall against anything and break things… Alhaitham would never let him live it down if he saw this.

  It’s not exactly easy to… navigate this, you’re not a small animal nor are you yourself particularly knowledgeable about your new proportions. 

  He can barely stop himself from continuously stroking your fur and feeding you crunchy things to be able to watch you munch on them. It does kind of kill the fascination he had with deer, as he’s never really interacted with them so closely until you happened to become one.

  You follow him around like a lost puppy, even as he had a very important client meeting—you didn’t let him get away… and thus, Kaveh had to improvise a bit. 

  The client, an older woman, squints at you standing slightly behind Kaveh and trying to munch on the blueprints in his hands (you haven’t had food for two hours, which is disastrous with this huge stomach you have now). 

  Kaveh clears his throat, pushing your snout away. “Yes, we can change the—no, you see, this is… yes, it’s okay, this is just… a friend.”

  He has no idea how to explain this so he just chooses not to. “Anyway… about that garden idea, if we put a patio by this side—”

Neuvillette;

You can’t believe he’s keeping you in a bowl. 

  Somehow, and for some reason, when you had accompanied Neuvillette for an evening walk along the seaside just outside of Fontaine’s walls—you had stubbed your toe on a shell that stuck out of the ground, and with a sudden zap… you had turned into a blob.

  Neuvillette looks up from his desk as he hears your soft body pound against the bowl next to him—and toss up some water that almost splashes onto the documents splayed out before him—and frowns slightly. “I know it’s not very spacious… I apologise, my love. But I don’t have anything larger at this moment, hopefully the pet store will find a more adequately sized fish tank soon.”

  He doesn’t understand how you had suddenly turned into a jellyfish, you had been behind him for a brief moment before he heard your curse (likely because you stubbed your toe) and then a poof… when Neuvillette had turned around, you were like a deflated balloon on dry land. 

  Thankfully he had created a pocket of water for you from the saltwater nearby to float in as he brought you back to the city, but the situation puzzled him greatly—how could you become such a creature? He wasn’t entirely sure you were fully conscious in that body, but judging by your frustrated movements in the small bowl, he suspected you at least had partial awareness. 

  Neuvillette doesn’t want to leave you alone while you’re like this, he’s both worried you might suddenly transform back, without any clothes—which would be terribly awkward to try and depart his office in that state—or possible hurt yourself if you broke the bowl with the transformation and cut yourself.

  Thus, thankfully after you’re given a larger tank in his office (and at home, he’s not leaving you at his office overnight alone!) there is a smaller one placed in the Opera Epiclese, next to his chair. 

  During a court proceeding, Neuvillette had to present the evidence in a firmer manner than usual, as the representative to the one being judged was being rather contrarian—which was far from productive and consumed far more time than it needed to. 

  Every time he successfully made an argument that couldn’t be refuted or argued with, you released a faint bioluminescent glow—as if applauding his expert navigations of the evidence and arguments. No one seems to notice (it’s difficult enough to see Neuvillette so high up above the stage) but he still feels a bit sheepish when you do it—you’re likely not doing it on purpose, he doubts you would know how.

  Neuvillette is very careful with the temperature and the salinity levels of the water you inhabit for the time being, he creates a careful schedule to check it every few hours as well as adjusting it depending on day and night. He’s very determined to ensure you’re as comfortable as you can be, whether you realise you’re a weird blob with tentacles or not. 

  And he hopes he can figure out how to change you back soon… as cute as it is to watch you twirl around and show off when he stands before your tank, he would rather you show off your moves as yourself—where he can properly talk to and touch you. 

[xiaowhore]

equivalent exchange.

DRAFT. this fic is incomplete, as i've stated in this post. this has been sitting in the dungeon for a while, and i have no plans to finish them, but i posted these drafts to not let them go to waste. it is up to you if you still want to read them regardless of their incompletion :) i will be writing my original ideas for the fic at the end so you guys will have an idea of what the fic was supposed to be like.

premise. when ayato stumbles upon a drafted resignation letter on your desk, he doubles his efforts to show you the perquisites of staying by his side.

he doesn't want to lose a competent subordinate. that's all there is to it.

note. what's wrong with secretary kim au but it's definitely not the same because i stopped watching at episode 5 and have no idea what happened. anyways i think we were all expecting a ceo!ayato x secretary!reader fic at some point so here it is. (couldn't keep this gender neutral for plot reasons, so feminine pronouns were used.)

Kamisato Ayato considers himself a good boss.

Or as far as things go, he's a decent one. He treats his employees well, takes them to expensive restaurants for company dinners, and discourages overtime so they can head off early for the night. He doesn't care much for formalities, and he gets along with his colleagues fairly well. He's never heard anyone talk behind his back or complain about his attitude at work, and there aren't any rumors spreading about him (if he turns a blind eye to the conspiratorial gossip guessing his relationship status).

But he does have minor faults. Like showing a more mischievous side when work hours are over. Getting Thoma dead drunk during dinners because his half-conscious inebriated talking is a form of amusement, or riling up Itto in drinking games just because it's funny. Then he leaves Sara to clean up the mess for him, since Yae seems to enjoy the comedy sketch as thoroughly as he does and probably won't lift a finger to help even if he asked her to.

As his assistant, you're prone to falling victim to his shenanigans, silly stunts that coax out aggravated eye rolls and sighs of exasperation. Years of experience eventually shaped you up to be entirely immune to April Fools' pranks.

He's in the middle of planning another one when he spots a letter of resignation on your desk.

At first, he thinks it's your rebellious phase arriving a decade late. He always found it odd how you never retaliated against his tricks, and this may just be the long-awaited April Fools' prank of vengeance. If it is, it's particularly mean of you—Ayato does have feelings, you know? Even he would feel hurt if you told him you wanted to leave! You shouldn't take this kind of thing lightly!

Then he remembers you aren't the type to make jokes, April Fools' or otherwise, and it's that moment when he feels (proper) fear.

“[Name] wants to resign?!”

Ayato makes a zipping motion and Thoma's shrieks immediately die down, but the disbelief on his face has yet to wane. His brows scrunch together, brain hard at work in processing this piece of information, though it seems to short-circuit in utter confusion from the sudden blow.

Scandalized, Thoma lowers his head and levels his voice to a hushed whisper, “Are you sure you saw it correctly?”

“I have able eyes. Unfortunately, my optometrist confirmed my perfect vision and assured I saw it just fine.” Woe is he.

“Get them checked again.”

“No matter how much I check, it won't change the results, Thoma.”

“We don't know that for sure, sir!”

“Trust me,” Ayato deadpans, looking off into the distance, “I checked with him thrice.”

Defeated, Thoma leans back to his chair, crossing his arms while deep in thought. “You saw the letter, but she didn't turn it in, did she?”

“She didn't. No e-mail, either.” Ayato taps the table in a mindless rhythm, expression stern but the shape of his lips almost resembling a pout. “Do you have any idea why she'd want to resign?”

Thoma rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is that a genuine question, sir?”

Ayato's head snaps back to look at his companion. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“...Everyone in the office knows you... tease her for your own amusement.”

“It's my way of showing affection.” The corners of his lips curl up, stretching to a twisted smile as he rests his cheek on his palm. “Isn't she just so adorable when she gets angry?”

“You really do have a rotten personality.”

Ayato waves his hand in a noncommittal response. “We're straying off topic. What should we do next?”

Thoma hums, closed fist beneath his chin. “Since she hasn't turned in the letter yet, that means she must be hesitating. For what reason, we don't know, but it's keeping her here. So before she makes up her mind, we should dissuade her from quitting no matter what.”

Ayato laces his fingers together, brow in an inquisitive arch. “And we do that by?”

Green eyes sparkle with tenacity, clashing with blue irises twinkling in intrigue. “We bribe her, sir. It's time to show off your good points.”

--

“If a woman quits her job, what do you think her reasons could be?”

Ayaka blinks owlishly at her brother, taken aback by the abrupt question. It's a sudden thing to ask, especially odd given how their conversation hasn't led to that topic at all. “Did someone resign? I haven't heard anything of the sort, though.”

Ayato shakes his head, stirring the boba tea in his hands. “It's a hypothetical.”

Which means it's real.

Ah, whatever. At least he didn't go for the “my friend...” excuse.

Ayaka warily cuts a portion of her cake, scrutinizing each microexpression flashing on Ayato's face. It's one of their weekly lunch meetings, squeezed between hectic schedules, and they more or less have a silent agreement to avoid discussions involving work if they could help it. But this time, he brought it up himself.

How peculiar.

“Perhaps she wants to change workplaces? If she's exemplary, she might have been offered a better position or higher pay.”

Ayato nearly scoffs at the suggestion. The company, old-fashioned as it is, can only be inherited by a direct line of descendants. Outsiders can only go so far, and being the secretary for the chief executive officer isn't bad at all. Last time he checked, he's been paying you generously as well—how many figures was it? Six?

“Oh!” Ayaka exclaims, holding up a finger as she seems to have figured out something. “Or maybe she wants to settle down and get married? If her work is keeping her occupied, she'll most likely take time off to find a husband.”

Ayato proceeds to choke on a tapioca pearl.

“Or she got married and wants to be a housewife-”

“That's quite enough, Ayaka.”

Ayato would rather believe the Earth is flat.

--

If Ayato were any less desperate, perhaps he would have rationalized that putting together “give her what she wants to make her stay” and “she wants to get married” is a bad, bad idea.

Unfortunately for him, he is grasping at straws, so it leaves him no choice. Yes. Definitely. There is no other option than this, obviously.

(He does not delve deeper into the reason why he doesn't want you to leave, nor does he dwell any longer on why he was so quick to think he was fine with getting married if it was to you.)

“Don’t you want to get married soon, Ms. [Surname]?”

To clarify, Ayato does not spy on other people's conversations for a hobby, but he's always had impeccable timing. It comes with the job.

He stands by the door, reaching for the doorknob to the break room, but the mention of your name forces him to a halt.

“Why are you asking me that...?” You awkwardly dodge the question, sipping on your coffee. “I suppose I am at that age, though.”

“So you do want to!” The squeal rings with a note of glee, a stark contrast to Ayato's gradually dimming mood. “Wouldn't it be nice to marry a good man? I'm sure even you have thought of it at some point! Are you seeing anyone, then? Anyone you can imagine yourself marrying?”

“No, not yet.”

Before Ayato can even heave a relieved sigh, you follow with, “But my mother is making me go on dates to see people. Said if I didn't bring home a man soon, she'd come all this way to drag me back by my ear and introduce me to her friend's son.”

“Ah, I get that...” Your friend replies emphatically, nodding. “But those kind of meetings hardly go well. And you can't exactly tell your mother's friend you don't find her son attractive, right?”

“Why not just marry Mr. Kamisato, then?” Another one pipes up, to which Ayato gives a mental salute of appreciation. “You spend most of your time together. If you're not married to your job, then you're practically married to him.”

A cackle sends his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Not a chance.”

Can you at least expound why?!

“Huh? Why not? I mean, Mr. Kamisato is on another realm of existence and I can never hope to be on the same level as him, but you look good together!”

Your face pinches to a tight frown. “Look good together? In what way?”

“When you stand side by side, it just looks... right. And like I've mentioned earlier, you spend all your time with him. Why not seal the deal?”

“Mr. Kamisato is reliable, and if you marry him, you're set for life. He's handsome too, and we've all seen his muscles at our company sports day a few months ago!”

“I've never been so thankful for team-building events. Hallelujah.”

Ayato's face burns in embarrassment hearing the dreamy sighs. Even if they think there isn't anyone else listening on them (which is false), shouldn't they exert some restraint at work?

“Please don't lust over my boss,” you assert sternly, voice ice cold. “And we have a strictly professional relationship. So don't get any weird ideas from here on out, alright?”

“Fine. Tell me that again when I'm invited at your wedding, I dare you.”

“I said-”

They wave off your vehement protests at the statement. “Then if you're not into Mr. Kamisato, what do you plan to do?”

Ayato perks up, straining his ears in rapt attention.

“...I'm going on a date this weekend,” you sigh, rubbing circles on your temples. “I'll let you know how it goes.”

Oh no.

--

“-Dinner was nice. We didn't expect the rain shower, but he ran to the convenience store across the street to buy an umbrella because he didn't want me to get wet on the way to the car. He said it would be a waste if my hair got ruined since I-”

Slurp.

“...Styled it for the occasion. Then he drove me home. I found out we liked the same band from the music he played, and we agreed to-”

Sluuurp.

“-Go to their upcoming concert together. Then we somehow also like the same novel that's getting a movie adaption soon, so we also promised to see it-”

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp.

“Could you please refrain from making noise when eating, sir?”

Ayato decidedly does not comply and only slurps his boba tea harder, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl yet again.

As always, you learn to ignore him.

“Concert... and a movie. I'm not sure about the concert, but the film you're talking about is the one coming out in the next two months, right?” Thoma confirms, sweating when Ayato's expression turns visibly grim. “You plan to see him for that long...?”

“Even if dating doesn't work out, we can always become friends, can't we?” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich. “He seems like a nice guy. We get along really well, considering we've only met once. I ended up agreeing to a second date-”

The passive-aggressive slurping persists for the following afternoon.

--

“I've been meaning to ask for a while,” Thoma treads carefully, noticing Ayato's rapid-fire typing—no, striking—on the keyboard, “Ms. [Surname] is good at her job, but you seem really... eager to make her stay, sir.”

Ayato's fingers halt in their movement, and he takes a second to flash his business smile. “Of course. She's a valuable asset, and I'd be foolish to let her go.”

“Yes, I'm well aware, but...” Thoma scratches his cheek, looking off to the side. “You didn't go to such lengths when your former assistants resigned from their post. Or, uh... you fired most of them.”

“Yes,” Ayato simply agrees, still smiling, “she's competent. You don't find anyone like her easily, so it's only natural I'd want her to stay.”

“What do you mean by 'anyone like her,' sir?”

Thoma is awfully talkative today. Ayato might need to feed him something spicy to shut him up.

“Ms. [Surname] is special.” The words smoothly leave his lips. “Does anyone else have the meetings and company events scheduled for the next month memorized? She's the only one I can count on for work matters.”

Thoma's shoulders slump. “Okay, let me get straight to the point. Do you-”

“Mr. Kamisato?”

Thoma nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, accompanied by the clack of your heels.

“What is it?” The cold smile on his face finally melts to something more genuine, softer around the edges and looking especially radiant. It's welcoming, like your arrival counts as a joyous occasion, and he is exponentially more attentive compared to the way he lent Thoma half his ear (the other preoccupied with a phone call, which he swiftly ends the moment you walk in).

“I came to deliver some files from Ms. Miko... did I interrupt something?” You gesture to Thoma standing idly by the side, dumbfounded from Ayato's inconceivable behavior.

“Not at all. Is there anything else?” Ayato accepts the documents, noticing your hesitance to leave.

“Ah, yes, I will be asking for time off tomorrow.”

That's... rare?

But it's not a hard request. Ayato's own schedule is blank for the most part, since the latest project wrapped up not too long ago, and the workload is lighter than usual. Missing one work day won't do any harm.

“It's fine, but could I ask why?”

You fidget, tentative as you reply, “I was invited... for a trip on a cruise. He insisted I come since his friend bailed on him and the tickets would go to waste.”

The warmth in his eyes freezes over.

“The tickets would go to waste...” Ayato repeats under his breath, mockingly cruel. The tone flies past your head but it hits Thoma full-force, making him sweat profusely.

Distasteful. An utter disgrace of a man. The magnitude of his ignorance is so awe-inspiring, I have to applaud. I must give credit where it is due, and the foolishness of this clown is truly impressive. “The tickets will go to waste,” he says? His money must worth more to him than his dignity. Inviting Ms. [Surname] to a date on a workday with no regard for her schedule is one thing, but making her out to be an afterthought as a substitute for his original travel partner is another. How shameful. This is no way to treat a lady. If Ayaka were to be with a man of his caliber, I would never allow it.

But what he says outloud is of course, “I see. I hope you have fun, then.”

--

Corporate events are, for the most part, adequately entertaining.

Preparing for it is not.

But the worst part isn't even brainstorming themes, or finding an appropriate venue, or planning the logistics, or writing the guest list.

It's choosing what to wear.

Actually, the cause for Ayato's headache isn't even what attire he'll go with. It's yours.

“That looks wonderful,” Yae praises, looking at the picture on your phone. It displays a silver necklace, a tear drop topaz encased in a diamond twist. It pairs well with the dress you bought with Ayaka last week, an elegant fit that accentuated your curves.

However.

“He chose that for you, didn't he?”

The stoic line of Ayato's mouth twitches and his eyes can't help but sweep over your screen, scrutinizing each grainy pixel.

Though he has plenty of insults prepared at his arsenal, he can't find anything to nitpick about. Damn it. It's a good choice.

“You'll look stunning,” Kokomi assures good-naturedly, smiling in delight. Ayato does not doubt that will be the case, but he's sure he would be in a foul mood the entire night if he were to see you adorning it.

He has already retrieved his coffee from the break room so he excuses himself to his office, long strides that lead him out of earshot.

