#this might be just an AU but I know for sure I might do it again cuz. IM OBSESSED W THEM

[kikidoul]

── FIRST TIME.

໒꒰ྀི ^ ⸝⸝ ^ ꒱ྀིა 이희승 x fem! reader content established relationship non-idol au ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content petnames used soft dom! hee fingering pussy eating protected sex (amazing!) aftercare because bro's an angel tbh i think this is kinda soft and vanilla . . .!? 1565 — mlist. req

note. sorry if this sucks... kinda running low on motivation to write whoops. taglist. @tfwbluu

To say you were nervous would be an understatement. Your breath hitched in your throat, tilting your head back as Heeseung trailed butterfly kisses down the expanse of your neck. Your eyelids threatened to flutter shut, a pleased sigh escaping your lips when his hands pushed the oversized shirt you were wearing—his shirt, to be more specific, up and up until they were bunched up, resting just above your breasts. 

“You’re so beautiful, angel. I can’t believe you’re mine,” your boyfriend murmured, voice an octave lower—sending shivers down your spine. The way you shivered didn’t go unnoticed by him. Instead, he smirked against your unblemished skin. 

“Hee!” You gasped when he gently nipped a certain part of your neck, making you squirm underneath him. You involuntarily whimpered as he sucked, leaving a hickey—a physical mark, to show that you were claimed for. That no one else can have you. No one else but him and only him. 

Heeseung hummed, hands tracing the outline of your silhouette before doing the same to the hem of your panties. You weren’t sure why, but you felt warmer than usual. Perhaps it has something to do with your boyfriend. He detached his lips from your neck, leaning back a little to admire his handiwork. 

“Hee, please…” You begged, feeling shy as you were the receiving end of his gaze. 

“Please what, sweetheart? You need to tell me or I won’t know what you want,” he coos, a sly smirk on his face as he teasingly hooked his fingers through the sides of your flimsy panties, tugging them and letting it go, chuckling at how you yelped. 

“Please touch me?” You pleaded oh so prettily, batting your eyelashes at him with your lips curling down, pouting. Heeseung’s mind spun, your words sending heat straight down to his pants that had tightened. 

“Fuck, you know I’ll do anything you want,” he groaned, wasting no time in tugging down the final obstacle that’s preventing him from reaching his final destination and tossed it to the floor. 

To Heeseung, your current state was something straight out of a cliche pornographic movie. Your eyes were slightly dazed, one hand gripping onto the pillow while the other was resting on your side—unsure of where to place it. Your lips were swollen and bruised, along with an evident hickey on your neck. You might disagree but Heeseung believes you’re more gorgeous than you already are. 

He shifted down until he was laying on his stomach, running his hands along your thighs. He leaned in, glancing up to see you were watching him with bated breath. Heeseung blew hot air at your clit, chuckling at how your legs spasmed at the brief sensation. He held you down, thumbs drawing circles on the skin of your inner thighs. 

“Darling, use the safeword if it gets too much, alright?” He asks, waiting until you give him a verbal response. 

“A-Alright,” you stuttered. 

The moment you felt Heeseung’s mouth on your clit, your mind blanked out. Your back arched off the bed, lips parting to form an ‘O’ shape. The way he ate you out felt like you were being devoured from the inside. Flattening his tongue, he gave a slow lick up your folds, groaning when you blindly grabbed onto his hair to ground yourself. You cried out at the sensation that traveled through your body. 

Heeseung then licked and sucked your puffy folds, tightening his grip on your inner thighs when they instinctively closed. He gave kitten licks to your clit, swirling it around with the tip of his tongue. His action was rewarded with a high-pitched moan that was ripped from the depth of your throat. 

“Oh god, fuck, Hee!” You cried out, floating on nothing but pure pleasure that your boyfriend was giving you.

“You taste so good, princess. Could stay between your legs forever,” he moaned, able to get drunk on the heavenly taste you had to offer. 

Heeseung removed his left hand, parting your folds with his thumbs to slide his index finger in. He swore he nearly cum right there and then when he felt how your walls instantly clenched down on his finger. 

“You’re so tight,” he breathed out, observing your reaction as he twisted his finger in just the right angle, grinning when you visibly flinched. “Need to prep you so you could take my cock, angel. You want that, hm? You want to be a good girl and take my cock?” 

You frantically nodded your head, turning your head to the side to hide a part of your face in the pillow. You couldn’t help but buckle your hips forward and thankfully, Heeseung got the hint. He dived in for the second round, plunging his tongue in and with the double penetratration, you were having trouble breathing. Your stomach tightened and you tried to warn him, but it was hard to muster your voice and you fell apart, thanks to his skillful tongue. 

Heeseung didn’t pull away. Instead, he greedily accepted what you had to offer and just because this was your first time, he moved away. Your face turned as red as a tomato when you saw the bottom half of his face covered in your slick, glistening underneath the light. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips to lick them clean, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. 

It was a lewd sight, to say the least. And it was embarrassing with how you clenched down on nothing but thin air, the urge to be stuffed full rises. Heeseung grins, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. 

“Do you want to continue?” He asks, concerned but his eyes couldn’t hold back the desire to take you right there and then. 

You nodded, reaching out to rest your hands on his shoulders as he hovered over you. “Y-Yes, please. Need you in me.” 

Heeseung groaned, nodding and doing quick work of his clothes, throwing them to the floor without caring where they landed. He grabbed a condom, wrapping it on his cock and positioned himself between your legs. 

“Remember, use the safeword if you want me to stop,” he warned. 

You nodded, and Heeseung slowly pushed in. Your breath hitched, head tilting back at the heavenly feeling of him splitting you open on his cock. Heeseung breathlessly exhaled, having to control himself when he felt your gummy walls clung onto him with no mercy, afraid of letting him go. He eventually bottomed out—using your slick as lube and you were nearly gone, drunk on the feeling of you being split apart. 

“Angel, can I move? God, you feel so good,” he moaned, hands resting on your hips. 

“P-Please, Hee. Please move,” you whined and he obeyed, pulling out a little and thrusted his hips. The way his cock smoothly slid back in made you moaned, digging your nails into the sheets and pillow. 

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he breathed out, increasing his pace when you didn’t made any complaints, eyes focused on your facial expression. 

“H-Hee, s-so good—hah,” you panted, unable to focus on anything else but the intoxicating feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, practically molding your insides to the shape of his cock. 

He groaned when your walls spams and contract at every rock of his hips. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a frantic, clumsy kiss as he swallowed your noises. This way, Heeseung could get a clearer look at the effect he has on you. That no one else would be able to do to you. You mewled, raising your hands to wrap them around his neck, pushing your chest up against his as you felt the familiar tightening of your stomach. 

“H-Hee, go-gonna cum,” you mewled against his lips, your hot breath grazing his skin. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum, pretty girl?” He coos and you nodded your head at the speed of light. 

“Then cum for me. I want to see you.” 

At his demand, you tipped over the edge. Stars exploded in your vision and you nearly blacked out from the intensity of your climax. Heeseung followed suit seconds after, spilling inside the condom but you could feel the warmth of his cum, making you wish he didn’t use the condom instead. You laid on the bed, panting to catch your breath while your boyfriend pulled out slowly, tying the used condom and tossed it into the bin with great accuracy. He busied himself by taking care of you—wiping you clean with a damp towel, changing the sheets, pouring you a glass of water and helping you wear a clean shirt. 

By the time he was done, Heeseung was on the edge of falling asleep. He laid down on the bed and you immediately snuggled against him. Chuckling, he drowsily wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head, bringing you close to his chest. 

“How do you feel?” He murmured. 

“I feel fine, thanks to you,” you whispered, yawning and Heeseung’s heart tightened at the adorable sight. 

“Get some sleep, angel. We can order in for dinner later,” he brushed his hand through your hair. You made a noise of acknowledgment, passing out in the span of three seconds and soon after, Heeseung joined you in the land of dreams. 

[julia-jck]

Random new boyo!

I have no idea what to do with him... Which I'm thinking about maybe adding to his story, kinda like Ink?

Imagine this: He wakes up in a white space with some half finished places from undertale, but nothing else. He himself is an unfinished design, only wearing a dress-shirt and leggings. It could be his finished design, but it doesn't feel finished to him. His creator had given up on his AU and story and abandoned it some time ago, but was done enought to be reality. He was stuck alone in his AU for some time, walking around and seeing all the unfinished stuff. But it didn't take too long for him to be found and brought to the Omega timeline. When he got to the Omega timeline, he realized quickly that everyone seemed to be something and/or have a theme, while he were just... some skeleton guy. He didn't know what to do and were to shy to really approach people, but knew he needed something to do for a living and to keep him sane. So he became a postman/mailman. And being more drawn to cute stuff, he decided to tailor his uniform to be more cute. The wings on his boots were a gift however, as his coworkers thought he were very fast and thought it would look cute. He didn't have a name for a very long time as he was never given one and never really knew his own identity. He wasn't even sure if he were a Sans or not. But after a while, he decided to name himself Del.

If you think he looks like a shipchild, you wouldn't be wrong. I looked at him many times and thought "he looks like he could be a chip child between these characters" for like.... 3 diferent pairings (all being with Dream), and I were close to just say "Fu*k it" and make him a ship child, but I didn't want that. Aka, people in the Omega timeline might mix him up with Dream a few times when he's not in uniform???

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 3 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: Loki proposes a challenge and your plan goes very awry.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub, light bondage, sex toys, oral sex (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: Woof, sorry for the delay on this chapter. It was surprisingly challenging to write and it took me a minute to figure it out. But it's here! Lemme know what you think!

Loki only calls you ‘wife’ when he has sex on his mind—he knows it gets you riled up.

He doesn’t usually break it out at the breakfast table, though.

“I’ve noticed something, wife.” His eyes are glittering in a way that always signals he’s up to no good.

You cross one leg over the other and try to keep your expression neutral, even as your stomach jumps and your heart beats just a little faster. “What’s that?”

His gaze sweeps along your legs, the corner of his mouth twitching like he has a direct line to your thoughts. “You are an enthusiastic participant in our marital relations, but you rely entirely on me to initiate them.”

He waits a beat and your stomach drops. In retrospect, it was a bit silly to think he wouldn’t notice this. Loki always notices.

“Now, why is that?” he continues.

It’s a question that you don’t particularly want to answer. You suspect that he knows this, based on the laughter dancing in his eyes. 

You clear your throat. “Maybe it’s because you unironically use phrases like ‘marital relations.’”

He taps a finger against his lips. “Interesting deflection.”

“It’s not a deflection.”

“You forget, my love, that I am the god of lies.”

You press your lips together and take a sip of water. “Have you considered that it’s maybe a little challenging being the soulmate of the guy who took over the planet?”

You expect him to be angry: you don’t expect the spectacular eye roll or the exaggerated sigh. “Are you really still upset about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you really going to pretend it wasn’t a big deal?”

“You can’t deny that things are much improved under my rule.” The way he says this suggests that he’s had a version of this conversation before. “Surely you’ve seen the statistics.”

“I’ve read your propaganda, yes,” you say, idly poking your fork at the fruit on your plate.

He scowls. “It’s not propaganda, it’s verifiable facts—” 

“Conveniently hand-picked by your PR team. That’s kind of telling, if you ask me.”

He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to go into a lengthy monologue that he’s tired of having to recite, but as he looks at your face, his expression slowly changes from annoyed to something more amused. “You’re goading me.”

You shrug. “I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“Lies do not become you, wife.” His expression is sharp, but there’s a hungry kind of approval in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. 

“I rather think you’re enjoying yourself, your majesty.”

You’ve only ever used his title sparingly—it’s his equivalent of calling you “wife” and it’s generally a surefire way to ensure that you end your conversation either underneath or on top of him.

For a moment, it seems like one of those outcomes might be in your immediate future—there’s a familiar glitter of hunger in his eyes as his gaze drops again to your legs. 

He licks his lips. “One of these days, I will put you over my knee and punish you the way that you deserve.”

