#this is um. well it’s. it isn’t very sfw

[cosmictapestry]

corinthienne playlist sneak peak

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[cinnbar-bun]

the jotaro munchies have HIT…. can i please request a pt.4 jotaro and some good domestic family fluff w smolyne…. i am so…. soft for her……

A/n: Okay so I'm going to cheat and combine like... the 4-5 requests I got of 4taro and Smolyne into one!!!

Domestic Family Fun Time (ft. Smolyne)

Summary: After recognizing he needs to be at home more, Jotaro is tasked with joining in on some of the activities you and Jolyne often partake in together!

Today's activities... slaying an evil monster and doing makeup.

Rating: SFW- pure fluff and comedy!

Word Count: ~1.4k

Notes: Reader is GN! but they do know/use makeup. Never specified if Jolyne is your biological/step daughter, and no mentions of Jolyne's mom- so feel free to imagine whatever you want! I imagine Jolyne as about ~5-6 here.

Taglist (if you'd like to be added, please fill out the form in the pinned or message me!): @gingernut1314 @adeadcreator @child-ofdust @starr-l1ghtt

Jotaro does his best to rectify some of his absence in the house since Jolyne was a newborn. He’s more present now and tries to support you and his daughter. 

Still, he’s the same stoic man, so don’t expect him to be so different now that he’s at home. He’ll be taking these duties very seriously, keeping an eye on the house, never taking a break, always work and- 

Oh who is he kidding? Even if he tries to look tough, Star Platinum is pretty much always exposing him. Star Platinum can’t help but reveal how happy and excited Jotaro gets at home with you two. 

Jotaro isn’t too used to dealing with Jolyne as she gets older, in the sense that she is becoming more active and starting to formulate her own thoughts. Still, he tries his best to work with his hyperactive daughter. 

Jolyne loves playing games and being physical. One of her favorite things to do with you is pretend to have to save you from a big monster while she is a super cool ‘fairy mermaid knight’. Normally, you two would play this by yourselves, but since Jotaro has been focused on being at home, he gets to witness these games. 

At first he stood off to the side and watched as Jolyne jumped off the couch and hit a large pillow covered with a blanket that served as one of the ‘minions’. He noticed how active you were in playing along and expressing with Jolyne, which he took note of for future reference. 

The next few times you played pretend, Jolyne beggggedddd Jotaro to please please please pretty please with a cherry on top play mermaid fairy knight with her. 

He wasn’t sure what his role was supposed to be, so he awkwardly asked, making her brainstorm. 

“Um… hm… well…” 

That is, until you had the brilliant idea to play the ‘evil villain’ and ‘kidnap’ Jotaro (put him inside the foldable pink castle playset). Jolyne was so excited to play along, and you began monologuing like a cheesy villain. 

“Now, young princess, I’ve kidnapped your father and placed him in this indestructible fortress where he can never leave! Mwahaha! Look at how terrified he is!” 

Jotaro just stands there, unsure of what to do, before you nudge his arm and gesture with your face for him to act along. He nods and then in the most bland tone ever- 

“Ah… I am… so scared. Please Jolyne. Save me.” 

You and Jolyne had to look away and stifle your laughter from that awful performance, but quickly got back into character. 

Jotaro uses Star Platinum to help Jolyne jump higher or make her feel like she is gliding for a bit. 

You hammed up the evil act while Jotaro would make the most monotone ‘screams’ as you ‘tortured’ him (tickling him or kissing him all over his face). Jolyne would yell back or gag playfully and then smack you with her fake weapon. 

Of course, you had to give a riveting performance and fake die dramatically before laying on the ground with a silly face, making Jolyne squeal happily and run up to Jotaro. 

“Thank you, Jolyne, for saving me. I’m in your debt.” 

Jolyne gets smug and talks about how of course she was going to save him, she’s his dad, and she’s gonna be a cool hero just like him!

Cue you nearly breaking character to sob and Jotaro mumbling a ‘good grief’ while tilting his hat down to hide the fact he also wants to break down at how cute Jolyne is. 

He makes sure to make her favorite dinner after- pizza rolls.

Another thing she manages to whisk you into doing is makeup. Jolyne loves to try it on and even put it on you. Sure, you end up looking like a brightly colored clown at the end, but it’s quite fun. 

Jolyne loves how colorful and sparkly she looks by the end of it when you finish her makeup. 

One day, though, while Jotaro is watching a documentary on dolphins, Jolyne comes up to him with her makeup kit and asks (read: says) to do his makeup. Jotaro is unsure at the suggestion- he’s never even worn makeup before- and seeing you walk behind her with lime green and purple eyeshadow and red lipstick makes him nearly second guess if he should do it. 

But one look at Jolyne’s face (which is done up in very pretty blue makeup thanks to you) and he sighs and accepts his fate, promptly closing his eyes and pausing the documentary. 

You join in with Jolyne and help her apply the makeup, properly showing where everything should go. 

“Ah, see, we have to apply the foundation here like this-” “Damn, dad, you’re pale!” “Jolyne-!” 

Jotaro knows this is going to be a mess but he’s finding it admittedly hilarious how serious you and Jolyne are taking this. Star Platinum is smiling widely at the both of you and eagerly pointing at different products as you two apply them.

“Hm, which color should we choose, Jolyne?” “Ah… I think dad should get green! No, wait, black!” “Black, huh? A bold choice, dear.” 

Everything goes pretty smoothly until he comes upon perhaps the worst torture known to man. 

Doing his eyelashes and eyeliner. Before you can even apply the eyelash curler to him, he opens his eyes and gasps. Hell no. That is NOT going anywhere near him. 

“Jotaro! It’s safe, I promise!” “The fact you need to clarify that it’s ‘safe’ tells me it isn’t.” “Stop being a baby and just close your eyes.” 

He relents after a bit of arguing, only to feel his heart stop when you bring the eyeliner out. 

“You are not putting a pencil in my eyes.” “It’s not in your eyes, it’s around-” “No.” 

Jotaro swears this is supposed to actually be a torture device. There’s no way that people around the world willingly put this stuff on. He cannot keep looking up without blinking a million times as you try to put the eyeliner on. 

“Stay still!” “Don’t put a pencil in my eyes then!” 

Jotaro honestly would rather fight Dio again than bother putting on eyeliner again. 

Finally, you finish and he releases the breath he held in… until you bring out mascara. 

Kill him. Please. This man is so damn twitchy with it and ends up getting the mascara around his eyelids. 

“You messed it up, dad!” “Sorry, Jolyne. Good grief, the things you two make me do.” 

After all that pain, Jolyne volunteers to do his lips. She grabs one of her lip balms and once Jotaro tastes it, he grimaces and gags. 

“What is that?!” “Coca-Cola! The Fanta one tastes the best, but you can’t have it because it’s my favorite.” 

Finally, it’s time for him to see the results of you and Jolyne’s silly game. 

“Wow… green lipstick… I didn’t even know they made that…” “Right? So what do you think, dad?” 

“I think I look like a zombie…” 

You laugh and press a kiss to Jotaro’s cheek. “A very handsome zombie.” 

He sighs and shakes his head before grabbing the two of you to pull you into a hug. 

“Thank you. Now how do I take this off of me?” 

Jolyne screams that he can’t because he looks so cute and she needs to commemorate it. She runs to her room and gets the old digital camera he got her then demanding the two of you pose in your ‘beautiful’ makeup. 

“Come on! Say cheese!” 

The three of you have a small photoshoot with it, which you ended up having printed at the store later. The photo with you smiling and hugging Jotaro while he has a tiny smile is proudly displayed in the house. In her teens, years later, Jolyne gets embarrassed by it and often hides it when her friends are over, asking you throw it out or something. She still secretly loves the memories of it so she wouldn’t actually want you to do that. 

Jotaro still has some ways to go when it comes to playing and taking care of Jolyne, but he’s slowly getting there. He’s happy he chose to make more of an effort and that you gave him another chance to prove himself. He can’t imagine another life than the one he has now. 

And… he can’t imagine feeling safer and more content than he is now, especially seeing you and Jolyne laughing over the photos you all just took.

[callie-the-creator]

and they were roommates

sfw. warnings: reader is gender-neutral, mild scott pilgrim vs. the world spoilers, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, migraines, hangovers, angst, a sad wallace, etc.

author’s note: scott is my least favorite character, so expect some jabs to be thrown at him in here. anyway, sorry if this is trash or too cringeworthy. i tried my best, y’all ✌🏻

• you’ve known of wallace through a few stories your closest friend, stacey pilgrim. you mainly just listened to her rant about him stealing a few of her boyfriends.

— sadly though, wallace ended up breaking things off with other scott…and jimmy…and that other guy that he can’t remember the name of. the good thing is that scott finally moved out since he is planning on living with ramona. still…it did get a little lonely at times.

• because of how sad and isolated he felt, wallace began to drink. well, more than usual anyway. every night he could be seen lounging at his favorite bar with a generous of empty beer bottles/cans in front of him.

• it wasn’t until the fourth night of this repetitive cycle is when wallace met you: [name: y/n l/n. occupation: bartender. 24 years old and he’s never seen you until tonight which is surprising since wallace practically knows everybody.]

— right off the bat, you two hit it off right away. there was an underlying tension there but for the first few occurrences when you either bumped into wallace in the street or found him at the bar, it goes untouched & unmentioned.

• that was until wallace asked for you phone number when he is drunk. it was really sappy, but he was still nice about it. it makes you happy that wallace isn’t an angry drunk, like whatsoever. he’s just happy to be there and very sleepy. there were a few times where you had to give him over to his place because you didn’t trust him to get there on his own.

• you were always so kind to him, always treating him better than he probably deserved.

• needless to say, it didn’t take long for wallace to think of you in the highest regards. you two even started hanging out outside of the bar where you work at. if he needed something to be picked up, you’ll do it with no questions asked or you would sometimes pay for his coffee if you were out to get yourself a drink too.

— just after a few weeks of knowing you, wallace fell head over heels. and he had it bad.

• of course, he tried to suppress his feelings and tried his damn best to not make it obvious. so, what did our dear wallace do to ensure that? he started to ignore you, partially at least, and became awkward. like…scott pilgrim-level awkward. it’s weird since wallace has always been known to be the complete opposite of his ex-roommate. he’s very easy going, calm, and the voice of reason to many.

• he’s a flirt too. so, why are you having this effect on him? he just couldn’t understand why he suddenly became a bumbling idiot.

• you were worried that you did something to push wallace away, but all your questions were answered when you returned one night to find that he left a drunken message in your answering machine.

— “hey, you know, hic, i've been thinkin', like, a lot. (long pause) and, um, i just wanna say, you're, like, really somethin' special, ya know? (slight slur) i feel all mushy and stuff, but yeah, i kinda, sorta...love you, maybe? (awkward pause) yeah, that's it. hic”

[lemons4u]

Hello, Pri! How are you? If you're ok w/ it, may I have the anemo boys with a s/o who enjoys seating on their lap? (Sfw)

notes ! OKAY THIS LITERALLY TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO ANSWER, so i’m really sorry 😭 and also i’m doing great thank you! also not proofread (my grammar is a little bad anyways so)

warnings ! fluff, heizou’s part is suggestive

v e n t i

he loves it when you sit on his lap! it gives him a nice a sense of comfort… to have you so close to him.

he also thinks it adorable lmao.

IMAGINE.

sitting in his lap while you both are out at the statue of seven at windrise— he’s putting windwheel asters in your hair as you read to him or something.

or maybe he’ll hum a tune for you!

it’s depends what he’s feelings like :3

“your hair is looking beautiful today, hehe..” venti cooed, tucking yet another flower in your hair.

“hmmh..” he pressed a delicate kiss to your temple. “no thank you?” he asked with a grin.

“no.” you reply, continuing to read your book.

“hmph. are you really going to treat your darling boyfriend like this?” he pouted before smiling again.

“yeah.”

“your so mean to me.”

x i a o

xiao gets a bit (very) flustered, the poor guy isn’t used to all of these acts of affection :<

the first time you asked he was like.

“you… wanna sit on my lap?” he’s adorable, oh my god.

IMAGINE.

sitting out on like a hill or smth, idk, watching the stars— on xiao’s lap.

it’s a really cute a wholesome thing that both of you (i’m assuming) like to do.

it’s usually really quiet, unless xiao decides to tell you about his day.

“i spoke a little with the traveller today.” he murmured, fiddling with your hair.

“aw.. you did?” you tilted your head.

xiao didn’t really speak to anyone aside from you, so it made you happy when your boyfriend finally decides to speak with someone.

“about what though?”

“about you.. the traveller wanted to ask you some questions— but i told them i could answer them instead.” he said dully.

“i could’ve answered them myself..” you mutter.

“i know that… but i felt like talking about you at that moment.”

you laugh a little. “oh really? you wanted to speak about me?”

“yes… i mean you are my s/o right? i can speak about you… unless you don’t want me to?”

“no! it’s fine if you wanna talk about me��”

“are you… sure?”

“yes i’m sure!”

k a z u h a

he’s like venti, he loves when you sit on his lap :3

maybe he’d be a little surprised at first, but he doesn’t object.

IMAGINE.

the two of you sitting out on the crux, watching the sunset reflect on the ocean. (idk)

you could be reading a poem he wrote to you— or you could just genuinely be talking to each other.

either way it’s adorable.

“kazuuu.. this poem is adorable.” you coo, smiling fondly at the piece he dedicated to you.

“is it? i really don’t think it’s all that good.. compared to my other poems.”

“nono! it is! i absolutely love this one..” you say in defense.

“oh…? i thought it was a bit… um.. corny?” kazuha said with a laugh.

“well it’s not… i think it’s quite lovely.” you cross your arms.

“whatever you say, love…” he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“whatever you say..”

h e i z o u

he finds a way to tease you for it… like this man literally will not stop teasing you when you ask him to sit on his lap.

when you first ask him he’s like this though…

“oh? you wanna sit on my lap?” he grinned at you.

“how could i ever deny such a request?” he cooed.

“but… may i ask why you wanna sit on my lap?”

he’s got a very dirty mind so like… um, just be aware.