As a result, he doesn't hear the following conversation.

“Why this, though?” Kokomi asks, looking closely at the accessory. “It's a simple design. Doesn't look like something a man would pick from the rest.”

You shake your head. “I just told him I wanted something blue, and I couldn't choose myself because there were too many that caught my eye...”

“Blue?” She echoes, a simple curiosity. “Why blue?”

“...It's a pretty color.”

--

It is an actual coincidence that Ayato runs into you in the middle of shopping.

You're hunched over a display stand showcasing a variety of earrings, deep in thought as you observe each one. You're doing that thing where you scrunch your nose in concentration, a habit Ayato doesn't think you even realize you have.

“Fancy meeting you here, Ms. [Surname].”

(He wonders what face you would've made if he said “You go here often?” instead. Probably some degree of disgust.)

You blink, correcting your posture and nodding in greeting. You don't look particularly thrilled to see him, but at least you're unbothered by the prospect of seeing your boss on a free day. “You're here to shop too, Mr. Kamisato?”

Ayato smiles amicably. “I am. Were you planning to buy earrings?”

“Yes, but...” Your gaze returns to the display, your own smile faltering. “It is a bit difficult to choose.”

He walks over, scanning the variety up and down. “Is it really? You only need to choose a pair that matches your necklace, right?” He focuses on shades of silver, bypassing the vibrant colors of reds and pinks. Not even fifteen seconds later, he picks out a card and holds it out next to your ear. “This one looks nice on you.”

“Huh? Really?” Perhaps surprised by his swiftness, it takes you a moment to react accordingly. You take the card from his hands and flip it over, eyes widening by a fraction. “Oh. It is rather pretty.” Then they widen further as big as saucers. “I can't say the same for the price tag, though.”

“Hm? What price tag?”

He plucks the earrings from your hands, walks to the counter, and pays for it without a second thought.

“M-Mr. Kamisato?”

“Pull up your hair.”

“Eh? Oh, okay.”

You're so caught off guard that you unwittingly do as he says, tucking your hair back obediently and still processing the last two minutes.

His fingers tug at your ear, warmth bleeding to your skin, and by the time you return to reality, he's already putting the earrings on you.

STORY FLOW.

ok i lied i actually can't remember shit about this fic so i will be making up stuff as i go lol

what i do remember clearly is that the resignation notice that ayato found on your desk is years old. you meant to submit it way, way back when ayato was tougher on you, and you weren't as well-adjusted as you are now to the job yet. as stated in the fic, being ayato's secretary is no easy task—he'd fired countless people he thought was incompetent.

you fought a number of times, and you didn't know if you could keep up working for a man you thought was simply incompatible with you (in terms of being colleagues/partners).

but over time, you learned to work together. ayato acknowledged your efforts and hard work, and you knew ayato had been trying to give you less jobs to reduce your workload, but you were going to prove that hou could handle it.

what truly made you appreciate ayato more was when you got stranded at the train station. you dealt with a far company they collaborated with, but work ended later than expected, and you'd missed the last train home. taxis were an option, but youd have to go through several of them to get back. right when you were thinking of checking into a hotel, ayato informed you he was already on his way and drove a couple of hours to get where you were to bring you home.

time continued to pass, and that brings us back to the present. you were on the process of cleaning up your desk and left the old resignation notice out in the open by accident, which led to ayato seeing it.

it is very apparent to the others that you two like each other, but the involved parties themselves are unaware of it. you currently aren't eager to get married, but you were trying to meet people so your parents would stop bugging you about still being single.

anyway, ayato bought those earrings for you. timeskip to the corporate event. you unconsciously picked a blue motif for your outfit because it reminds you of ayato.

when you get there, surprise, surprise. the man you were meeting, kazuha is a bigwig, heir to some other corporation. he actually owned that cruise he invited you to and pretended he didn't because you might be intimidated. ayato didn't think the kazuha he knew and the kazuha you knew were the same person, and now the advantage he had over him was ruled out (i.e being rich). (actually while i was rereading i was surprised i didn't mention that it was kazuha...? istg i was imagining him the whole time i wrote about him)

anyhow, as it became later in the night, ayato wanted to get you home before kazuha could offer to drive you back or worse, spend the night with him. ayato acted drunk so you'd tend to him and accompany him home while his driver was in charge of taking you to his apartment. as you were nagging at him, he compared your interactions with him to yours and kazuha's. you were certainly nicer to that man. smiled at him a lot more, too. did you really like him that much?

if you did, could he let you go?

he was ashamed that he couldn't answer it right away. as if he had any right to whatever you do.

you carried him to bed when you got to his apartment, but when you were preparing to leave, he hugged you from behind. do you like that man? why do you want to leave me? why can't it be me? ayato was just pretending to be drunk, but he felt dizzy now, soaked in your scent. he said things that he wasn't supposed to. things that he couldn't take back. things that would change your relationship forever.

slowly, you took away the hands wrapped around your waist. ayato figured that was a message of rejection.

but then you pushed him back down on the bed and you straddled his lap. his mind was silent for but a few seconds before he started screaming mentally.

i've always wanted you, but i knew it was impossible. you have a fiancee. i'm an ordinary worker. your family won't accept me. ayato's mind was in a daze because your face was so close to his, and all he could see was the red, glossy shade on your lips, but he managed to hear those few sentences.

it doesn't matter. nothing else matters. i can't marry if it's not you. if you accept me, i swear i'll make you happy.

from here on, it could be a happy, fluffy ending where turns out, you were tipsy so you were more honest with him and you fell asleep in the middle of kissing so he took it upon himself to change your dress into something more comfortable and end the night with a forehead kiss...

...or you could continue what you were doing and the first thing ayato takes off is the damned necklace so he could replace it with a smattering of hickeys. your choice ^^

[etherealyoungk]

ramen & fate | boo seungkwan

SUMMARY: in which you meet a rich guy at the convenience store during a late night ramen run.

PAIRING: chaebol!seungkwan x reader

THEMES: strangers to lovers, meet cute kinda

WARNINGS: fluff, use of curse words

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

A/N: @wheeboo happy birthday my love! this is a little gift from me to you! this is such a silly idea but i thought i'd write it out for you and i hope you like it <3

you walk into the convenience store and walk inside and the faint sound of pop music hums from the speakers overhead, blending with the quiet hum of the refrigerators in the back. you barely notice any of it though because your mission is clear - ramen. you really needed a ramen fix right now.

you make a beeline for the ramen aisle, the craving gnawing at you and nothing else would do now, not after the day you've had. there's a strange comfort in that little cup of noodles, in its simplicity, in the way it tastes exactly how you expected it to. your eyes scan the shelves and you spot your favourite ramen, only to find one left on the shelf. you immediately reach for it without a second thought, but so does someone else.

your fingers brush against another hand, and you pause, startled. your eyes follow the hand, trailing up a crisp white sleeve, past a perfectly tailored suit jacket, until they land on the face of the man reaching for the same cup of ramen. he’s tall so you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. his expression is cool, almost unreadable, his jawline sharp and sleek, his styled hair making him look like he just walked off the set of some corporate drama.

"oh," you say, blinking as your hand hovers over the cup.

he looks down at you, his brows lifting slightly as if in mild surprise, but he doesn’t immediately pull his hand back. "looks like we’ve got the same taste," he says, his voice smooth.

you blink at him and wrack your brain for a response before you let out a nervous laugh. "well, it is the best one", you reply as you look at him.

he smirks faintly, tilting his head. "i agree, but there’s only one left."

there’s a pause, the moment stretching out as both of you keep your hands over the cup of ramen and suddenly this feels like some sort of high-stakes negotiation situation.

"i—uh—had a long day," you say, trying to justify your claim, though you immediately feel silly for doing so. "i really need this ramen".

his smirk softens into something resembling amusement. "and you think i don’t?", he counters, raising a brow at you. "i’ve had back-to-back meetings since seven this morning", he says.

"well, i’ve been running around non-stop too", you protest, your grip on the edge of the shelf tightening. his gaze flickers between you and the ramen before he exhales, and lets out a small resigned sigh and to your surprise, he takes his hand away.

"alright," he says, stepping back slightly. "you win, take it", he says as his hand swings down. "really? thanks," you say, though your tone is cautious, like you’re not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of trick.

he gives you a small nod, then glances at his watch, grabbing a different ramen from the shelf and walking to a different aisle without sparing you another glance. you blink, a little confused but get about on your mission to get the ramen. you grab a few more stuff, some kimbap and something to drink and make your way to the cash counter when you spot the man in the suit again.

"i'm sorry sir, but i don't have change for such a big bill", you hear the worker say. "unless you buy items for that amount, i don't really have a way to give you back your change", the worker continues.

you walk front and put your stuff on the counter. "i'll pay for his stuff", you say and he looks at you.

"i've got it, i'm sure i have smaller bills somewhere", he says as he pulls out his wallet and your eyes nearly pop out with the fat wad of cash you see in it, all big bills. what the fuck. you decide to ignore what you just saw and by the time the man in the suit is digging his wallet, you've already paid for your stuff, his included.

you take your things and towards the corner of the store to cook your ramen. once the ramen is done, you take a seat and that's when the man in the suit appears again. he’s got his own ramen cup in hand, the sleeve of his tailored suit pushed up slightly to reveal an expensive looking watch. he moves methodically, peeling back the lid of his ramen cup and pouring in the hot water with a steady hand, there's no hesitation and no fumbling. he catches your gaze, and you quickly look away, suddenly very interested in your own noodles. you can feel his eyes on you for a moment, but then he goes back to his ramen, silent and composed. you sneak another glance at him and think to yourself - he is pretty handsome.

you’re halfway through your noodles, the warm broth hitting just the right spot on a cold night before you hear the shuffle of footsteps coming towards you.

"mind if i sit?" he asks, his voice smooth and you nod. he sits down with a kind of effortless grace, setting his ramen down in front of him and adjusting his sleeves like he’s dining at a michelin-star restaurant instead of a dingy convenience store. you focus on your noodles, hoping he won’t notice the way your gaze keeps flickering back to him and you watch as he stirs his ramen and takes a bite.

"you didn’t have to pay for my stuff, you know," he says after a bite, breaking the silence.

"it’s not a big deal," you reply with a shrug. "maybe you should carry smaller bills next time", you tell and you can see the faint smile on his face.

"i swear i thought i had change on me", he says, rather to himself.

"doesn’t seem like you need to worry about it," you remark before you can stop yourself. “i mean, with a wallet like that.”

his smile widens slightly, and he leans back in his chair, resting an elbow casually on the table. "appearances can be deceiving," he says, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent you can’t quite place.

you raise an eyebrow. "right, and expensive suits and fat wads of cash are just a camouflage?", you ask.

"something like that," he replies, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes now like he’s enjoying this back and forth talk, like he's amused by you.

you huff out a soft laugh as you shake your head. "well, next time you’re low on change, i suggest hitting the ATM before wandering into a convenience store", you tell and he nods.

"noted," he says, and there’s a warmth to his voice now.

"i’d like to pay you back", he says after a moment, but you shake your head.

"that's not necessary," you reply, waving a dismissive hand. "it’s just ramen", you say.

and he just looks at you, and it looks like he wants to say something more, but he settles for giving you a small smile instead. "alright, if you’re sure".

after finishing his meal, he gathers his things, straightens his perfectly tailored suit and offers you a polite, "thanks again," before leaving.

you think that’s the last you’ll see of him, until you notice something on the table, his sleek black leather wallet, the kind that practically screams expensive. your eyes widen as your hands reach out for it and you mutter under your breath.

grabbing the wallet, you flip it open and find a few crisp bills (all large denominations, of course), some credit cards and a single business card tucked inside, but there's no name, just a logo and a phone number. you hesitate for a moment before you decide to call the number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

for the next few days, you keep the wallet with you, figuring he’ll eventually call back or text or come looking for it, but nothing. it’s not until a few days later, when you’re rushing through a crowded sidewalk with a bag of groceries in one hand and your phone in the other, that fate decides to intervene. you’re trying to balance too many things at once, not paying attention to where you’re going, when you collide hard into someone coming from the opposite direction. the impact sends your phone clattering to the ground and your grocery bag spilling open. "oh, come on!" you groan, crouching to pick up your things.

"sorry about that", a familiar voice says, and you freeze mid-reach.

you glance up to see him, the ramen guy, in his perfectly tailored suit guy, crouching down to help. he looks as polished as ever, his suit immaculate despite the chaos of the street and he notices you at the same time, and his eyes widen slightly.

"you," he says, clearly surprised.

"you," you reply, just as surprised. "i've been looking for you, you left this", you say after you've gathered all your groceries and stand up. you dig into your bag and bring out his wallet, handing it over to him.

his expression shifts. "i didn’t even realize it was missing until yesterday, but by then, i figured it was gone for good", he says as he looks at you.

"well, lucky for you i found it,” you say as you hold it out for him. he takes it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and his smile softens. “you have no idea how much this means, thank you", he says

"you’re welcome," you reply and he looks down at the wallet in his hand, then back at you.

“i owe you, again", he says. "let me buy you dinner, it's the least i can do, please", he asks and you blink, caught off guard.

"dinner? that's...", you trail off as you chew on your lip, considering his offer. "but you don't even know me?", you say, unsure.

"i'll take my chances", he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“alright,” you say, nodding. “dinner sounds nice.”

the smile that spreads across his face is slow and warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds and it softens his polished, professional look, making him seem boyish almost.

"i didn't get your name", you ask.

"i'm seungkwan", he says, holding out his hand and you reach for it, shaking it, the warmth of his hand engulfing you. "yn", you say, giving him a small smile.

you both exchange numbers and you head home, and it's only then that you wonder if he'll actually follow through. and a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

ramen guy: this is seungkwan, does friday evening work for dinner? let me know what time works for you.

you reply quickly and his response comes almost immediately.

ramen guy: perfect, i’ll take care of everything, looking forward to it.

when friday arrives, you find yourself standing in front of the address he sent—a restaurant that looks like it was plucked straight from a luxury travel magazine. the building is sleek and modern, its glass walls shimmering in the golden hour light. your nerves spike as you step through the grand entrance and suddenly you're thinking that this must be some kind of joke, that he must have sent you the wrong address by mistake because holy shit, you could barely afford this place. a host greets you with a warm smile when you walk inside. “you must be here for mr. boo seungkwan” they say, their tone polite but knowing. boo seungkwan?

the person guides you towards a private dining room and it's a beautifully set table near the window that overlooks the city skyline. you spot him waiting there and he stands up the moment he spots you, a smile lighting up his face.

he was wearing an all-black suit, and it was perfect for him, tailored to perfection, the fit making him incredibly handsome and attractive and the fit made him look effortlessly sophisticated, yet there was an ease to his posture that made him seem grounded. his dark hair was styled just enough to look intentionally tousled, a few stray strands falling over his forehead. there was something about the way he carried himself, confident but not cocky, poised but not stiff. his smile was the same: genuine and unpretentious, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, yet somehow, in that black suit, he couldn’t help but leave an impression.

“you made it,” he says, his tone warm as he steps forward to pull out your chair for you. "yeah", you say softly, still trying to take in the posh ambience around you.

as the evening unfolds, you’re surprised by how easy he is to talk to. he’s incredibly down-to-earth and he listens intently, laughs at your jokes, and is just so sweet, a complete gentleman. his genuine interest in you, paired with his relaxed nature, made the evening feel warm and comfortable and didn't make you feel intimidated anymore.

“so, what exactly do you do?”, you ask, looking at him.

he hesitates for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “family business,” he says, clearly trying to downplay it. “it’s not that exciting.”

"so what exactly is this family business?", you ask but seungkwan only chuckles softly in response. "it's not as cool as you think. let’s just say it's a lot of paperwork, meetings, and business stuff", he makes an exaggerated motion of his hands like he was emphasizing the mundanity of it all. the date ends on a good note and he even offers to drop you home, but you decline, not wanting to impose on him anymore.

it isn’t until days later, when you’re scrolling through your phone that you stumble across an article and you realize just who he is.

heir to the boo family conglomerate, boo seungkwan spotted at his newest restaurant with someone: who’s the mystery guest?

your jaw drops as your eyes scan the article, which details his family’s massive business empire—including restaurant chains, luxury hotels, and even media companies. the photo accompanying the article shows him stepping out of the very restaurant where you had dinner with him, wearing the same outfit he had that evening, looking effortlessly handsome and polished as always.

and just then your phone buzzes with a new message from him at that exact moment:

ramen guy: i hope you enjoyed the dinner last time. let me know when you’re free again, i owe you another one.

taglist: @joshuaahong @paindivinemp3 @fallingforshua29 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852

@weird-bookworm @mirxzii @naaaaafla @wheeboo @icyminghao

@lvlystars @gyubakeries @wootify @ihrtboo @n4mj00nvq

@yoozuku

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

I drew inspiration from the TikTok lipstick challenge, which, to be honest, left me feeling incredibly lonely. The whole experience stirred something in me, prompting me to write about it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Additionally, I was influenced by @fraternum-momentum and their OC, Sol, which added another layer to the idea. As for whether this should be marked NSFW or SWF, I'm torn—it's really more of a playful game involving lipstick, with a soft, romantic vibe and a lot of playful banter and chemistry between the characters. 