An electric kind of desire crackles through you as you contemplate the logistics of letting him fuck you on the breakfast table.

“But not today.”

Your gaze snaps immediately to his. He smirks like he knows that you were expecting this conversation to go in a very different direction.

“Today I’d like to propose a little experiment,” he continues.

You regard him warily. “What sort of experiment?”

“As I mentioned earlier, the burden of initiating our physical relations has fallen entirely on me.” He takes a sip of his water. “I am putting that burden on you for today.”

“So, what—we’re not having sex unless I start it?”

“Precisely. And you’re going to have to tell me exactly what you want in order to get it.”

Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, but you try to look completely unaffected as desire and annoyance wage yet another war inside you. “And what if I don’t feel like playing your stupid games?”

“You will.” He says it confidently as he glances at the clock. “I’ve business to attend to.” His smile is entirely too sharp as he rises from his chair. “I trust you’ll keep yourself occupied.”

You bite back a scowl as he leaves you alone with your thoughts and a dull, persistent ache throbbing between your legs.

The trouble is that initiating sex means admitting you want him.

Granted, you have begged for him many times during sex. But it’s one thing to admit that you want him when he’s been edging you for the better part of an hour; it's something else to admit to wanting him without that specific kind of pressure as a motivating factor. It requires acknowledging a vulnerability, something you are all too reluctant to do around Loki.

At first, you think you’ll just give up sex for the day. Worst case scenario: there’s no sex. Slightly better case scenario: he gives in out of sheer desperation and you get to have sex without admitting you want him. The second scenario seems most likely—if you had to pit your sex drive against his, you would wager that his is higher. It’s simple. Easy.

Later, you will acknowledge that this was perhaps slightly delusional on your part.

The fact that you didn’t really take into account is that your body is expecting sex. You’ve been getting it on the daily—often multiple times in one day—since your wedding. It probably should have occurred to you that quitting cold turkey would not go well.

Unfortunately, that seems to be a lesson that the universe is determined to make you learn through experience.

It’s early afternoon when you start to realize that you’re going to need a different plan. The dull ache between your legs has not abated and has instead turned into the kind of specific ache that you know you’re not going to be able to take care of on your own.

And if this were any other time, Loki probably would have already found some way to get you alone and mostly undressed—his ability to pick up on these moods of yours is keen to an inconvenient degree.

But there’s no sign of him today.

You pace your room for a while. The ache between your legs persists and you know if you don’t do something about it, it’s only going to get worse.

A plan slowly emerges in the heady haze of your slowly increasing desire. You could probably goad him into getting you off once or twice—enough to bring your desire to something more manageable. It wouldn’t be the same as sex, so you wouldn’t be admitting to any kind of vulnerability and it would clear your head enough to give you time to figure out the rest of the day.

Later, you will acknowledge that this was a very poorly thought out plan and doomed to failure from the start. Right now, though, it seems like a fine idea.

You put on a dress that you know he likes—a flowing green thing that clings to your breasts and hips in an appealing way. You don’t bother with underwear. 

You’re not quite sure where he’s meeting or who’s in attendance, but that doesn’t worry you too much. You’ve found that your new status means that people don’t often question you, which makes it relatively easy to wander wherever you’d like.

You find him eventually in one of the rooms on the first floor, accompanied by an array of important looking people that you don’t recognize. His gaze finds you almost immediately, though he waits for a break in the conversation to address you.

“Darling, what a surprise.” The glimmer in his eyes tells you it is not at all a surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You give the others an apologetic smile before glancing back at Loki. “I need to speak with you privately when you have a moment.”

“Of course, my love.” His eyes darken just a shade and your cunt pulses in a kind of answer. “Wait for me in the library and I’ll be with you shortly.”

You give him a perfunctory smile and stalk off to the library just a few doors down.

You can feel the slickness building between your legs, the muscles of your cunt flexing and aching in a blend of need and anticipation. There’s a couch by the window—that will suit your purposes well enough. You sit down and wait, fidgeting with the skirt of your dress.

You expect him to draw it out as long as possible, but he must be just as eager as you are because he strolls into the room five minutes later.

“What troubles you, darling?” His voice is gently mocking, his expression infuriatingly smug. He knows exactly why you’re here.

“Shut up,” you say through gritted teeth. “You know why I’m here, so let’s make it quick.”

“Oh, that’s not what we agreed on,” he purrs, eyes darkening with want as he approaches you. “You have to tell me what you want.”

As soon as he’s near enough, you tug him down to the couch and straddle his lap, guiding his hand up your skirt to your bare cunt. “I want you to make me come.”

You’re hoping that your boldness and lack of underwear will throw him off enough that he won’t notice that you’re being intentional with your wording and leaving yourself a very tidy out.

“Oh, darling, you’re soaking.” He drags his fingers along the length of your cunt, carefully circling your clit. “Poor thing, no wonder you’re so needy.” 

You sigh, your hips rolling with his hand. “More.”

“Needy and greedy,” he muses, sliding a finger inside you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I love it when you’re like this.”

He pulls you into a deep kiss, tongue pressing into your mouth, tangling with yours. You moan, rocking your hips against his hand as he slips a second finger inside you.

“You need me, don’t you?” he breathes against your lips. “No one else makes you feel like this. Even when you touch yourself, your fingers can’t quite reach this little spot the way I can.” His fingers curl, pressing hard against that soft, aching spot that has been throbbing all day. You keen, fingernails digging into the leather on his shoulders as your hips grind against his hand. 

“Yes, just like that,” you gasp. 

“You need me so badly that you can’t even manage a full day without my touch.” His thumb presses just a little harder on your clit. “And interrupting a meeting of global importance to beg me to fuck you in the library where anyone might walk in—”

You’re entering the final stretch right before your orgasm and you can tell that it’s going to be good—the pressure inside you is too intense for it not to be. 

And then Loki decides to up the ante.

“It just goes to show how much of a slut you are for my cock.”

It’s like trying to douse a fire with gasoline.

Loki’s fingers curl again and your mouth goes slack as you let out a low whimper. 

“I know that noise.” His smile is hungry. “You’re about to come for me.”

You nod, rolling your hips in time with the wave that’s rising within you.

“Let me hear you.” He leans in and nips sharply at your earlobe. “Scream for me.”

It’s like being hit by a hurricane. You are dimly aware that you’re moaning loud enough to be heard unless he’s been a gentleman and cast a silencing spell on the room, but your capacity to care about anything other than the euphoria flooding your entire nervous system is somewhere below zero.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs, as he works you through it. “So fucking filthy,”

You’d intended to make your exit quickly, but you didn’t bank on how good his fingers would feel or how easily he’d be able to coax you to another orgasm. You claw desperately at his chest, and he gives you a self-satisfied smirk.

“What? Another one so soon?” he says, his brow furrowing in mock concern. “Is your poor little cunt really so needy?”

“Don’t stop.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but you don’t care. You can’t care about anything other than the rising pressure in your hips and the way your clit is thrumming with pleasure.

“Oh, I’m not going to stop until I’ve thoroughly claimed this sweet cunt.”

“Yes. Fuck.” You hold your breath as your orgasm makes its final ascent.

“That’s it.” His eyes are shining. “Come for me.”

The second one hits you just as hard and then blends almost seamlessly into a third that makes stars burst behind your eyelids and your thighs tremble. You lean into him, gasping and panting as he murmurs more filthy praise in your ear.

But you snap back to reality when he reaches for the buttons of your dress. You need to move quickly if you want your plan to work and you know that if he manages to get his cock out, it’s all over for you.

“Shall I take you on the desk?” He slips the first button, staring greedily at the exposed skin. “Or against that window?”

Both options sound too appealing, but you’re not going to tell him that. You reluctantly pull away from him and stand on legs that are much too wobbly. Remember the plan. Focus.

For once in his life, Loki looks a little baffled.

“Well,” you say, making a rather sad attempt to straighten your dress. “Would you look at the time.”

His eyes narrow almost immediately. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing,” you say brightly. “I just didn’t realize it was so late and I don’t want to keep you from your meeting.”

He catches on right away—you can tell from the glint in his eyes and the slight twitch of his lips. He seems conflicted about how he feels about it, though, which you’re not expecting. There’s annoyance, certainly—that was always a given—but there’s also a kind of hungry delight, almost like you’d surprised him a little.

Almost like he finds it…attractive.

You weren’t expecting that at all.

He stands slowly, his gaze traveling shamelessly up and down your body, bringing still more slickness to your cunt. 

“You may come to regret this little stunt, my love.” His voice is deadly soft and you’re reminded suddenly of a shark considering his prey. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Perhaps you should have negotiated more favorable terms this morning.” Your voice is calm and cool, but there’s an inferno of desire blazing inside you.

“I think I will particularly enjoy silencing that smart mouth later tonight,” he says, eyeing the open button on your dress.

“If I allow it.” You smile sweetly at him as his expression darkens even further. “After all, you did put that burden on me for today, your majesty. And I did only say that I wanted you to make me come, which you have.”

The look that he gives you is lustful in a way you’ve never seen from him before. Your cunt clenches tightly around nothing and suddenly the relief that you’d just found from his fingers doesn’t seem anywhere near enough.

And if you don’t get out of here soon, your entire plan will go up in flames in favor of riding his cock until you both collapse.

“I’ll take my leave,” you say, buttoning your dress.

His gaze trails possessively over your body. “Yes, you’ll want to rest up—I suspect you’ll be begging me to claim my prize by the time I return to our rooms.”

“We’ll see.” There’s no conviction in your voice and you can tell that he hears it, so you turn quickly on your heel and leave with a mumbled goodbye before he can convince you to change your mind.

This entire episode has given you new insight into why Loki is like this as his default. The control is heady and intoxicating and your head fizzes like you’ve drunk too much champagne. You feel sexy and desirable. Powerful. You think of him quietly stewing away in his meeting downstairs, plagued by thoughts of you and trying to hide it from the others. You think of him storming upstairs, control fraying, his cock rock hard and aching for you. You think about what he’ll do to you as payback for leaving him wanting.

The entire purpose of this exercise was to find an outlet for your arousal and clear your head; instead, you find that you’re hornier than you were before the library.

Your entire plan has failed rather spectacularly, but you can’t convince yourself to be mad about it.

The hours pass slowly. You’re not sure if he’s intentionally delaying his return or if he’s genuinely busy—either way, it does you no favors. You try reading, but you end up rereading the same paragraph and thinking about sex instead of following the story. As afternoon fades into evening, you undress and don a silk robe. The fabric whispers against your skin, only heightening your arousal.

The sun is almost fully set when you hear the door open and the heavy tread of familiar boots on the floor. You stay seated on the couch, staring out the floor to ceiling window, waiting.

“I suppose you think you’re very clever.”

Goosebumps spring up along the column of your spine. His voice is low and stern, his presence already commanding. Slickness floods your cunt in anticipation. You slowly turn to face him, your chin tilted up in slight defiance.

“I consider it appropriate payback for the gala,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow as he continues to walk closer. “And do you recall how hard you came after the gala?”

You mirror his skeptical expression. “Then wouldn’t I be doing you a favor by teasing you like this if it means you come harder later?”

The look he gives you is intoxicating. “You are disobedient and impertinent.”

You smirk. “And you love it.”

“Not as much as I love putting you back in line.”

You stand and walk toward him, stopping a few inches away. “Then why don’t you?”

He chuckles low in his throat. “You know that’s not what we agreed to, my love. The move is yours.”

Privately, you’re delighted that he seems prepared to continue to play the game. 

“I didn’t take you to be so passive,” —you pause and lick your lips— “your majesty.”

Perhaps more extraordinary than the fire in his eyes is his stillness—save for the tight clench of his jaw and his sharp intake of breath, he is completely motionless as his eyes tell the story of a man who is barely holding himself back from his greatest desire.

“I’m a man of my word,” he says, finally.

You huff out a soft laugh. “Are you?” You lick your lips. “Perhaps I should test that.”