IMAGINE.

sitting on his lap while he works on his cases or smth, idk.

i actually hc he rushes through his work, so like he always makes mistakes.

but then you, his beautiful s/o, can help him fix them!

(he 100% makes mistakes on purpose)

“mmhhm..” heizou arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body.

he craved to feel your body against his.

“you… made a mistake over here..” your murmur, circling it so he could fix it later.

“oh? did i? my, my… i’ve been making so many mistakes recently.” he smiled innocently.

“maybe you should doublecheck my papers, just in case.”

that… was just excuse to have on his lap for even longer. ( he probably wants it and likes more than you do )

“i’m already double checking them.”

“hmm… triple check?”

“heizou.”

“hehe..”

w a n d e r / s c a r a m o u c h e

“no.”

was the only thing you heard when you first asked scara.

you would just have to beg then.

IMAGINE.

whining and complaining to scara about literally just sitting on his lap—

it was a small thing, really, but were you just going to let it go? nope.

“pleaseee scara! all the other couples do it!” you pout, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“yeah… and i’m not like those other couples.” he responded coldly.

“arghh.. you suck.” you whine, flopping down on the bed.

“hmph..” he crossed his arms.

“you are making such a big deal. it’s really nothing major.”

“to me it is.” you frown.

there’s a moment of silence before a idea pops up in your head, it was probably a bad one… but whatever!

“i bet any other guy would let me..” you sigh, almost dreamily.

“what?”

“mhm.. like childe…”

you were answered by silence once again.. scaramouche was just staring out, arms crossed with a unreadable expression.

“fine then.”

before you knew scaramouche rushed to the bed beside you— tackling you into his lap.

“your gonna stay here now.”

“but..”

“nuh uh.”

[bigdumbbambieyes]

Happy Halloween, lovelies!! 🎃 Day 31: Your Choice for @harringrovekinktober what better way to celebrate than with some SFW ghost!Billy fun?

--

It’s Friday night, it’s Halloween, and Steve’s babysitting.

Which, at this point in his life, he should be used to by now – but it still kinda sucks. He cares about the kids, sure, but he’s not crazy about them. He could be hanging out at Robin’s, watching horror movies and binging on candy and talking about girls and whatever, but no. 

Dustin had invited him to the little hangout in Mike’s basement after Trick-or-Treating and, well…the two of them have been distant lately, so. He said yes. Because Dustin was an annoying little shit with a smart mouth, but he was kind of like the younger brother Steve never had. And Steve wanted to enjoy that just a little longer, until either Dustin became totally bored with him or they kids no longer needed him around.

Which were both very depressing thoughts, so. Steve had agreed to go and handed out candy with his parents until eleven o’clock rolled around and he dipped, saying goodnight to the two of them before making his way over to the Wheeler’s.

Nancy had answered the door, gave him an awkward little smile like she always does these days, and he’d made equally awkward small talk before leaving to go and check on the kids downstairs.

“Steve!” Dustin called out with a smile, actually excited to see him, and it made Steve feel warm.

A grin overtaking his face for the first time all evening, Steve returned the smile and happily did their little handshake – ignoring the eye rolls and laughter pointed at them from the other kids scattered about the room.

The entire Party was there, including El, which was nice to see. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he saw her out, especially after…after…

His eyes land on Max, who’s pale and managing a smile from where she’s curled up on the floor with El, the two of them sorting through their candy piles.

For a second, Steve sees flashes of fireworks and hears the distant screams of Billy in his mind, and shakes them away.

“Hey.” He greets her with a small smile and nod, which she returns before her tired eyes fall to where El’s trying to trade her Milky Way for Max’s Reese’s cups.

“You’re just in time!” Dustin says with excitement, his eyes bright as he tugs on Steve’s sleeve, “C’mon!”

“Just in time for what, exactly?” Steve asks with a furrowed brow, following the kid to the table where they all usually play DnD. But, instead of a map and figures scattered across it, there’s an Ouija board, and Steve stops in his tracks. “Where did you find this?” He asks, his tone serious.

“Will and I found it earlier,” Mike pipes up from around his lollipop in his mouth, tucked away in his cheek, “It’s rad, right?”

“Um, no?” Steve baulks, flounders a bit as he motions to the board with his hands, “Do–you–I–” he huffs and runs a hand through his hair, hating to be That Guy but he sighs, “This isn’t a good idea.”

As expected, a chorus of moans and groans follow him as the kids all head to the table, surrounding it, each of them yelling things like ‘don’t be lame, Steve’ or ‘it’s Halloween, it’s the perfect time to try it’ and other equally as stupid.

The only other person who looks weary is Max, her arms crossed over her chest as she eyes the board quietly.

“C’mon, Steve, just once!” Lucas says, “It’s probably not even real. This kinda shit is always just made up.”

“Yeah, my brother tried it once and he said it didn’t work,” Will adds, his brown eyes looking at Steve, pleading quietly, “Please?”

Fuck.

It’s a bad idea. Stupid, really. And while Steve doesn’t believe in ghosts because he’s never come across one, he’s still seen enough creepy shit in his life that he’s not eager to go poking around for more. Especially tonight of all nights. 

And not mention that he’s used one of these before, when he was their age. He still swears the planchette moved on its own and he’d sworn to himself that he’d never touch one of these things again.

Still, though. He can’t…show that he’s even a little spooked, because the kids would never let him live it down.

Blinking out of his thoughts, he sees every pair of eyes on him, quietly waiting for his approval.

Which, in a way, is nice. That these kids respect him enough to wait for his permission. Not that they really need it – they usually do whatever they want, anyway.

Giving in, he sighs, “Yeah, sure, whatever.” And they burst into excitement, which he’s quick to dampen with, “Just once! Once.” And they all agree eagerly.

As they all circle the table, fingertips going to the planchette, Steve feels his stomach knot uneasily. The room is dim already, Dustin having shut off the lights except for the light above the table, and the kids all look at each other as the realization dawns on them that no one knows how to do it.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Steve huffs in amusement, his mouth twitching with a poorly concealed smile.

“You spoke first!” Mike grins triumphantly, “That means you gotta ask a question!”

Steve’s smile drops and his brows furrow, “What? That’s not a rule.”

“It is now.” Dustin smirks, just as smug.

“Ugh, fine, whatever,” Steve huffs, licking his lips as he eyes the board and says, “Hello. Is anyone there?”

A few seconds pass, nothing happens.

Until the planchette slowly moves to ‘Yes’.

The kids all gasp and freak out a little, but Steve’s quick to shush them, “Shut up! Relax, just…chill.”

He wracks his brain for another question, ignores the tingling at the base of his spine as he asks, “Do you know what day it is?”

“The fuck kinda question is tha–” Dustin starts but quickly snaps his mouth shut as the planchette begins to spell out a word.

Just one word: H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N.

The kids all giggle and gasp again, clearly entertained and unsure of how authentic it actually is.

“Do you…know my name?” He asks, eyes trained on the board.

S-T-E-V-E.

“Holy shit!”

“No way!”

“Who’s moving it?!”

“Oh, my god, shh!” Steve silences them again, ignoring the chill up his back as he eyes each of the kids, trying to see which one of them is doing it – but they all look innocent.

Looking down at the board again, Steve asks, “What’s your name?”

B.

Steve’s throat closes up.

I.

His eyes go to Max.

L.

Horror slowly dawns on her face, his eyes widening and jaw dropping.

L.

He feels ice cold.

Y.

The room is silent for a moment, until Max gasps quietly, “Billy? Is it really you…?”

The planchette moves to ‘Yes’ and her hand goes to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears as she tries and fails to muffle a sudden sob, El quickly wrapping her up in a hug as the boys all begin to freak out, hand after hand leaving the planchette until Steve’s the only one.

His gut twisting, anger flaring, he looks at the boys and snarls, “Hey! This shit isn’t funny, whoever’s doing it, knock it off–”

The planchette keeps moving under his fingertips and he looks down at it, eyes wide as it spells.

B-O-O.

Snatching his hand away, Steve points an angry finger at the kids as Max cries in El’s arms, “Okay, that’s it! We agreed on once and we did it once–”

“Steve, you can’t–” Dustin tries, but Steve cuts him off.

“–No! Whatever the fuck that was, it’s done! I’m done. I don’t need this…this ghost bullshit ruining my night, okay? You can all have your fun but I’m out!” He looks to El and Max, “C’mon, I’ll take you two home, if you want.”

Max is quick to nod and gather up her things, El following suit, but he doesn’t wait for them – he goes back upstairs, hearing Dustin call, “You have to say goodbye to end it!”

Yeah, sure.

Slamming his car door shut, Steve grips his steering wheel and closes his eyes, tries to even his breathing and calm his racing heart. 

Because what the fuck?

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. It was just some fucked up prank the boys were doing and it backfired hard.

Although, he does jump when the girls open the doors to his backseat and climb in, but he sighs softly in relief when he realizes it’s just them.

And not Billy Hargrove back from the dead or something.

He looks back at them and at Max, who’s quietly wiping away the tears under her eyes. Quietly, he asks, “You okay?”

She glowers at him a little, obviously not okay, so he nods silently and turns back to start his car.

--

He drops them off and makes sure they’re inside before pulling away and heading back home, turning up his music to drown out the annoying memory of Dustin calling after him in the basement, something about not saying ‘goodbye’ and having to–

The radio buzzes with static and Steve frowns, winces a little as it gets louder, the pop song playing suddenly mixing with something heavier, a sad guitar, the lyrics creeping through the static to sing, “You just left when I begged you to stay, I've not stopped crying since you went away, you went away, you went away–”

He twists the volume all the way down and grips his steering wheel, swallowing thickly around a suddenly dry throat.

It was just…an interference. Signals crossing in the air, that’s all. 

The volume stays at zero all the way home.

--

It’s not like Steve’s scared. He has nothing to be scared of, really. 

Because there’s no reason to be scared! Nothing’s happened! He went to bed that night and woke up in the morning, feeling normal. His parents were their usual selves, too. There was nothing to worry about.

Except, he can’t really explain the way ‘Pretty Boy’ had been written onto his foggy mirror after a shower.

Wiping it away with loud squeaks from his palm, Steve had huffed and ignored the cold chill up his spine again, forcing the memory of Billy against his back in basketball practice away out of his head as he got ready for work.

But, even at work, it didn’t stop – tapes that he’d put up on the shelves ended up on the floor minutes later, knocked over and tumbling to the ground. The computer would freeze up or turn off while he’s using it without explanation. The door would shake a little, as if mustering up the strength to open, or like there was a strong wind outside rattling it, but it would never open. 

Weird, borderline annoying shit like that.

At home, it was no better. Doors randomly slamming, scaring the shit out of him. The TV turning off whenever he was watching it, even with the remote far away from him. Once, when he’d left a notepad and pen out, he came back to find ��BOO’ written on it.

And it had felt so…smug.

So Billy.

But, he refuses to believe that Billy Hargrove’s haunting him. It’s just not possible.

And besides, why him? Why not Max? Or literally anyone else?

--

He goes back to the Wheeler’s, a week after Halloween, in search of answers.

Mike answers the door and Steve immediately asks him, “Where is it?”

The little shit tilts his head to the side, acting clueless despite the amusement in his eyes, “Where’s what?”

“The fucking board.” Steve huffs, pushing past Mike and heading downstairs to the basement, feeling the kid right on his heels the entire time.

“It’s not down here!” Mike groans, “After you and the girls left, Lucas took it!”

“Took it where?” Steve asks as he looks around the basement, standing at the base of the stairs with Mike behind him, looking over his shoulder.

He swears he sees a shadow in the corner of his eye, so he chases it with his gaze, but it’s gone.

“He took it outside or something, I don’t know,” Mike huffs in annoyance, “We were all kinda freaked out so we agreed to keep it out of the house.”

Turning and looking at Mike, Steve frowns at him, “I fucking told you dumb asses not to do it.”

Mike rolls his eyes with a nod and turns to head back upstairs, “Yeah, yeah, I know!”

“Steve.” A familiar voice breathes into his ear, right behind him.

He freezes and his breath catches, eyes widening as he whips his head around, expecting to see Billy standing there but there’s nothing. There’s just the quiet basement, empty.

“Steve!” Mike calls and Steve rushes up the stairs, hoping the voice stays down there.

--

He finds the board outside the Wheeler’s house, behind the garbage bins. He’s lucky it was missed on collection day.

“Okay,” he huffs, setting it down on his bedroom floor and putting the planchette down on the board, crossing his legs as he sits down in front of it. 

He hesitates, for a moment. And feels stupid. 

But, he has to know.

Carefully, he places his fingertips on the planchette again and clears his throat to say, “Hi, um…Billy. Are…are you there?”

His eyes widen as the planchette immediately pulls to ‘Yes’ and stays there.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, licking his lips nervously, “Okay, um…” He furrows his brow,s “Why are you…following me?”

He refuses to say ‘haunting’.

It takes a moment, but the planchette moves across the board, spelling a simple explanation.

F-U-N.

It makes Steve huff a quiet sound of amusement through his nose, rolling his eyes because it’s just so Billy.

Even in death, Billy’s determination to annoy the hell out of Steve is still there.

Almost affectionately, he mumbles, “Asshole.”

Billy spells out I-K-N-O-W.

Which makes Steve tilt his head a little, wondering. “Are…are you in pain?”

The planchette goes to ‘No’.

That’s a relief Steve hadn’t known he wanted to feel. He feels his shoulders begin to relax, no longer lingering by his ears.

“That’s…good. Max will be happy to hear that.”

The planchette jerks and quickly spells out D-O-N-O-T-T-E-L-L.

Furrowing his brows again, Steve asks, “Why not?”

C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D.

“I think she has a right to know. She’s…honestly, she’s been a mess ever since Starcourt.” Steve frowns and worries his bottom lip, thinking back over the last couple of months and how he’s watched the life drain out of her slowly. “She misses you, Billy.”

Billy goes quiet at that, for a while. Steve doesn’t dare move his hand away.

Finally, after another long moment, Billy spells out B-E-T-T-E-R-O-F-F.

“You don’t know that,” Steve frowns again, nearly scowling now, “I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but she’s not doing great. You really scared her that night, y’know – on Halloween.”