It's meant to be lighthearted and playful, with a bit of flirtation thrown in, but definitely nothing explicit! Also, I think I might've missed the birthday of a certain character in the game… I wonder who that could be?

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The student council room was eerily quiet after hours, lit only by the warm glow of a desk lamp on the far end. The usual hustle and bustle of meetings, debates, and planning sessions had faded, leaving the space unusually still. 

Except for him.  

Crowe was seated at the large oak table, his posture impeccable as he reviewed a stack of neatly organized papers. His sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. His black bottom-up shirt was loosened but still perfectly modest, and his purple vest hung from the back of his chair. He looked, as always, impossibly put-together.

And that’s exactly why you’d decided to stop by tonight, coming from a late night studying at the library, you could help to pay him a visit, after all, you have the key. He was too perfect, too composed. It was high time someone tested just how unshakeable Crowe’s gentlemanly façade was.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him briefly before clearing your throat. "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Crowe glanced up, his brows lifting in surprise at first, but his expression quickly softened into a familiar, warm smile. “You have a habit of sneaking up on people, you know that?”

“It’s one of my better skills,” you replied, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. “What are you doing here so late, anyway? Don’t tell me it’s another mountain of paperwork.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” he asked, motioning to the neatly stacked papers in front of him. “Someone has to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Ever the responsible one,” you teased, crossing the room toward him. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... predictable?”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Predictable? That’s a new one. Care to elaborate?”

You grinned, circling the table to stand behind his chair. “You’re always so composed, so polite, so... gentlemanly. Doesn’t it get boring playing the role of the perfect man?”

“Not particularly,” he replied smoothly, though his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Someone has to keep things in order.”

“Mm, but what if someone didn’t?” you murmured, leaning down until your lips were close to his ear. “What if someone decided to mess with that perfect little image of yours?”

Crowe turned his head slightly, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Is that what you’re here to do?”

“Maybe,” you said innocently, stepping around to face him. Without giving him a chance to respond, you perched yourself on the edge of the table, just close enough to be in his space without overstepping.

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his deep blue eyes fixed on you with a spark of intrigue. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”  

You didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, a sly smirk played on your lips as you slid off the table in one smooth, deliberate motion, closing the small distance between you and him. Without hesitation, you eased yourself into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs.  

Crowe stiffened immediately, his posture going rigid as his hands hovered uncertainly in the air, unsure where to land. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and the faintest trace of a blush began creeping up his neck. It was subtle, but on his warm, light brown skin, it was enough for you to notice—and grin.  

“Well,” you started, looping your arms lazily around his neck, your fingers toying with the ends of his braided brown hair. “I thought I’d start by seeing how much it takes to make you blush.”  

Crowe’s breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips brushing his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “That’s one,” you murmured, your tone playful, your lips curling into a mischievous smile.  

His jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Are you keeping score?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a nervous edge.  

“Maybe,” you teased, planting a second kiss on his other cheek. “Two.”  

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his single braid as you tilted his head slightly to the side. The motion exposed the line of his jaw, and you didn’t hesitate, pressing soft kisses along the sharp angles, your lips tracing the warm expanse of his skin.  

“Three, four…” you counted softly, letting your lips linger just a moment longer with each touch.  

Crowe swallowed hard, the tension in his body melting just enough for his hands to find a place—tentatively settling on your waist. His grip was light as if he were still unsure if this was something he should allow himself to enjoy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Playing such a dangerous game.”  

“Am I?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still idly twirling single braid. Your voice took on a mockingly innocent tone. “Or are you just afraid I might win?”  

He looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled faintly. "I suppose that depends on what you’re trying to win."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tube of lipstick. Crowe’s brow furrowed in confusion as you uncapped it, applying the deep crimson shade with practiced ease. 

"And what’s this for?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of wariness.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin, lips hovering near his cheek. “Call it an experiment,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing. Without waiting for a reply, you pressed a deliberate kiss just below his cheekbone.

The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air as you pulled back, a perfect lipstick mark standing out against his warm, light brown skin. You tilted your head slightly, inspecting your handwork with a mischievous smile. “Not bad,” you said lightly, as if critiquing a painting.

Crowe blinked, visibly stunned, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. He didn’t move, his breath caught as if trying to process what just happened.

But you weren’t finished.

Tilting his chin slightly with a gentle finger, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips along the edge of his jawline. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the tension in his shoulders betraying his carefully composed demeanor. Another kiss followed, slower this time, leaving a bold imprint just below his jaw.

Crowe’s lips parted, his breathing uneven now, though he still didn’t stop you.

“Hmm,” you mused, leaning back slightly, only to trail your gaze down to the column of his neck. “This feels incomplete.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat when your lips found the curve of his neck. A soft gasp escaped him as you pressed another kiss there, then another, just above his collarbone. His hand twitched as though he might reach for you, but he held back, his restraint only making the moment more electric.

When you finally leaned back, Crowe’s usual polished, gentlemanly demeanor was in tatters. His skin was a masterpiece of faint crimson marks—his cheeks, jawline, and neck all kissed and claimed. He reached up hesitantly, brushing his fingers over one of the marks on his jaw, his touch lingering there as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of your lips.

“You—” he started, his voice rough, but you cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Speechless?” you teased, recapping your lipstick and slipping it back into your bag with an air of nonchalance. “I must’ve done something right.”

Crowe’s jaw worked, his lips pressing together as he struggled to find his composure. His usual confidence had been thoroughly dismantled, leaving him looking uncharacteristically vulnerable yet… yearning. The once-pristine picture of composure—the meticulous student apart of the council—now looked delightfully disheveled, his face, jawline, and even his neck adorned with vivid, unmistakable stains.

“There,” you said, stepping back and tilting your head as if you were admiring a masterpiece. “Not so perfect now, are you?”  

“You’ve officially ruined my ‘gentlemanly’ image,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His fingers hesitantly brushed over the fresh stain near his jawline, his expression equal parts baffled and amused. “I can’t believe you just did that.”  

“Oh, believe it,” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a satisfied grin. “Honestly, I think it suits you. Adds a little color. You’re welcome.”  

Crowe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. How am I supposed to explain this?”  

“Explain it?” you said, feigning shock. “You mean you’re not just going to own it? What happened to that legendary confidence of yours?”  

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off by leaning in again, adding a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now you’ve got the full set,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Face, neck, and...” You trailed off meaningfully, letting the pause hang in the air.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his composure slipping as he caught the implication. “You wouldn’t—”  

You didn’t let him finish. Before he could say another word, you planted a deliberate kiss at the corner of his mouth, then slowly worked your way to the center, leaving faint marks in your wake.  

When you pulled back, your face was the picture of triumph. “Now you’re officially branded. Guess that gentleman thing has its limits, huh?”  

Crowe’s deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

“Absolutely,” you replied without hesitation. “And admit it—you are too.”  

He exhaled, his hands resting lightly on your waist as if he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or himself. “You like testing me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with both amusement and something deeper.  

“And you like failing,” you shot back, leaning in so your faces were barely an inch apart. “Don’t worry, though—I think you wear it well. Lipstick suits you.”  

Crowe’s lips quirked into a smirk, his usually poised demeanor finally cracking under your relentless teasing. “You’re not making this easy,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a playful challenge.  

“And why should I?” you quipped, settling more comfortably on his lap and letting your arms drape lazily around his neck. You leaned back just enough to take in your handiwork. The soft smudges of lipstick painted a trail of your victory across his cheeks, jaw, and now his neck. A particularly bold kiss near his collarbone had left a bright red mark against his brown skin.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow at you, his deep blue eyes flickering between exasperation and amusement. “I look like I lost a fight with a makeup counter.”  

“Correction: you lost to me,” you replied with a smug grin, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. Your voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “And you didn’t exactly stop me.”  

Crowe huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rich despite the predicament. “Oh, I’m fully aware,” he said, his tone dry but edged with amusement. “Do you make a habit of ambushing people with lipstick, or am I just special?”  

“You’re special,” you teased, drawing the word out in a sing-song tone as your fingers toyed with the loosened knot of his tie. “But don’t get too excited—I just thought someone as put-together as you needed a little... color.”  

His breath hitched, and for the briefest moment, his usual restraint faltered. His hand slid up to your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if to anchor himself. “And here I thought you were here to apologize for interrupting my work,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his eyes darker as they locked onto yours.  

“Apologize?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “For what? For making you look even more handsome? For proving you’re not as unshakeable as you pretend to be?”  

Crowe chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

“Impossible?” you echoed, shifting slightly in his lap, your fingers lightly tracing the collar of his shirt. You leaned in closer, your nose just brushing against his, and your voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s supposed to be a gentleman. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know... stopping me? Resisting temptation?”  

Crowe’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, though not quickly enough to mask the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. His gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for a heartbeat too long before meeting your eyes again. His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his grip firm but still careful, as though he were holding himself back.  

“And why,” he murmured, his voice lower now, the usual steadiness giving way to something rougher, more deliberate, “would I want to stop you?”  

Your smirk widened, victory already bubbling in your chest. “That’s a good question,” you mused, leaning in until your lips brushed his, the contact feather-light and achingly slow. His breath caught, and you could feel the tension in his frame, the way he held himself still, like he was caught between giving in and holding on.  

“Good answer,” you whispered against his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so composed and guarded, were darker now, his composure visibly slipping. You caught the faint flush rising along his neck, creeping just beneath his jawline, and you couldn’t help but grin.  

Crowe exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as he leaned his head back against the chair, a wry, unsteady chuckle slipping past his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though his voice betrayed him—uneven and laced with something softer.  

“And yet,” you replied, hopping off his lap with a triumphant flourish, smoothing the hem of your clothing as if nothing had happened, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”  

Crowe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as that familiar glint of mischief returned to his expression. He looked at you now with the kind of calm that was just daring you to keep pushing. “Maybe,” he said slowly, his voice steadying again, “I like a little trouble.”  

You laughed softly, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His shirt was slightly wrinkled from where your hands had rested, and his face was a mess of lipstick smudges—on his cheeks, along his jaw, and the faintest stain at the corner of his lips.  

“Good,” you said with a mischievous grin, nodding toward the streak of lipstick on his neck. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Crowe’s eyebrow arched, his lips curling into a small, amused smile as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and teasing. “Then I’ll be sure to prepare myself,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’d better be,” you shot back, taking a step back from his lap with deliberate slowness, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer. “Because next time, I might not be so... gentle.”

Turning on your heel, you strode to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Just before you left, you glanced over your shoulder, your grin still firmly in place. “Try not to miss me too much.”

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Crowe alone in the dim light of the student council room. He let out a quiet breath, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the mark you’d left on his neck. 

A faint chuckle escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a small shake of his head. “You really are something else,” he muttered to himself, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. 

Trouble, yes—but perhaps the kind of trouble he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The living room was a cozy chaos, with warm fairy lights casting a golden glow over the dark walls and mismatched furniture. The lights draped lazily over the curtain rods, twinkling faintly as if encouraging the quiet mischief brewing within. The couch—a beloved relic, its cushions sagging in all the right ways—sat at the center of it all, surrounded by a battlefield of cosmetics.  

The coffee table groaned under the weight of lipstick tubes in every shade imaginable, from muted nudes to shocking neons. Tissue papers lay crumpled beside an array of smudged hand mirrors, and the faint scent of vanilla and wax lingered in the air. The room was comfortably warm, the heater humming faintly in the corner, adding to the intimate atmosphere.  

You perched on the couch's edge, your legs tucked beneath you, wearing an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame but left your enthusiasm unrestrained. A wicked grin played on your lips as you reached for the next weapon in your arsenal—a vibrant crimson lipstick labeled *Scarlet Desire.*  

Sol sat beside you, a reluctant participant in your glamorous experiment. His dark, disheveled hair framed his pale face, strands occasionally falling into his reddish-orange eyes that seemed to glow like dying embers in the dim light. He slouched dramatically, his arms crossed as if that might shield him from the barrage of attention you had planned.  

"All right, Sol," you announced with mock seriousness, brandishing the tube like a wand. "You’ve been chosen as tonight’s test dummy. Congratulations on your moment of fame."  

Sol let out a groan that was half dramatic and half genuine, tipping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling as if it might offer an escape. "Why do I feel like I’m about to star in a weird beauty guru horror story?"  

"Because you are," you replied with a smirk, twisting the lipstick open to reveal its bold crimson shade. The color gleamed under the fairy lights, a promise of chaos to come. "Now, sit still and quit whining. Let’s see if ‘Scarlet Desire’ lives up to its name."  

Before he could muster another complaint, you leaned in, one hand gently cupping his jaw to steady him. His breath hitched, his body freezing under the unexpected closeness. The faint scent of your perfume—something floral and sweet—floated between you, making his pulse quicken.  

You applied the lipstick to your lips with precision, pausing briefly to inspect the smoothness in the hand mirror. Satisfied, you leaned closer again, your face just inches from his.  

"Ready?" you teased, your voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper, your grin turning impish.  

Sol’s eyes widened slightly, their reddish hue glinting with a mix of trepidation and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.  

"Not at all," you replied cheerfully, brushing aside his weak protests.  

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his cheek, the cool touch of lipstick contrasting with the warmth of his skin. The kiss was quick but deliberate, leaving behind a perfectly shaped crimson stain against his pale complexion.  

Sol blinked, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process what had just happened. His usual indifferent mask cracked the faintest hint of pink creeping up his ears. The lipstick stain on his cheek seemed to burn hotter than the room’s heater, a brand he couldn’t ignore.  

You leaned back, tilting the hand mirror to inspect your handiwork. "Still intact," you mused, tapping your lips thoughtfully. "That’s a point for ‘Scarlet Desire.’"  

Sol finally found his voice, though it came out uneven. “Is… is this going to take all night?”  

“Probably,” you replied, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you reached for another tube. You held it up to the light, inspecting the label. “‘Forbidden Plum.’ Sounds dramatic enough, don’t you think?”  

The deep purple shade gleamed as you twisted the tube, the realization dawning on Sol that this was far from over. He groaned again, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed the fact that he wasn’t entirely upset about the situation.  

“Relax,” you teased, leaning in close, your warm breath brushing his ear. “I’ll be gentle.”  

Before he could respond, your lips pressed softly to his jawline, leaving a perfect, dark imprint just below the curve of his cheekbone. You lingered for a moment, letting the heat of the kiss sink in before pulling back to inspect the mark.  

“Not bad,” you murmured, tilting your head and running your thumb over the stain as if appraising your work. “But I think this color needs a little more flair.”  

Without waiting for his approval, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips against his neck. The touch was softer, teasing, and you felt the slight hitch in his breathing as your lipstick left another vivid mark just above his collarbone.  

Sol swallowed hard, his face now a canvas of warmth and embarrassment. This wasn’t just a lipstick test anymore—it was a battle to maintain his composure against your relentless, flirtatious charm.  

“Hm,” you mused again, holding up the mirror to check your lips, then twisting open another tube. “Alright, next contender: ‘Midnight Rose.’ Let’s see if it’s as dramatic as it sounds.”  

His reddish orange eyes tracked your every move, flickering between the lipstick in your hand and the playful glint in your eyes. As you leaned in to kiss his other cheek, the cool press of your lips sent a jolt down his spine, and his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.  

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, voice low and unsteady.  

“You say that like you’re not,” you shot back, your tone as playful as the smile that followed.  

This time, you kissed along his jawline again, dragging your lips lightly over his skin before pulling back with a smirk. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the intimacy of the moment as your laughter filled the space.  

By the fourth or seventh kiss, Sol was no longer slouched but sitting ramrod straight, his breath uneven, and his lips parted in a dazed expression. The air between you felt charged, and every teasing glance you shot his way only added to his visible fluster.  

“Now how… how many more of these are there?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You tilted your head, pretending to count the remaining tubes. “Oh, only about five or six. Maybe seven. You’re handling this so well, Sol, I might just have to make you my permanent lipstick tester.”  

He groaned, a hand flying to his forehead in mock defeat, but his reddish-orange eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.  

“You must be getting bored with this experiment by now,” he mumbled, though his tone lacked conviction.  

“Bored? Not a chance,” you quipped, leaning in one more time, this time planting a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Though I think you might be getting dazed from all the attention.”  

Sol’s breath caught, and his cheeks flamed brighter than before. He could only sit there, speechless and utterly smitten, as you reached for yet another lipstick tube.  

“This one’s called ‘Velvet Sin,’” you announced, holding it up with a playful wink. “Let’s see if it’s worth the hype.”  

For a moment, he thought about protesting, but then he realized—what was the point?

He was already lost in the haze of your laughter, your teasing touches, and the warm, lingering impressions of your kisses. The pink, purple, and red smudges peppered across Sol's pale skin. He sat stiffly, his black and green streaks bangs veiling his burning cheeks as he avoided your amused gaze.  