You pull the sash of your robe and let it fall from your shoulders to your feet in a heap. You stand in front of him, completely naked. His eyes devour you and his fingers flex against his thighs like he’s barely holding back from touching you.

“Still a man of your word?” you ask, your eyes wide and innocent.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yes.”

You nod thoughtfully. “I see.”

And then you slowly sink to your knees.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “What about now?”

“Yes.” There’s a dark rasp in his voice and his fingers are tensed like claws against his thighs.

You’re getting to him. You love it.

You take your time undoing his trousers, letting your fingers graze against the hard length of his erection whenever the opportunity presents itself. You almost feel a little bad when you finally free his cock—he is desperately hard, the flushed and engorged tip already slick with precome.

“Oh, have you been like this all afternoon?” you say casually. “Poor thing.”

“Watch your tone,” he says sharply.

“I suppose that was rather inconsiderate of me to just leave you like that,” you muse, taking his cock in your hand and reveling in his sharp exhale and the way he throbs hot and hard as you begin to stroke him. “I didn’t realize you’d be so hard.”

“You are playing with fire, my love.” His voice is rough and husky with wanting.

“I don’t think it’s wrong to make you work for it.”

“You would dare to give orders to a king?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I not your queen?”

“My queen does not command me.”

Early on, you might have been intimidated by the hunger in his eyes and the sternness in his voice, but now you can’t help but find it arousing. Somewhere along the way, pushing him to his limit became like a drug and now you can’t get enough.

“And why not, your majesty?” you say, gently squeezing his shaft as you stroke him. “You tease me like this all the time. Isn't it only fair for me to have a turn?”

“I don’t need to justify myself. I’m king.” He says this with authority, but you can tell he’s fighting to keep his expression neutral. There’s a catch in his voice and his eyes flutter shut for a moment as his hips rock into your hand.

You look up at him again. “Perhaps you ought to,” you say. “Seeing as I’m currently holding your fate in my hands.”

He gives you a smirk that is entirely too confident for your liking. “I think you’re underestimating my resilience.”

You bring your lips up to the head of his cock, letting the very tip of your tongue brush against it. He inhales sharply.

“Am I?” you say, punctuating the question with a second featherlight kiss against his cock. “I’m not sure that you’ve considered all the tools I have at my disposal.”

He stares down at you imperiously and you return his look with wide, innocent eyes as you part your lips and take him into your mouth, slowly swirling your tongue around the head of his cock in a way that you know he enjoys. His fingers flex against his thighs and you hum as the sharp taste of his precome glides over your tongue.

“You are a wicked, disobedient tease,” he growls, one hand sliding down to cradle the back of your head. “And you don’t even care, do you? You just want to get those pretty lips around my cock.”

You draw back slightly to look up at him. “You could stand to be more flattering if you want me to let you come in my mouth.”

He chuckles, eyes darkening with want. “Is it not flattering to say that your mouth makes me forget myself?”

You press a kiss to the tip of his cock, letting your tongue flick against it, but not quite bringing him back into your mouth. “It’s a start.”

“You don’t know what effect you have on me, do you?” His hand strokes your cheek as you continue lazily kissing his cock.

“You certainly do your best to act annoyed with me.”

He laughs, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, half the fun of these little games are your attempts to outwit me. Chaos and schemes only add to my power, but when you are the perpetrator?” He gives you a long, hungry look. “That makes me rock hard.”

Your breath catches slightly as you stroke your tongue over the tip of his cock. “Keep talking.”

“I spent the rest of that meeting driven to utter distraction because I could not stop thinking about how good it was going to feel to sink my cock into your dripping cunt.”

You gently suck the tip of his cock into your mouth and release it. 

“And then I come back here and you mouth off at me, strip, and get on your knees to suck my cock.” He hisses slightly as you tease the head of his cock with the very tip of your tongue.

“Are you going to beg for me, Loki?” You press a soft kiss against his cock.

“A god doesn’t beg,” he says hoarsely. 

“But you could,” you say softly, teasing the tip of his cock again.

“You may force me to reconsider that notion, yes.”

“Do you want me to suck your cock, Loki?” you ask in that same soft voice. “Do you want to come in my mouth?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Yes.”

You intended to hold out for longer, but you didn’t expect him to say…well, any of that, really. And the other, less convenient reality is that your ability to deny yourself the pleasure of his body and touch is eroding well past the point of resistance. You’ve waited long enough. You want him.

You take his cock fully into your mouth and begin to move.

Loki groans, his eyes half lidded and lips parted as he looks down at you. “Fuck, you’re divine. I’m going to worship your cunt after this.”

You moan on his cock, widening your legs slightly. You slip your fingers between your legs, letting your index finger roll against your aching clit.

Loki stares down at you with a renewed hunger. “Are you touching yourself?”

You moan an affirmative, your fingers moving faster on your clit as you suck harder on his cock.

“Filthy girl.” His hand grips the back of your head, his hips jerking slightly. “After this, I’m going to make you come harder than you did after the gala. I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.”

You moan again on his cock, flicking your tongue over the tip on every upstroke, making his grip on your head tighten. Your jaw starts to ache after a few minutes, but the little noises he’s making are so worth it. Your cunt keeps getting slicker and slicker under your fingers and you feel yourself starting to edge closer to your own end.

“Fuck.” Loki is panting, his composure completely lost. “If you keep—fuck—I’m so fucking close—”

You could be cruel and make him wait, but he’s so beautiful with his head thrown back and his green eyes fluttering shut against the wave of pleasure you’re building for him that you can’t help but want to give him everything. You hollow your cheeks and take him as deep as you can.

His hand tightens against your scalp and he groans deeply as his hot release fills your mouth. You swallow it greedily, slowing to a halt.

The moment you take your mouth off his cock, he’s pulling you to your feet and holding you flush against him, his mouth covering yours in a deep and slow kiss.

Something about kissing him seems to emphasize the building need of your own body. “Fuck me, Loki.” You breathe your plea against his lips, twining your fingers in his hair. “I need you.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little before sweeping you into his arms and carrying you purposefully toward the bed.

He sets you down on the bed and you expect him to follow you immediately, pressing his body against yours. Instead, invisible bonds curl around your wrists and ankles, gently tugging until you’re spread eagled on the bed. You barely repress a shiver as he kneels next to you. He means business and historically, that’s always ended quite well for you.

There’s a flash of green and a slim vibrator materializes in his hands. He runs the head of it gently along your exposed cunt, pausing just above your clit.

And it’s not until you feel the same invisible bonds wind around your hips to hold the vibrator in place that you realize that this is not going the way you thought.

As though he can read your thoughts, Loki glances at the clock. “Oh, dear, is that really the time?” he says lazily, his mouth curling into a sly smile.

“You wouldn’t,” you say, your heart pounding hard because of course he would.

“I’m afraid I can’t miss this meeting. Shouldn’t be more than an hour, though.”

“Loki—”

He clicks his fingers and the vibrator hums to life, close enough to your clit to stoke the flames of desire, but not close or strong enough to get you over the edge.

“I hate you,” you groan, rocking your hips up, searching for relief. “You are the worst.”

“Oh, I certainly hope your attitude improves by the time I return,” he tuts as he tucks his cock back into his trousers. “It’d be a shame if you had to wait even longer.”

“You said you liked it when I tried to outwit you.”

He chuckles, leaning in close enough to kiss you. “I do. I like seeing how clever you are and I love carrying out consequences.”

You scowl. “You’re awful.”

He smirks and kisses you, drawing back before you can try to pull him deeper. “Be good. I’ve heard that good things come to those who wait.”

“Loki—”

He casts one last smug look at you before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

He’s gone for a little over an hour, but it feels like an eternity.

The vibrator is enough to keep you wet and aching, but not enough to get you off. The bonds are comfortable, but there doesn’t seem to be any give that would allow you to wiggle out or adjust the vibrator, no matter how much you writhe against the mattress. Sometimes, the intensity seems to increase just slightly and you thrust your hips forward, trying to get more, only to have it diminish just as quickly.

It’s agonizing, certainly, but you know that the payoff is going to be nothing short of spectacular. And privately…you kind of like it, though you’ll never admit that to him.

You’re not quite sure if you should act relieved or annoyed when Loki returns, so you end up settling on a strange combination of both when the door finally clicks open and he walks in smirking.

“Well,” he says far too brightly for your liking, “have you learned your lesson?”  

“Yeah, to check your schedule before I try something like that again,” you say before you can really think it through.

He tuts, lips pursing as he frowns. “Ooh, there’s that attitude again. Shall I leave you for another hour?”

You shut your mouth and look away, not quite able to hide your scowl. “No.”

He chuckles. “I thought so.”

He sits down on the bed next to you and runs his fingers along your cunt, his smile turning wicked.  “I see that you enjoyed the little toy. You’re so much wetter than when I left you.”

Your scowl deepens. “Because you’ve been teasing me for an hour!”

“Teasing you?” He scoffs. “Nonsense. I left it running for an hour, you should be quite satisfied.”

“You know full well that you left it on the lowest speed and barely touching my clit.”

His eyes glimmer in the way that they often do when you've strolled right into his trap. “Ah, I see. So you needed something a little more like this.”

He places the vibrator firmly against your clit and the faint hum suddenly accelerates to a steady, throbbing pulse that immediately draws a strangled moan from your throat.

“And perhaps a little of this—” He slides two fingers inside of you and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense sensation.

“Oh fuck.” Any notion you had of acting aloof and cool has evaporated. Your body warms to him too quickly, too naturally. A casual stroke of his fingers has you arching into his touch, a whimper trapped in your throat.

“Oh dear,” he says, almost nonchalantly. “You seem to be reacting quite strongly. Are you sure I should continue?”

“Please don’t stop.” You say it all in a rush, like it’s one long word.

“Don’t stop?”

“Don’t stop. Please.” You whimper, your hips rolling so that your clit rubs right against the vibrator. Loki’s fingers curl and you arch as something completely unintelligible comes out of your mouth.

“You need this. You’ve needed this all day.” His eyes shine as his fingers thrust faster. “But not as much as you need my cock. You’re desperate for my cock.”

You nod, half lost to pleasure.

“You’ve been such a tease. Such a fucking brat.” The vibrator’s speed increases and you whine. “I ought to punish you, remind you who’s in charge. Make you get on your knees and beg and still leave you wanting for release.”

You whimper, now so deliciously close that you’re starting to shake.

“Luckily for you,” he says, “I have been thinking of you coming all over my cock for hours. So instead of leaving you wanting, I’m going to fuck you until you’ve milked every drop from my cock and you’re going to take it all like a good girl.” His eyes darken. “Now come for me before I change my mind.”

You don’t need to be told twice—you barely need to be told once. The muscles of your cunt flutter against his thrusting fingers and then your orgasm unfurls.

It’s spectacular, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure on every nerve ending, your body shaking as you cry out.

“There you go.” His gaze is hungry, roving over your body, the god of your undoing. He presses the vibrator just a little harder against your clit and you feel that familiar ache stir again just below your belly.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” He’s smirking, but there’s a flicker of awe in his expression, like he can’t quite believe his luck. “Once wasn’t enough for you. You need to come again like the greedy little slut that you are.”

The sparks inside you are fluttering and flickering again, until they catch and send you soaring back into the stratosphere. Your back bows and you cry out as you come.

You’re still shaking when he crawls between your legs moments later, peppering your thighs with messy kisses and spreading your cunt open. The bonds on your wrists and ankles release the moment his mouth touches your cunt and you bury your hands in his hair. You moan as he circles and sucks at your clit and his fingers thrust inside of you.

You look at him nestled between your legs, eyes glazed with desire and it almost sends you over the edge. 

“God, I love your mouth,” you blurt out before you can think about it. “You’re so good at this, it feels so fucking good—”

You’re not sure if it’s the praise or his talent, but the moment you say that, your orgasm begins to crest.

“Fuck, Loki. Fuck, I’m gonna—oh fuck.”

It bursts like a firework and courses through your body like liquid gold, somehow simultaneously frantic and leisurely. You’re dimly aware that you’re moaning with every shuddering roll of your body, praising his mouth and tongue in a way that you know will embarrass you later.