I-K-N-O-W.

“You should apologize.”

S-O-R-R-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y.

So sassy. “Not to me, idiot. To her.”

C-A-N-T.

“Why not?”

N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E.

Dustin’s voice rings in Steve’s ears then, ‘You have to say goodbye to end it’.

“So…” he worries his lower lip between his teeth again, “If…I say ‘bye’ to you, you’ll leave?”

The planchette lands on ‘Yes’.

Steve goes quiet then, thinking.

They never really had any sort of relationship before Billy’s death. They were rivals for a short moment, sure, but even then it wasn’t like Steve was vying to be top dog at school. Billy was always the one to pull on his metaphorical pigtails, always ready to annoy him or get a rise out of him for fun, but even that wasn’t much.

But this little board has suddenly opened up an opportunity that Steve doesn’t want to end so soon.

“Okay,” he breathes, “Well…you’re stuck with me, for now, then. I…I want you to talk to Max, because I think she needs it – I don't even know why you’re attached to me, she was there that night, too…”

N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E.

“Oh, right,” he mumbles, realizing that – unfortunately – Dustin was right. He hadn’t said goodbye to Billy that night, so Billy’s tied to him.

He’s not even sure if that’s how any of this works, but it kinda makes sense.

P-R-E-T-T-Y-B-O-Y.

An unwilling smile tugs on his lips then, feeling as if he can hear Billy’s voice in his head as he thinks of the weird nickname. Because even after all of the pain Billy went through, he’s still…himself. In a way. Maybe without all that pain and misery, now.

With a mumble, Steve says, “Yeah, that’s me. Get used to it.”

A-L-R-E-A-D-Y-A-M.

Steve ignores the flare of warmth in his chest at that and mutters, “Okay, well…since we’re going to hang around for a bit, could you maybe not be a total dick when I’m going about my day?”

The planchette goes to ‘No’, and really, Steve should’ve expected that.

“Later, asshole.” Steve mumbles with a smirk as he pulls his hands away, feeling a little bit like he’s just hung up on Billy, and grins as he watches some papers get shuffled on his desk before his curtains are ruffled, blinding him momentarily as sunlight shines on his face.

He chuckles and holds his hand out in front of his face, shielding himself from the little sunshine assault, and wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

[bucks-daddy-issues]

Hello!! 👋 😙

😳🥂💍🫴

I think none of these are three sentences, but oh well.

😳 Down bad Eddie (This part is SFW)

-

“Yeah.” Eddie forces himself to elaborate, “Yeah, um, I- You’re like the sun.”

Buck blinks at him, his head tilting sideways, "Eddie, what?"

So, Eddie has always been awkward around women. 

Shannon was his first real relationship and Eddie's sure they wouldn't have gotten together at all if she hadn't done most of the work to make it happen. After that, Eddie’s dating situations had always just been something he fell into. That is until he decided to take the initiative with Marisol and ask her out. It was then that he realised just how bad with women he was.

But it's as he’s describing Buck as a celestial object while trying to explain how deeply and irrevocably he’s in love with him that Eddie realises it’s not just women he has no game with. It’s everyone, and it’s definitely Buck.

Because Buck is like the sun. He’s warm and golden and he infects everyone around him with this radiance, bringing life to wherever he goes , but none of that comes out when Eddie opens his mouth. Instead, Eddie stares and says “You’re like-“ then gestures to all of Buck like that will explain anything “and I- you-“

Buck puts his hands on Eddie’s shoulders to shut him up. “Eddie,” Buck says, ducking his head to meet his eyes, “I love you too.”

-

🥂Hangover AU

-

The tattoo parlour is a small colourful place, snug between a liquor store and an Indian takeaway. 

It’s cosy more than anything, which Buck is grateful for. He’s not known for his decision-making at the best of times and he’s even worse when he’s drunk, so getting a tattoo at a place that hasn’t ever heard of soap would not be out of the realm of possibility.

Luckily, the parlour seems clean and the staff seem friendly. The artist from the night before isn’t there, but the owner is nice enough to call her up anyway.

Hen, Chimney, Eddie and Buck all crowd around the phone as it rings. It’s set to video call so Buck immediately recognises the woman when her face pops up on screen.

“Ay!” She grins “There’s my favourite little lovebirds.”

All four of them freeze.

-

💍 Romcom AU

-

“So, how has hanging with your new boy-crush been going?” Maddie grins, poking Buck in the shoulder as she sips her champagne.

Buck rolls his eyes, “It is not a crush, I very blatantly do not like the guy.”

“I remember you not liking a lot of people growing up,” Maddie smiles behind her drink, “I also remember walking in on you in bed with a lot of those same people, too.”

Buck shoves her playfully, “That’s different!” He whines, his face burning, “That was hate sex, which was a Buck 1.0 thing, I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

“Oh my God, do not bring Buck 1.0 into this! You’re feelings are still the same even if you’re better at managing them now." Buck tries to whack her with a pillow "You’ve got a cru-ush” Maddie sings, jumping off the couch to avoid another hit.

-

🫴 You're touch is all I need (NSFW)

-

“There is something- and we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want,” Eddie starts, Buck nods at him to continue. “Today you said… you’ve used uh-“

“Sex toys?” Buck supplies.

“Uh yeah.. I just- do they feel good? Like- like dildos and stuff?” Eddie cringes at the word 'dildo', despite the fact there’s a big one currently sitting in his bedside drawer. 

“Oh absolutely! So good. Not that you have to like men to use them, but they’re great, I have like five at home.” Buck says, Eddie fights down the urge to imagine a hundred different scenarios inspired by that sentence alone, a couple slip through the cracks.

“Are they like… easy to use?”

“Totally! If you use them right anyway, you should definitely get one if you're thinking about it, Eds. I could send you some suggestions if you'd like?”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat. He’s not about to tell Buck he’s already got one, he’s barely able to wrap his head around the fact that Buck wants to help him find something to put inside himself and if he wasn’t getting hard already he would be after that, so he nods weakly and manages to say “Yeah, thanks” without sounding too much like he’s a couple seconds away from jumping onto Buck’s lap.

[neuvistar]

MARYSE IM SONASORRY BUT MINOR SPOILERS IN THE BLUE LOCK MANGA !!

there was this one momeny where isagi was abt to be kicked by a particular guy and then he was kinda saved by chigiri, and bachira came n started cracking his knuckles n he was probs abt to beef w the dude cuzzz 😍😍 like he was like “if you wanna go, i’m down” LIKEEEE 😍😍😍 he’s soooo..

— 🍨

MINOR SPOILERS EVERYONE <33 oh my days. i’ve started the manga a few days ago n yk continued on from where i finished in the anime n now i’m very far into it LMFAO so so fast! i think i know what you mean, it was with shidou right?? I THINK I SAW THAT. I WAS FREAKING OUT HE WAS RLLY GETTIN READY LMFAOO <33 he’s so cute, he deserves a writing from me! here you go 🍨 anon, didnt even request for it but it’s fine i love my anons!

maryse from the future ^.^ — MY OTHER BELOVED ANONS I SQEAR ILL FINISH OTHER WORKS I SWEAR I APOLOGIZE

FOR YOU AND YOU ONLY.

— featuring . meguru bachira x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings . sfw. cringe warning cringe warning waha!! bachira bein there for you how sweet of him, a lil bit of she/her pronouns, perhaps reader is hinted to be a lil shorter in height, hints of violence but i promise it’s not that bad ૮꒰⸝⸝´ᜊ ˋ⸝⸝꒱ა, um kinda ooc maybe?? IDK i gave up halfway and this may be a lil short n terrible but oh well it’s ALRIGHT i’m tired overall sfw content, not much warnings woohoo !! tell me if I should add / missed a few things ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

ੈ‧₊˚ “i’ll be willing to do anything to protect you”

✦ MEGURU . BACHIRA

frustrated. bachira was frustrated at the sound of chuckles and loud chattering from the men he was a few feet across from, gosh.. do they have to be this loud? it was just a few minutes after his game ended, he was exhausted and these two people weren’t helping at all, he grew more frustrated by the second. he glanced at the two for a good two minutes, cocking a brow. now hang on.. those were the guys that were speaking ill about you!

“the lady that gave him the bottled water? she’s his girlfriend?! quite the taste meguru bachira has.”

“nuh uh quit lying to yourself, she doesn’t look too pleasing. if anything, i’ve seen better looking women. see now, i don’t even know why bachira picked someone unattractive like her, i thought he’d have a better taste when it comes to women.”

“well it appears he doesn’t”

bachira’s heart dropped to his stomach, just what the hell were they on about? he bit the inside of his cheek, running his fingers through his hair before crossing his arms clearly upset at what the two guys had to say about you. he was getting even more and more frustrated by the second, who are they to tell him if his partner looks attractive or not, that isn’t their decision to make! fuck.. he couldn’t take it anymore. bachira stood up, making his way over to the two boys talking ill about you. “ahem.” the duo looked at each other then back at him, letting out a few laughs here and there. he’s basically told everyone around him about you, so much even people know about you both but these two guys don’t seem to get it. bachira knew how sensitive you were, he knew how quick you can take insults to heart, he wants to take matters in his own hands at times and protect you.

“to me, it seems as if you both seem to have the guts to talk ill about someone you don’t even know personally, thinking i wouldn’t hear what was running in your mouths.” he glared at the two, taking a step forward towards them.

“shit dude why are you so angry, can’t take a joke?”

“yeah, we were just joking. you’re getting all aggressive n defensive for nothing”

bachira’s body tensed, clenching his fists. did they really have to edge him on even longer? he was losing his patience, he wanted to tell these boys to scram already. unfortunately, the duo did not speak my further, attempting to walk out only to be stopped by bachira himself. “listen here, if i ever hear you both run your mouths about her once more, i’ll show you how aggressive and defensive i can get” “trying to sound all tough are ya? what are you going to do huh?” he smirked, cracking his knuckles. “guess we’ll have to find out.”

— buuuwwep !! ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ꒱ྀིა

“meguru!” you ran up to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his neck as your nose picked up his scent, lips curving into a smile. “missed you so much, y’know that?” he grinned, hands resting on your hips, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. you’re too sweet.. even though his mood changed when he saw you, he still can’t help but repeat whatever those guys said about you in his head, he exhaled lowly and grabbed your hand, kissing it before holding it tightly against his own. tilting your head and looking up in curiosity, you couldn’t help but sense something unusual about your boyfriend, “something the matter, meguru?” bachira tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“ah. . nono it’s nothing, how about we go cool down with some ice cream? it’s kinda hot, isn’t it?” “of course, let’s go” deep inside of his heart, he couldn’t help but feel upset for you. who do those people think they are? they think they can just walk in and talk ill about someone as sweet as you are? most people have no human decency, he thought. he cant let you know about anything, he was willing to block all kinds of negative things from you, protect you from anything that tries to harm you in any way.

“if i’m being honest i never expected her to even get together with bachira, she doesn’t really suit him.” a voice can be heard from the opposite direction from where you and him were walking, he sighed to himself. if only he could protect you from everything, but sometimes he can’t always be your knight in shining armour, and that’s frustrating to him. if only he was always there by your side, he wanted to be by your side, he wanted to always be there for you but he is aware he can’t always be there beside you, someday he knows that you’ll overhear something from others.. someday and somehow. but regardless of anything, bachira is willing to prevent you from hearing ill things about you, he is willing to do anything to protect you, for you and you only.

This is so rushed omg i’m so sorry it’s late at night i’m losing my mind ૮ ྀི◞͈ ˔ ◟͈ ྀིა — Maryse

[tllgrrl]

The Six Triple-Eight by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

@sarahbuckybingo Summer Prompts Fest 2023

Week 6 Prompt - “Alternate Universe”

Sergeant!Sarah Wilson / Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes | Rating: SFW

Summary: December 1944 - Sgt. Sarah Wilson arrives in the UK—Birmingham, England to be specific—to assist in setting up the facilities and living quarters for a new squadron, the 6888th aka “the Six-Triple-8th”, scheduled to begin arriving in 2 months.

(See Notes at end.)

* * * * * * * * * *

“Need some help with that, ma’am?”

“No thanks, soldier. I got it.”

“Okay, but the street’s wet and slippery, your footing isn’t too steady, plus that handle looks like it’s about to—“

“No, really. I…appreciate your…Oh!! OH!!!”

And before she finds herself flat on her back with her duffle and knapsack on top of her, in the large puddle of water her driver purposefully parked in (she saw the smirk when he jumped out, leaving her to unload her own bags), Sgt. Sarah Wilson is pulled away and into the arms of a soldier.

A White soldier, with dark hair, blue-grey eyes, a good-natured grin, and very strong arms.

“Oh, no. No…I’m…pardon me…" She quickly searches for the insignia denoting rank, but there are none on this uniform which looks nothing like what other soldiers she’s seen wear.

“You can let me go now,” she says evenly. “I appreciate your help.” And not knowing his rank, she quickly added “Sir.”

She tried to extract herself from the man’s arms before anyone could see the two of them, but judging by the slight quirk of his lips and that amused look in his eyes, he wasn’t in a hurry to let go.

She’d seen that look before, but in addition to that look, something was a little bit familiar about him. She felt sure she’d met him before. And maybe he was just another one of the hundreds of soldiers she’s seen since she enlisted. Maybe. But that look in his eyes. For some reason, she sensed more mischief than threat. Still—

“I don’t need this kinda trouble here,” she whispers under her breath while trying to avoid being pulled any closer. “I just want to do my job and get back to—“

He makes sure her feet are under her before releasing her, and he takes a small step back as she straightens her uniform, adjusting her jacket collar and making sure her cap wasn’t askew.

“Thank you. I just got here and would’ve ended up looking like a…a wet hen in front of my C.O.”

“No problem. I was just tryin’ ta give you a hand there. Sorry ya just got here and already ya wanna leave…Sergeant.”

(This place may be named Birmingham, but he’s definitely a Yankee. Wait—)

“You…you heard that? I didn’t mean to—“

“You were saying that you wanted to leave.”

“I’m so sorry! I tend to talk to myself. Didn’t realize I was that loud.”