You held up the mirror again, turning your head to inspect your lips carefully. "Still nothing, maybe I should just stick to clear gloss,” you said, a triumphant edge in your tone. "It’s like these lipsticks were forged in a lab to smudge. Great…."  

Then you turned the mirror toward Sol, revealing his reflection. His reddish-orange eyes widened as he stared, dumbfounded, at the chaotic array of lipstick marks scattered across his face—his jaw, cheeks, and even a faint smear near his collarbone from when you leaned in a little too close earlier.  

You burst out laughing, breaking the silence. "You look like a really sad art project," you teased, clutching the mirror with one hand and your stomach with the other as you doubled over in laughter.  

He huffed, clearly trying to mask his growing embarrassment, but the corner of his lips twitched upward in a sheepish smile. "You’re enjoying this way too much."  

Sol, typically composed in his aloofness, looked anything but indifferent as you leaned in, armed with yet another lipstick in your collection. His usual mask of stoicism had cracked, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded vulnerability.

“And you’re taking it way too seriously,” you teased, your voice low and dripping with mischief.

Before Sol could respond, you closed the gap between you, planting a kiss squarely on the tip of his nose. The kiss was playful, a soft smooch that left behind a faint, heart-shaped lipstick mark. The vibrant maroon stood out against his pale skin, and you pulled back, your lips curving into a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect," you murmured, tilting your head to inspect the tiny flourish you’d left behind.

Sol sat there, motionless, his lips slightly parted as if he’d forgotten how to form words. His reddish orange eyes were wide, darting to your lips and then back to your eyes. He looked completely out of his depth, his usual brooding demeanor utterly replaced by something unsteady and raw.

You didn’t stop. You leaned in again, closer this time, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Sol’s breath hitched audibly as your lips ghosted over his cheek.

“Let’s try something more daring,” you whispered, the heat of your breath brushing against his skin before you pressed a deliberate kiss just beside the corner of his mouth.

His entire body stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The lipstick left a bold mark just shy of his lips, teasingly close. You pulled back ever so slightly, your gaze lingering on the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

“Hmm, maybe I should try it here next,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently brushing his chin to tilt his face toward you.

Sol’s eyes widened, his lips trembling slightly as you leaned in further. This time, you kissed him squarely on the mouth, a soft, deliberate press of your lips against his. The kiss was slow, your lips brushing his with just enough pressure to leave a faint imprint of the maroon shade.

When you pulled away, his lips glistened faintly, the color smudged ever so slightly. His cheeks were burning red now, the flush spreading up to the tips of his ears. Sol’s expression was a mix of stunned disbelief and something else—something heavier, like a quiet yearning he couldn’t contain.

"Oops," you said with a playful grin, holding up the mirror to show him the faint but unmistakable lipstick mark lingering on his lips. "Looks like you’re officially part of the experiment now."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering there a moment too long before darting back to your eyes. "You... you’re really not holding back," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

"Should I?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached for another lipstick. "I think you’re holding up pretty well, Sol. You’re a surprisingly good test dummy."

Sol didn’t respond. He just stared, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his mind racing in directions he wasn’t ready to admit. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. You reached for the next tube—deep plum, almost black, its sleek metallic casing glinting under the dim fairy lights.  

"All right, final test," you declared, twisting the lipstick open with a satisfying click. The color was rich and bold, a shade that dared anyone to look away. You leaned in, closer than before, your breath brushing against Sol’s cheek.  

He stiffened, his head tilting slightly as though torn between leaning away and leaning in. "You’re relentless, you know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strained.  

"Let’s see how kiss-proof this one really is," you whispered, your lips curling into a playful grin.  

Before he could protest, you kissed him, deliberately slower this time. The plush warmth of your lips pressed deeper against his lips, lingering longer than any of the others. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as his tension melted into something softer. When you pulled back, you admired your work: a perfect, bold imprint on his pale red lips, perfect and center.  

You shifted slightly, cupping his chin with your hand to turn his face toward you. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark lashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. He looked wrecked in the most endearing way.  

"Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already," you teased, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.  

Sol didn’t answer. He seemed dazed, his lips slightly parted as though the words had escaped him entirely. Undeterred, you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his temple this time, your lips lingering against the curve of his hairline.  

"Still intact," you murmured, half to yourself as you pulled back and inspected your own lips in the mirror.  

Sol blinked, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. The next kiss landed on the bridge of his nose, soft and playful, and the one after that trailed down to the corner of his mouth.  

"Okay, this one’s holding up really well," you remarked, leaning back to evaluate the results. You laughed softly at the kaleidoscope of lipstick stains that now adorned his face—a collection of reds, pinks, and purples, each mark a testament to your experiment.  

"Sol?" you prompted, tilting your head as you noticed his unusually quiet demeanor.  

He blinked again, his gaze focused on you but far away.  

"Hello? Earth to Sol—" You waved a hand in front of his face, but before you could finish the thought, his hand shot up, gently catching yours mid-wave.  

You froze, startled by the suddenness of the movement and the look in his eyes—smoldering and uncharacteristically intense.  

"Huh…" you trailed off as he guided your hand down, his fingers curling over yours in a firm but careful grip.  

"Enough," Sol murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.  

Before you could process the shift, he moved. In one smooth, almost predatory motion, he pressed you back into the couch, his weight pinning you against the cushions. Your back hit the fabric with a soft thud, and his hands found your wrists, holding them gently but securely above your head.  

"Sol—"  

"You're impossible," he said softly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair fell messily into his eyes, and his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your chest tighten.  

You stared up at him, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The space between you felt impossibly small, the room charged with a quiet intensity that neither of you dared to break.  

"All those kisses," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your cheek as his lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And you still act like you’re in control."  

Your heart raced, the world outside the living room forgotten entirely. "Sol, I—"  

But his expression softened, his grip on your wrists loosening slightly. "I think," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it’s my turn to test your limits, pumpkin."  

Oh shit.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

It’s one of those crisp afternoons, the air just cool enough to send a slight shiver down your spine as you sit on a bench by the archery range. The college campus is quiet, with students scattered here and there, but your attention is entirely on him—Geo. 

The archery field is his domain. He doesn’t know it yet, but you’ve got a plan that will catch him off guard.

Geo stands tall at the center of the field, adjusting his posture with precision, his focus entirely on the target in front of him. The sun casts a soft, golden light across his pale skin, making his aquamarine eyes seem even sharper. He’s dressed in a simple, black, form-fitting athletic shirt, paired with tight-fitting cargo pants that hug his long legs. 

His boots are rugged, the kind that make him look even more intimidating as he stands tall and composed. His hair, dark bluish-purple, is tied back neatly in a low ponytail, the bowl cut framing his face in a way that makes his expression appear even more brooding.

Despite his best efforts to look aloof, there’s something about him that calls for attention. His movements are deliberate, almost as if he knows he’s being watched. You lean back slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the scene but really just observing him, thinking about the plan you’ve hatched.

Geo pulls his bowstring back with precision, his aquamarine eyes narrowing as he takes aim. Everything about him is calculated, a display of discipline honed through years of practice. You bite your lip in anticipation, then grab the lipstick from your bag, uncapping it with a soft click. The color is a deep red, the kind that will stand out against his pale skin. You’ve decided: it’s time to throw him off just a little.

You stand up quietly, making your way to where Geo is, and as you approach, your heart beats a little faster. The air around you feels charged with the quiet energy he exudes. Geo is too focused on the target, his fingers inching toward the release. You take a deep breath, then step forward just as he releases the arrow.

Before he can even blink, you lean forward and plant a bold, quick kiss to his cheek, the lipstick leaving a bright red mark against his pale skin. The sound of the arrow shooting through the air fills the silence as you pull back, watching the surprise flash across his face.

Geo’s eyes widen for the briefest moment. He freezes for a split second, just enough for you to see his cheeks flush under his usual stoic exterior, the pale hue quickly warming to something deeper. The arrow he released flies off course, landing just beside the target rather than hitting the bullseye as it usually does.

He’s caught off guard.

You step back slightly, a mischievous grin on your face. “Missed it,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Geo’s gaze shifts to you, his expression darkening. His lips part, and for a moment, it’s like the weight of the world shifts. "What the hell?" His voice is low, his tone not entirely angry, but certainly perplexed.

For someone who’s always so controlled, so composed, you’ve definitely managed to make him lose that edge. He quickly recovers, wiping his cheek with his sleeve, and for a second, you wonder if you pushed him too far. But then you see the slightest tug of a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words—just that familiar sharpness that seems to be his natural state. It’s clear he’s still processing, but you can tell this little moment has left its mark on him.

You smile back, not backing down. "I thought I’d get your attention. Looks like I did."

Geo shakes his head, his smirk growing as he nocks another arrow. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," he mutters under his breath, but you can hear the playful challenge behind it.

Despite his usual brooding demeanor, you can’t help but notice the slight curve of his lips as he prepares to take another shot. It seems that, for once, he’s not quite as untouchable as he wants everyone to think. You can feel the tension in the air as Geo reaches for another arrow, but you’re already plotting your next move. The excitement bubbling inside you is hard to contain—this is more fun than you thought it would be.

Geo draws his bow back again, taking aim with the kind of precision only someone like him could master. But before he can release it, you lean forward just enough to interrupt his concentration, tapping his shoulder lightly with a teasing smile. 

“What now?” he asks, his voice as gruff as always, though you can detect a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes. “You want me to miss again?”

You shrug innocently. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could make you blush again." You let the words hang in the air, watching as his expression shifts. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment, you're convinced he’s actually considering the idea of doing something more than just shooting arrows.

Geo takes a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his focus, but before he can, you lean in—this time, a little bolder. You press another quick kiss to his neck line, leaving a fresh red mark on his pale skin. And just like last time, he freezes—eyes wide, jaw slightly ajar.

The arrow that should’ve been heading for the bullseye instead veers wildly off course, missing the target completely and burying itself in the grass.

You burst out laughing. "Not so precise anymore, huh?"

Geo whips his head toward you, eyes narrowed in something between surprise and irritation. “Are you trying to sabotage me?” he growls, though you can see the amusement hiding behind his scowl.

You’re still laughing, clearly enjoying yourself far too much, and that’s when Geo decides to do something about it.

With a swift motion, he reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can step back, his fingers tightening around it just enough to stop you from making any more cheeky moves. You stare at him, caught off guard for a moment—he’s not known for being touchy, but here he is, holding you in place.

"Alright, enough of this," he says, his voice suddenly less gruff and more playful, though his eyes still carry that glint of challenge. "If you think you can distract me with kisses, you’re mistaken."

You grin up at him, unfazed by his grip on your wrist. "Oh? Then you should’ve seen what happened when you missed your shot," you tease. “I think the whole campus heard your arrow crash into the grass.”

Geo rolls his eyes, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think this is over,” he warns, his grip on your wrist tightening a little more, though it’s more playful than threatening. "You’re gonna regret this, trust me."

“You sure about that?” you quip back, your voice filled with playful defiance.

Geo raises an eyebrow at your defiant tone, clearly weighing his options. For a second, you swear there’s a flicker of something almost... fond? It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual broody persona. “I could have you running laps around this field by the end of the day,” he threatens, though his eyes are twinkling with the unmistakable sign of a challenge.

“Make me,” you shoot back, tugging your wrist free from his grasp just enough to push your luck a little further. 

Geo chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

“Yeah, all for you~” you tease, throwing him a wink.

Geo doesn’t acknowledge the comment, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a little higher this time. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Despite the gruff exterior, you’ve managed to ruffle his feathers just enough to see a side of him that’s not all business. 

And honestly? 

You kind of like it.

As you step away, pretending to give him space, you can feel his eyes on you. You’re not sure if he’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened or if he’s plotting his revenge. 

Either way, you’re all in for whatever comes next.

Geo steadies himself, the bow string pulled taut as he lines up another shot. But the second you lean in, it’s like the world goes into slow motion. You can see his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching slightly as you get closer. He knows exactly what you're doing. His grip tightens on the bow, and for a split second, you think he might just let the arrow fly—into the target this time.

But before he can fully focus, you press a soft, teasing kiss to his bottom jaw again, the lipstick leaving a fresh red print. 

Geo’s eyes snap wide open in surprise, his finger twitching against the bowstring. “You—” He cuts himself off, trying to maintain his composure, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him, his pale skin turning a shade darker. The arrow in his hand nearly slips from his grasp as he blinks in confusion. 

You pull back just enough to see his expression, a mix of shock and that brooding intensity you’re so used to. His lips twitch, a barely-there smirk playing at the corners, more like disbelief?

However there’s something else in his eyes now—something... tempting.

"Alright," he growls lowly, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, "You want to play that game, huh?"

Before you can even react, he’s closing the space between you, his hands gripping your wrists with surprising tenderness, pulling you in with a quick, deliberate motion. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s more intense than anything you expected. The rush of warmth from his lips against yours sends a little shock of electricity through you, and your breath catches.

Geo’s kiss isn’t soft or tentative. No, it’s like he’s trying to make a statement—daring you to say something, to break the moment. You feel the pressure of his lips, firm and demanding, and you can tell he’s not just kissing you for fun anymore. There’s something deeper in it now. The playfulness has shifted into something a little more heated.

You’re breathless when he pulls away just enough to speak, his voice husky, dark with amusement. “Now you’ve really done it.”

You blink up at him, dazed from the sudden shift in his demeanor. “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me back, especially on the lips” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck.

Geo doesn’t smile—he just stares at you, eyes dark with the challenge of it all. His hands still rest lightly on your wrists, but now they feel heavier, almost like he’s holding you in place. “You should’ve known better.”

Before you can reply, he gently lets go of your wrists, his gaze lingering just a little longer than you’d like. The air between you two is thick now—charged with the energy of the moment, and there’s a sense that things are about to get even more complicated. You’ve managed to crack his icy exterior, but you’re not entirely sure what that means for either of you.

Geo turns back to the target without another word, grabbing another arrow. His focus is entirely back on the bullseye, but there’s an undeniable smirk on his lips now. And the way his fingers curl around the bow, steady and sure, tells you that this game is far from over. 

“You missed your shot earlier,” you say playfully, “Think you’ll actually hit the target this time?”

Geo shoots you a look over his shoulder, a glint in his aquamarine eyes. "Watch me," he mutters, before losing the arrow. 

It’s a perfect shot—dead center. He doesn’t even flinch as the arrow hits the target. 

“Well, damn,” you say, impressed. “I guess I’ll just have to distract you more often.”

Geo doesn't respond at first, but the smirk that pulls at his lips says it all. "Keep trying me, and you’ll see," he murmurs a warning, almost to himself. 

And just like that, you realize—he enjoys this more than he lets on.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[captain-huggy-bear]

Guard Dog

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the Washington Capitals game (Jan 2025), anger/conflict, derogatory commentary towards Reader

Summary: You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

Notes: I was ready to throw hands at Dubois for purposefully seeking out and trying to hurt Quinn so...

Apologies to Dubois but he's now my arch nemesis and if I was actually dating Quinn I know I'd hold a grudge, sorry, I'm sure you're a great guy but...not today. Reminder that I am writing a fictional version of these people and what I do write is not representative of them in real life. Don't sue me, Dubois, this is fictional you, not real you. 👀

Also I don't think Quinn is generally violent or aggressive but I do think that if he felt someone he loved was being treated in a way that was disrespectful/aggressive, that he wouldn't avoid conflict. Protective boy in my eyes.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You wanted to say that you were used to watching how violent hockey could get, especially when that violence was directed at Quinn, but that would be a lie.

Watching as Quinn was practically attacked by Dubois, watching him be targeted had you gasping and jumping to your feet in an instant. The way he knocked Quinn to the ground had your heart thudding in your chest and you'd gotten to your feet instinctively like you could physically go out and defend him, like you had any ability to do something when in reality you were completely helpless, stuck behind glass.

That intense feeling of protectiveness had only increased as Quinn was pulled from the scrum by Dubois again like he was being hunted down, targeted. It grew almost unbearable, a protectiveness mixed with anger, as you watched Quinn try to keep his distance, shoving away from Dubois even as he tried to hold him close, as Quinn tried to protect himself while avoiding roughing himself, only to receive a penalty anyway. That anger grew watching the way Quinn was stuck in the penalty box, the way he was desperate, standing, wanting to get out after his 2 minutes, only to be stuck because play was ongoing for another 3 minutes.

You had never hated a player before. Players had upset you in the past, annoyance at the way they'd dealt with something or how they'd behaved towards Quinn, but you'd never seen someone so determined to hurt your boyfriend. It was that sheer targeting, the way Dubois followed Quinn, gunned for him for no reason, especially given he was still sporting a hand injury, that had you hating him immediately. It had you itching to say something, do something for the entirety of the game. You could barely concentrate on the actual game, too amped.

You couldn't help the way your leg bounced angrily the entire game, the way you bit your lip, the way your mind ran through all the things you'd like to say to Dubois about his behaviour. That feeling didn't disappear as the game ended and you waited outside the locker room for Quinn, if anything it grew from how hard you tried to suppress it. You felt a little like a ticking time bomb.