“I told you it would be worth it,” he says after he coaxes the last shudder from you a few minutes later. “I don’t think I’ve heard you scream like that before.”

You don’t even bother opening your eyes. “Bragging is an unattractive quality.”

He tuts. “There’s that attitude again. You know, you’re lucky I didn’t deny you after all your teasing and backtalk.”

You look up at him, eyes hazy. “You like making me come too much to follow through on that.”

He chuckles darkly. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble, wife.”

Sated as you are, the name still lights that spark in your belly. “If you say so, your majesty.”

Within seconds, he’s on you, mouth plundering yours. Your hands fumble with the buckles and clasps on his clothes.

“Help me out,” you say, shoving his surcoat off his shoulders. 

“What was it you said earlier?” He smirks and rolls you both over so he’s on his back. “Ah, yes: work for it.”

You scowl and tug at the fabric. You could just undo his belt and take out his cock, but it’s not enough. You need to feel all of him, need the heat of his skin on yours as he presses inside you.

“You are such an ass.” You yank his shirt over his head.

He laughs. “You want me so badly, you’re shaking.”

He’s right, but you’re not going to concede it. “You want me just as bad. You’ve been holding back from me all day and you can’t stand it. You're desperate to be inside me.

His gaze darkens, but he flicks his wrist and you feel the fabric vanish beneath you.

“Well played, wife,” he says, propping himself up against the headboard. “Now ride me and show me why you deserve to come on my cock.”

You straddle his lap, guiding him to your entrance. “Oh, stop it. We both know you fucking love it when I come on your cock.”

You sink down on him and you both groan. After an extended day of teasing and delays, he cock feels like it’s pressing against every aching part inside of you, soothing a need you’ve felt all day. He nuzzles his face against your neck, nipping at the tender skin of your pulse point. His hands map the expanse of your back and skim down your hips to squeeze your ass.

His hips rock incrementally against you. He wants you to move, to fuck him, and for a moment, you feel drunk on the power.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and raise yourself up on his cock before sinking back down. Your pace is glacial, designed to tease, to drive him wild.

But on the third stroke, he smacks your ass, eyes blazing. “I said ride me.”

It sets off something inside you and you increase your pace before you can second guess it. You catch a glimpse of a feral smile before he pulls you into a rough kiss as you sink back down on him. Your teeth bump against his and you nip hard at his lower lip, which only seems to egg him on.

You’re supposed to be riding him, but his hips are driving up into you just as hard, his firm grip urging you on. Your head tips back as the pressure inside you continues to build. His head dips to your neck, teeth scraping along your collarbone and then down to your breast. He laves his tongue over your nipple and it plucks at the winding coil of pleasure in your hips, your cunt squeezing tighter and tighter on his cock. You whimper and he takes the bud of your nipple between his teeth and tugs ever so slightly.

Your cunt clenches as you creep closer to the edge. He lets out a sharp breath through his teeth as he starts approaching his own end.

“Fuck—”

With a snarl, he flips you to your back in one fluid motion, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. His pace turns rough and a little frantic but he’s hitting a spot that makes your toes curl and your pleas turn even more desperate.

“Fuck—please, please, please—”

His eyes are wild. “Show me what I’ve been missing all day. Let me feel you come. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

His fingers find your clit and suddenly, the rising sensation within you is blossoming into something more akin to a supernova. His hips snap hard against you and the feeling inside you swells and then shatters.

You are vaguely aware that you’re shouting his name as you quake in his arms and your cunt clenches around his cock. Loki moans above you, his jaw going slack and his brow furrowing, his pace slowing slightly like he’s trying to hold back, trying to make it last.

But another wave rolls through you and he shudders and before you can think about it, you’re slipping your legs off his shoulders and around his waist so you can pull him close.

“Come for me.” You whisper it like it’s a secret and he kisses you like he hears. His hips snap hard against you and then he’s kissing you in between Asgardian words you don’t recognize and words that might be your name until it all dissolves into a long groan that he breathes against your lips as he comes so hard that he shakes.

It’s a long moment before he finally eases out and tonight he gives you a long and lingering kiss before he does. Your legs shake as you lie panting on the bed, listening to him shuffle around the room. He must be getting ready for bed. 

You always hate this part. It’s not that you expect or even want affection from him, but sometimes it seems so…businesslike, so transactional. Surely it’s not strange to wish it could be something more, even though it can’t be.

“Sit up.”

You turn your head to look at him, fully prepared to lay into him for telling you what to do, but instead, you find him standing at the side of the bed with a full glass of water.

Something inside you softens just a little. 

“Oh, I’m okay,” you say. “It was just really intense.”

He gives you a dry look. “Humor me.”

Any other time, you might have shot back a sarcastic reply, but there’s something strangely disarming about seeing him standing there buck naked and offering you water. And maybe that little ache of loneliness you felt earlier has made you a little soft. 

You sit up and take the glass from him. “Thanks.”

He sits down next to you on the edge of the bed. “I’ve sent for dinner as well,” he says, absently tracing a finger along your spine. “It’s quite late.”

You take a sip of water. “Do I have to get out of bed for it?”

“So long as you keep the crumbs to your side.”

You wave your hand at him. “You can magic them away.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a circus pony.”

You give him a dry look. “What’s the point of having magic if you can’t use it to spoil your wife?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss against your shoulder. “Have I not spoiled you enough already today?”

“That stunt with the vibrator was pretty rude.”

He scoffs. “No more rude than getting off on my fingers and leaving me in a meeting for four hours.”

You lean against him and he drapes an arm around your waist. “You of all people should know that turnabout is fair play.”

You’re teasing each other, you realize. It strikes you as a quaintly domestic scene—a couple tangled up together and talking after sex. It’s…kind of nice, in an odd way. 

Almost normal.

Much later, when he’s curled up behind you in bed and the lights are out, he asks a question that you suspect has been on his mind all evening: “What did you think of our experiment?”

You know there’s a reason why he waited until now to ask you this. You can hear it in the careful way he’s asking, how he’s trying to hide that little note of hope.

The urge to be sarcastic or sharp is suspiciously absent.

“Well,” you say, letting the word hang there in the dark for just a moment. “My legs still feel like jello. Kind of hard to argue with those results.”

It’s only when you feel him relax that you realize he was bracing himself for something sharper. The thought stops you. You’d never thought anything you said mattered to him like that.

“Perhaps it’s an experiment we ought to repeat.” He says it casually, but there’s a subtle note of hope that sparks a strange feeling of sympathy.

You nod before you can talk yourself out of it. “Yeah.” The silence prickles at you in a way it never has before. “Maybe Tuesdays, if that works?”

He’s trying to hide it, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “As her majesty commands.”

Next chapter coming soon

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED: January 30, 2025.

→ NARRATED AUDIO:

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

→ A/N: So. Listen. I was out there, freezing my ass off at the bus stop, cursing my life choices because why am I even going to the gym at ungodly hours??? And then—THEN—the bus just had the audacity to drive right past me. Love that. Amazing. Naturally, I did what any rational person would do: opened my notes app and started writing instead of using those 45 minutes to, idk, reconsider my entire existence. And thus, Off-Labels was born. This drabble? It’s about the kind of man who is dangerous in the most insidious way—intelligent, competent, and hiding behind a veneer of plausible deniability like it’s a damn art form. You know he knows what he’s doing to you. You know he’s aware of the effect he has. But can you prove it? No. Because he’s just so nice. So helpful. So unintentionally devastating to your nervous system. It’s honestly sick and twisted and exactly my type. Am I a menace? Absolutely. First installment in what might become a series because apparently I can't stop writing about competent men in medical settings using anatomical terms as foreplay. Will I be taking criticism? Absolutely not. ❤️‍🩹🩺

You don’t believe in stories like in books.

Sure, you like to read them—disappear into them, let them pull you under like a riptide until you forget about deadlines and midterms and the existential dread of being a twenty-something who still doesn’t know what they’re doing.

But that’s all they are.

Stories.

Fantasies about tragic, fated loves and brooding billionaires and dangerous men with wings. You like them because they’re not real. Because it’s fun to pretend, for a little while, that you’re the kind of girl who’s got a winged fae warrior at her feet. Or a CEO husband who calls her darling in an office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Or—God forbid—her hot math teacher, who lets her stay after class for extra lessons.

Or your brother’s best friend’s secret hookup.

Not that you’re thinking about that one.

Not that it would even be your case.

You shift on the couch, burying yourself deeper into the cocoon of your brother’s old hoodie. It’s massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the faded fabric smelling like dust and detergent.

Perfect. The ideal uniform for an evening of doing absolutely nothing.

Your e-reader is dead, so you’ve resorted to flipping through some random paperback you found wedged under the coffee table, something with an aggressively shirtless man on the cover. You’re only half-paying attention, your eyes skimming over the words without really absorbing them.

Caleb should be home soon. Probably. He has class—or he says he has class, but you’re not entirely convinced. He’s in that phase of university where it’s mostly networking and group projects and going out more than actually studying.

Not that you care. He does his thing, you do yours.

A sharp knock at the door pulls you out of your haze.

You ignore it. Caleb has keys. If he forgot them, that’s his problem.

The knock comes again. Then the doorbell rings.

You groan, untangling yourself from the blanket and shuffling toward the door with all the grace of a sleep-deprived goblin. Your hair is a mess, your socks don’t match, and you’re fairly certain you have crumbs on your face from earlier. Good. Whoever’s on the other side can suffer.

Except—

It’s not Caleb.

It’s Hoseok.

Oh.

You freeze, hand still gripping the doorknob, brain buffering at the sight of him standing there, all easy confidence and warm eyes and—why does he always look so put together? It’s unfair. He’s in jeans and a hoodie, nothing special, but it fits him just right, and his hair is slightly tousled, like he just ran a hand through it, and—

Stop.

You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to act like a normal human person.

“Uh,” you say, which is a stellar start.

Hoseok smiles. “Hey.”

He has the kind of voice that makes people listen, rich and smooth, the kind that carries even when he’s speaking softly. Which he is now, like he knows you spook easily.

“Caleb’s not here,” you blurt out.

He tilts his head, amused. “Yeah, I figured.”

Right. Obviously. Because if Caleb were here, he’d be the one answering the door.

You scramble for something else to say, but your brain is blank, completely derailed by the fact that he’s here. In your doorway. Looking at you. And you must look insane—your hair sticking up in weird directions, drowning in a hoodie that is definitely not yours.

And he’s still smiling. Patient. Like he has all the time in the world.

You clear your throat, gripping the edge of the door. “Um. Did you—need something?”

Hoseok shifts, rocking back on his heels. “I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by, see if Caleb was around.” A pause. “And you, too.”

Your brain does an emergency reboot.

You, too.

You, too.

You swallow. “Oh. Right. Cool. That’s—cool.”

His smile twitches, like he’s holding back a laugh.

You want to throw yourself into traffic.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, ever-polite, ever-easygoing.

You should say no. Caleb’s not here, and even though Hoseok is Caleb’s best friend—and a genuinely nice person, thoughtful and reliable and the kind of guy who remembers your favorite coffee order—something about being alone with him makes your stomach twist.

But saying no would be weird.

So you step back. “Yeah, uh, sure.”

He steps inside, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Or maybe you’re just too aware of him—his presence, the faint scent of clean laundry and something warmer, something mellow. He’s always been like this, always drawn your attention whether you wanted him to or not.

You watch as he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair like he’s been here a hundred times before. And he has, technically, but not like this. Not without Caleb.

Hoseok glances at the book on the coffee table. “Good?”

You stare at it, momentarily forgetting what book it even is. “Uh. Yeah.”

His eyes flick to the cover. His smile turns amused.

Heat floods your face.

"Interesting choice.”

You freeze. A slow, creeping horror slithers up your spine. Because you didn’t even look at the book before picking it up—you just grabbed whatever you had lying around, assuming it was something boring, something safe—

And now Hoseok is holding a novel titled My Professor’s Secret Temptation.