“No, it’s not that. It wasn’t loud. It was nice. Your voice is really nice. It’s just my hearing is…my senses are…I’m a sniper. Let’s just say I got good eyes and ears.”

“Well, really…thank you for your help…um…”

“Barnes,” he says, offering his hand. “Sergeant James Barnes, Special Operations. You can call me Bu—“

“Sergeant Barnes,” she addresses him and shakes his hand.

He holds onto her hand for a few seconds longer before letting go, and to her surprise, for a few seconds longer she lets him.

“Its a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sergeant Sarah Wilson, Six-Triple 8 Postal Delivery Battalion.”

“Say, you’re with that new all-women unit coming in to deal with the mail? The troops have been dying to get mail. It’s rough being over here as it is, especially with Christmas coming soon. Not hearing from home, a fella can feel pretty low.“

“No mail, low morale.”

“You got that right, sister. I mean, yes ma’am.”

“No mail, low morale is our motto.

I was told that at least a million pieces of Mail are backlogged ‘cause it’s coming in so fast, and a lot of it is just addressed to a name. Sometimes it’s a last name or even just a first name. On top of that, troops are just moved around so quickly that the mail can’t catch up with them. We’re going to be working 24/7 trying to figure out who these letters and packages are meant for and where the recipients are presently stationed.

And we have to make sure letters get back to families whose sons aren’t coming back home.”

“So…where’re they setting you all up?”

“I’m here to do some preliminary work at the site of an abandoned school where we’ll be living and working. They had to make sure there were quarters for Colored women. Had it been a few of us, they’ve put up a tent just outside of the warehouse.

Anyway. We’ve got our work cut out for us and we’ll be ready to go when we all get here.”

“If you need help finding anybody, if you need anything, just ask. Now…” he lifts her bags and steps aside. “Lead the way.”

“As I said, Sergeant, I can take my own bags. It’s just down the road a piece. The driver said he had to get the jeep back to London or he’d’ve taken me out to the…look, It’s really not that far. Hey! Wait!” She runs after him, trying to avoid the puddles in the street. “Come back!”

“No ma’am. I insist. My Ma didn’t raise a bum that’d let a lovely lady like you—“

“Sergeant, please! People can hear and see you—“

“You and your squad are going to be doing us all a big favor,” he says emphatically, slowing and finally stopping. “I mean, everybody here’s got people back home who care about them. I got a Ma and little sister in Brooklyn and they started writing me letters almost the day I shipped out. I been moved around a lot lately, and I know their letters and packages haven’t all gotten to me. Especially anything from Ma. She thinks all she has to do is write Jamie on the envelope, and the Army just knows who or where I am!”

“Jamie?”

He looks down, smiles to himself, shaking his head, and Sarah knows exactly why her job is important for the war effort.

“That’s what she…it’s James.” He looks back up and into her eyes. “You can say I’m selfish, Sargent Wilson, but I’d owe ya the Moon if you found something in that warehouse that my family sent to me.

Tell ya what, to show my appreciation in advance, there's a nice little pub here. Two world wars and they’re still in business. I hope I’m not being too forward, but, I’d like to take you out to dinner. Or, at least let a guy buy you a drink…or a cuppa coffee maybe sometime…if you’d like, that is.”

There’s an interesting mixture of confidence and charm with a little touch of bashfulness that almost catches her off guard.

“Sergeant Barnes, your dinner offer is kind, but…I’m sure you know that it might not be such a good idea you and I, socializing. After all, we’re—“

“We’re the same rank, on the same team, fighting the same enemy, Sergeant. If you’re worried about anybody having a problem ‘cause we’re…look, I’ve ve had drinks at that pub with all kinds o’ soldiers from all kinds of units, and nobody’s said a thing.

Well…except a Corporal one time.”

He glared off into the distance, and Sarah saw his eyes slightly narrow as if he was remembering something. He started walking again. Then he stopped and looked at her.

“The guy was a louse. A bigot, and a bully,” he continued. “It’s a shame what happened to his nose. And his teeth. My hand healed up pretty quick, though.

Nobody starts trouble when I show up at the pub with my friends.

Whaddaya say? By the way, I’m not expecting anything from you except your company, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t want you to think I’m some kinda creep or something. I’d really like to take you out to dinner.”

Sarah looked at the sniper with the sharp, blue eyes standing in front of her, holding her dufflebag and knapsack like he was holding someone’s precious possesions. And looking at her like he wanted her to believe what he was saying.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t eaten in a Mess Hall with a fellow soldier, but it was the Colored Mess Hall, with a Negro officer, not a public establishment with a White Sergeant.

There was something about this Sergeant, though, that made her feel like he was kind and could definitely handle any trouble that could possibly arise.

“Friends, huh? Okay, Sergeant.” She started walking. “I’ll think about it.”

He fought the urge to comment about her legs, but he did enjoy watching her walk away for a few steps before he began to follow her.

“Swell! Say, do you like music? Some o’ the guys are having a Christmas show…”

Out of the corner of her eye, the smile she saw that lit up his face was a little bit like he’d hit a jackpot, and a little bit like he was relieved she’d agree.

She almost laughed out loud at his exuberance, but still kept her demeanor professional in case eyes were on them.

Honking horns and shouting drew her attention to where she saw a small convoy of jeeps arrive.

The man driving the first jeep was dressed like Santa Claus and he had a bushy dark mustache over the phony white beard on his chin. He was smoking a cigar, and on top of his Santa hat was a bowler.

“Ho-ho-ho!!” He shouts as the other men laugh and join in.

The rest of the men were quite an interesting group: including one colored, one Asian, one man was wearing a cravat and a beret. They were all armed to the teeth, but they had a tree and packages, along with some baskets and bags of what looked like food and what seemed to be a small keg, and they looked vaguely familiar except one man, who was absolutely familiar.

Even from where she was she could see he was a little taller than Sergeant Barnes (who is a bit taller than her) and though he was muscular, he wasn’t burly. Physically, he was almost perfect in his blue uniform with red and white stripes and a star on the chest.

The man looks over at her and the Sergeant, smiles, and gives a wave. She’d seen him—all of them—in the newsreels back home.

(And he’s carrying a…)

“Excuse me, Sergeant, but…is—?”

“That’s my friend Steve,” he says waving back, “and that’s his squadron. We’re called The Howling Commandos.”

She looks back at the man holding her duffle and knapsack, and it dawns on her that she has seen him before. He’s Sargent Bucky Barnes.

“Come on,” he laughs, heading over to the group of boisterous soldiers, and carrying her bags with him. “I’ll introduce you to the fellas.”

She rushes to keep up and makes sure she doesn’t whisper aloud, thinking:

(Oh, Lord…what am I getting myself into over here? And wait ‘til Mama and Daddy hear that I met Gabe Jones!)

* * * * * * * * * *

SarahBucky Summer Prompt Fest 2023

Week 1: “Cookout” - Wilson Cookout Playlist

Week 3: “Cass & AJ Wilson” - Formal Introduction

Week 5: “Beat the Heat” - 7th Inning Stretch

Week 6: “Alternate Universe” - The Six Triple-8

* * * * * * * * * *

NOTES:

This quick little ficlet was inspired by the real-life 6888th Central Postal Delivery Squadron, an all woman, predominantly Black (with at least one Puerto Rican and a Mexican woman) squadron assembled to handle the enormous backlog of mail sent to the American troops in the European Theater during World War 2.

Images in my little moodboard are from their website and I’m not using them for profit, just inspiration and, yes, educational purposes because these women were real and heroes.

Please know that I used the words “Colored” and “Negro” on purpose as this story is set in the 1940s.

They are NOT pejoratives. They fell out of favor and were replaced by “Black” (at one time an insult, later embraced and owned by us and capitalized) and then “African/Afro-American”.

Sidenote, Kerry Washington will be starring in and Executive Producing a movie telling the Six Triple Eights’s story, and they’ll be back in production as soon as the AMPTP comes to their senses and comes correct by negotiating with the Writers Guild and the Screen Actors Guild. (#union strong.)

Thanks for reading!!

Also posted on the AO3. <—A bit more fleshed out!

[sommerregenjuniluft]

JEGULUS TITFUCK?????? I AM RUNNING AROUND THE ROOM IN CIRCLES

jsfhsjh hi nonny<3 um so Listen,, i was just very deep in a beefy james brainrot phase (which it seems i am reentering so fingers crossed i might work on this again some time soon) and also desperately wanted to write a very subby james and then it just happened......

i have not written the titfucking part yet (sadly) but here's the intro scene (sfw)

Regulus walks around James’ back again, checking the tape he put on earlier. Gives a light tap to the inside of James’ arm to make him lift it up a bit. Which he does. Immediately. Obediently, eagerly and with a shaky inhale. Regulus lets himself smirk here, staring at the wild curls at the back of James’ head, out of his line of sight. Sometimes James tries to strike up conversation. Like he can’t bear being so still and quiet. Vulnerable. He should know by now that Regulus doesn’t appreciate his concentration being disrupted. “So,” the athlete clears his throat, “Sirius said you’ve been to New York last weeken–” “No talking,” Regulus cuts him off, eyes raking over his clean work on James’ brown skin. Traces the edges of the blue tape with a warm finger tip and leans in, “Good.” He hears James swallow a bit roughly and digs his own tongue against the point of a sharp canine to reign in the extent of his grin. Masks his expression into something neutral and walks back around front. Barely spares James’ face a glance but sees him worrying the inside of his lower lip between his teeth regardless. It always makes his chin crinkle in a horribly endearing way. Regulus shakes his own dark curls out of his eyes, lets his head hang back a bit as he surveys his work and hums deep in his chest. James eyes flit to him, nervously, before they drill into the opposite wall again.  They’re about the same height but James seems bigger, objectively. Much wider than Regulus, a hell of a lot more bulk. Meaty and fleshy and muscular where Regulus is lithe and lean. He isn’t scrawny by all means, as a physiotherapist he knows how to take care of his body, but next to James he doesn’t seem athletic by a mile. All of that doesn’t mean shit though when Regulus is so clearly in control and James is- well. As eager to please as a pet dog, basically.

the other snippet i posted of this (x)

[cryoculus]

— reparations 05 ⟢

i have a very marketable skill called “jumping to conclusions”

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 4.6k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, thoma, kamisato ayato, kamisato ayaka

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

“I can’t believe I wasn’t here when he did the thing. What kind of father am I?!”

You’re in the middle of shaping the bonsai you have on display when Itto sulks behind the counter—chin propped on top as he watches the silk white cocoon inside Itto the Fourth’s jar. You roll your eyes.

“Well, if you spent your precious time being here for his milestones in life instead of canoodling with the yakuza…”

“Nope! You are not guilt-tripping me out of this, master!”

“Wasn’t counting on it,” you scoff.

So, as things might have it, after placing your late-night order at Shimura’s, you and Itto decided to lounge in the shop to wait for the food. But the moment he sat down on your swiveling seat, the gang leader refused to take his eyes off the caterpillar-turned-chrysalis that was Itto the Fourth. You actually forgot to bring up that it was finally one step closer to the next phase of its insect life given all the commotion that occurred over the last hour. But your patient didn’t seem to mind the delayed info.

“Say,” you begin, putting down your shears as you flash him a pointed look. “If you won’t tell me exactly what’s going on, can I at least know how you got on the yakuza’s bad side in the first place?”

Itto hums, craning his neck to meet your gaze. “Eh? Ain’t that the same thing?”

“Don’t think about it like that! Your origin story is different from your current predicament, you know.”

And then Itto makes a motion of pinching his thumb and index finger together before sliding it across his lips like a zipper—shaking his head petulantly. What a damn kid. 

To his credit, Itto may be idiotic about eighty percent of the time, but he’s still pretty sharp. You’re not sure if he’ll even spill the details once the entire ordeal is over. You can almost hear your mother chiding you for nosing into another person’s business, but what the hell is so important that Itto would have to (literally) break his back for the sake of it? A lifetime supply of yakisoba? A printed certificate that says ‘Arataki “The Yakuza Boss” Itto’? The longer you wallow in your own thoughts, the wilder your imagination runs, so you decide to spare yourself the trouble.

As you get back to your feet, you peek behind the blinds you drew at closing time, wondering when your food is going to arrive. Though it’s only been ten minutes since you placed your order, you were beyond starved. However, there don’t seem to be any delivery motorcycles in sight. Guess your dinner isn’t arriving miraculously early. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you tell me?” you ask out of the blue, turning your head to Itto, who is now comfortably leaning against the backrest of your chair. “Beating you in an onikabuto battle? An eating contest? Rock-paper-scissors?”

Yeah. You’ve totally lost it. You don’t even know why you’re trying so hard to get it out of him. It’s none of your business! Repeat until true! 

“Those are quite the honorable choices, if I do say so myself.” He laughs, cracking his fingers together. “But not even a mountainload of mora can get me to disclose the details. And that’s saying something ‘cause I’m kinda broke right now, but who cares!”

You do a double-take on that one. “Wait, you’re broke?” 

“Hm? Is that so hard to believe?”

You’re quick to stride back to the counter, placing a palm in front of him as you shoot Itto an incredulous stare. “The rent in this place is forty thousand yen a month. Rent that I pay to your gang. Your gang, who owns this property. Did you just happen to forget that?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Shinobu doesn’t let you handle any of the money, does she?”

“Um… No, she does not.”

“Then how the hell have you been getting by all this time?” you nearly shout, throwing undecipherable hand gestures everywhere. “I-I don’t even pay you—”

Itto effectively cuts off your rambling by pressing a finger to your lips, making your eyes go wide as he shushes you. He meets your gaze earnestly, and only speaks once you’ve completely gone silent.

“I know you’re my master and I still have tons to learn from you when it comes to gardening or whatever. But lemme tell you this: you need to learn how to chill.” He says every word so slowly, it’s as if he’s talking to a prepubescent teenager. “Look at me! Barely escaped with my life back there, but I’m bonding with Itto the Fourth ‘cause the situation calls for it. Sometimes, you gotta adapt to strange environments, y’know?”

Chill. Right, yeah. Chill. A.K.A., something that you were already lacking the moment Itto didn’t step through the front door on the first day of his leave. And now he barges into your home, passes out, makes you treat both his wounds and him to dinner. Where the hell are you supposed to get a decent supply of goddamn chill?!