That anger boiled over the moment you saw Dubois coming down the corridor towards you after the game. Dubois was freshly washed and changed, laughing with his teammate, Roy, like he hadn't been trying to hurt your boyfriend for half the game. You tried to keep your comments to yourself, but couldn't keep the angry glare, the deep scowl, from your features as you leant against the wall, arms crossed. You knew you were giving him the evils, that if looks could kill he'd have died five times over, but you couldn't force your face into neutrality, not when you felt that buzz of anger in your chest. It was dangerous for him to target Quinn like that, it was unfair, it made you wish you were 6ft 8 and built like a brick shit house so at least you could throw a punch in Quinn's honour. Instead you had been absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

You heard it muttered, whispered, an exchange of 'what's her problem?' and 'that's Hughes' girl...', that had you almost vibrating with anger. Dubois should have left you well enough alone, should have read the room and let you cool down. He shouldn't have assumed he could mess with you in that moment. But, since when have hockey players ever missed a chance to chirp?

You watch him stride up to you, a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble and only served to push more adrenaline through your body.

"You got a problem with me?"

"Walk away." Your voice is clipped, short, an attempt to maintain a sense of decorum, to control your anger because the last thing you want is to embarrass Quinn by getting into a fight with a rival hockey player on the same night his team lost a game. The last thing you want to do is make matters worse and in the words of Marie from Aristocats 'ladies don't start fights'.

"Or what? You going to cry cause I grabbed your little boyfriend?" His sneer reminds you of every bully you've ever known your entire life. Brutish, stupid, and with a deep desire for power and control, the sort of desire that causes them to be nasty, be mean, to try to hurt people because it shows that they can. It only makes it harder for you to control your feelings, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you clench your fists tight, like that will help keep you back.

"I'm telling you to walk away because I will not be responsible for what I say or do if you don't. Walk away." It was probably comical to him, the way you stepped forward and squared off with him, a man well over 6ft tall. You were relatively small in comparison. It didn't matter to you though, all that mattered was the fact he'd gunned for Quinn, for your lovely, kind boyfriend who avoided fights at all costs and tried to always be a reasonable, decent player. Your boyfriend who tried to play clean. Your boyfriend who was still injured. Your boyfriend who was under an insane amount of pressure right now. Your boyfriend who had only just come back off of rest for his injury.

"You've got some balls on you, lady, more than Hughes does at any rate."

You're certain your eye twitches, certain you're one bite away from causes your bottom lip to bleed. Certain that you've dug half moon circles into your palms. Certain that murder doesn't seem quite that bad of a crime right now and that you could survive prison.

"Walk. Away. Now."

"So you're the man in your relationship, huh? Is Hughes your pretty princess?" It's the hateful, misogynistic attempt to demean Quinn that causes you to snap. It's his refusal to just walk away, the goading, the pushing, the way he steps closer into your personal space, leers over you in an attempt to intimidate you with his size that finally does it. But, he doesn't seem to realise that you're too angry to be intimidated, you're not really thinking about yourself, about the situation, about the fact he's twice your size. So it doesn't matter that he could break you if he wanted to. It doesn't matter that he should be scary. He's not in that moment, because you're simply too angry, vibrating with rage.

"You're a vile, disgusting human being,y'know that? He's still injured, you fucking knew that and fucking went for him? What the fuck did he do to you? You trip him, you gun for him, you then try to pull him from the scrum?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You could each infraction off on your fingers as you move into his space and push the two of you further into the centre of the corridor.

Maybe it's how loud you are or maybe it was just good timing, but Quinn and Boeser step out of the locker room just in time to see you yelling in Dubois' face, to see the grin on his lips like he's enjoying it. It's honest to god fear, mixed with a protectiveness that he always feels for you, that has Quinn practically sprinting the short distance to you.

He's pretty sure you don't realise you're shaking with anger or how close you've gotten to Dubois, practically nose to nose, leaning up while he leans down, until his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back against his chest. Even in his arms you're shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixated on Dubois like a look is enough to put him in the ground.

Dubois' eyes shift to him, and Quinn can't help the set of his own features, the stern glare that he directs to the other man even as he's smirking back at him. If anything the way he seems to be enjoying this makes Quinn's expression sterner.

"Keep your little plaything on a fucking leash, Hughes." The grin Dubois sends his way is toothy, predatory, the sort of grin that tells Quinn he knows what he's saying and he knows what reaction it'll get. It doesn't stop Quinn's shoulders from tensing, it doesn't stop the tightness in his chest and it certainly doesn't make it easier for him to keep his usually cool head.

"What did you just say?" It's almost whispered, low, quiet, and it makes you stop shaking in Quinn's arms because there's something deadly about it, something that tells you not to push him right now even when you're not the one it's directed at. Something that makes you still in surprise.

"I said keep your little plaything on a fucking leash."

There's a prolonged pause, one in which Quinn looks back behind him, eyes finding Boeser, a silent sort of conversation happening between them, an agreement reached.

"Brock?"

"I got her." The blonde man steps forward as Quinn turns you in his arms and pushes you gently to Brock, Boeser pulling you into his own arms and away from the other two men.

"Quinn?" You're not sure what's happening other than the fact that the fear is starting to set in. All that anger, the adrenaline that had kept you so focused on Dubois, had started to fade. It left behind a shaky sort of anxiety, as reality hit you, that this was not just a simple argument anymore.

You gasp and move back into Boeser as you watch Quinn turn back to Dubois and just as suddenly grab him by the collar of his suit jacket, slamming him back against the wall. While Quinn is shorter, he's certainly not small or weak by any stretch of the imagination and Dubois doesn't expect it as he's shoved full body into the wall behind him, his feet struggling to keep up with the harsh movement backwards.

Quinn is nose to nose with him, glaring up at him with a look you can only describe as murderous, "You ever talk about her like that again and I will break your fucking nose. You don't ever talk to her or about her like that. Do you hear me?" The interesting thing about it, is how Quinn doesn't have to yell. In fact, his voice low, but it's the edge to it, the way it feels sharp enough to cut that makes his feelings clear.

"Oh? Now you think you're a big man, what you gonna do with that hand of yours?" Dubois' eyes shift to the brace on Quinn's left hand, the one that you can see trembling under it's own grip. It upsets you, that he's hurting himself for you, that you started this, as much as part of you preens under his protection.

"My right hand is just fine, Dubois. Yours won't be if you don't back the fuck down." Maybe it's the way Quinn's eyes narrow. Maybe it's the way his teeth grind together. Maybe it's the way he shoves Dubois even harder into the wall or maybe it's something else entirely, but something seems to make Dubois realise that Quinn is serious. That Quinn has every intention of fighting for you if he has to, if the disrespect is not corrected, if Dubois doesn't back down.

Maybe Dubois simply doesn't care enough or maybe he's intimidated by Quinn because he mutters, "Whatever...", hands shoving Quinn's away from his collar, one last glare exchanged before he and Roy walk away, whispering the entire time.

You're practically shaking in Brock's arms, Brock who releases you gently once Dubois and Roy walk away, Brock who backs away to the locker room with one last look to Quinn, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

Quinn's shoulders drop, relax as he watches the two men turn the corner and disappear out of sight, before green eyes shift to you, features softening into something affectionate and gentle. A stark contrast with his expression mere moments before.

He's the one who reaches for you, stepping until he's in your personal space, hands resting on the sides of your face like he thinks you might physically be hurt.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his thumbs brush your cheeks, green eyes darting over your features, trying to assess how you are and if he needs to chase after Dubois and teach him a lesson or two.

Quinn will openly admit he's not a fighter nor does he want to be, but the strong surge of protectiveness in him overrides his usual aversion to violence. He'd fight anyone for you, if it meant you were respected, protected, safe. He doesn't care that Dubois gunned for him out on the ice, all he cares about is the way he got into your face out in the corridor.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? He almost took you out on the ice!" Even as you say it your voice is shaky. Quinn knows you better than he knows most people, he can hear that shake a mile off, knows that that shake is a sign you're not okay, that that shake usually comes before a break.

It's why he doesn't answer you, it's why he pulls you fully into his arms, wrapping them around you until you're chest to chest.

So he asks again, "Baby, are you okay?" Only to feel the way your body starts to shake aggressively in his arms, like your body has just caught up to the situation, like the adrenaline has fully left your system, leaving only the after effects.

His voice is soft as he mutters to you, "Oh, you really worked off instinct, huh? Just now realising you nearly fought a 6ft 2 hockey player for me?" Quinn's quick to pull you tighter against him, a full body crush, rocking you side to side as his cheek presses into your hair. His hands rub up and down your back, attempting to sooth you as the reality of it all fully kicks. As you realise how stupid it was of you to do that, how scary the situation actually was, how you should have just walked away.

"Fuck...did I just really do that?" Your voice is shaky, almost wet, like you might start crying.

"Uh huh...yeah, you did, baby." His voice is almost amused, sympathetic, now the worst of it is over Quinn can't help but find your actions endearing. The way that you, of all people, decided you'd go toe to toe with a massive hockey player on his behalf.

"Fuck." You press your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he rocks you from side to side. You don't regret it, not really. You'd defend Quinn to the death, you love him and that meant protecting him, just like he'd protect you. But, you have to admit, it wasn't perhaps your smartest idea or your finest moment.

"It was kind of hot, baby, but please don't do that again. I nearly had a heart attack seeing you nose to nose with him." Quinn's actually certain his heart stopped when he walked out of the locker room. You'd seemed so...fragile in comparison to Dubois and while he knew you, knew you weren't weak, it had scared him. The idea of you getting hurt was one of his nightmares, even more so you getting hurt because of him.

You pull back as far as he'll let you which really isn't very far, tilting your head back to look at him, "You nearly fought him for me..." your voice is almost disbelieving like you can't understand why he'd step in like that for you, his girlfriend.

"Yeah, I did.." Quinn's smile is soft, loving, eyes crinkling at the corners as you practically gape at him.

"But you don't fight." You look so confused that it almost breaks his heart because who taught you that you were unworthy of protection, who taught you that the people who love you wouldn't step in when needed?

"I'd fight for you. Any day. Any week. Any time. I'll always fight for you, baby. You're my girl." He says it like it's just a fact of life. Like 2 +2 = 4 or that water is wet. He says it like it is the most natural thing to exist.

"But...you don't like to fight." He hates fighting, you know because whenever he gets in one on the ice or has to break one up, he complains when he gets home. You know because everything about Quinn is gentle and soft, always slow to anger and quick to find a diplomatic solution.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn smiles at you amused, "But I love you and if the choice is between protecting you or not fighting, I'm always going to pick you. That's what you do when you love someone. You'd protect me, right?"

"Of course." You don't even hesitate because it's like breathing, that instinct to look after him because you love him because he's your person.

"Then there's your answer, sweet girl" He watches the way you nod like it is starting click, like it makes sense. His hands brush cross your shoulders, tugging you into his side, twisting so his arm is slung over your shoulders. Your shaking has long since stopped and whatever anger both of you felt has since faded under the sweetness of realising you're both loved, both protected.

"You wanna go back to the hotel? Enough excitement for one night, huh?"

"Mmm, yeah...You're okay though, right? Your hand?" You shift under his arm, eyes looking to his left hand and the brace there, watch the way he flexes his fingers as if to remind himself he can.

"I'm okay, baby, especially knowing I have you to fight my battles for me." Quinn kisses the crown of your head, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he pulls you tighter to his side.

In that moment the hotel room sounds great, home would sound even better, but you think home might actually just be Quinn and wherever he is.

[freak-accident419]

‘the patch stays on’

Logan Howlett x Reader

(18+ SMUT PATCH!LOGAN HOWLETT x GN!READER)

Summary: Ever since you saw Logan, your boyfriend, in disguise for his mission in Madripoor, you couldn’t stop thinking about him fucking your brains out. Luckily, when you finally get the chance in your hotel room, you have but one special request for him.

Word Count: 2.1k

Content: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gender-neutral reader, no pronouns for reader, no specific genitals assigned to reader, no use of Y/n, swearing, oral (r!receiving), unprotected penetration, creampie, missionary, riding

(A/n: me when i come back to write a wolverine oneshot… dedicated to @silverskyeline + @stop-talking, my fellow wolverine enjoyers ❤️ to everyone, I hope you enjoy, patch is one of my most favorite wolverine variants. based on/is a combo of both comics and movies. happy reading!)

-

The X-Men were presumed dead by the public. Gone from the face of the earth without a trace. And just for now, the uncanny team of mutants would continue to stay low and hidden, planning to keep it that way.

Naturally, of course, this also included the Wolverine. James Howlett. Logan. Weapon X. Kuzuri. Your lover. Despite having several aliases, in which one of the many would be a hostile sputter of ‘freak’, they would all seem to dissolve by the time he arrived in Madripoor. No, for there was only one name he would go by in this crime-ridden, neon city for the sake of lying low. And it was Patch.

Considering his unique X-Men uniform that incorporated the use of a mask, his full face would be barely recognizable to any of the inhabitants of this foreign island. All he had to do was to wear a classy suit and put on an eyepatch to create a new identity while fitting in with the locals.

In your case, you’d never been on the news or the front cover of a paper, despite your mutant status and affiliation with the X-Men. For quite some time, you worked as a scientist alongside Dr. Hank McCoy at the X-Mansion, while also working as an academics teacher for the mutant students at the school. You were reserved and intelligent, preferring to focus on your studies rather than fight as an X-Man amongst your friends.

Therefore, not being a famous X-Man meant that nobody would recognize you in Madripoor, so you didn’t need a disguise and only needed to wear elegant clothing to blend in. You were still precautioned to lay low and make your presence discreet, however.

Additionally, the trip there was long and even a bit tense, considering Logan’s crumbling fear of flying, which you attempted to soothe. For the most part, you were able to calm his nerves and himself down.

He wasn’t very fond of the idea of you tagging along either, taking into account the ubiquitous danger of the island, but you insisted. You could handle yourself, and even help him scope out the several crime operations he sought to terminate in the first place. That had been the main reason behind this mission anyways.

Not to mention, you’d been crudely compelled to come with Logan on this mission, especially after seeing him put on that ‘disguise’. Watching him step out in an all-white, three-piece suit, paired with a contrasting black bowtie and eyepatch, gave you some sort of awakening. In retrospect, it was almost comical, if you weren’t so severely blinded by your own lust at the time.

Frankly, you could even say that you jumped his adamantium bones the second you got settled into the hotel. With heavy breaths and desperate touches, your lips moved with his passionately in a deep kiss. Your fingers tangled in his brown, now-messy hair as your bodies sunk down into the plush mattress.

“What’s gotten into you, bub?” He nearly chuckles, almost teasingly as you nipped at his neck quickly.

“I just—“ you pant, cutting yourself off with a breathy laugh as you feel the embarrassment of your hastiness kick in. “I don’t know if it’s the suit or the eyepatch—hell, maybe both—but fuck, it’s making me go crazy.” You felt your body heat up the more you thought about it; his dapper, white suit, the smooth cuffs concealing his wrists, the emphasis on his veiny hands.

Shit. You wanted him to take you with all of it on.

Well… Maybe with just the eyepatch on, at least.

“Mm, yeah?” Logan hums lowly as you two continued to make out, resulting in your voices turning hesitant and shaky. “You’re actually turned on by this, baby?” And before you could even reply, he flipped your bodies over so that your back was now pressed against the bed with Logan hovering over you. His eyes looked both sensual and predatory, eager to feel your skin on his, just like the many times he had in the past.

Logan’s hands ran down your clothed body in a firm, yet worshipping manner, soon removing all of your clothing until you were half naked. You hummed softly in pleasure as you felt his slow hands palm your heat through your underwear, his lips nipping teasingly at your thighs. His hot caresses continued for a while, him adding more pressure with his hand until you let out a quiet, impatient whine, hips slightly flexing upwards.

Affectionately, he kissed at the center of your underwear before slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband, pulling them down your bare legs, past your ankles, and off of your body completely, discarding the futile cloth onto the ground. The cold air met with your naked crotch, which would soon be replaced by Logan’s close, hot breaths.

You shivered with arousal, feeling his arms hook under your legs, hands gripping your thighs as you saw his head positioned between them. The sight of him fully clothed in his white suit and eyepatch while you were completely nude in front of him made you feel so lustful and needy.

“Mmm…” Logan hummed simply as his tongue poked out to give kitten licks against your flesh. A quiet gasp left your mouth in awe as the little action caused you to feel so much already. Then, your breath hitched as his tongue worked stronger, taking you into his mouth as he tasted you and your arousal.

You began to moan softly, hearing his lewd, wet kisses and suctions as his hand moved to spread your thighs wider. “Ahh—Logan—!” You cry in pleasure, hand moving down to grip his hair in your hand. Your lover groaned in satisfaction, your addictive taste leaving his thoughts and vision hazy, sending vibrations to your core. To Logan, your moans were some pure form of aphrodisiac, and he only ever wanted to hear more.

He continued for a while, using his mouth expertly on you as he has for years, his single eye now looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pulls away slowly. Logan, the passionate lover he was, wanted to take as much time as you both needed, to extend this moment of bliss and sexual pleasure. Therefore, he couldn’t let you cum yet.