Oh.

Oh, you actually might be sick.

You scramble for something—anything—to say, but the words wedge themselves somewhere between your throat and your rapidly spiraling embarrassment.

Hoseok flips the book over, scanning the back cover with a curious hum. “Didn’t take you for the forbidden romance type.”

You want the ground to open up. You want to disintegrate.

“I—I didn’t even read it!” you blurt out, a little too fast, a little too desperate. “I wasn’t paying attention, I just grabbed something random, and—and it’s not—”

Hoseok glances at you, amused but not in a mean way, just…interested? "Oh, yeah?”

You nod. Aggressively. “Yes.”

His mouth presses into something thoughtful, like he believes you, but there’s still a flicker of amusement in his expression, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with this new information.

“Huh.” He flips through a few pages idly, head tilting. “He’s pretty bold, huh?”

Your stomach drops. “Who?”

“The professor.”

Your soul leaves your body.

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

Hoseok just nods, easy, unbothered. “Some of these lines are intense,” he muses, flipping another page. “Do real professors talk like this?”

You are going to die. Right here. On the floor.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know.”

He hums again, like he’s genuinely considering it, then—just as casually as everything else—he looks up and says, “You think he’s hot?”

Your heart stops.

Not in a teasing way. Not in a mean way. Just…like it’s a normal question. Like this is just an easy, natural conversation between two people who absolutely do not need to be having this conversation.

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Hoseok’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smirk, not a knowing smile—just quiet amusement, like this whole situation is genuinely kind of funny, and he doesn’t think it’s a big deal at all.

“Relax,” he says, closing the book with a soft thump. “I won’t tell Caleb.”

It’s so casual. So reassuring.

Like he really, really isn’t trying to mess with you.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Hoseok sets the book down with deliberate care, spine aligned parallel to the edge of the coffee table like he’s arranging museum artifacts. Your traitorous eyes track the flex of tendons in his wrist—medical intern hands, steady and precise, the kind that’ve probably held beating hearts in ORs. You bite the inside of your cheek until copper blooms.

He glances at the sofa.

You glance at the sofa.

Three cushions. Two throw pillows. Seventy-two inches of fabric that suddenly feels like the Grand Canyon between acceptable and catastrophic.

“Mind if I…?” He gestures to the spot beside your abandoned blanket nest, already moving before you nod.

The springs creak faintly as he sinks into the middle cushion, thighs spreading in that effortless way men do—knees wide, elbows propped, phone balanced on his lap. You sit next to him—two cushions away—and watch his thumb scroll through messages, the screen’s blue light catching the silver ring he always wears on his index finger. Surgical steel, he’d told you once when you’d asked. Sterile. Practical.

Practical.

Practical like the way his left knee now brushes the edge of your blanket. Practical like the faint cedar-and-disinfectant scent of his cologne. Practical like the half-inch of skin exposed when his hoodie rides up as he stretches his arms behind his head.

Don’t look.

You look.

Stop looking.

He shifts, a subtle roll of his hips that has no business being this distracting. The movement pulls the denim taut across his thighs, and you try—really, genuinely try—to keep your eyes anywhere else. The ceiling. The floor. The stack of medical textbooks by the TV. Anything but the way his thumb now absently traces the inner seam of his jeans.

“Told Caleb I’d wait,” he says, tilting his head toward you. The motion makes his throat work—Adam’s apple bobbing, chin catching gold in the lamplight. “Movie night. You’re welcome to join, if you want.”

Your tongue feels like it’s been replaced with felt. “I—I have… readings.”

“Readings.” His mouth shapes the word like it’s fascinating.

“For… neuroanatomy.” You gesture vaguely toward your backpack slumped by the TV stand, half-buried under a sweatshirt you’ve been using as a pillow. “Midterm next week.”

He hums, low and considering. “Limbic system?”

“Hippocampus. Amygdala. All the… emotional bits.”

“Ah.” His smile softens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “The parts that make you want to throw textbooks at walls.”

You blink. “You… remember?”

“Your first-year meltdown over the cranial nerves? Yeah.” He chuckles, warm and rasping. “You called them ‘twelve little traitors’ and threatened to switch to art history.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’d forgotten he’d been there that night—Caleb dragging him along for a pizza run, finding you knee-deep in flashcards and tears. Hoseok had quietly made tea while Caleb joked about selling your cadaver lab notes on eBay.

“Still think about it sometimes,” you mutter, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “Art history sounds peaceful. No one dies in art history.”

“No,” he agrees. “But you’d miss this.”

“Miss what? The sleep deprivation? The existential dread?”

“The way your nose scrunches when you’re trying to memorize Brodmann areas.”

Your hands freeze.

He’s looking at you now—not the performative eye contact of someone making conversation, but the kind that pins you in place. Clinical. Observant. Like he’s cataloging your reaction.

“I don’t… scrunch,” you say weakly.

“You do.” His knee nudges the blanket again. Accidentally. Probably. “It’s cute.”

The air conditioner kicks on. You count the vents in the ceiling. Eight. Eight is a safe number. Eight is not the number of times you’ve imagined him saying that word in different contexts.

Cute.

Cute.

Cute.

Your lungs forget how to oxygenate.

Hoseok’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then sighs. “Caleb’s running late. Some study group thing.”

“Oh.”

“You hungry?”

“What?”

He’s already standing, rolling his shoulders in a stretch that pulls his hoodie taut across his chest. “I’ll make ramyeon. You like the kimchi kind, right?”

You stare.

He’s in your kitchen now, rummaging through cabinets with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times. Which he has—game nights, birthday parties, that one time Caleb got food poisoning and Hoseok stayed over to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit.

But this is different.

This is him pulling two bowls from the shelf you can’t reach without a step stool. This is him filling the kettle with exactly 500ml of water because he knows your stove runs hot. This is him glancing over his shoulder to ask, “Soft or firm noodles?” like it’s a question that matters.

“Soft,” you croak.

He nods, turning back to the counter. You watch his hands—capable, unhurried—tearing seasoning packets with his teeth. The steam fogs his glasses when he leans over the pot, and he pushes them up into his hair, revealing the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

Bike accident, he’d said when you’d asked. Twelve years old. Thought he could jump the curb like X-Games.

You’d dreamed about that scar for weeks afterward.

“Here.” He sets the bowl in front of you, chopsticks balanced across the rim. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You murmur thanks, staring at the swirling red broth. He sits closer this time—one cushion away instead of two. His knee brushes yours when he leans forward to blow on his noodles.

Accident, you tell yourself. Always accidents.

The TV murmurs in the background, some nature documentary about deep-sea creatures. Hoseok asks about your classes, and you answer in staccato sentences, hyper-aware of the way his sleeve brushes your arm when he reaches for the water glass.

“—and Dr. Park’s lectures are killing me,” you hear yourself say, chopsticks hovering over uneaten noodles. “She goes so fast, and the diagrams…”

“Want me to quiz you?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye—the same one he gets when Caleb challenges him to Mario Kart. “I aced neuro last year. Could walk you through the basal ganglia.”

“You’re… busy.”

“Not really.” He sets his bowl aside, rolling up his sleeves. Your pulse thrums at the reveal of his forearms—dusting of dark hair, veins mapping paths you shouldn’t be tracing. “C’mon. Hit me with your worst.”

It’s a mistake.

You know it’s a mistake even as you fetch your notes, even as he pats the space beside him. Even as his shoulder presses against yours, radiating heat through three layers of fabric.

“Okay.” He scans your color-coded flashcards. “First question. What structure connects the hippocampus to the mammillary bodies?”

“F-fornix,” you stammer.

“Good.” His finger taps the next card. “Main neurotransmitter in the substantia nigra?”

“Dopamine.”

“And loss of dopamine here causes…”

“Parkinson’s.”

“Nice.” He shifts, knee pressing into yours. “Now point to your amygdala.”

You freeze. “What?”

“On your head. Show me where it is.”

“I—it’s—it’s medial temporal lobe, so…” You hover a hand near your right temple, acutely aware of his gaze tracking the movement. “Here? Ish?”

His chuckle vibrates through the couch. “Ish.”

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

You glare at him. He grins back, all white teeth and crinkled eyes, and something in your chest cracks open.

“Medial,” he says softly, reaching over to adjust your hand. His fingers graze your wrist—brief, clinical, devastating. “Deeper. Protected.”

You stop breathing.

The documentary narrator drones on about bioluminescent jellyfish. Hoseok’s thumb brushes your pulse point.

Accident.

Always accidents.

Then his phone rings.

You jerk back like you’ve been shocked. Hoseok answers with a calm, “Yeah?” while you stare at your knees, pretending your entire nervous system isn’t short-circuiting.

“Caleb’s downstairs,” he says, standing. “Forgot his keys again.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

He pauses, head tilted. For a horrifying moment, you think he’ll call you out—on the shaking hands, the flushed cheeks, the way you’re clinging to a pillow like it’s a life raft.

But he just smiles. Gentle. Endless. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

You collapse sideways onto the couch, pressing your face into the cushion that still holds the warmth of him. Somewhere in the hallway, the elevator dings. Laughter floats up from the parking lot.

Four years.

Four years of this.

Four years of almosts and maybes and don’t be stupid, he’s just being nice.

Your phone buzzes. A text from Caleb:

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐?? 𝙽𝚎𝚛𝚍. 𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚒𝚣𝚣𝚊. 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎?

You type no with trembling fingers.

The couch creaks as you curl into yourself, knees to chest, forehead pressed against the spot where his ring had left a faint indentation in the upholstery.

Deeper.

Protected.

Somewhere in your medial temporal lobe, dopamine fires for all the wrong reasons.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[pininghermit]

Duchess' Consort

Request: Loving your Tropovenia stories ❤️ I got, 'Against Parents'. Would you please write something about Adrian and modern reader with that prompt? 🥺

AN: Hello anon, I am glad you're enjoying my silly little event! I loved writing this and would have loved to add more bg but this event is for short stories so I tried my best. I hope you like it :)

Genre: drama & royalty au ish??

Pairing(s): Alucard x female Reader

Summary: “You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

“He’s a vampire!” your father roars, his face flushing red. It’s a familiar sight, one that mirrors your own anger. Apparently, temper ran strong in the family.

“And he’s a dhampir!” you snap back, marching toward him with equal fury.

The latest argument about your relationship had now passed the two-hour mark. You were both too stubborn to yield, two sides of the same damn coin. Exhaustion tugged at your shoulders, but neither of you would back down. Not yet.

With a huff of defeat, your father finally lowers himself into his chair, rubbing his temples. “You can’t just marry the son of Dracula,” he says, his voice weary but still carrying an edge of authority. “He’s no match for you.”

“We’re in love!” You slam a glass of water back, trying to swallow both the drink and your frustration. “And it’s not like I’m abandoning my duties. I’m still here. I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to. Isn’t that enough?”

Your father shakes his head slowly. “And what?” he retorts, his tone bitter. “Sully our bloodline with a half-vampire? You’d ruin everything. Do not make me regret not seeking another heir when I had the chance. Perhaps I should have remarried, like everyone insisted...”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and stinging. They lodge deep in your gut, twisting until your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall. You grit your teeth, clenching the glass in your hand so tightly you fear it might shatter.

“Worry not, Father,” you bite out through clenched teeth, your voice trembling with controlled rage. “I’ll be sure to have plenty of children with Adrian. Enough that I never have to suffer the same regrets you do!”

The room falls silent, your words hanging heavy in the air.

Your father glares up at you, his eyes hard but not without pain. He didn’t mean it, you know he didn’t. He loves you. He’s just afraid, trapped by his grief and his fears. You are all he has left of your mother, and her betrayal has carved a gaping void between the two of you. Making a weak man out of your father. One afraid of any and all gentleness.

“I will not give up on him,” you say quietly but firmly. “The duchy can deal with it. And if you can’t, Father…”

You take a deep breath, standing tall despite the tremor in your voice.

“Then I’m sure Uncle will be more than happy to step up as your heir.”