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” you balk sarcastically, slapping his hand away. “Thank you, Arataki. You just solved half the world’s problems with unsolicited advice.”

To your absolute joy, he chuckles aloud, looking way too pleased with himself. “You’re too kind! Some of my boys said I should start writing for an advice column in the daily newspaper. What do you thi—”

All of a sudden, Itto’s cheery voice cuts to the thick silence of the shop. He stills, rising to his full height as rusty amber eyes do a cautious sweep around the room. You’re about to ask what’s gotten into him before the man before you promptly has all the color drained from his face, as if having realized something drastic.

“Tsk, he’s coming...” he mutters, and for a moment, you momentarily mimic the shock on his face. Who’s coming? Those fuckers that hazed him? 

“Itto—”

“Yo, I’m going to, uh…” he trails off, grabbing Itto the Fourth’s jar before tucking it beneath his arm. The gang leader jams a thumb over his shoulder with a wobbly smile. “Hide in your room for a sec. Is that okay with you?”

“What?” You scowl. “Are you just going to leave me to entertain those lunatics alo—hey!”

Not even securing your explicit permission, Itto bolts back up to your apartment with his stupid hibernating caterpillar—leaving you right in the dust. The room is silent, save for the erratic thrum of your heartbeat that’s making you feel a little psyched out. Should you call the police? But if the person (people?) that Itto sensed was dangerous, surely he wouldn’t leave you to deal with them for him, right? But then again, cooking up assumptions about your unwitting apprentice was a common mistake that you’re growing tired of making.

Your instincts jolt to life when you hear three knocks on the front door of the shop, making your heart plummet to your stomach. 

It takes you a moment to realize you’re locked in another game of ‘Guess Who’s on the Other Side’. This time, it could either be A.) Itto’s assailant(s) or B.) the food delivery guy. Though your hunch was wrong about Tora’s sudden appearance in the balcony, you were pretty damn sure this can only be one or the other. 

Calm down, you tell yourself. Sure, Itto isn’t the best at keeping his temporary employment here all that discreet, but surely the yakuza won’t try to drag you into their problems. You’ve got nothing to do with all that! 

With a clean conscience, you breathe deep, compose yourself, and open the door.

“And here I thought you’d gone straight to bed.”

When you see who it is, your jaw nearly unhinges itself from your skull and lands on the floor. How the fuck can you be so wrong twice in the same night?!

“A-Ayato?” you stammer, but he’s already letting himself in—shrugging off the coat off his shoulders as he marvels at the state of your shop. “Lovely place you have here,” he comments. “I might send in an order or two pretty soon since Ayaka has been gushing about your bouquets non-stop.”

You can’t even be bothered to feel flattered at the promised revenue because you’re processing the presence of not just one, but three people that have entered your shop past closing time. Ayaka and Thoma followed suit right after the force of nature that is Kamisato Ayato, but thankfully these two look a bit more apologetic.

“You weren’t picking up any of our calls,” Ayaka sighs, stuffing her phone in her handbag and unraveling the scarf around her neck. “We thought you might’ve been in trouble.”

Calls…? As in, plural? Shit. You left your phone upstairs after that strange, heart-to-heart conversation with Itto on your balcony. You hadn’t bothered checking it since you finished patching him up. But you attempt to mask your surprise by shifting everyone else’s attention to Thoma instead.

“I told you something just came up, right?” you sigh. “Why’d you go ahead and let Ayato-nii march all the way here just to see if I’m fine?”

The blond chuckles, already sounding defeated. “We all know when waka’s got something set on his mind, there’s no stopping him.”

Well…that is true. 

You guess there’s no use trying to point fingers now that the Kamisato trio was here, so you just tell them to get comfortable instead. Thank Archons Itto suddenly rushed upstairs (for reasons that still eluded you). It’s going to be pretty hard to explain what a shirtless gang leader is doing waiting for late night takeout with you to these guys. Even if the four of you have been through weirder shit in the past. 

“Has business been faring well?” Ayato asks, carefully draping his fingers across the bonsai you were just trimming earlier. 

You nod. “Uh, yeah! So far so good. The people here in Hanamizaka have been sweet and accommodating. Didn’t really expect that in a place handled by the Arataki Gang.”

For some reason, the older Kamisato raises an eyebrow at that and you internally panic. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Was bringing it up a bad idea? Nahhhhh, Ayato couldn’t possibly know about Itto’s temporary post here. You aren’t even sure if Ayaka knows since Thoma isn’t really a snitch. You should be safe. Maybe.

Then, you hear a loud noise coming from upstairs.

Ayaka glances over to the stairwell curiously and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from actually screaming. Yep, entertaining these three and kicking them out ASAP should be your main priority right now. Close college friends plus big brother or not.

“What was that?” Ayato wonders.

“I-It’s probably just Mikan,” you laugh nervously. “She’s been really hyperactive lately. Turns the place upside down whenever she isn’t asleep hahaha!”

He looks, by no means, convinced of your reasoning, but thankfully Ayato plays along and decides to drift over to your beloved succulent rack. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Ayaka, Thoma, we were…informally invited to the wedding of one of the daughters of the branch families. I say informally because the ceremony is still in its planning stages.”

“Is there any reason you’re telling us this in advance as well?” Thoma asks.

“Mmm, well I heard the bride-to-be, who is one of our cousins, is going to wed a commoner from the city,” Ayato elaborates. “A commoner who suggested that this flower studio is going to take charge of the necessary arrangements for the wedding.” 

You take a moment to process that, vaguely remembering a job your mother told you to look out for the last time you were home. “...Do you mean Andou-san?” 

For the past few weeks, you were so preoccupied with keeping Itto in check that you completely forgot all about it. But who knew Andou’s fiancée was from a Kamisato branch family? Huh, small world. 

“Forgive me, I’m not very good with names, but when our cousin bought up your store in today’s lunch meeting, I just felt the need to bring you three together again.” Ayato laughs softly as he picks up one of the tiny potted succulents, casting a cheery stare at his present audience. “Just like old times, yes?”

“Nii-sama, the three of us have always kept in touch,” Ayaka sighs. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk to them about?”

The older man hollers, setting down the succulent as he raises his hands in surrender. “Oh, fine, fine. You caught me. Another reason why I wished to catch up with our dear friend is…this funny story told to me by one of my secretaries.”

“One of your secretaries?” you repeat.

Ayato nods. “She lives around this area. Told me she was walking home after sorting out some documents at the estate in Yougou Heights when she walked past Sakura Street and… Realized a motorcycle crashed into this very same shop! Shocking, is it?”

…Count on Ayato to express his concern in the most backwards way possible. You can feel your tongue turning sandpaper dry as your eyes discreetly rivet back to Ayaka and Thoma—two people you kept in the dark about the night you first met Arataki Itto. They exchange puzzled looks almost in unison, which means this is probably the first time Ayato brought the matter to their attention.

“Crash?” you chuckle, gesturing around the shop. “Does this look like a place that’s been trashed by a motorcycle, Ayato-nii?”

“Well, now that you mention it, that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case,” he hums thoughtfully. “But I couldn’t help but wonder…especially when Thoma over here told us about your lively helper. Arataki…was it?”

Fuck. He’s on to you. Ayato is soooo on to you. 

“Oh, yeah. Itt—uh, Arataki. That’s his name. Y’know, the gangster.”

“From what I heard, that man is kind of a bum,” Ayato remarks warily, folding his arms. “Yet he’s working here?” 

“Yeah, ‘course he is!” you reply a bit too quickly. “That guy um, takes odd jobs whenever money’s starting to get tight so I’m just helping out. It’s only for a few weeks.” Shot in the dark. You still don’t know how Itto’s made it this far without a stable job, on top of those weird allusions to a life in prison he’s yet to speak to you about.

“So where is he now?”

As if the man in question wishes to answer Ayato’s inquiries for himself, yet another crash resounds from upstairs. Holy shit. You are going to rip Itto to shreds once you’re done dealing with Ayato. Could he be any more goddamn obvious?!

“Mikan, stop messing with the furniture!” you yell (somewhat) convincingly. “A-Anyways, that guy is on leave right now. So if you’re looking for him, you might have to contact his deputy, Shinobu instead.”

“Do you need help rounding up your cat or something?” Thoma offers. “You always count on me to calm her down, remember?”

The mere suggestion is enough to send you into cardiac arrest. “Nope! It’s fine. Mikan’s just going through it is all. She’ll calm down eventually.”

“Is that why you weren’t able to have dinner with us?” Ayaka shoots you a worried look. “I know a well-practiced vet from Watatsumi Island. Would you like me to give you his card?” 

“Hey, come on!” you groan—feeling all sorts of pressured from their kind suggestions. Gods, you can only imagine how much these three were going to fuss if they found out that Itto’s crashing stunt was actually true. “You have all got to chill. We haven’t gotten together in nearly a year, and you guys choose to spend the time worrying? How about we call it a night for now and let’s just…hang out this weekend! How’s that sound?”

Ayato starts to stroke his chin contemplatively. “Hm, I did ask my secretary to free up my schedule next week. Business trips drain the life out of a man, if you kids only knew.”

“Nii-sama, you’re only three years older than us.”

“Ah, the ignorance of youth is bliss I can no longer attain.”

“They’re right, though,” Thoma, thank Archons, agrees with you, straightening the collar of his own jacket with an apologetic smile. “We’ve already imposed too much. Let’s all just continue this on the weekend. Should we meet you here?”

The last bit was directed at you, to which you respond in turn. “Sure. I promise I won’t stand you guys up anymore.”

“We’ll hold you to that then,” Ayato huffs, digging into the pocket of his trousers before tossing something in Thoma’s direction. Fortunately, the blond is dextrous enough to catch it mid-air. “Go take Ayaka back to the car. I’ll just put down a few orders I’d like our dear friend to make for me.”

Thoma nods without question, twirling Ayato’s keys around his index finger as he and Ayaka exchange farewells with you. Though, you try not to think about how your best friend’s stare lingers on you a tad longer than usual. 

When the door shuts behind the two of them, Ayato paces around the shop for a few moments more. Though you’re sure as hell he was just stalling, you can tell that the fondness in his eyes as he surveys each shelf is anything but fake. 

“So my office back at home has been looking very dull to me as of late,” he laments. “The rainforests of Sumeru are quite a refreshing sight, and I’d like to emulate the scenery, no matter how minimal, inside my workspace. That’s why I wanted to ask which decorative pieces you recommend for the setting I have in mind.”

You rack your mind for a catalogue of tropical plants that could suit Ayato’s tastes right then and there, feeling a bit proud of yourself to have earned his favor. “Let me see, uh, Monstera plants make for good minimalist decorations in the office, Ayato-nii. I actually have some displayed right…here.”

Wandering around the rows of shelves, you show Ayato a miniature version of the lush green plant that seemingly has holes on its leaves. “This is what they actually look like. They didn’t get attacked by pests or anything.”

“Oho, these are exactly what I saw by the riverbanks.” He nods. “I’ll have someone pick up, hmm, five of these within the week along with a check for the payment. Just text me the invoice after.”

“Sure thing.”

You’d be lying if you say you weren’t expecting him to sneak in something else in such a casual conversation about the items you have on sale. If there’s anything you know best about Kamisato Ayato, it’s that he likes to keep his intentions tucked discreetly between two different pages of a book—so that only those who are meant to know their meaning can read between the lines. But as you quietly see Ayato out of the shop, you wonder if it’s actually possible for him to do things without an underlying motive beneath all that pretense.

“A shame that you weren’t able to sample Komore Teahouse’s special dinner sets tonight,” he sighs, raising a hand to pat your head affectionately as he puts his coat back on. “But we all have lives to live and other matters to attend to at times. Just make sure you show up on Saturday, yes? You promised~”

“Yes, Ayato-nii. I promise.” You spare him a hearty laugh, wrapping your arms around Ayato tenderly. The years you spent growing older alongside him and his siblings always makes you feel like you were part of their family, too. Well, Ayato did say to never hesitate calling them your family once, and you’ve always done as told.

“Can you promise me one more thing?” 

Pulling away, you meet his silver-eyed gaze with brows raised. “What is it?”

He gazes at you with a tinge of seriousness for the first time tonight, one hand placed on top of your shoulder. Ayato opens his mouth, as if raring to speak his mind, but the moment you anticipate his words, they never come.

“...Forget it. I might be speaking out of turn,” the older man sighs, smiling sheepishly to himself. “Just—take care of yourself. Your future’s looking quite alright here in Hanamizaka, but I hope you know it won’t hurt to be more cautious.”

“You sound just like my dad, it’s kind of creepy,” you joke, patting his hand with yours. “Got it. Now, shoo! Ayaka and Thoma are probably waiting for you in—”

“Shimura’s delivery!”

Startled, you glance over at a man whose motorcycle is parked by the curb—the familiar Shimura’s logo printed brightly on the delivery box behind him. You can practically feel the day’s fatigue evaporate from your body at the sight of it.

“I’m the one who placed the order!” you say, waving him over. But as the delivery man scrambles over to where you stand, Ayato flashes you a minute nod—one you return with a warm smile that doesn’t falter even when he’s already walking away.

“Late night special for—” the delivery man practically announces to the whole neighborhood as he squints at the receipt in his other hand. “Arataki Itto?”

Again, you feel your entire body seize up at the mention of his name. You whip around to the direction Ayato headed when he finally made his leave, chest threatening to burst. He hasn’t gotten far yet, and the possibility of him having heard what this mouthy delivery guy just said is more likely than not. But Ayato doesn’t look back. In fact, he just keeps his strides forward as if he heard nothing at all.

“Yeah,” you respond to the man in front of you with a queasy smile. “That’s our order alright…”

“Well that took long enough!”

You don’t even have the energy to snap at Arataki once you make it back to your apartment, carefully setting down your food on the now-tidy coffee table. Huh. Did he clean up while you were downstairs or something? Only the remote to your TV and Itto the Fourth’s pickle jar littered the surface.

“What took long enough?” you sigh. “The food or me getting rid of my impromptu guests?”