As he smirked from hearing your playful, desperate whine, he sat up on the bed and took off his blazer, working to undo his bowtie. His hand then reached for his eyepatch until you immediately stopped him with your assertion:

“Wait,” you firmly interject, “the patch stays on.”

A wide grin appeared on Logan’s lips with amusement, now averting his attention down to his button up and pants, taking off every single article of clothing and covering. Except for the eyepatch you requested for him to neglect, of course.

“You do know I can’t see shit with this thing on, right?” He exaggerates with a chuckle, almost mocking your decision for him to keep the accessory. You didn’t know what it was that made it so appealing to you. Perhaps it was the sexy mysteriousness to it that made your boyfriend seem even more badass than he was. Either way—

“I don’t fucking care,” you retort, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him down towards yourself, crashing his lips against yours. You could argue absolutely nothing could interfere with how astonishingly he could fuck you.

As Logan hesitantly broke the kiss, he lined up his body with yours, your legs remaining spread out on each side of his body while he made sure you were prepped. His hands were flat on the pillows beside your head, looking down at you with lust. Finally, and slowly, he pushed his cock through your entrance, gradually stretching your inner walls.

“Mmm… Ahh…” You would moan softly, looking up at him with hooded eyes and a flustered expression as he then pushed in completely, hips meeting with yours. He moaned almost simultaneously, feeling your satisfying tightness around him. Logan pecked your lips once, letting you adjust to his size before he started moving in and out.

“Oh—Ah—!” You whimper as his pace grows faster, hearing him grunt as his cock began to thrust fluidly inside of you, letting his firm pelvis grind against your sensitive flesh at the same time. The combined sensations felt extraordinary.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he mutters swiftly, rocking his hips at a steady rate against yours, letting his slick length massage and caress your walls. He made sure to move in as deep as he could, desperate to hit every spot that makes you feel good. His hands moved off the pillows to grip your hips tightly, holding you down, “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Feels amazin’…”

Logan’s arms now hooked under yours, meeting your lips to kiss you passionately as he fucked you sensually. You moaned against his mouth as you felt him become faster, sensing his animalistic instinct to become rougher with you. “Oh! M—Logan!” You whined as his cock continued to ram in and out of your entrance, the contact eliciting wet, lewd sounds of flesh slapping rapidly against flesh.

Feeling your walls begin to pulse and tighten, indicating your closeness, Logan pulled out, making you complain once more.

“Need you to ride me. Can you do that for me, sweetness?” He asks roughly, pressing soft kisses to your neck as if an apology for the abrupt stop. You felt a physical reaction in your body at his lustful words, watching his uncovered eye stare you down with both love and sin. Then you nodded.

The two of you changed positions on the bed, hearing the soft sound of sheets shifting as you climbed onto Logan’s lap. Your hands touched his shoulders, but then moved to cup his face in your palms, stroking his cheeks gently. Pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you moved one hand down to grip his cock, lining it up with your hole. Both of your breaths faltered as you sank down on him, feeling the same sensation as before. The angle change, however, somehow made everything feel so much more pleasant.

“Fuck…” you groan, hands on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Logan’s hands explored and traveled across your body to feel the warmth of your skin under his palms. His fingers moved with such purpose, akin to playing an elegant harp. You two panted heavily as you started off slow for a while, until you gradually sped up once you practically began bouncing on his thick cock.

“Ah! Ahh! Oh!” You cry, hearing Logan let out small grunts and moans as well, while you fucked yourself on his lap. His hands moved to grip your hips, fingernails digging deep into the your skin to assist your movements. His hands pushed you up and down his dick, letting you feel him stroke your insides.

“Mm—” he grunts as he mutters your name in admiration, thrusting his hips up to increase the sensitivity and speed. “Fuck!” Logan groans, looking up at you with arousal as you kept moving.

You felt your body begin to squirm and tense up, knowing that you were getting closer and closer to your well-anticipated climax. Based on Logan’s panting, grunts, and stuttered hip movements, you could tell he was close as well.

“Mmm—Mm—I—I’m gonna cum,” you whine, holding him close to your body with your arms as your hips kept moving to pursue the final, euphoric sensation.

“Ngh—Me too. Me too, baby. C’mon… Cum for me,” he gently orders under his breath before you felt your muscles clench, walls tightening as you reached your powerful orgasm.

“Mmm—Ahh!” You whine in deep pleasure, feeling the knot in your stomach untangle with euphoria. Your fingernails dug deep into his back, nearly scratching down his skin as your entire body quivered. Logan releases immediately right after, groaning your name as he cums deep inside of you, letting his warm, white seed shoot through and paint your fleshy walls. Your hips moved slowly onto his cock as you two rode out your sensitive, shared orgasm.

You both panted softly and you whined gently as you moved up, feeling Logan’s cock slowly slide out of you, now sitting on his lap normally. You could feel his cum begin to drip out of you already. Your hands caressed his face before you lift his eyepatch up against his forehead, finally seeing both of his loving, intimate eyes. Your lips moved against his in a gentle, passionate kiss that marked the end of your lovemaking.

You were usually clingy at the end of sex, as you would frequently hold onto him like a koala. So there you were, with your arms embracing him tightly, as if he would disappear the very second you let go. Logan stroked your skin affectionately, basking in the afterglow of the beautiful moment.

“So, don’t get me wrong,” you mumble, still merely exhausted, “I love your eyes, but… the eyepatch is just… so fuckin’ sexy. Especially with the white suit, just—everything…”

Logan chuckled humorously at your confession, pressing several gentle kisses on your shoulder.

“Mm? Well, get used to it, bub. We’re gonna be here for a while,” he smirks as he positioned the two of you to lay down beside each other on the bed.

“Oh, I know I will,” you giggle softly, burying your face in his sweat-stained neck.

[bb-dot-move-daisies]

MORE. MORE.

1. who fell first/who fell harder?

oh shit...i think they both were on the same page the whole time, except they have severely different ways of expressing it. but i wanna say...kylie, then kylie again.

(2/3/4 absolutely no idea what these are.)

5. (two QUEEN song titles, huh?) who killer queen, who good old fashioned loverboy? kylie for both.

6. go to pet names for each other?

daisy sticks to the classics like "honey", "dear", "sugar" — meanwhile kylie genuinely uses pet names to remember people, so she gets a little more creative. i think the main ones kylie has for daisy are "smokeshow", and "spacegirl"

7. what are their star signs? i have to google this.

kylie was born on the 29th of February, daisy was born on December 31st. pisces and capricorn. (and wikihow says they're compatible; awesome.)

8. (paraphrasing) where in the los gibitties are they?

daisy is a cis lesbian gray ace attorney; kylie's a genderfluid transfemme, who uses she/they with the occasional "masc associated" words (like "handsome", "dad/daddy", etc), and identifies herself as a "lesbian with a biiiiiig asterisks"

9. soulmates by chance. pure chance.

10. skip.

11. (paraphrasing) who's more random in public, and who says "unfortunately thats the love of my life" i have no idea, honestly. i feel like daisy, when drunk and happy can be quite expressive and loud, and kylie would just...fall in love all over again.

12. three songs that remind me of:

Daisy:

- first love/late spring

- washing machine heart

- my love all mine

(it's all mitski 😭😭😭😭💥🚛🕊️)

(i think, subconsciously, daisy's design is heavily based on the kind of women mitski writes about. and whenever i write daisy talking, i tend to go the kind of weird figurative language route that mitski tends to go for in her music...so i think thats why.)

Kylie:

- mr. blue sky - electric light orchestra

- the blonde - tv girl

- and this ones just a straight up Movie, but, pretty woman starring julia roberts and richard gere.

13. who's "tell me im pretty" and who's "ur annoying" (so many of these questions are in that "who tops" type format, but ill answer anyway. cuz its fun.)

daisy never asks kylie to tell her she's pretty, but kylie can feel when she needs it, so she says it. and daisy expresses her love for kylie in protective, but — at times — overly rude quips, because deep down, she can't stand the idea of HER woman in danger.

(also Kylie's a subby top.)

14. love languagesss!!! my favourite trademarked set of behaviours!!!

gifts, and service from kylie. service, and words for daisy.

15. yknow despite the fact that one of my girls is an astronaut i have no idea what "sun moon star eclipse" is. skip.

16. non sexual acts of intimacy.

- kylie cooking the foods daisy likes and remembering how she likes them.

- in bed, whispering about their days, and all the hours spent without each other at work

- daisy showering while kylie shits.

17. i...cant imagine either of them in a physical fight,...theyre both athletic to some degree, i just cant imagine them having the desire to fight for themselves.... Maybe Daisy? daisy has more bloodlust. but fuck i dont know. she could never beat kylie in a fight. right? even if kylie doesn't fight back, she's canonically bigger and heavier...daisy could throw a million punches while kylie does nothing and it would be a fair match.

18. three other ships from other things that remind me of daisy and kylie:

- fucking Arin and Suzy from game grumps.

19. who likes dogs who likes cats? kylie loves dogs. daisy hates animals. she'll take a Cool Fish™ , maybe, but could never take care of it

20. favorite thing about each other?

daisy likes that kylie doesn't need to be babied. that—on the contrary, kylie takes care of, and pampers daisy (as she deserves). kylie can be kinda shallow at times, but she's good with her hands, and quick on her feet. — that's what daisy likes about kylie. she can rely on her.

kylie likes...everything about daisy. to kylie, daisy is the kind of girl they wanna write home about. yknow? she likes that daisy's smart—she's a reader, she fills the gaps in conversation where kylie just prefers to listen. she's a good cuddle. she has pretty hair. she looks sexy in everything. she makes a lot of money. she's awesome to cook for. she's a competent mother. her family adooores her. (and this one's selfish) but daisy can be a bit of an insomniac, so she's still quite Active late at night; which works for kylie (nightshifter), cus now she has someone to come home to.

21. do they ever match??? in clothing? no, bc there's a severe gap in the way that they dress and shop. however i can see daisy wearing kylies t-shirts and boxers around the house...and i can see kylie wearing daisy's stuff for more Fashionable events

22. their own little ways of saying i love you:

- daisy protects kylie. but would risk crossing her own comfort zones for kylie. and when kylie's in bed, she falls asleep a little easier, because kylie protects her too.

- kylie pets daisy hair, and kisses every inch of her body. kylie waits to see daisy, almost every time. she's at her beck and call.

23. daisy wouldn't marry herself, and neither would kylie. they both kinda hate themselves a lot.

24. coffee or tea? coffee for both

25. one to five tropes they could embody in an au:

- highschool au (the real alteration being that the girls arent four years apart)

i think the reason for this is because the way i write kylie is heavily based on the way i write GRENDAN in my dr*wtectives highschool fics (fun fact) (censoring so they don't FIND ME.)

kylie is a gifted kid with severe imposter's syndrome, meanwhile daisy is an overachiever with no friends.

that's always a fun dynamic for me.

- princess x peasant is another good one for these two...

i think daisy would make an amazing politician,

princesses are just... politicians with a facecard. but i also believe that kylie's girldick is strong enough to tear the military down

🌙 * ―　silly little unique trivia about your otp．❫

who fell first, and who fell harder?

their hypothetical godly parents (or a deity they could embody in a mythological setting).

soldiers, poets, or kings?

the olive theory according to them (and their palate).

who's the ‘good old-fashioned lover boy’, and who's the ‘killer-queen’?

go-to pet names they have for each other, if any.

what are their star signs? (i know nothing about astrology, but it's funky so out with it!)

their sexual orientations and/or gender identities.

soulmates by fate/chance or by choice?

their hypothetical hogwarts houses, either traditionally speaking, so to say, or following the sortinghatchats method. (alternatively, if you'd rather: their alignment by dnd standards).

who's more likely to do stupid, impulsive, or random stuff, and who's there being like, ‘regrettably, that's the love of my life’?

one to three songs that remind you of them.

who's the “tell me i'm pretty” one, and who's the “you're pretty fucking annoying is what you are” in the relationship?

their love languages.

sun, moon, stars, earth, or eclipse?

three to five non-sexual acts of intimacy.

who's the “i could beat the shit out of you” one, and who's the “i know” one?

one to three other ships from other pieces of media that may remind you of them.

who's the dog person, and who's the cat person? (other pets or animals may also apply.)

their absolute favourite thing about each other in the whole wide world.

do they ever match in any way?

their own little way (or ways) to say ‘i love you’.

who's the “i wouldn't marry myself either” one, and who's the “i would marry you with parer rings” one? (alternatively: i'd marry you with paper rings vs. i'm rich. i'll get you a diamond)?

coffee or tea?

one to five tropes they embody or could pull off in an AU.

[undercvrfan444]

Description! Pt.2 to Bully!Satoru

Warnings! 18+, AFAB, mentions of female genitalia, kind of creepy gojo (oops), smut, fingering, probably more but Idk

Authors Note! I hope you guys like this, I have other ideas too so stay tuned because i’ll prob post those within the next few days! 💙

Bully!Satoru who would knock whatever book you were reading out of your hands. The pages would mesh together and you’d lose your spot causing you to frown. “You’re such a jerk!” You’d say to him and all you’d get was a wink in response.

Bully!Satoru who enjoyed writing disgusting and downright horrible things about you on post it notes just to slip them in your bag so you’d find them at home. He knew you read the comments because when you’d come to school the next day it was always hard for you to keep eye contact with him like normal. Your agitated responses would be mere whispers instead of your usual brave demands.

Bully!Satoru who watched as rain started to pour viscously outside and spotted the pretty pink umbrella tucked neatly in the side of your backpack. He couldn’t help himself. He needed his sweet bunny to do without so he could swoop in and save the day! Taking the umbrella, he was forcing you to soak your clothes in order for him to offer his own umbrella. You should already know he would peak down to see the way your uniform clung to your body and how the bra you wore did a poor job at hiding how cold you were.

Bully!Satoru who was surrounded by girls at lunch and noticed one day how you seemed to be bothered by it. Later on when he pulled your beautifully crafted braid out of your head you simply…ignored him.

Bully!Satoru who internally was intrigued by your reaction. Seeing his sweet bunny get so bothered by him receiving attention from other females managed to turn him on more than he expected.

Bully!Satoru who notices when you’re out of school for a few days after your little fit and asks your friends why you’ve been gone. They inform him that you’re sick and would most likely be missing the worksheets you’d need. Satoru knew how dedicated you are to your studies and took it upon himself to bring those papers by your house. How he got your address? Don’t worry about it.

Bully!Satoru who showed up after school that day and knocked on your door. You answer in a simple hoodie and shorts that has Satoru salivating like a dog; his eyes raking up your legs with no shame. “Aren’t you gonna let me in? I have all your work which i’m sure you’ll need some help with.”

Shy!Reader who lets Satoru into their house and tells her mom she and a friend are going upstairs to study. Yet the moment your bedroom door closes Satoru pulls you against his chest and gropes you through the fabric. He coos in your ear and shushes you when you try to protest “Oh cmon sweet girl. Be nice and let me have my reward for doing a good deed yeah?”

His slender fingers cup your breasts over your shirt and he moves one large hand down to run a hand smooth over your ass. His lips brushed against your ear as he left featherlight kisses. “Is this what you think of when you’re all alone? My hands feeling your body up while I whisper nasty things in your ear? Hmm?”

Bully!Satoru who teased you unwavering for what seems forever about being jealous of some stupid girls. “They’re just jealous of you baby. You get all my attention while I leave those girls high and dry don’t you know?” He loves hearing you whimper while and slips his cold hands under your clothes and inspects you further.

Bully!Satoru who scanned your room quickly until something caught his eye. A small pile of neatly folded colorful post it notes tucked into a container on your desk. His tongue clicking down at you and chuckling lowly in your ear. “Oh come now. Y/n! I never would have taken you for such a dirty girl…but that’s what you want people to think right? That you’re a goody two shoes that would never dream of having sex before marriage. Yet here you are with a pile of my horny little notes that you’ve been collecting while you writhe and moan from my hands touching you.”

Bully!Satoru who wants to eat you alive. His teeth sink down into your neck leaving a blooming purple patch on a rather exposed piece of skin. “S-Satoru! That hurt!” Is all you can seem to cry out while he slips his hand lower into your shorts, rubbing his fingers over your panties.

He sits on your bed gently and pulls you into his lap, knocking your legs apart so each leg stretches over his. He already slipped your shorts off and has you tightly against his chest where you swear you can feel his heart racing. “Be a good girl for me and stay quiet. We can’t have your parents knowing how wet their daughter gets by having her bully knuckle deep in her little pussy.”

Shy!Reader that swears she’s going crazy as her head spins. Small pants and groans escape from your lips while he fucks his fingers in and out of you harshly. Obscene squelching noises fill your ears as you listen to him bury his fingers in your sopping pussy. “Please! Toru’ m-more.” The words shock both you and the boy behind you when they come out. Satoru stops his movements inside you and forces your head up so you look him in the eyes.