Your father’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of his brother, and you see the flash of panic before he quickly masks it with a glare. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he’s too proud to admit it. The two of you stare each other down, both unwilling to break first.

The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, your father sighs, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of years has finally caught up to him. "You’re just like your mother," he mutters under his breath.

“Thank you,” you reply curtly, turning on your heel. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You turn to leave the room before he can see the tears threatening to fall.

Once, being compared to your mother had cut deep. A wound to your pride, an insult whispered in the shadows of your childhood. The woman who abandoned her title, her duty, for the fleeting fantasy of love. The scandal had clung to you like a curse. A  constant reminder of your supposed weakness.

But not anymore.

“There are conditions.”

Your father’s voice cuts through your thoughts, halting you mid-step. His tone is cold, measured, calculated like a final move in a losing game.

“For him to be with you, there are rules he must obey.”

You turn back to face him, your heart tightening. His gaze is hard, filled with the last fragments of control he refuses to relinquish. This is his last attempt to bind you to his authority, to play his final pawn.

And yet, you stand straighter. You are not the child he once manipulated with fear and duty. Whatever terms he lays out, you will not falter.

“I’m listening,” you say evenly, crossing your arms as you meet his stare. You will not cower. Not for him, not for anyone.

“You will have to be my consort. You will not be given the title of duke. I will be the duchess. Our children will bear my family name. Yours will be forgotten. They will never quite treat you well. Your heritage will be scorned. Your lands will be absorbed by the duchy.”

Your voice remains steady, though each word feels like a blade against your heart. You stand with your back to him, your eyes fixed on the blooming garden outside the window.

“It is a terrible fate,” you continue quietly. “And I have nothing to give you. But I promise, should you take this foolish gamble, I will always be on your side. We will be equals beyond titles. Our children will grow up listening to your stories, to the tales of your people. Your lands will be cared for and passed on to our second-born, who shall inherit them.”

You pause, your thoughts momentarily drifting to a dream you dare not linger on too long. It’s easy, too easy, to imagine this future with Adrian. Despite your father’s endless demands, the vision takes root deep within you.

You can see it clearly: traveling to Castle Dracula with your children. Spending Yule together in the estates of your duchy. The dream feels achingly familiar, a warmth you are afraid to grasp.

Still, you steel your resolve, pushing the dream aside as you turn to face him.

“I cannot abandon my duties,” you say, the words final yet heavy with sorrow. “But you can leave. This life... it doesn’t have to be a fate you endure, Adrian.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. It stretches out like a chasm, each second a reminder of how deeply you’ve laid bare your vulnerability. You resist the urge to take the words back, to deny him the choice, to ease his decision with false comforts.

But no. A marriage built on lies and half-truths could not survive a harsh winter, let alone the storms your future would bring. He deserves the truth, as bitter as it is. You were prepared to lose him.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

You had rehearsed this moment countless times, steeling your heart for the inevitable. You imagined his hesitation, the disappointment clouding his eyes, and perhaps even a polite, resigned farewell. You had told yourself that you would understand. You had promised yourself you would let him go if that was his choice.

But now, as the silence stretches and your heart pounds louder than reason, you realize you were lying to yourself. You weren’t prepared. You never could be. The very thought of Adrian turning away feels like a blade pressing deep into your ribs, and you hold your breath, bracing for the worst.

Then he speaks, his voice so soft you almost miss it.

“My mother’s maiden name,” he says, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup of tea in his hands. He does not look at you, as though he needs the space to steady himself. “I want one of our children to carry it as their middle name.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Before you can respond, he continues.

“I do not care for titles,” he says, his voice firmer now, each word deliberate. “All I ask is that you do not take other partners. And that you allow me time... time to learn the ways of the household. I would hate to be anything less than worthy of you.”

He sets the teacup down with a quiet clink and steps toward you. His presence is steady as he takes your hands gently in his.

At last, Adrian lifts his gaze, and you see the depth of his conviction shining in his eyes. “I have no doubt that you will not let me be wronged,” he says softly. “My fate with yours will be one of happiness. And I would be the most foolish dhampir to ever walk this earth if I gave that up for anything else.”

A sharp breath escapes you, half-relief, half disbelief. His words fill the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, and for a moment, the dream you’d been holding at bay no longer feels so distant.

“Adrian...” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

“I have made my choice,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles. “And I will make it every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Tears blur your vision, but this time, you don’t try to hide them. Instead, you squeeze his hands tightly and offer him a smile that holds all the love and gratitude you cannot yet put into words.

One thing you know for certain: with Adrian by your side, you’ll be better parents than either of you ever had. With him, the weight of your duties will feel lighter. Together, you will make something beautiful out of all the broken pieces you were given.

“You are a miraculous idiot,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you throw your arms around him. You cling to him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Adrian lets out a warm chuckle, his chest vibrating gently against yours. “Marry me, maybe?” he teases softly, his arms pulling you even closer, as if he never intends to let go.

You laugh through your tears, swatting at his shoulder. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

[hivemuthur]

Hello love,

I was hoping to request a jayvik x reader with depression. Ideally a modern college AU, maybe reader hasn't left their room in a few days and the boys check on them?? Angsty fluff?? Do with this as you will, take what you want leave what you don't, whatever you write will be amazing. Make sure you're resting, eating, and touching grass love <3

Hi love! I'm sorry it took so long, I feel like two weeks might just settle as my current waiting time :v I confirm that eating and touching grass has been done today. Here it goes!

Help me get back to your arms

viktorxgn!reader general audiences, Modern college AU, depressed reader, comfort and fluff

author’s note: title from Radiohead's song Motion Picture Soundtrack. And thank you guys for sending me such lovely requests. Forgot to say, @rennethen beta read this, thank you!

word count: 0,9K

—

Your phone keeps buzzing, and after some time, you stop bothering to check. You bury your head under the pillow and groan. It’s only been two days, hasn’t it? Or was it more?

The vibrations become so annoying that you finally pick up your phone, intending to turn it off—until you see the notification, and your heart melts a little. Jayce and Viktor are bickering in your group chat over the propriety of the memes Jayce has been sending you. And while some of them are, well… corny, the whole conversation still makes you smile.

Until a sharp knock on your dorm room door makes you jump, and your phone slips from your hand before you can finish reading.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, calculating whether you can just ignore it.

“Hey, it’s me!” comes a cheerful voice, and you already know Jayce is pressing his ear to the door.

“And me,” Viktor adds, with a hint of sulk that makes you sure he just rolled his eyes at Jayce and huffed.

“Yeah, right! It’s us. Can we come in?”

You glance around your room—uh, it’s a mess. You glance down at yourself—uh, you’re an even bigger mess. But before you can answer, the door cracks open.

Viktor’s worried face peeks through, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees you. “Hey, darling. Can we come in?”

He pauses, waiting for confirmation, and you find yourself frozen in place, standing in the middle of the room, unable to say anything. So instead, you just nod and hold your arms out in front of you.

Viktor is between them instantly, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, his hand rubbing slow circles over your back. Moments later, Jayce presses up behind you, resting his chin on top of your head and sealing the group hug by placing his hands on Viktor’s shoulders.

Their scents mix together, and suddenly, you find it easier to breathe. Their chests press against you, squeezing the exhales from your lungs, and warmth blooms deep in your ribs. Viktor’s hair tickles your cheek, and Jayce’s palm rubs the back of your neck.

It’s safe.

“We brought food,” Viktor offers, tilting your chin up with his finger and giving you a soft smile.

“Or rather, snacks, since we figured real food might be too demanding,” Jayce corrects, and Viktor rolls his eyes again, murmuring something under his breath.

You sigh, your body sagging slightly between them. Food is the last thing on your mind right now. Instead, you ask, voice quiet, “How did you even know I was here?”

Viktor’s lips curve into a knowing smile as he tilts his head toward Jayce. “He has been refreshing Find My Friends for the last couple of hours before we decided to check.”

Jayce scratches the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Well… yeah,” he admits. “You weren’t answering, and we got worried.”

His eyes search yours, warm and careful, and after a moment, he asks, “How are you?”

You wince, and the reaction is instant—Jayce doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps you up in another firm hug, squeezing the answer out of you without making you say a word. “It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Viktor, still holding your hand, squeezes it gently. “Do you want to watch a documentary instead?”

You nod, feeling the weight in your chest ease just a little.

“Good,” Viktor says, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before leading you toward the bed. “I have one on deep-sea creatures that might just lull you to sleep.”

“I like deep-sea creatures,” you mumble as you sit down.

Jayce chuckles. “Guess we’re watching creepy fish, then.”

The three of you settle onto the bed, shifting and adjusting until you find the right fit. Viktor puts the film on, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows across the room. You’re nestled between them, your head resting on Jayce’s arm, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you.

On your other side, Viktor nuzzles in, his head resting on your shoulder, his hair tickling the curve of your neck. His leg is lazily thrown over your hips, anchoring himself to you, as if making sure you won’t slip away. Their hands intertwine over your stomach, fingers laced together in a quiet show of solidarity.

For a while, the only sound is the deep-voiced narrator explaining the eerie bioluminescence of some deep-sea creature, but Jayce, never one to sit still for long, eventually rustles open a packet of jellies. He pops one into his mouth before holding the bag out to you.

You hesitate, but when he gives you a little nudge, you sigh and take one. As soon as you do, he grins knowingly and flicks his gaze to Viktor, who, despite his apparent focus on the documentary, quirks an amused brow.

“Predictable,” Viktor murmurs, his voice warm with affection.

Jayce just smirks, nudging your side playfully. “Yeah, yeah. But at least she’s eating.” Viktor hums in agreement, pressing the lightest of kisses to your shoulder before settling in closer. The weight of them, the warmth of their bodies, the way their presence demands nothing from you—it’s enough. For now, it’s enough.

[blurry-lock]

SPIDER! SHIDOU RYUSEI x READER

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Another shidou fic because I feel we need more!! I’m obsessed with spiderman aus

What you need to know: spiderman au, best friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, injuries and slight blood mentions, mention of assault (not graphic, just a mention that happened) swearing, suggestive, lmk if there’s something else I didn’t include!

“You think spiderman is hot?” You smirked, chuckling slightly as you asked Shidou. You were both in your room, doing some school project and gossiping as you often do.

Shidou chuckled and shook his head. “You have a thing for masked men or what?” He tilted his head as he fiddled with his pen. He got slightly nervous everytime you asked something about the city’s hero, you didn’t know he was spiderman, not yet.

“Okay maybe I do… but that’s not the point! I mean like, is he hot behind his mask?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what spiderman looked.

To be honest you had a small crush on spidey, you’ve interacted a few times with him and he was very charming, very flirtatious. He somehow reminded you of Shidou a little that’s why Shidou is a fan of him too, at least that’s what you thought. More than just a crush, you were deeply thankful, you always shared your gratitude towards him and your story of how he saved you some time back when a creep follow you and tried to assault you or when you were caught in the middle of a fight with some other villain and him taking you to safety without forgetting to say some flirtatious comment or a compliment.

You liked his style, it looked like he really was into fashion. His suit was pink and black with some pretty small horns on top of his mask. You had several drawings and posters of him drawn and gifted to you by Shidou who knew you liked him a lot.

“Well… I think he might be pretty hot, handsome, stunning even” he chuckled as he tried to calm down his nerves by writing something for the project. He didn’t know how to feel knowing his best friend had a crush on spiderman (him) while at the same time he was in love with you.

He wanted to tell you his secret, but was scared, Shidou Ryusei, THE spiderman, was scared. Would you hate him for not telling you before? Would you still like him? Would you want to date him? Would that put you in potencial danger? He had many questions and didn’t know how to fix this issue.

“Ha! Bet, he can do whatever he wants with me honestly…” you giggled slightly and bit your lip as you imagined sceneries with spidey.

Shidou blushed subtly at your words and was lost in thought, feeling slightly jealous even tho… he was the same person, but you didn’t know it.

“Hey… are you there Ryu?” You waved your hand near his eyes, snapping him out of his thoughts. To you, he was acting weird, you never see him this lost in thought.