Itto snorts from where he’s sitting cross-legged on your sofa. Thankfully, he’s now wearing a shirt but it seems a few sizes too—wait, is that your old pep rally shirt? “Duh! I was talkin’ about aniki. I have the patience of a mother when it comes to food, mind you. But when that guy’s in the vicinity, ohhhh boy! I’m not really ready for my 781st loss yet. I hope you understand why I had to run with my tail between my legs. Don’t tell him that, though. He’ll laugh at me.”

No matter how much you try to make sense of what the hell Itto was saying, you’re way too famished to think. So you decide to fill your poor stomach with something to eat first before asking questions.

The scent of chili oil and steamed dimsum makes your mouth water as you pop one into your mouth, chewing happily as you watch Itto wolf down his own very late dinner beside you. It feels a little strange, having a meal with someone on a couch you’ve only shared with Mikan, but the change isn’t unwelcome. Even if he probably broke into your room to steal your clothes.

“So, this aniki person you mentioned,” you start, quietly slurping your fried noodles. “Are you…talking about Ayato-nii, by any chance?”

“Eh?” Itto stares at you, putting down his chopsticks before bracing his palms on his knees. “You know aniki, too?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the older brother of one of my best friends,” you inform him. “How do you know him?”

“Haha! It’s a long story, master. One that’s best told over drinks and not fast food takeout. But I’m sure I can convince ya to go out drinking with me sooner or later.”

“Do you even have the mora for that?”

“Ahh, no. No, I don’t. That’s why you’re footing the bill as usual.”

“You’re really fucking thick-skinned, you know that?”

Once the two of you have finished bickering over interchanging topics in the span of thirty minutes, you clean up after your food. Itto actually has the decency to help you dispose of everything that needs disposing, as if he isn’t sporting any healing injuries at all. You try not to laugh at how comical it looks for him to lug a trash bag down the stairwell of your apartment wearing your pep rally shirt-turned-crop top. It’s either this guy has zero self-awareness or he seriously does not give a fuck. You’re not really sure which one it is.

“So, can I sleep on the couch?” Itto asks once he gets back, wiping the sweat off his brow.

A pause.

“What? You’re sleeping here?”

“Of course I am!” he says. “I can’t exactly show up at our home base looking all jacked up like this, now can I?”

“Well, you can’t just volunteer your employer’s couch as a temporary stronghold either, wise guy!” you scowl, kicking him in the shin as you retrieve your phone. A quick scroll across the lock screen clues you in on the several missed texts and calls that your friends made earlier, and—damn. You should really keep this thing on you all the time.

“You’re kicking me out just like that?” He pouts, and god, it’s such an atrocious look on him that it makes you want to hurl. But then again, it’s already, what, one in the morning? 

If you evict him now, Itto would probably just go back to those assholes that hurt him instead of swallowing his pride and letting his gang see him like this. Which will give you more problems than if you just let the guy sleep over for one night. Dammit!

The gods better be looking down on you with favor right now. 

“Fine. Do you need any blankets or something?” 

“Nah, s’fine. They don’t give you blankets in prison, so.”

“...Remind me to do a background check on you tomorrow?”

“Hehe, now why would I do that?”

You let out a long, long sigh when you shut the door to your bedroom. Itto assured you that he’d hold down the fort and beat up anyone who tries to rob you in the dead of night while you slept. A promise that’s equal parts reassuring and terrifying but you’re frankly too exhausted to think about it too much.

To your surprise, Mikan is already inside your room. But she seems to be preoccupied by something—

A gasp flees your lips when you see one of the photos you have propped up on your nightstand on the floor, lying face down with a couple of glass shards littering the floor. Mikan mewls once she notices you draw near, pawing at some of the fragments as you pick up the frame with careful hands.

It’s a picture of you and your dad at your junior high graduation day, but the protective glass sheen was smashed to pieces. Thankfully, the photo didn’t seem to suffer any damage. 

“Did you do this?” you ask Mikan, to which she replies with a sharp cry that makes you chuckle. “Yeah… Just messing with you.” 

That night, you think of two things as you slowly drift off to slumber. The first is: what did Ayato want you to promise? It’s really not like him to cut himself off mid-sentence like he did earlier. You’re going to try and bring it up again this weekend, if chance permits you.

As for the second thing…

“Why the hell would he do that?” you whisper to no one in particular, one arm draped across your eyes. In your mind, you imagine a statuesque man with strange tattoos standing over the broken picture frame—a disdainful look distorting his usually vigorous smile.

For once, you decide to sweep the dust under the rug, where no one else can hope to find it.

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★ UPDATE SCHED; every thurs & sat (12 nn gmt+8)

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms without permission.

[reveristcalicocan]

Hello! ✨ If it's alright, could I request a Tartaglia x sorta-shy reader? reader has a slightly younger adopted brother (they're still trying to get it legally done but they're still a family) but they haven't introduced nor mentioned it yet? Their brother is in his teens or is a very very young adult. So one day Tartaglia finds reader with their brother, discussing some paperwork, aaand things probably don't go too well with Tartaglia, or it ends up decent ! this is how they probably introduce their brother to him too. TTvTT You can do anything with this scenario btw! Thanks :D

Hello! I know, I KNOW it’s been over a month since i posted anything but i’m back again! Also I changed the part where childe meets our brother a bit, hope that’s okay with you!!

I DIDN’T KNOW!! childe X gn!reader

warnings: none! completely sfw.

established relationships

It had been a busy week for you and your family. The paperwork for your brother’s adoption was taking a lot longer then you’d imagined.

Now that you finally got to take a break, you could finally get some much needed fresh air. Your brother was walking next to you, a popsicle in hand while you dipped on your drink.

“ahh it’s been so long since i’ve got time off, it sure is nice to walk around Liyue harbour every now and then.” You let out a contempt sigh, your brother nodding his head in agreement.

Spending most of your day cooped up in an office was no where near fun. Especially not with a certain harbinger begging for your attention.

Speaking of said harbinger, the last you saw him was two days ago when he left with the traveler and teucer to some toy factory. You had expected him to find you after that considering the two of you still had work to go through together but he never showed up.

Although you were a little worried for him, you knew that he could handle himself just fine. Besides, the traveller will be there!

Meanwhile, childe had just thanked someone after asking for your whereabouts. He was so sure that you’d be in your office until late in the night but apparently you were given an off day.

So now here he was spying on you from a distance. No, he didn’t wear a disguise or hide behind a tree. The more he watched the two of you the more irritated he got.

Why were you smiling with some other guy? No- why were you laughing at something he said?

Having had enough of just hiding in the shadows, he made sure that he wore his most menacing face before approaching you.

“Ah, if it isn’t my dearest partner y/n!” Childe exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug.

Shocked at his sudden appearance and action, you almost dropped your drink of it wasn’t for your brother who caught it.

You wriggled out of his grasp, embarrassed by the few eyes that were now on the three of you.

“Say, who’s this fine gentleman that you’re with?” Shooting him a somewhat threatening glare, childe gave you a quick peck on the lips.

“o-oh right, you haven’t met yet!” You we’re hit with the sudden realisation that you never got round to introducing the two.

“Ajax, this is my brother- well he’s adopted and we’re still trying to get the paperwork done but that’s not important. And um this is my boyfriend…”

Ah right, you never did tell your family that you were seeing someone which made this interaction all the more awkward.

“Your brother?”

“Your boyfriend?”

Both of them voiced out simultaneously, shock and confusion written on their faces.

You only looked down at your hands, not sure what to say or do.

“Well why didn’t you tell me sooner!?” Almost as if a switch had been flipped, childe’s previous murderous gaze turned into a friendly and welcoming one.

“ahaha… it kind of just slipped my mind.”

You scratched the back of your neck, surpris d that childe took the news quite well. You would have expected him to question your brother here and there. But then again, he was kind of a family guy.

“Now that I’m sure you’re safe let me treat the two of you to a meal! That way I can get to know your brother a little better!” Childe took your hand in his, gesturing for your brother to follow.

[atomic-taco-muffin]

The Legend of Hana Chapter 137

Warnings: More angst (duh), brainwashing (it’s kind of subtle but you can tell very easily) 

Rating: SFW

Sora headed to Strelitzia’s balcony and began to cry, missing Hana and his friends. He continued to cry, wondering if they were okay and were looking for him. He sobbed and sobbed until he saw a flash in front of him. 

“What the…?” he asked as he rubbed his eyes. He looked around the balcony but found nothing. Maybe it was his imagination. He shrugged it off but just before he was about to head inside, he was tackled to the ground suddenly. He struggled the best he could until he realized seven familiar faces. Or familiar creatures I should say. 

“Huh?!” Sora exclaimed as he saw Hana’s imps before him. 

“We found you Sora!” Aki said as he jumped up and down.

“We’ve been searching everywhere for you!” Kek added. Now Sora was really confused. What did Kek mean by that? Aren’t they a part of Hana’s powers? What were they doing here?

“I know this is all confusing and we will explain. But it would be better if it was somewhere private and not in the open,” Morana said. 

“Um, okay? I have a roommate inside right now who is most likely gonna be confused by the looks of you,” Sora said. 

“Don’t worry. If she finds us, we’ll explain everything to her,” Thana said. Sora was hesitant about the idea at first. But he then realized that Strelitzia had a Keyblade too, meaning it would be okay to explain things to her. He then brought them inside and Strelitzia turned around holding a pizza menu. 

“Hey, Sora. What do you wanna- what are those?” she asked as she spotted the imps. 

“Remember when I told you about my girlfriend Hana?” Sora replied. 

“Yes?” 

“Well, long story short, these are her imps and I think they’re here to help us.” Strelitzia looked at him confused for a moment, but then allowed the imps to explain themselves. She and Sora went to sit on the couch while the imps gathered on the table. 

“So, how come you guys are here? Isn’t Hana back with Xigbar and everyone else?” Sora asked. 

“Actually, she’s the reason we’re here,” Lorelai said to the young man, leaving him and Strelitzia confused. The imps then explained to them everything that had happened. Luna’s curse, Hana and Lily’s kidnapping, everything. 

“And since we’re a part of Hana, we can feel everything she feels. And right now, she’s scared. She needs you, Sora,” Azreal said. 

“We need to find her!” Sora exclaimed as he stood up. 

“But how, Sora? We don’t know where she is and I doubt they know either,” Strelitzia said. 

“It’s true,” Morana replied, agreeing with the young girl. Sora looked down defeated. He felt like he failed Hana as her boyfriend. Strelitzia felt bad for him and placed a comforting yet friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. We’ll find her. It’s just gonna take some time,” she said. Sora sighed and nodded, slowly regaining his confidence back. 

“Then let’s do everything we can to find her and get back home,” he said. 

                                                          ☽✧☽✧

In the locked room of the Master’s lair, Hana stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering if this was her life now. Was she meant to be stuck here? How long has it been? A week? Two weeks? She lost count. But at least she wasn’t tied to that bed anymore. She sat in front of a vanity, her hair done in a nice braided bun, and clothed in a skinny ballgown and a collar decorated with dark feathers. She looked like a queen. But she didn’t feel like one. Or did she? To be honest, she didn’t know what to feel. It was as if all feelings had left her body. The door suddenly opened to reveal the Master of Masters but Hana didn’t look at him. She just kept staring at herself in the mirror with a blank face. 

“My, just look at you! The most beautiful queen imaginable. It’s a shame you’re only trying this on for now. But soon, at our wedding, you’ll be able to wear this all day and the people will see just how beautiful you are~” he said as he stroked Hana’s cheek. 

“...yes,” was all Hana could say. The Master smirked underneath his dark hood and left Hana to change into something else while he continued to make plans for the wedding. 

‘Someone. Anyone, just save me,’ Hana thought. 

                                                         ☽✧☽✧

The Master of Masters walked into his office only to receive a call. He groaned and picked up the phone to hear a girl’s voice on the other side. 

“Master, I’m here to give my report,” she said. 

“Ah, Strelitzia. I was wondering when you were gonna call. I was starting to get worried,” The Master replied. 

“Apologies, Master. But I bring you news. The boy you prophesied about is here and he’s looking for your queen.” This irked the old master. How dare he get in the way of his plans?! But luckily, the Master was always quick on his feet. 

“Don’t worry. I have something that will keep him back for a while,” he smirked. He hung up the phone and walked down the hall until he reached the room where poor Lily was locked up. He opened the door where Shirokuma and Kurokuma were standing over the unconscious girl. 

“It’s time,” was all he said. The two bears nodded and Shirokuma grabbed a syringe containing a weird serum and stuck it in the back of Lily’s neck, causing the girl to wake up with a yelp. 

“W-what did you do to me…?” she whimpered. 

“You’ll see soon enough~” the Master smirked and soon the young girl fell unconscious again. “Take her to the city. That boy must not get in the way of my plans.” 

The two bears nodded and just as the Master had said, they placed the unconscious Spirit into the city. 

To be continued…

[keru0]

You Are Loved

Hello tk community!! I wouldn't say I'm entirely new to the tk community but I have only just started interacting VERY recently. However, I feel like I need to start posting some of the fics I have in my head, so why not start it off with some lee!Thoma???

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Ships/Pairings: Thoma/Ayato (Romantic)

                              lee!Thoma, ler!Ayato

Summary: Ayato can't sleep again and finds Thoma sitting outside by himself. Wanting to cheer up his friend, Ayato decides to take matters into his own hands.

Contains: Sfw, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2128

====================================

Ayato can't sleep.

This isn't new for him. He's been tossing and turning in bed for the last three hours, and still isn't tired in the slightest. Just like always, he has so much paperwork to go through and event details to confirm that the stress is eating away at him, forcing him to stay up.

Usually he would fight it and try to meditate, but even that isn't working. It's on nights like these when Ayato goes to the kitchen to prepare himself some herbal tea to help him sleep, which is exactly what he's doing now.

Walking to the kitchen in his pajamas, he thinks back to the time Thoma introduced this remedy to him...

*     *     *

Ayato's stress and insomnia were keeping him up, so he decided to get some fresh air. Going outside, he saw Thoma sweeping the deck. "Thoma?" he had asked. "What are you doing up so late? And outside at that."