“That feel good baby?” You nod the best you can with his hand holding your jaw. “Tsk tsk, I didn’t expect this from you sweet girl. You’ve already made such a mess on my lap i’m not sure I can continue without your parents asking question when I go downstairs.” His words cause you to whine out loudly and he pulls his fingers out of you completely.

Your eyes widen at the sudden loss of his touch. “N-no please! Satoru I want…I want you to touch me!” Frantically you whisper up to him while frustrated tears fall from your eyes at being neglected.

Satoru smiles at you for a second before licking his fingers clean of your slick. The sight making you squirm and try to close your legs.

“Mm, such a needy thing. I hate to leave you like this but it’s getting so late.” He snickers behind you and you know he’s doing this to prove a point and nothing more. He pulls your legs closer together and lifts you so you’re lying against your pillows. He presses a small kiss against your lips before standing again.

Bully!Satoru who bends down and pockets the panties he ripped off of you previously. “Call me if you have any questions about the work yeah? I’m sure we could set up a study session soon.”

With that he left your room and you heard him say bye to your parents downstairs before the front door closes.

The next day with Bully!Satoru at school who barely looks at you throughout the day and keeps the teasing to a minimum causing you to get frustrated and feel the heat in your panties grow. The purple hickey Satoru had gifted you was covered with makeup the best you could do and occasionally you’d swipe your fingers over the spot.

Bully!Satoru who pulled you aside during lunch and wrangled you into an empty broom closet so he could attack your lips. “Look so pretty today baby. You really should stop staring at me so much or else someone might get the wrong idea. Someone might think you actually enjoy my teasing.”

[meraki-sunset]

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

[seraphicloves]

𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏' 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏

⊱✿⊰ summary: you're in desperate need of cash and come up with a great way to get it, even if it surprises azul

⊱✿⊰ warnings: suggestive nature, calling Azul "zuzu", fem reader w boobs, reader is yuu, references to prostitutes?, azul x yuu coded, a little bit stereotypical of guys

⊱✿⊰ notes: my sister came up w this scenario so i decided to write it! Reader is very based off of a mix of me and my sister's personality so yeah @angelssbakery

Azul Ashengrotto was a cunning man. He tried his best to remain vigilant and aware of any way he could maximize profit and stay in power. So surely, he should have thought of this before you decided to waltz into his offer and …offer yourself up for him. How improper was your homeworld to make you think this is okay?

“I just want to be paid, no trickster contracts.” You said, giving him a weak attempt at looking intimidating. Really, you were nothing more than an angry puppy in terms of strength. But for some strange reason, you were frightening. Maybe because you had taken down multiple Overblotted students - including him.

“I have stopped my selfish ways, I am now only channeling the benevolent spirit of the Sea Witch.” Azul replied calmly, trying not to show you were making him feel on edge. Why was he even entertaining this idea? You would surely cause trouble if he let you into the Monstro Lounge. You were practically a tornado, leaving only destruction in your wake.

“Well, fine.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Despite priding himself on being respectful, he couldn't help the way his eyes were drawn down to glance at your…

“Aha see!” You grinned, catching him in the act. He flushed a bright red and turned away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It's natural. Even the most gentle of gentlemen can't help it. Look at you, Mr. Formal and all.”

“You really think…exposing yourself indecently will bring in more revenue?” Azul asked, peeking a glance at you. You looked so determined, so set in your ways. It reminded him of himself, in a strange way.

“Calm down, Zuzu.” You scoffed, calling him such a casual nickname. Absently, he wondered what your previous world was like to make you so…casual with affection. “It's not like I'm trying to be a prostitute, I just want to show a little cleavage and face.”

“Stop talking so…” Azul waved his hands in front of his face, questioning if he was about to faint due to how much blood was rushing into his head. You were so..so.. entirely confident, he didn't know how you did it.

Eventually, he gave an exasperated sigh and relented, “Fine, okay. We'll let you work one shift as a trial run. If you don't make at least 50 thaumarks in tips, you can not work here.”

You grinned at him, looking ready to prove Azul very wrong.

….

“You're letting Shrimpy work here?” Floyd asked, grinning at you. You were squirming in place, suddenly regretting your decision to work here. Would Floyd squeeze you to death if you don't make enough tips?

Azul shook his head, reminiscent of a stern parent with a troublesome child. Then again, Floyd basically is a troublesome child. He's like an overeager puppy.

The Octavinelle Housewarden said, “She is in the process of getting a job here. Today is a trial run.”

To help maximize your chances for tips, you found the perfect outfit. You had a tight-fitting shirt with a low enough neckline to show some cleavage without being indecent. And you paired it with an elegant skirt. Classy but hot enough to make teenage boys drool. Your first test subjects, Jade and Floyd, were helpful in figuring out if it would work.

Jade has shamelessly looked before moving on, and Floyd was, well, Floyd. He kept looking and commenting on your outfit and how good you looked. Azul was still trying his best not to look as though seeing your provocative outfit would make his heart explode.

“Alright, I’m ready!” You said, clapping your hands together. You had even fixed up your hair and dabbed on the makeup you scrounge up from a combination of Epel and Vil. You looked pretty damn good, well by your usual standards.

You marched right out into the main area, ready to serve some looks…and customers. A few of the Monstro Lounge regulars were there, congregating in their usual spots. Forcing your lips into a big, pearly, smile you went over to them.

And that was how you were certain you'd be able to work there. One of the boy's eyes dipped low, lingering on your cleavage before glancing back up to your face. You pretended not to notice, batting your lashes coyly.

You were about to be rich as hell.

….

Boom, bitches.” You said, slapping down the hefty amount of tips you got. These boys were sort of desperate and it was honestly amazing. Like did that one Heartslaybul guy have to tip you 80 thaumarks? No, but he did probably because he was too busy staring at your chest to look at how much money he pulled from his wallet.

Azul gaped at you in surprise, blinking rapidly as if he was finally able to process that you were now employed at the Monstro Lounge. Even Jade raised his eyebrow ever so slightly, changing his usually stoic expression.

“Damn, shrimpy!” Floyd laughed, grabbing onto your money and flipping through it, “250 thaumarks? That's good money for your first day.”

You grinned, a glimmer of pride washing through you. Despite the mistakes you had made, spilling food and being a little awkward- you still made a shit ton of money. Pretty privilege is real, even here in Twisted Wonderland.

Azul sighed, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I can't deny it. You made more than what I required of you, so you did it. Welcome to the Monstro Lounge.”

You and Floyd cheered, with Floyd lifting you up and squishing you slightly. Even Jade smiled a bit, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

….

“You knew she could make 50 thaumarks easily, didn't you?” Jade asked, watching you and Floyd celebrate from afar.

Azul said nothing for a moment, his eyes calmly watching you. He felt his face warm ever so slightly, his lips pressed into a firm.

“You have feelings for the Housewarden, Azul.” Jade said, then he gave a slight sneer as he added, “Or should I say ‘Zuzu'?”

Azul blushed and looked away, scowling ever so much. Jade laughed with a wicked sort of glee, getting the answer he wanted easily.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

if Crozier had a nickel for every time someone close to him kept a mortal wound secret from him he'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's definitely enough to give him some very specific trauma for the rest of his life

[bestboiraditz]

I was watching some old clips of Raditz and I realized something interesting about this characterization. Yes, Raditz is immediately interesting because he's Goku's older brother, but he's made even MORE interesting in my opinion thanks to the brief characterization he's allowed to have.

Take his first lines to Goku:

He doesn't immediately berate him for his failure to purge the planet, he takes a moment to muse on how much Goku has grown and how he looks just like their father Bardock. Keep in mind, Bardock wasn't even a spark in Toriyama's mind, so for him to have Raditz say this when he's supposed to be a throwaway villain shows an unusual level of fondness for family, especially considering what we later learn about Saiyans

Raditz, upon realizing Goku doesn't remember him, isn't just annoyed that Goku forgot his mission, but seems distraught that his little brother doesn't remember him.

It's a small detail, but again, cements that Raditz shows an unusual level of attachment to family bonds, especially for a Sayain.

And then (and this is something important to keep in mind) he declares that he will find a way to recover his little brother's memories because Goku is NEEDED.

His priority isn't to get the planet purged or punish Goku for failing, it's to regain the only biological bond he has left, however little of it there may be.

I find it interesting Toriyama wrote this piece of dialogue. It just seems odd he would write such layered dialogue to characterize a villain he always intended to kill off ASAP. I guess it was to play into the whole "subverting the brother trope" but still, it doesn't make the characterization any less interesting

When Raditz tells Goku how their planet was destroyed and how everyone died, he AGAIN emphasizes that this means their parents died too.

Again, Raditz really seems to put value on his family. Note he says PARENTS not just father. Even Vegeta, for as long as we've gotten to know him, never talks about his father King Vegeta that much (if at all? He's thought about him, but not really talked about him) I find Goku's reaction interesting too, as if deep inside, despite not remembering Bardock and Gine, his heart still feels the pain of losing them. (Could it be possible Raditz noticed his reaction and took that as a sign that Goku felt the bond too, hence his following actions?)

Like @masakoxtra said, Bardock's line seems to be unusually empathetic for Saiyans. (He talks about it at 3:30)

Even Raditz, despite living his whole life under Frieza's boot and submitting to the bullying and callousness of Vegeta and Nappa and hardening his heart because of it, hasn't completely lost his sense of empathy, it's part of his nature albeit incredibly suppressed.

Raditz then has an unusually distressed response when he realizes Goku doesn't have a tail.

He doesn't mock him for losing it or immediately gets disgusted by his weakness, he is outright horrified and then gets mad at Goku for letting others just remove his tail (From Raditz's perspective, It would be like if Goku just let his arm get cut off to fit in with a race of one-armed aliens).

For Raditz, he views it as a form of betrayal, not just of his race, but the idea that his own brother would rather pass as a lowly earthling than embrace his own heritage (family being something Raditz clearly values) really gets to Raditz on an emotional level.

Now that I think about it, Raditz kinda goes through 4 out of 5 of the stages of grief for the brief time he's alive.

His first reaction is denial that Goku had forgot him and accepted life on earth, then anger that he would rather live as an earthling than be with his Saiyan kin, and then he starts the bargaining phase, trying to entice Goku with the idea of fighting saying that he's a Saiyan and it's in his blood.

When that bargaining doesn't work, he resorts to a different form of bargaining.

Blackmail.

Raditz steals Gohan trying to force Goku to join him. He tells Goku to kill 100 humans by tomorrow as proof of his submission, but pay attention to the wording:

Raditz says "when you decide to join us, and you WILL decide to" that's how much confidence he has in Goku's devotion towards his son EVEN THOUGH Goku's a Saiyan.

Raditz doesn't have a shadow of a doubt that Goku will do everything in his power to protect his son, even if he is a weak crybaby. Saiyans don't typically care much for their kin as shown in several flashback material later on (in fact it's later explained that they'll completely disown and abandon babies that are too weak to be considered useful. They have a very Spartan-esque society).

But Raditz knows he can use Gohan as leverage because Raditz actually understands emotional connections between family members, something he would've likely valued all the more being considered weak himself.

A lot of times people are able to use emotional manipulation because they either understand or were a victim of similar manipulation.

He then warns Goku that he might as well comply because everyone is going to die anyway, the earth being scheduled for purging. He hammers home the point that Goku's defiance is pointless and he really doesn't have a choice anyway so he may as well submit.

But what Raditz is doing here is almost an act of compassion (for a Saiyan). The way he sees it, Goku will die if he doesn't comply, so joining them is the only way he'll be able to survive. If he didn't care about Goku's life, why warn him? Why give him a chance to prove himself?

In fact, why would Raditz need Goku to prove himself when he was willing to take him without that before?

This is just an idea, but could it be...because of his scouter?

Remember, his scouter was open the entire time so Vegeta and Nappa are listening in. If Vegeta was listening it, after hearing about Goku's weak power level and his defiance and kind-nature, Raditz probably knew Vegeta might just dispose of Goku when they returned, considering him a disgrace to the Saiyan race. So Raditz has to have Goku prove himself by killing a bunch of humans to show Vegeta he's worth keeping alive.

It's horrific in Goku's eyes, but to Raditz, the lives of a few humans is inconsequential compared to his brother. This again is why Raditz says Goku has no choice, Vegeta won't give them a choice.

This also might be desperation on Raditz's part. If we are to consider the opening of Dragonball Z: Kakarot canon, Vegeta and Nappa mock him, Nappa going as far as to declare it's why he's called "Raditz the Runt", apparently a knickname he's saddled with in the Frieza force.

Raditz, instead of responding angrily or protesting as most Saiyans would, bows his head and pathetically apologizes, promising things will be different next time, showing that not only is this bullying common, but Raditz has just accepted it at this point. The way Raditz treats Goku when meeting him may stem from this treatment, he's trying to sway his brother the only way he's seen, through brute force and intimidation.

But Vegeta, getting sick of Raditz's weakness, promises to kill him if he screws up again, and if Vegeta promises death, you know it's coming. Raditz, panicking as his self-preservation instincts kick in, mentions his brother, saying he can help make things easier, but really Raditz just doesn't want Vegeta to kill him. Even then, Vegeta scoffs "The fact that he's YOUR brother doesn't exactly fill me with confidence" It's possible that Raditz did actually forget his brother and it was only in his panic, scrambling mentally for any way to save his life, that in that moment of desperation he at last remembered Kakarot.

Again, if we are to consider this conversation canon, Raditz needs Goku to survive to better the odds of his own survival, it's only after he's in a pod heading to Earth that he has time to think about Kakarot and wonder why he hasn't tried contacting them after so long.

But back to the OG manga, After Raditz gives Goku his ultimatum, he says this:

Again, he could've stopped at "I hope you don't disappoint me" but to follow it up by emphasizing it's for both his and Gohan's sake is noteworthy.

And even though Raditz clearly doesn't have much of a connection with Gohan as he does with Goku, I find this bit particularly interesting:

He barks at Gohan to stop crying and states that he possesses the proud blood of Saiyans. Yes, he is annoyed by Gohan's crying, but he also feels that he's better than that since he is still a Saiyan and wants him to be strong.

I like to imagine that Raditz is repeating something Bardock told him when he cried as a child, it feels like a very Bardock thing to say.

I particularly like the english dub of this scene, Justin Cook gives such an interesting and tender delivery of the line.

Also I really like how Raditz pauses to look at Gohan before walking away in the anime, I like to interpret it as Raditz seeing a bit of himself as a child in Gohan, but quickly burying those feelings.

There's a little fancomic I found that really drives that idea home.

When Goku and Piccolo show up, before they even fight, Raditz says this:

Again, why warn Goku? This feels more like Raditz is still in the bargaining mindset, he's trying to get his brother to give up and now must resort to brutally beating him to get his point through.

And then followed by this.

Remember, his scouter is open, so it's entirely possible he's acting ruthless and declaring they'll die so he won't look soft to Vegeta. I mean, he'd kill Piccolo without a thought, yeah, but Goku...? It may still be a bluff.

Plus, if he was serious about killing them, why stand around and let them plot instead of finishing them off?

The tail scene is where we see Raditz's cowardly nature on full display. But I think this moment really enhances his character because most Saiyans probably wouldn't beg for their lives, at least not to the degree Raditz is doing, they're too proud a race.

Raditz starts rambling about how he'd never actually kill his brother and his death threats were just bluffs.

Yes, we know it's a ploy to get free, but could there be an iota of truth in there? The fact he could've cut off his tail but was waiting for Piccolo to fire off his second Makenkosopo shows that Raditz is a quick thinker and very calculating.

Plus he probably didn't want to have to lose his tail unless he absolutely HAD to.

Goku was NOT stupid for letting go.

After Goku releases him, Raditz mocks his softness stating that he, a Saiyan-warrior wouldn't hesitate to kill their own brother, only to confusedly ask if Goku wants "a demonstration".

Like, if he wouldn't hesitate to kill his brother, why is he hesitating to kill his brother?

He's not killing him, he's torturing him, he could easily end it.

Remember that Double Sunday he shot off with ease earlier?

And of course after Raditz and Goku get turned into donuts, Raditz says one of the saddest lines in retrospect:

Like, he is relying on Vegeta and Nappa to save him, believing that they'll value him as a Saiyan and bring him back because HE HAS NO ONE ELSE TO RELY ON.

Right before he dies, he's in a sort of stage 4 depression where he can't believe this is how his life is going to end, dying alone and disgraced on some backwater planet at the hands of his own brother, their family line coming to a miserable end. He's never allowed to come to stage 5: acceptance (which is often where the change in a person's perspective/character tends to happen) because he dies and is forgotten.

Another thing that makes me sad Raditz didn't survive is cuz he's the perfect medium between Goku and Vegeta.

Goku rejects his saiyan heritage while Vegeta clings to it, but Raditz feels like he could easily straddle both worlds. He'd cling to his saiyan heritage out of love and respect for his parents (He'd still call Goku Kakarot, not because "it's a Saiyan name" like Vegeta, but because it's the name Bardock and Gine gave, his reason a much more personal one).

However, Raditz would have plenty of things NOT to like about Saiyan society, especially with how he and his father were treated as low-class warriors.