“Huh… yeah, yeah, I was just thinking…” he mumbled, shaking his head. He wanted to tell you the truth and kiss you senseless, imagining some sceneries of his own.

“What? You jealous or sum?” You teased him, ruffling his hair playfully.

“No, it’s just- forget it…” he sighed and checked his phone, a notification of a villain causing trouble popping on his feed alarming him. “Can you continue the project without me? Something came up”

“Huh? I mean sure I can but, is everything okay?” You tilted your head, confused with his sudden change of demeanor.

“Yeah, it’s nothing bad, just Aiku asking for something” he lied, he felt bad he had to lie to you. He would see how to tell you his identity later, he needed to save the city now, he couldn’t ignore his duty.

You nodded, still feeling somewhat confused, but you didn’t pushed further, maybe he would tell you later what happened, right?

┈┈・୨ 🕸️ ୧・┈┈

The days passed and Shidou was acting weirder and weirder, he was distant and every time you asked him to hang out or ask if he was okay he would dismiss you, tell you he was just “busy” or that he already had plans with Aiku.

You were worried, you didn’t want to pressure him into telling something maybe he wasn’t ready to tell you, but you couldn’t help but overthink what was going on. If he had plans with Aiku and Aiku was a well known player, did he introduce Shidou to someone else? Was he seeing someone? Your heart ached, but why? He was just your friend or did you have some feelings you didn’t even were aware of them?

You were even more concerned when you decided to ask Aiku if Shido had a partner and what did they do on their “plans” only to find out Aiku didn’t know about this.

“Nah pretty face, I haven’t been out with him for a while now, he always says he’s busy…” Aiku told you as he leaned on the wall, smirking at you.

“That’s weird… i’m worried for him, you know?” You sighed and looked away, thoughtful.

“Yeah i’m kinda worried to… but anyway, i’m still free for you, ya know?” He grinned and moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t start Aiku, you know I would never go out with you” you sighed and began to walk away, leaving Aiku with an unsatisfied pout as your thoughts lingered on Shidou.

┈┈・୨ 🕸️ ୧・┈┈

Later one night as you couldn’t sleep from all the turmoil and encountered feelings, laying down on your bed and staring at the roof something made you snap out of your thoughts, a loud thud in your window. You jumped and walked to the window, your heart racing as you opened the window trying to see what was that sound when a figure bursted into you room and collapsing to the floor, you gasped and looked down only to see spiderman.

He was laying on the floor slightly groaning in pain as his body was covered in blood, scratches and injuries, some parts of his suit even were ripped off.

“What the fuck?! W-wha… what happened? How do you know this was my house?” Your heart sank at the sight of spiderman injured, but why did he come to you?

“D-don’t worry about it pretty… can you maybe help me?” He panted slightly, you helped him stood up and guided him to you bed, he sat and leaned on your wall, his body tensing from the pain.

“I’ll get the med kit, just stay with me!” You ran through your closet, desperately searching for the med kit, once you found it you sat next to him and checked his injuries. “I… I need you take of your shirt… is that okay?” You blushed slightly.

He just nodded and you took out his shirt, leaving his mask on. You ran your fingers through his injuries as he flinched slightly from the pain, they looked like burns from friction, though they didn’t seem to need stitches or something more serious. You stared at his shirtless body, he was very muscular, even with all the injuries he looked hot.

You snapped out of your thoughts and shook your head as you started cleaning his wounds, he looked like he was struggling to breathe through the mask, your lips trembled as you opened your mouth. “I think… you need to take off the mask…” you suggested, expecting a deny from his part thinking he won’t reveal his identity to a random person he barely knows.

He sighed and slowly started to take off his mask, your eyes widening at every inch of face he was revealing until he took it off completely and you were met with….

“Ryu?!” You tensed, your lower lip shaking not knowing what to say or do. You expected his secret to be everything but this. “Y-you are-“

You were caught off when he gathered all his force and pulled you closer, making you straddle his lap and crashing his lips with yours in a needy and desperate kiss. You froze in place but quickly composed yourself to kissed him back, your heart hammering your chest and your face reddening at the situation. In that moment all your worries seemed to fade as you let out all your feelings in that kiss.

“Am I hot then?” He smirked, pulling away from the kiss as he panted softly.

You let out a chuckle and playfully slapped his shoulder, causing him to groan in pain. “Idiot… you should’ve told me before”

He chuckled and rubbed his shoulder. “Hey! I’m injured be careful pretty…” he remained silent for about five seconds, just staring at you with a stupid grin. “I’m sorry… I guess I didn’t want to put you in danger and… i was… scared” he mumbled the last part, slightly embarrassed to admit his feelings.

You sighed and ruffled his hair. “Your secret stays with me, i’ll be fine Ryu” you smiled as your heart fluttered from all the feelings you experienced. That kiss felt nice, it was very freeing.

You blushed suddenly, remembering all the things you said to Shidou about spiderman. “Uh… does that mean… you knew all this time about my feelings about you… well, spidey”

His smirk widened as he looked at you with an amusing look. “Are you still down for that or…?”

You widened your eyes and blushed even harder as the realization was starting to sink.

He placed his hands on your waist, going down to your hips and sliding to your rear “So… can I do anything I want with you? Maybe we can-“ he groaned in pain as you hit him again.

“R-ryu!” Your face reddened at his suggestion, the embarrassment from all your dirty confessions was still there but, it didn’t sound that bad since you now realize you really liked Shidou maybe you could try… No! He was still injured and you needed to keep tending his wounds, but definitely will do something when he felt better. “J-just let me take care of your wounds and we’ll see later…” you huffed as you went back to cleaning his wounds.

He chuckled as he caressed your sides. “Fine, fine… I don’t mind a sexy nurse taking care of me now~”

“Shut. Up.” You gritted your teeth as you tried to dismiss your blush, he got to your skin so easy, you tried to stay mad but you couldn’t help but let a small smirk escape from your lips.

Maybe this wasn’t too bad, being with spiderman that at the same time was your long time best friend.

The end!! I had so much fun writing this short fic fr, sorry if there’s some mistakes english is not my first language.

Also I tried to make this very gender neutral so pointing out any mistakes i did, tips, etc are highly appreciated ^^

Im trying to make a lot of shidou fics bc i think they aren’t enough, i mean, i swear every time i say i like shidou i feel like crazy because no one gets it 😭 they don’t understand how much i love this man fr…

Lmao anyway i hope you like it and stay tuned for more fics, feel free to give me some ideas or suggestions!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover 7

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

You’re in a shell. Pain, disbelief, dread. The cruiser bumps over a pothole and you groan from the backseat. Storm snickers as he revs the engine then slams the brakes. You roll and throw your arm out to keep yourself from slipping onto the floor. 

“How ya doin’ back there?” He taunts. “You break a hip, old lady?” 

“Please,” you hiss through your teeth. “I didn’t-- what did I do to you?” 

You lean back against the leather and shudder. The wheels spin again and he swerves around a corner. Your muscles rack as you hug yourself and shiver. 

“That’s the thing about women. They can’t mind their own goddamn business. Can’t stay where they belong,” he snarls. 

“I...” you blink and shake your head. Is that it? You embarrassed him by checking on him? By noticing him? He’s the one who walked into the diner in a half-stupour. 

“What happened to the husband, huh? You sneak around behind his back? Or maybe you stopped opening your legs so he had to find someone who would?” He mocks. 

You groan and brace your hip. You don’t care what he thinks. In that moment, you can only grit through the agony. 

“Officer,” you plead in a wisp. 

“I’m tired of hearing you. One more word and I pull over.” 

You suck in a deep breath and wince. You believe him. His tone is deadly. You close your eyes and sink into yourself. It’s more than you. You caught him on a bad day. The wrong day. 

Piecing together his words, it must be a woman. A break-up of some sort. The bitterness is telling. You’ve dealt with this kind before, it’s just be a while. Turns out, some things don’t change. 

The car lurches to a stop and you whimper. He shifts into park and kills the engine. He lingers in the driver’s seat and thumps his fist on the steering wheel several times. It’s like he hasn’t quite decided what he’s doing. 

He gets out and the axle shifts with the sudden dearth of weight. He pops open the back door and grabs your ankles. He drags you down the seat as you reach to grab onto anything that might save you. There’s no handles on the doors as they only lock from the outside. 

He gets you to the edge of the seat and hauls you up by your elbows. He lifts you over his shoulder and you exclaim as it sends a pang through your hips. You’re helpless to his whims as all your strength is consumed fighting your own body. 

He carries you up your own front steps. You’re less than reassured to be home. He digs around in your purse, dangling from his elbow, and unlocks your door. He takes you inside and treads past the mat in his scuffed and dirty boots. 

He climbs the stares in a jarring pace. You know its intentional as each step makes you whine. He continues down the hallway, opening a closet, then the bathroom, before finding your bedroom. Without a care, he flips you onto the bed. You land with a shattered cry. Even the mattress is like laying on stone. 

He looms over you, hands on his hips, slow, deep breaths as he considers you. You push yourself up on your elbows shakily. “Please, officer, I’m sorry--” 

“Stop calling me that,” he unhooks his radio from his belt and stomps to your dresser. “Honey. Like at the diner.” 

You gulp, “please... honey, I’m... I’m sorry that I--” 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he unstraps his holster and checks his gun. He puts it down then unzips his coat. 

He faces you, prowling closer as he peels off his coat. He throws it across the cushioned stool against the wall. He unbuttons his shirt, deliberate as his icy eyes pinpoint on you. You tremble and fall flat. 

“You just gotta stay on your back. You been married, I’m sure you can handle that,” he snickers. 

He strips off his shirt and flings it to the floor. He lifts his ribbed undershirt over his head and reveals his muscled torso, dark hair across his chest and down his stomach. He flexes in a silent threat and cracks his knuckles. 

He unbuckles his belt as he steps closer to the bed. He opens his fly and climbs up onto his knees. He pulls your legs apart and drapes them over his as he kneels before you. He grips your hips and squeezes until you cry out. 

He pushes your skirt high up your legs. He drags his hands under your ass and rumples it around your waist. He trails back down and pinches your thighs so they twitch. He snarls and smacks your left leg meanly. 

“Officer Storm--” 

“I’m tired of fucking repeating myself,” he growls. 

“Honey,” you reach for his wrist and he swats you away. 

“Don’t fucking move or I’ll break your spine,” grabs two of your fingers and bends them back until you whimper.  

He lets go as you recoil, hands clasped over your chest. You puff out weakly as he traces along the seam of your nylons. He pokes beside it until your tights split and he wiggles against your panties. He dips his finger around the fabric, scratching you as he feels along your folds. 

You gulp and your eyes sting with tears. This can’t be happening. Why is he doing this? 

He grabs your wrist and wrenches your arm away from your chest. Your other falls limp and you push yourself into the mattress. He tugs at the top of your dress until the buttons give. He covers one side of your bra with his hand and kneads as he jams a finger into you. 

You squeal and spasm, whining as another tide of pain flows through you. He forces himself in to his knuckles, the fabric pinching you as it tautens around his intrusion. He fondles you as he pulls in and out, searching you with the length of his finger. 

“How long has it been, huh?” He shoves another finger into you so you whine. “Bet it feels like the first time.” 

“Honey, please,” you beg as you show your palms. “Please don't hurt me.” 

He laughs as rams his hand against you. “That’s up to you, baby. Better get wet and better do it fucking fast.” 

[curiouspupsicle]

Good Omens Fan Fiction Friday (1/31/25) - Resistance!!

Being a well informed American living under an administration determined to dismantle our democracy (already stressed) and cause as much damage as possible has even my comfort moments turning to resistance. After all, evil people have always existed. And good people have always resisted. So is there anything my Good Omens fixation has to say about resistance? Given Terry Pratchett's moral universe, we could argue that all of Good Omens is steeped in resistance. But I'm going to limit myself to a few specific favorite fics that highlight different forms of resistance.