"My Lord! I was just finishing up some duties before I went to bed. I'd rather do them now than worry about them tomorrow." Thoma laughed. "May I ask...what are you doing up so late? I would have thought you'd be asleep at this time of night."

"Well, Thoma, I was trying to...but the stress of all of my paperwork isn't allowing it. I thought some fresh air might help." He smiled at Thoma, "And please, Thoma, call me Ayato when we're alone. We're friends, no?"

"Y-yes my Lor- Ayato. Yes, Ayato. Sorry." He laughed softly, happy that Ayato still thinks of him as a close friend, though still a little saddened that he would never be anything more than that.

"If you want," he continued, "I know a recipe for a kind of tea that help with sleep. Would you mind if I made it for you?"

"No, Thoma. It's far too late, I'd loathe having to delay your rest."

"It's fine my- It's fine, Ayato, " Thoma spoke, catching himself, "I don't mind! I want to help you. Its the least I could do."

Knowing Thoma wouldn't take no for an answer, Ayato answered, "Alright, Thoma."

*     *     *

Now that Ayato thinks about it, Thoma has helped him through so much. If he weren't afraid of his answer, he would even ask Thoma to be more than friends, but that doesn't seem too likely, considering their circumstances.

As the tea leaves and herbs steep in the pot, Ayato looks out the window, suprised by what he sees -- Thoma, outside sitting against the wall, knees to his chest, head in his knees.

He's never seen Thoma look like...this. He looks...sad. Ever since Ayato had first met Thoma, he's always been so positive and upbeat, smiling to anyone and everyone he could. It looks so odd to see him like this. It doesn't feel right.

Forgetting about the tea, Ayato steps outside into the cool midnight air, and walks towards him. "Thoma?" he asks softly.

Thoma looks up quickly, a look of panic on his face. "M-my lord! Um...is everything alright? Do you need anything?" He asks hurriedly. Ayato thinks he can almost hear him sniffling.

Ayato bends down to sit by him, putting his hand on his back and urging him to calm himself. "Thoma, calm down. What are you doing out here?" he asks. Though it was hard to tell because of the dark moonlit sky, Ayato notes that Thoma's eyes look a bit red and swollen. "And what have I told you?" he says softly, "Call me Ayato when we're alone. Okay?"

"S-sorry, m- Ayato. I- I just wanted to get some fresh air before bed. Why do you ask?" Thoma put a smile on his face, but Ayato knew something wasn't right. It doesn't feel like a real Thoma smile.

"Thoma...are you alright?" he asks softly, his hand still on his back, seemingly holding Thoma in place.

"Y-yes," Thoma's smile faltered for a moment, "Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, looking away from Ayato quickly.

"Thoma, what's wrong? Don't try and hide. It's okay, you can tell me." Ayato spoke calmly, making his voice as soft as he could as to provide some sort of comfort to his...friend.

"I-" Thoma doesn't know what to say. Everytime he's ever come out here to cry he's been alone. He's made sure that it was enough so everyone was asleep -- even if Ayato was having insomnia. So why was he out here now?

Unbeknownst to Thoma, while he was silently panicking, silent tears leaked out of his closed eyes, sniffling softly. Ayato heard, carefully putting his palm on Thoma's cheek, turning his head to face him. "Thoma..." he said, thumbing away at his tears, "Hey, its okay. I'm here, its okay."

With Ayato's soft words, the dam that Thoma had tried so hard to hold, broke. Thoma turns into Ayato, sobbing into his shoulder, staining his pajamas with his tears while his friend whispers sweet nothings into his ear while carding one hand through his hair while the other was rubbing comforting circles into his back.

After quite some time, Thoma's muffled sobs quieted to sniffling. Continuing his comforting movements, Ayato whispered, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Um...I..." Thoma said slowly.

"You don't have to," Ayato rushed. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. I'm just worried about you, is all."

"N-no, it's alright." Thoma started. "It's just that...when I went to Inazuma city today..." he said, tightening his grip on Ayato slightly.

"Yes?" Ayato continued comforting Thoma with his hands, playing with his hair and rubbing his back.

"S-some people...they said that I...don't belong here. They kept going on about how I shouldn't be in Inazuma and that the only reason I work for you is because you feel bad for me. They kept saying how an outsider like me doesn't belong here and how you only keep me around because I do most of the housework. They've always said these things but I just couldn't take it anymore and-" Ayato, noticing how Thoma's breathing and speech is starting to speed up, stops him before any more tears could fall.

"Hey, hey, hey. None of that is true, Thoma." He comforted. "You know that I don't keep you here because I feel bad for you. I keep you around because I..." Ayato paused. On the one hand, Thoma really needs to hear this, but on the other, Ayato's so scared of letting his feelings be known. He's scared that Thoma will reject him right there. However, comforting Thoma is what matters right now, so, continuing what he was going to say, he takes a deep breath, "I love you, Thoma. I love you somuch. So does Ayaka, and Yoimiya, and Itto. Thoma you are so loved. Don't take anything those people say to be true, because they're wrong, okay?"

"O-okay." Thoma frowned.

"Hey, where's that smile I so adore? Hm?" Ayato asked, a playful grin appearing on his face.

"Um..." Thoma tried to smile, but Ayato could still see the hurt behind his eyes.

"Oh come on Thoma, you can do better than that~" He said, playfully dragging a finger against where Thoma's sides meet his back.

Thoma squeeled. He squeeled. 'That was cute.' Ayato thought, becoming flustered for a moment, his sheeks turning pink before regaining his composure and continuing with his playfulness, quietly saying, "Oh? Don't tell me my dear housekeeper is ticklish. Is my dear Thoma ticklish?" Ayato added another finger to accompany the one already dragging up and down Thoma's backside.

Saying Thoma is flustered is a very, very big understatement. 'Did he just call me his dear?' He thought, giggling at the ticklish sensations Ayato's fingers was giving. "N-nohoho! A-Ayato! Wahahahait! Nohohoho!" He giggled, hiding his red face in the crook of Ayato's neck.

"There's that smile~" Ayato cooed, sneaking his other hand under Thoma's shirt and lightly scribbling at his sides. "Your laugh is so cute Thoma. It never fails to make me happy, and thats because whenever I see you happy, I instantly become happy as well. Does this tickle? Does it tickle here, Thoma~?" he teased.

"Ahh! Nohohoho! Plehehehease nohohot THAHAHAT! AYATO WAHAHAHAIT!" Thoma laughed, Ayato's other hand sneaking into his shirt and lightly clawing at his back. With the tickling and Ayato's teasing and complimenting, Thoma might actually die. Death by tickling. Actually, if it was because of Ayato, it doesn't sound too bad.

Thoma forced his mouth shut and smushed his red and overheating face against Ayato's neck even harder, trying to muffle his laughter while his eyes were screwed shut. "Mph! Mhmhmhmhmhehehe! C'mon stohohop!"

Ayato only smirked more. "Oh? Playing hard to get~? Well then, up we go!" Ayato laughed, easily picking up Thoma bridal style, one hand tickling behind Thoma's knee while the other was still working on his bare side.

"AHH! Ayatohoho nohohoho! Put me down! Ahahahaha! Nohohoho" Thoma hid his face against Ayato's shoulder now, not wanting to wake anyone up so they could see this...embarrassing...situation.

Tickling and carrying Thoma, Ayato walked them to his own room and carefully lowered Thoma onto his futon, straddling his waist, never letting up on his attack for even one second.

After he got on top of Thoma, who now seemed to flush even brighter, Ayato took both of his hands in one of his own and pinned them above his head, lowering his free hand to Thoma's armpit, not tickling, but just wiggling his fingers above it, teasing him.

"Hehehe noho! Dohohon't!" Thoma giggled, hiding his face against his arm.

Ayato lowered his face so his mouth was against Thoma's ear, smiled and whispered, "What? Don't what, Thoma?"

"Tickle me! WAIT-" With that, Thoma fell perfectly into Ayato's trap. Ayato lowered his hand into Thoma's armpit and lightly scribbled against it.

Thoma lost it. "NOHOHOHOHO! WAITWAITWAIT IHIHIHI DIDN'T MEHEHEAN IT! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE!" He is sure that his laughter woke up some of the servants, but Ayato doesnt mind -- he'd rather see Thoma happy and have his workers woken up by his laugher than seeing him how he was just a few minutes ago.

"Not here? Hmm...? What about here?" Ayato teased, stopping his attack on Thoma's armpit and instead lowered a finger into Thoma's bellybutton, exposed by his shirt that has ridden up his chest.

"No! Nonononono plehease! Nohot thehEHEHERE! AYATOHOHOHO! NAHAHA-" Thoma's laughed turned silent as Ayato swirled his finger around his navel. Tears of mirth were now flowing down his face instead of the sad tears of earlier.

As Ayato was still wiggling his finger in Thoma's seemingly most sensitive spot, he felt a tapping on the hand pinning Thoma's hands, and he stopped, releasing Thoma's hands and asking, "Are you okay? I didn't go too rough did-" Ayatos question was cut short as Thoma leaned on his forearms and kissed Ayato. Ayato kissed back.

Oh.

Oh.

Suprised and smiling after they pulled apart, Ayato stuttered, "T-Thoma! Hehe...uh..."

Thoma panicked, thinking Ayato was upset about what he had just done but didn't want to show it. "O-oh! I'm sorry my Lord! I- I didn't mean to-" He was cut short by Ayato himself.

"No! Nonono Thoma, don't be sorry! I...I liked it. Dont worry. I liked it." He said, cupping Thoma's face and kissing him again, smiling through the kiss and as they pulled apart. "I've liked you for so long. When I saw you outside I was worried that something had happened. I...I said I love you. And I meant it, Thoma. I do love you. And many other people love you too. You deserve to be here. Don't let anyone tell you or make you think otherwise."

Getting up, Ayato decided that he was going to bring that tea he started steeping and share it with Thoma. "I'll be back in a minute. You can change into a pair of my pajamas. Theyre in the closet. They might be slightly large for you, but they should be fine." he smiled, stepping out and shitting the door behimd him, making his way to the now lukewarm tea and pouring two cups.

Returning to his room, he was greeted by the sight of Thoma already asleep on the futon, softly snoring on his side. Not wanting to wake him, Ayato gently and quietly set the teacups on the table and went to get the blanket out of the closet. Blowing out the candles, he layed next to Thoma, settling the blanket over the both of them.

Wrapping his arm around Thoma and nuzzling into the back of his neck, Ayato sleepily said, "I love you Thoma. I'll see you in the morning." smiling against the nape of Thoma's neck, breathing in Thoma's sweet scent, both of the men drifting into a peaceful rest, cuddled together.

End.

This is actually the first fic I have *ever* published so please let me know how yall like it!! And feel free to leave suggestions for other fics or critiques!

[meeowdrey]

Nathan Explosion SFW and NSFW Relationship Headcanons

Not much Dethklok stuff out there to feed my perverted mind, so i guess I’ll provide some food to this dead fandom :p. Hope you like it! Warnings: Sexually explicit content, mostly gender neutral but mentions reading have boobies at the end

Anyway, hope you enjoy :3!!!

SFW:

-Nathan is a very possessive man. It’s pretty goddamn adorable. The first time you two went on a date, he took you back to Mordhaus.. instant regret on his part. He doesn’t know what was worse, Toki’s unintentionally adorable dialogue that sent you into a fit of giggles, or Skiwsgaar’s not so subtle flirting. If you couldn’t already tell from the constant uncomfortable “hm” and “ergh’s” coming from his side.. he’s pissed the fuck off. Expect him to be very quiet after, but don’t think it’s because he’s mad at you! 

-Nathan, much like the rest of the band (excluding Toki), isn’t very open about his feelings. When the two of you became an item, you had to teach him it was alright to express his emotions and that it was actually very healthy doing so. Despite his blank stare and occasional mumbles during your explanation, inside he felt the connection between the two of you grow stronger and it led to him making many awkward and adorable attempts at trying to ask for help. “Um, hey babe. Can I, uh, talk to you?”… “I don’t feel my best right now..”

-A lot of the things the band would usually call “not brutal” in a relationship, Nathan probably enjoys on the low. Cuddling, receiving words of affirmation, sensual love making? Oh yeah, he loves it. The first time you realized it, you told him he was the most gorgeous man alive while stroking a strand of his hair. You could literally feel his heart rate increase as well as see his eyes shift to the side. If you’re lucky, you’ll hear an occasional mumbled “thank you”. 

-Cuddling with Nathan is definitely a treat. His favorite position is the one where his arms envelop your upper body, holding you close to his chest while your head stays nuzzled in the crook of his neck. His long, dark locks are beautifully sprawled across his and your face. Another favorite of his is when he lays his head on your chest. Nathan described being able to hear your heartbeat as “brutal”. 

-Nathan enjoys the contrast between his and your body. He’s a pretty tall dude with a stiff and broad form. Despite the pudge he has around his stomach, he still has some pretty toned arms and legs. Your body is much softer than his and has dips and various curves that he doesn’t. Those calloused fingers of his like to adventure, exploring across the softness of the skin on your neck all the way down to your hips.

-Unintentionally embarrasses you. Talks about how “hot” you are to the guys and even goes as far to talk about what the two of you have done in bed! It may seem like he wants to embarrass you, but it actually comes from a place of pure obliviousness. The others definitely seem to enjoy it, though. “Yeah, ____ is so fucking hot. Last night after the concert they surprised me with one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had.” He can say some pretty sweet things too.

Nathan: “____ is so pretty”.

Toki: “Yeah! Theirs so nice to mes! I like thems a lot-“

Nathan: “Okay I get it, Toki.”

Pickles: “Geez Nathan. Yew dohnt hafta be so rude”

Toki: “Yeahs”

Nathan: “Hmmmr…”

NSFW:

-Nathan, although very hesitant in doing so, is fucking great at eating you out. In the beginning of your relationship with him, eating you out was completely off the table, but one whimsical night he said “fuck it” and went at it. Spreading your legs easily with his thick arms, his large tongue sloppily worked at your sensitive clit, running down your inner labia until he could insert his slick muscle into you. The sounds you made…”Oh.. Nathan”, the look of pure pleasure on your face, the way your toes curled until they cramped, the fucking grip your had on his scalp. He realized something.. He’s turned the FUCK on and nothing has made his cock throb harder.