Being on earth, surrounded by kind people who don't belittle him and show basic kindness and respect would quickly endear Raditz to earth (remember, Bardock's kin are unusually empathetic for Saiyans).

Plus, being around Goku, who'd no doubt encourage and be proud of Raditz whilst training, would do a lot to boost Raditz's confidence (Goku looking like Bardock a way to ease his yearning to prove himself to his father) and further make him enjoy earth.

I like to imagine that, while Goku always wears a training gi from earth and Vegeta always wears some semblance of saiyan armor, Raditz would probably have a saiyan breastplate resembling Bardock's (as a kind of tribute to his dad) and go with loose pants like Goku which is good for training, visually symbolizing his willingness to find the balance between two worlds.

If Raditz had survived in the canon, this could've played even further into Vegeta's sense of isolation post-Cell arc. During his whole Majin Vegeta vs Goku fight speech, he could've said something like "And imagine the frustration I felt, when the only other pure-blood of my race left, your brother, that low-level trash who'd trembled for years under my elite warrior might, not only obtained the power of a super saiyan, but deemed me, ME the prince of all Saiyans UNWORTHY of his time! UNWORTHY FOR HIM TO FIGHT!"

Oh, and...

Must run in the family.

[milktrician]

Hello hello! :D

SQH-SY siblings au for the ask game, please?

I'm pretty sure I wrote this after someone wrote a text post about the idea but idk if I would be able to track that down, or if it existed at all and I'm misremembering. Anyway, I didn't really have a set plot in mind after I wrote this short snippet other than it would be very funny for Shen Yuan to try and actively sabotague Shang Qinghua's efforts to become head disciple of An Ding while looking as innocent as possible. I don't think I'm going to write anymore for this idea as I have other wips I want to focus on but feel free anyone to write out their own interpretation! Anyways, here's what I wrote a few weeks back:

[ Activation code: “Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel.” System automatically triggered ]

What? What the fuck is this?

[ Host is in the midst of transmigration! ]

No—what? This is a dream, Airplane’s stupid fucking writing must have made me pass out!

Rrgh! I need to punch the fucker IRL!

[ Host would like to see Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky? ]

YES!

[ Beginning transmigration… ]

What?

“Oh! It’s a boy!”

“W-Wait what? Doctor, didn’t you say it was going to be a girl?”

What the hell?

He feels himself get wrapped within a cloth, and suddenly he's enveloped in warmth. He’s being…held?

Any attempt to move his limbs is caught by the cloth wrapped around him. His tongue presses against toothless gums, and his vision is too blurry to make out anything.

No…

“Haha, well surprises always happen! Did you have a name in mind if you two had another son?”

“Ah, well I suppose we never gave any thought to it. A-Yu, you’re always good at coming up with names with your little stories, how about you name your little brother?”

No…

“You…ah, shouldn’t it be up to you two? Like erm. Tradition or something? Like this is a whole baby I sh-shouldn’t be responsible for the name he’ll be called for the rest of his life!”

A woman then laughs above him, 

“A-Yu, I think I’m much too tired to think right now. You’re a smart boy, any name you come up with I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

He…died. 

Transmigration’s real!?

AND HE’S A BABY!

Oh—whoever this person is, please don’t name him something stupid.

[ Don’t worry Host! This System has you covered! ]

“…Yuan?” Whoever “A-Yu” is, he said that like he wasn’t even sure of it himself! Thank god he still has his old name in this life at least.

“Shang Yuan…I like that.”

System…where have I transmigrated?

[ This System operates in line with the design concept “YOU CAN YOU UP, NO CAN NO BB”; we hope to provide you with the best possible experience. It is our sincere wish that during your time, you can fulfill your desires and, in accordance to your wish, ‘see Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’ ]

[ Congratulations! Congratulations! Congratulations! Important things must be said three times! ]

What now?!

[ User has completed his wish! ]

I…did?

[ Entering Limited Sandbox Mode! Feel free to explore within the constraints of the plot! ]

[ We hope you enjoy the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way! ]

WHAT?

“Ah! He’s crying, give him here.”

“Ahh. You’re so cute lil bro! Cutest baby in the whole wide world!”

A-Yu, or Shang Hongyu, is his new older brother in this life and is maybe eight or nine years older than him. He’s apparently very smart for his age, and their parents are already tutoring him to take over their father’s business.

He hears his older brother sniffle,

“Too bad you’ll probably never see me again in a few years.” he says, “I’ve gotta head to Cang Qiong and make my way up An Ding in the next few years.”

Hold on a second.

His older brother holds him tight against his chest, and from here he can feel his breath shudder.

“I’ve never had a sibling by blood before.”

He’s brought to his sibling’s bed and his brother lays next to him lazily.

“Just a few more years and you guys won’t have to see me again.” his brother says to noone, “They’re…surprisingly good parents, didi. Once they don’t have me to worry about, they can spoil you as much as you want.”

Geez, what kind of weird complex do you have?

Though. Shang surely is a common surname right? Lots of Shangs to go to An Ding!

System where in the timeline are we?

[ System is currently in maintenance for future updates! ]

Fine. He’ll figure it out his own way!

His own chubby fingers are able to grab onto his brother’s robe.

“Gege.” He says, to the best of his ability with his shitty little baby mouth.

He doesn’t expect his brother to burst out crying and start to hug him tight.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Lessons Learned~

Abel x Fem! Reader x Adam

Based on the prompt idea @cosmiiwrites made here. I happily offer myself up as the degen willing to write this! TW: SMUT!, Age gap!, P in V, Fingering, Voyeurism IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT DON'T READ IT

Abel knows he’s too soft and inexperienced with sex. He knows he won’t know how to please you properly, no matter how much porn Cane shows him on the side. He knows he can’t possibly do things right with you, knowing you’ve done this all before with other men who were more prominent and more knowledgeable than him. However, God does he wish to please you and make you see stars like all the novels he reads say. He wants to treat you how you deserve to be treated in bed. He never thought he’d be so desperate to fuck someone good and hard like he does with you. 

Abel went to the one man who taught him everything he knew…Adam. The one man who knew all the right ways to please a woman properly, he was the first man, after all. He asks Adam to show him how to care for you when you two head to bed. He tells Adam he doesn't know how to care for someone else's needs, at least with someone so experienced like you. He tells Adam he needs to be instructed and to see how he should work to keep you both romantically and sexually. 

You’re nervous at first, thinking it’s an insane idea. Who in their right mind would agree to have their boyfriend fuck them right in front of their father. However, you can’t hide the wetness along your panties as you sit on Abel’s lap, back pressed against his chest, legs spread over his thick thighs, his soft knuckle dragging down your warmth. Adam sits back in his chair, telling Abel exactly how to move his fingers, paying close attention to your body's minuscule movements, the way your brows furrow when Abel moves a certain way, or your eyelashes flutter even the way your breath hitches and the slight parting of your lips. 

This was supposed to be a strictly hands-off lesson for Adam, who was just sitting and talking to his son about how to please you. However, watching Abel fumble around your folds, unable to maintain the speed you needed, keeping you from reaching your orgasm, had Adam on edge. 

Adam leaned forward, rolling his chair with him, and told Abel to stop a soft whine leaving your parted lips from the lack of friction. Then, the unexpected happened: Adam told him to watch and pay close attention. Adam tears your panties off, and your eyes go wide at the contact with the cold air. You swallow, expecting Abel to be mad, frustrated, and scared, but his hands only settle around you, and he takes notes as he watches his father work on your pussy. 

Adam runs his thumb up your slit, circling your aching clit, and tells Abel to hold your thighs apart wider when you unconsciously try to clench them at the touch. Just as you were getting used to Adam's assault on your clit his finger began to sink into you, leaving your head falling back against Abel’s chest, eyes shut tight as you pant. You can't help but moan at how large Adam's finger is, and you feel Abel harden beneath you. “How are you feeling bitch?” Adam asks you. You babble out incoherently, your mind going blank as Adam adds a second finger and smirks at your response.

It slowly becomes too much, Adam’s fingers thrusting in and out of you, his other hand now rubbing your clit just right, Abel’s fingers digging into the softness of your thighs as he forces them apart wider and wider for his father. “Oh Fuck” you slur, “I’m gonna…“ Adam smirks, his eyes lighting up as he watches you orgasm, your body clenching around his fingers shoved deep in your heat. 

"That’s it slut. You like having your boyfriend's dad fuck you," You shiver at Adam’s words as he looks up at Abel. “You gotta talk the girls through their orgasm. It seems yours likes being called names,” Adam tells Abel. You're still shaking, and Abel rubs his hands over your exposed skin. "That’s it, princess. Did my dad make you feel that good? Next time, it’ll be me making you purr," he says, kissing the side of your neck as he speaks. 

"She is hot as fuck when she cums. You picked a good one," Adam spoke out, his fingers leaving you empty and clenching on nothing. You steady your breathing, coming down from your incredible high, completely limp in Abel’s arms. Adam can see Abel’s eyes show desire but fear, his pupils blown wide, but an unsteady look covers his face. 

Adam knows Abel doesn't know how to fuck a woman properly. Eve ensured her precious baby boy was never exposed to his father's antics. Adam sees the feral need in Abel’s eyes to ram himself into you, but the fear that he will mess up is more present. "Are you gonna try fucking her now?" Adam asks. 

Abel releases a shaky breath, his hips beginning to buck up against your ass. He knows he would only mess up or hurt you since what Able lacked in size; he made up for in girth. "I’m not sure I will be able to, Pa," whispered Abel.

Adam sighs, shaking his head, sitting back in thought, his eyes roaming over your spent body leaking your milky cum. Suddenly, you feel shy, wanting to close your legs at the heated gazes that both men are giving you, but Abel’s arms tighten on your thighs, leaving you wide open. "I could start her off, get her nice and wet for you, so all you have to do is slip in and pound her," Adam finally spoke after several minutes of them just watching your sloppy cunt.

Abel grinds up against you, a deep sigh leaving him, his left hand sliding into your hair and turning you to face him so he can kiss you. Your eyes flutter at the stark contrast of how delicate Abel is with you. "You okay with my dad preparing you for me, lover?" Abel asks against your puffy kiss and bruised lips. 

"Don’t you want to fuck me, Abey?" you stutter when you answer. 

"Yes, baby, I do, but I am afraid I would ruin our first time; I have never been with a girl, and I want you to feel everything properly." He looked at you with soft puppy eyes as he was so sincere about wanting you to feel good, even if it wasn’t by his hand alone. 

You swallow the growing saliva in your mouth and nod softly to him in confirmation; Abel’s hands leave your hair and thigh, pawing at your clothed chest, asking nicely through body language to take it off of you. You nod and comply easily, and your shirt comes off. You look between the two men you are with and speak softly. "Okay, I will do it."

Adam smirked, stood from his chair, and began to undo his robes. "Good Girl, you are a slut, and here I learn my son likes to watch," Adam motions to the bed in the room. “Come get on this bed for me and spread your legs, let’s give Abel here a good show on how to fuck a bitch.”

You’re nervous as you stand up, body on full display for both men. You look back at Abel, but he only motions you gently with his head to follow his dad, urging you to get up and do as you were told. You sigh softly and nod with bare, shaky legs; you walk to the bed, Abel’s hands lingering on your body until you step out of his reach.

The robes hitting the floor made you freeze as you looked over Adam’s body. He was far bigger than your boyfriend was, but his dick wasn’t as girthy. Were you really going to do this in front of Abel? Let Adam, his father, fuck you in your boyfriend's house while he watches? You grew nervous that this would change your relationship and perspective forever. Having Adam watch while Abel tried to please you was one thing, but having Adam balls deep in your pussy while Abel pleasured himself was another. 

Adam’s eyes trace your naked figure as you approach, the cool air making your nipples perk up. Adam motions to you, then the bed, a smirk growing on his face. You slip past Adam and feel his hands grab onto the fat of your ass, reposting you so you are on full display to Abel. Adam leans forward, his hands gripping either side of the headboard, caging you in. “You scared that you will like the first dick more than my sons? It’s alright if you do; I’ll train Abel up good and well to fuck you even with what he does have.”

You nod, unable to form coherent words. You hear Abel shifting in his seat and the sound of his robes coming loose. However, you’re too drawn into Adam to dare risk a glimpse at your boyfriend's manhood. Slowly, Adam runs a hand down your body, and one of his fingers slips between your legs once again, dragging through your core and making you whimper. “Damn, babe, came so hard earlier that you still have so much left, making you nice and ready for me, yeah?” Adam looks over his shoulder at Abel. “Now, before you go fucking her son, you gotta make sure she is nice and wet, luckily your dad here is a wizard with his finger, and she is still soaking, but you can also use your mouth and devour her juices to help get her wet too, understood?”

Abel lets out a soft whine and then groans of understanding at his dad's words. You lay flat against the bed as Adam finds purchase between your legs, his cock dangerously close to your womanhood. To say you were embarrassed was an understatement, as Adam practically drooled at the sight of you. Adam takes his cock in his hand and strokes himself gently as he keeps working your pussy with his other hand, his thumb circling your clit before you feel the head of his cock on your entrance.

The way Adam’s pressed against you has your mouth watering. Just with his cock hovering above you, it was easy to tell he would be kissing your cervix. You gulped and looked up at Adam’s eyes, his grin only widening when he caught on to the thoughts in your head. “Yeah, bitch you will have a nice bludge in that tummy when I am in ya.”

You turn your head to look at Abel, your eyes widening, and your heart races, witnessing the sight before you. Abel has his short girthy cock out and is stroking himself as he watches you and his father. “Now pay attention, kid,” Adam says to Abel. “We are gonna take things nice and slow at first, got it.”

Adam edges himself inside you, and you immediately whine, your legs flying up from the bed and clinging around Adam’s waist, your instincts kicking in with how deep this man's dick is already going. This only seems to incite him further, Adam laughing softly as he grunts, making his way deep inside of you.

“That’s it, whore,” Adam speaks slowly as he takes an excruciatingly long time edging his cock inside you, small strokes back and forth, going a little bit deeper each time. You squeeze your eyes shut as Adam works his way in. He was huge, and when you looked down, there was a stomach bulge. The sight only caused you to squeeze down tighter on the man as he pushed into you.

Your eyes flutter, your lips parted, and your face flushed as you take in all Adam has to offer. Adam grins before glancing over at Abel and gesturing his head toward the other side of the bed where your chest was exposed. You hear Abel shuffle and move across the floor; you feel his presence next to you. “Now, kid, you’re gonna touch her exactly how I showed you earlier,” Adam demanded. 

Abel’s fingers are on you, sliding along the top of your bust, lightly feathering your exposed skin. His hands are soft and calm as he wraps them around your mounds, and the sweet little sounds he makes only edge you on further. Abel gropes your chest, and you squirm at his aggressive touch. Abel smirks, moving on to your nipples, pinching and pulling gently till you moan, and Adam uses that as his chance to begin thrusting hard inside of you.

You’re so distracted by Abel's touch that you don’t realize Adam’s harsh movement until he sheathes himself to the hilt inside you again. You yelp, your eyes widening. “Damn bitch you’re so tight, fuck” Adam slurs. Abel releases your breast, your chest likely red and marked, and he pulls his cock free, stroking it. You turn to look, flustered, as Abel works himself, his cock right beside your head, his eyes dancing between where his father's cock is buried deep inside you and your glistening eyes. Adam tucks your hair behind your ear, his hand caressing the side of your face, forcing you to look up at him as he rocks his hips against you harder and harder. 

Abel tries his best to pay attention, but fuck, watching you whimper and whine like that is driving him mad. “You are doing such a good job for us, princess,” Abel says above you. Your eyes meet his, and you’re forced to let out a moan as Adam begins to rub your clit. “You look just how you did with his fingers; you're going to cum on my dad’s cock?” his words enticing, like he’s getting just as much pleasure out of this as you. You nod, your hands reaching above your head to grip the edge of the headboard. “That’s my good girl,” Abel praises. 

“Are you going to let me fill this pretty pussy up bitch?” Adam asks. He seems so confident, but you can hear how he’s losing himself and desperate for your tightness. You tell him yes, your words clipping on a whimper, and Adam begins to rub circles on your clit faster, needing to feel you clench down on him harder. 

You cry out, your walls clamping down, fluttering rapidly, and Adam groans loudly, swearing and cursing as he empties himself inside you. Then you feel it, something warm sliding down your breasts. Abel has one hand gripping the headboard, the other still on his cock, his cum now painted across your chest. You can’t help the wave of ecstasy that fills you when you see it. 

Adam gently pulls out, muttering something to Abel about how to be soft when leaving a woman's body. You feel liquid gush out of you and drip down your ass and onto the bed; your brain is in a haze as you look up at the two men who just used you. 

Adam helps you sit up,  mumbling about how well you did, how good you felt, how much of a slut you were for him. You’re confident that, at this point, Adam will show Abel how to care for you afterward, how to carry you to the bathroom, and how to help you put on some warm clothes. However, instead, he says something that makes the fog dissipate from your mind and electricity enter your pussy. Adam smirks at Abel, “Why don’t you show Pop's everything you just learned?”