-His favorite position to fuck you in is the “‘mating press”. There’s nothing Nathan likes more than spreading your eager legs as far apart as possible and pounding away like a caveman. The sound of his heavy ballsack slapping lewdly against the skin of your ass, putting his entire weight into each thrust, the dribbles of cum that leak out of you and onto his crimson silk sheets, his animalistic grunts and growls mixing with the soft whimpers and gasps of your voice. Your poor legs are always left shaking, his thick seed oozing down your thigh. 

-Nathan is a very verbal man, he usually grunts, growls, groans and makes other animalistic noises, but he does enjoy dirty talking too. It ties in with his breeding kink. Oh yeah you heard me. Breeding kink. They don’t call it a mating press for no reason. He wants to keep his kids in you. Any cum that manages to slip its way out of your aching hole gets shoved back in or replaced with even more of his steamy seed. 

-Nathan’s cock is above average length, about 8 inches. Not only is his cock blessed with a mighty length, but it’s also pretty thick too. The tip is plush and tints to a pinkish color when aroused. He’s uncircumcised which makes watching him jerk off an even funner experience. The way the sensitive skin glides up and down as he thrusts into his calloused, rough hand. His cold, green eyes locked onto yours as if reading the desperate thoughts that stirred up in your head. 

-Most of your sensual and slow intercourse takes place in the shower. Nathan is more of a fan at violently stirring your guts with his fat cock, but slippery, slow, soapy sex is pretty damn great in his book too. One moment you’re scrubbing your body down with a foamy luffa, the next moment it’s replaced with Nathan’s large hands. He feels like the luckiest man in the world when he’s able to massage your soapy tits, his hardening cock poking in between your heat. Is there anything better than this? Yes. Watching your wet ass bounce up and down on his cock. The sight of his throbbing dick disappearing all the way into your throbbing cunt sends him into a shock of pleasure, throwing his head back as a result. As your ass meets his pelvis, a grunt escapes his throat. It’s the simple things that make your pussy throb a lil bit more. 

-Fucks you SILLY! Like I’m talking eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth hanging wide open, drooling all over yourself kind of fucking. Nathan’s facial expressions aren’t too shabby either. When he finally fills you up with his cum, cock pulsating and hips twitching, his teeth sink down onto his lower lip. His eyes roll to the back of his head and a loud, deep roar escapes his lips.

[chippedaxe]

Mcyt hc's w/ virgin s/o

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Title: Mcyt hc's w/ virgin s/o

Warnings: NSFW after the SFW (Minors don't read that), mentions of pregnancy, rope bunny content, mentions of blood,

Pronouns: They/Them, non gender specific anatomy

Synopsis: The reader confesses that they are a virgin and this is how the mcyt's react.

Word count: 2.6k

Note: No one asked for this but I still wrote it. SFW is completely safe, it has none of the warnings mentioned above but it may have some suggestive content (no actual sexual content being written however)

* added cut for less clutter

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(SFW, kind of safe to read, has some suggestive-ish content but has no actual nsfw content)

c! Dream

- He is almost shocked to hear this kind of news but he's pretty respectful of it "you're a virgin? That's alright, this relationship isn't just about sex, I love you" Dream kissed your lips.

- He would talk with you about what you maybe wanted to do "Just talk to me when you feel ready. Do you understand sexual safety? Do you wanna have a talk about consent?" Dream asked you and you nodded, he was so caring of you <3

- "We don't have to rush into anything, we can wait if you want to, I love you" he reassures you.

c! Sapnap

- He doesn't really care, he doesn't realize how much it means to you until he sees you about to cry "oh oh oh no, I'm so sorry baby.. It's alright to be a virgin, I don't judge you" he caressed your face and peppered your nose with sweet kisses.

- He lays you on the bed and lies down next to you, you speak to each other about the topic and it makes you feel more comfortable and safe "I don't have to be the one to take your virginity, don't feel as if you have to give it to me.." Sapnap reassured you "I want you to take it, I love you" you told him.

- "I'd love to take your virginity for you then. Do you want to talk about the contraceptive methods now? Or- do you think you wanna talk about starting a family together..?" Sapnap blushed softly at the idea of having kids with you.

c! George

- He is taken back by your sudden confession "A virgin??" George blushes "That- That's okay!" George stumbles over his words slightly "I mean I'd love to take your virginity but we don't have to have that talk yet! if you don't wanna have it..." George pulled at his collar.

- You slowly curled up on his chest and you sighed "I'm not very experienced, I'm worried" you spoke up "you don't have to be worried! I- I can show you certain things, if that's what you want" George seemed nervous as he spoke.

- "what's wrong? you seem nervous.." you shrunk down slightly "sorry! it's just- the thought of taking your virginity is kind of making me feel some type of way!" George and you laughed it off "We can have a serious talk if you want! We can speak about condoms and stuff!" George smiled awkwardly as he was trying to slowly introduce you to this sexual topic.

c! Eret

- Eret was stunned as you had just sat him down and started talking to her about that "woah woah- we're having an important talk now? Okay, okay, just let me sit down!" Eret pulled you down next to them on the bed and you both sat together.

- "I'm a virgin" you confessed, Eret furrowed her eyebrows and gave you a small smile "aw, my baby, that's fine with me" he held onto your hands and gave them quick kisses "I want to talk about um.. possibly losing my virginity?" you felt nervous as you asked.

- "Oh of course! I'd love nothing more than to take my darling's virginity- but we don't need to rush that and you certainly don't have to feel as if you're being pressured to do this with me. You don't get another V card so use this one wisely and think on your decision, do you really want to do this with me?"

- "Of course I do, I love you so much.." You lean forward and kiss them.

c! Karl

- He spits out his food "huh?" he wasn't judging you, he was just unsure why you'd suddenly say that now while he's eating on the floor. He puts his food down and beckons you to join him on the ground "okay, talk with me" he offers.

- "I'm a virgin, I've never had sex before.." you were shy as you confessed to him "There's nothing wrong with that, why're you being so shy for?" Karl tried to lighten to mood slightly "shut up!" you smiled as he was teasing you for being shy.

- "I guess I'm kind of nervous because- well.. Do you.. Would you? Would you take my virginity? Please?" you closed your eyes as you were anxiously waiting for his response "REALLY? You wanna let me do that? I'd be honored! I'll make it the most memorable experience of your life!" Karl gives you a hug and returns to his food.

c! Punz

- He gives you a hug, he understands. "That's alright with me, doll, you let me know when you want me to take that virginity of yours" Punz kisses you on the cheek.

- "we can always just make out, you know I love every bit of you" Punz teases you lightly, his lips pressing against your neck "Down bad" you laughed at your little joke "Down bad? Me? Definitely, all for you" he kisses you again playfully.

- He might make little sexual jokes or sexual gestures but he never actually does anything to make you uncomfortable and he won't actually touch you until you give him some kind of consent, if he slaps you on the ass while you're not paying attention then he's gonna get a slap back on the butt "watch your hands!"

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(NSFW, not safe to read)

c! Dream

- Dream hovers over you, your fragile frame is right underneath him. You look so innocent, your eyes glance up to see his face, your eyes shine with such purity "I'm going inside now, tell me if its too much"

- He spreads your legs and slowly lines himself up with your hole, he bites his lip as he tries not to just shove it inside of you, he felt bad when he saw the pain you were experiencing when he was stretching you out.

- "I'm so sorry, my baby.. Do you want me to stop or to pull out?" Dream asked as he saw tears prick your eyes "I'll be fine, maybe just let me adjust to it a bit.." you lied there and tried to just relax so your muscles would loosen and let him into you more comfortably.

- You finally loosen up and that's when you let him move, your tight untouched walls are so tight against his cock, he looks at your face for any signs of discomfort but all he sees is the bliss in your eyes. You roll your head back onto the pillows and you whine in pleasure "What? Gonna cum already?" Dream teased.

- You had in fact came already. Dream kisses your temples before pulling out "but you didn't cum.." you whined "I didn't want to overwork your body, you're probably still very sensitive" Dream moved his hand down to rub your sore hole as a test and pulled away once he saw you squirm "Then let me show you what I learnt.." you got on your knees and pulled your hair out of the way, getting ready to blow him.

c! Sapnap

- Sapnap bent you over and was trying his best to go in slow, you choked on your cries when he started to stretch you open. Sapnap looked freaked out and nervous when he saw that you started to bleed "Shit- do I need to stop??" Sapnap asked you if you were doing okay.

- "It hurts..." you whined "I told you it would, is it getting too much for you?" Sapnap started to slowly pull out but you stopped him "wait a bit. please." he listened to you and stayed there with half of his cock inside of your hole.

- Your hole twitched around him and that's when he slowly gave a little thrust, you cried in pleasure and bit down on your lip "does it still hurt?" Sapnap asked you and rubbed your back softly "A little bit, it- it also feels good though!" you leaned up against the bed and arched your back into Sapnap.

- Sapnap couldn't control his orgasms when it came to your tight tight walls, he had hoped that you were getting close "gonna cum, baby?" he was hoping you'd say yes so you could both cum at the same time "y- yes!" you nodded, Sapnap sighed in relief and moved his hand down to grab at your hips and help you grind against him.

- You both came at the same time, your eyes rolling into the back of your head because of the pleasure.

c! George

- He has you sitting in his lap naked, "I'm as nervous as you are" George reminded you. "I need you to lower yourself down on my cock for me, okay? I don't wanna hurt you.." George requested, his hands guiding your hips.

- You straddled his cock and slowly started to push it inside, you let out a harsh cry as it was already hurting quite a bit "fuck! Fuck you Georgenotfound!" you cursed as it stung your tight hole "I'm so sorry baby, I wish I could take away the pain for you.." George rubbed your belly and gave your chest a few kisses so you could hopefully relax.

- You eventually bottomed out onto his cock, tears rolled down your cheeks and you let out a sigh of relief "That looked painful, you don't have to continue if it hurts.." George moved to get up but you pinned him back down "Let me do this" you told him. He laid back down and let you continue your pathetic actions.

- You started to grind on his cock gently, your legs were shaking from the pleasure and you had to dig your nails into George's shoulders to keep yourself up straight. George took pity on you and grabbed onto your hips, he started to guide you so that you could ride him properly and get yourself off. "Good Y/n, you're doing so well.." George groaned.

- You grabbed George and pulled him even closer to you, his chest was against yours and this was probably the closest you guys have ever been to each other. Your hands got tangled in his hair and you gave a loud yelp as you started to cum around his cock "Fuck!" George came just a few moments after you did.

c! Eret

- "Listen. I'll normally take control but I want you to do what you want just this one time, I don't want to hurt you by not knowing your body so I need you to just listen to what I say and do it yourself, okay?" Eret holds onto your torso and makes you look up at her.

- Their cock is poking at your entrance teasingly, you listen to his words and you slowly slide onto his cock. Her penis slides into you and you gasp "Look how well your body did, you feel so good around me, baby" Eret kissed your collar bone as she started to slowly grind against your hips.

- You tried to grind back onto him but failed "Please fuck me, take control, please.." Eret listened to your desperate pleas and flipped you over so they could gently pound into your tight hole. You were already feeling immense pleasure from her cock, your hole twitched and you felt embarrassed as you tried not to cum.

- "it's okay if you cum right now, you can always just jerk me off right after" Eret teased you and caressed your cheek as she jerked her hips into you one more time, you went over the edge and came hard on his penis "Fuck!" you cried out "That's a good pet.." Eret pulled out of you and kissed your lips.

- You then repaid your royal highness by sitting at the edge of the bed and worshipping their cock, your tongue lapping at the precum that was leaking from the tip. Your hands groped at his thighs and he groaned "You're learning so fast, baby"

c! Karl

- He's like a little puppy, he's so eager to please you and doesn't want you to get hurt "I stretched myself out so I don't think it'll hurt when you go in.." you admitted "really? I'll try to go in but if it hurts or makes you feel uncomfortable then just tell me to stop please" Karl kissed your cheek.

- He lined his cock up with your entrance and tried to slide in slowly but his whole cock just got swallowed in your hole "Ah! shit- I'm so sorry! Does that hurt? Do I need to exit??" Karl goes to pull out but then sees the blissed out expression on your face "This doesn't hurt you?"

- You practically beg him to start fucking you already, his hips buck against yours. His hands grope at the skin on your chest, his cock pulsing and twitching while inside of you "Sorry- I- I'm gonna cum soon, your tightness is just a bit much for me.." Karl groaned and let out a high moan when he fucked just the right place inside of you.

- You gasped and moaned, nodding you head and pleading for him to keep hitting you in that one spot "Yes yes yes!" you throw your head back and close your eyes "Karl! I love you Karl!" you moaned out his name, it sounded perfect the way that it just dripped from your lips.

- Karl hissed as he pulled out quickly and then shot a huge load onto your stomach, you looked down at your cum covered body and you furrowed your eyebrows "You're cleaning that up, Karl"

c! Punz - He'd normally be so rough with you, hands pulling at your hair and choking you until you're begging for him to let you cum but he couldn't do that right now. He had no choice but to calm down and be gentle for you.

- He had you tied up however, he couldn't let you think you had all the control. He opened your entrance up and slid inside, he was surprised on how smooth he just entered you, he looked at your face to look for signs of pain "wait! it- it feels weird!" he waited just a moment for you before giving an experimental thrust "Shit!" you gasped and squirmed in your bindings.

- "Is that squirming a sign of pain or pleasure?" Punz was unsure of your reaction "P- Pleasure! Keep going please!" you begged, Punz grabbed your thighs and used them to steady himself as he started to fuck into you a little faster. Your moans were loud and you felt as if you needed to scream, you moved your head around "Punzzz.." you slurred his name.

- "I'm gonna cum.. gonna scream your name.." you bit your lip and tried to stay quiet "Let them all hear you, let the smp know you belong to me, baby" Punz went even harder, his cock hitting against just the right places. You shuddered and screamed in pleasure as you came undone and came all over his cock "Punz!!"

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