Let's start with the series that got me thinking in this direction: Demon and Angel Professors (G) by Ghostinthehouse (@ineffableghost). This is 200 ficlets, each exactly 666 words, hanging on a silly premise. Everyone loves literature Professor Fell who goes on regular tangents about his sweet husband Anthony. Everyone fears grumpy botany Professor Crowley who treats his students like he treats his plants. And anytime Crowley goes near Fell, the first-year students go into protective mode. Because surely Crowley must be up to no good and a potential harm to dear Prof Fell and his precious Anthony. But beyond that bit of fun repeated every year with a new group of incoming students are amazing stories of resistance against those who would cause mental harm or physical violence to disabled people, folks with a variety of gender identities and presentations, queer individuals, people dealing with trauma--basically anyone who might be vulnerable in a thoughtless and even wicked society.

Sometimes resistance is persuading someone to do better. Other times it's offering a hint that makes someone think. It may involve a hands-on approach to someone who only knows violence. Or it may be getting someone to a safe place as quickly as possible.

I read it over a weekend. But I think there's a better approach to reading this long series--bookmark it in your phone when you are doing a hurry-up-and-wait activity (jury duty, medical treatments, picking up kids at school, etc.). The short length of each fic makes it easy to pick up and put down. The variety of "ducklings" tales (what the ineffable pair call the students they help) will keep you interested. And the sense of joy and hope will make it a good way to spend time on a challenging day. Resistance fics aren't all human AUs. Check out The Last Angel (E) by @bellisima-writes. For millennia, Crowley has been Hell's Grand Inquisitor. He never served on earth. After Hell won their war against Heaven, they finally track down the last remaining Angel, Aziraphale. Crowley's given the job of torturing him for information. I don't want to give too much away. But Crowley's form of resistance involves being true to himself no matter what Hell demands. And Aziraphale has a more direct form of resistance planned. It's an exciting read as well as thought-provoking.

@snae-b writes the kind of fics you don't want to start reading before bed--at least not if you plan on getting up early the next day. Echo (E) is no exception. Each day, barista Aziraphale wakes up and goes into work. He serves a chauffeur, Crowley, who seems strangely familiar. Asking questions like "what makes one human" and "how do you fight against an evil activity that no one knows about," Echo is also just a plain old compelling story. And a resistance tale that, despite its futuristic setting, would not feel out of place beside a tale of the French underground resisting Nazis.

Mutual Aid (T) by malicegeres predates the Good Omens tv show. So presumably that makes it part of the Book!Omens universe. In it, radical bookseller Ezra Fell ends up hiding anarchist Crowley from the police after he's injured by skinheads. As the title indicates, they find a common cause and start working together. Loved the depiction of Adam as a leader. And the fic includes a listing of leftist political resources at the end.

Many consider The False and the Fair (E) by @princip1914 to be one of the best human AUs in the Good Omens universe. I certainly do. Aziraphale Wright's family runs a coal mine. Anthony Crowley, his former best friend, is the son of a mine worker. I don't want to spoil the story if you haven't read it. But what appears to be a story of regrets and making amends has a strong thread of accountability that results in wrongs being made right after a powerful act of resistance (with some help from the press). If you haven't read it, check it out. And if you have, read it again--with an eye towards resistance.

Finally, I'll end with a WIP, Good Works (E) by @majnoonathelibrarian. Set in 1987, Aziraphale is an assistant parliamentary secretary in the Thatcher government who finds something strange in the documents he's handling. Crowley is a mysterious "fixer" for a consulting firm who finds himself drawn into queer activism. Both of them have to navigate their day jobs along with increasing activism in a couple of different streams. The characterization is fascinating and the writer strings out the mysteries through the tale. This WIP is regularly updated and nearly complete. Remember, the fan fic community is a COMMUNITY. So don't forget to encourage writers of works underway by leaving kudos and comments. Writers are a gift to fans and we need to show them our appreciation. Finally, I'll give my pitch as someone who has been around much longer than most of you reading this. The yucky things happening in the world can be overwhelming. But it's a backlash. Because we've already made so much progress (both The False and the Fair and Good Works are good reminders of just how deadly the 1980s were for queer people). So resist. By making art and telling stories. By protesting. By contacting the people in power making decisions you disagree with. By caring for the vulnerable. By speaking out at local political meetings. By amplifying the voices of marginalized people. By using any of your unearned benefits to advocate for others. And by just existing as the beautiful and unique individual you are.

[omagpies]

Hello again, here for a few random questions about the Roleswap AU (Cool you liked my drawing by the way, might post more at some point in the future if that's alright ^_^)

So, just asking because I'm curious about it ofc and from what I read on the Roleswap posts, you may have not discussed it sooooo...

So, we know from the posts, Swap!Jimmy crashed the ship like in canon while Swansea was off his shift and does his thing, and from the first post of the Role Swap AU showed Curly asking Anya if she crashed the ship, did anyone consider or try to blame Swansea for crashing the PE ship? Because he was there last (before Anya got cooked) that I assume everyone could account, so besides Anya, HE'D definitely be a 'main suspect'

(I have a idea/headcanon that Jimmy tried to point fingers at both Anya and Swansea (mainly Anya though because ofc he does, the prick) and tried to convince Curly and Daisuke that it was those two, with Curly not hearing most stuff he'd say about either of them and assume it was a system failure or malfunction though it does linger in the back of his mind which leads to him asking Anya if she was the one who did it (and for Daisuke, his opinion I'm not sure about so I'm leaving it blank) obviously this is just my ideas though and I'm asking you about it so I'll hush about this now lol

2. This one's about Anya and Curly and them on the idea of them returning and recovering back on Earth, I know right now in our world (along with Role Swap's, most likely) don't have a way to fully recover a person's vision after loss. However, I'm curious on both Anya and Curly's perspective on, if in their world's future, a proper method to recover a person's vision was discovered, one they had enough money and accessiblity for them to do so, do you think Anya and Curly would discuss or consider trying to have an operation to recover Anya's sight? Just a random thought that came to me at some point.

Alright, I'm done and need to be off now. I hope you have a good day, afternoon or evening!

the crash happened during Anya's shift, and Jimmy made sure to point allllll the fingers at her as the one who allegedly got to the cockpit right as she was steering the ship into the asteroid. Swansea knows her enough to know she wouldn't crash the ship maliciously, but he also knows her enough to know she's a klutz, so he's silently on the fence and observing and biding his time until he knows more. as for Daisuke, this is his first trip on the Tulpar as the mechanic and before that he's only done one haul on the Tulpar as an intern (in this au he goes on his intern trip a few years earlier than in canon, falls in love with engineering, and spends the interim years in trade school), so he doesn't know anyone but Swansea that well and follows his lead. this leaves Curly, who has reasons (however flawed) to trust Jimmy, but also cannot believe that Anya would do something like this.

i think they would investigate the idea at the very least if it ever became available, but they would probably find that it's too risky for Anya to undergo any major surgeries after everything her body has been through :"3

(more roleswap au)

[just1cefor4ll]

—You’re the type of person they write rock songs about

modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. swearing, might be OOC, not proof read

part four || part five || part six

‘Ooh love, ooh lover boy

What’re you doing tonight? Ooh, hey boy.’

——————————————————————————

[powpow] y/n.

[powpow] y/n I KNOW YOU’RE STILL HERE.

[powpow] ANSWER ME YOU COWARD.

[ekk0stime] they’re definitely just lying there, staring at their screen, kicking their feet or some shit.

[ishaq] yeah, probably overthinking a two word message.

[truly.y/n] I ACTUALLY HATE YOU ALL.

[powpow] no u don’t <3

[ekk0stime] soooooo when’s the second date?

[ishaq] “second” implying y/n considers tonight a first date LMAO.

[powpow] THAT’S SO TRUE WAIT.

[truly.y/n] I AM NEVER SPEAKING TO ANY OF YOU AGAIN.

[powpow] oh, so you’ll just talk to Viktor instead? got it.

[ekk0stime] they walked right into that one.

[ishaq] perfect example of self-sabotage.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. This was a mistake. Responding was a mistake. Having friends was a mistake.

Your phone buzzed again—another message from Viktor.

[vik.tor222] You should rest. Big night and all.

[vik.tor222] Goodnight, rockstar.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck.

[truly.y/n] goodnight, vik :)

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your nightstand, rolling onto your side with a groan.

Your friends were.. annoying— but you were all like siblings, hence the mutual bullying.

The next morning, you woke up to exactly 53 new messages in the group chat. You stared at the notification in pure dread before finally tapping on it.

[powpow] GOOD MORNING STARSHINE THE EARTH SAYS HELLOOOOO

[powpow] u guys think y/n dreamt about viktor last night wrong answers only

[ekk0stime] absolutely not who do u think she is?

[ishaq] hell no— she knows a viktor? who the hell is he

[powpow] LMAOOAOA Y/N CONFIRM OR DENY

[powpow] HELLO????

[powpow] I KNOW UR AWAKE.

[ekk0stime] what if viktor was their first thought when they woke up too.

[ishaq] oh, they definitely checked their phone hoping for another text from him.

[powpow] AWWW THAT’S SO CUTE

You groaned, rubbing your hands down your face. These people were your friends—allegedly.

[truly.y/n] you guys need hobbies.

[powpow] we do. it’s bullying u.

[ekk0stime] it’s a full-time job actually.

[ishaq] benefits are great.

You were about to fire back something equally stupid when a private message popped up.

Viktor.

[vik.tor222] Morning, rockstar. :)

You blinked at the screen, suddenly feeling way too aware of yourself. Why was that the first thing you saw today? And why did it make your stomach do a weird little flip?

[truly.y/n] morning, viktor!!

Your group chat was still blowing up, but you ignored it. Instead, you stared at your phone, waiting to see if Viktor would say anything else.

And then—

[vik.tor222] Are you free tonight?

Your brain short-circuited.

You glanced at Viktor's message one last time before typing back.

[truly.y/n] I actually have plans tonight. Band sleepover

You waited for his response, but it was a little too long for your liking, and you started second-guessing yourself. Was that a weird thing to say? Should you have said something else?

Before you could overthink too much, his message came through.

[vik.tor222] Sounds like a fun time. I hope everything goes smoothly tonight.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you quickly typed back.

[truly.y/n] Thanks! It’ll be good, I’m sure.——————————————————————————You tossed your phone on your bed and grabbed a jacket, already hearing the excitement building outside your room. Powder, Ekko, and Isha were probably already messing around— making the other people in your block feel like kicking their asses.

As you left your room, the sounds of your bandmates filled the air, laughter echoing from outside your dorm

“Finally,” Powder called out as soon as she saw you, waving bowling tickets in the air. “We thought you were ditching us or something.”

“Right, I’m ready to go, come on— i’ll be driving so help yourself to whatever you want when we get there.” You said, plopping down into the drivers seat before driving off, radio on blast as you started your 15 minute journey to the game center.

Soon laughter filled the air as everyone tried to outdo each other with strikes, spares, and ridiculous celebratory dances after each turn. “Watch and learn, I’m about to get a strike,” Powder declared, only to knock down just three pins. You laughed, offering her a playful round of applause.

Isha made a dramatic bow after her perfect strike. "I’m the undisputed champion of this group." She signed, putting a peace sign before sitting down at the booth to eat some of the chips you bought. Ekko rolled his eyes after knocking down a solid seven pins. "Don't forget, I'm also winning in the high score department." As the game continued, you found yourself enjoying the distractions. It was good to have moments like this, to just not think too much about everything.

By the time the game ended, everyone was feeling a bit more relaxed, though the chatter about Viktor never quite stopped.

As you all packed up to leave the bowling alley, Powder was grinning. “I think we should have a rematch next week, but I’ll let you all catch up to my skills first.” Ekko raised an eyebrow. "Catch up? You just got lucky." "Uh-huh," Powder teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m basically the bowling queen." Isha gave you a look as you all walked out to the car. "So, is this the night we hear about your secret texts with Viktor? Or are they still off-limits?" Powder asked, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You groaned. "Can we please talk about something else for once?" "Not a chance," Ekko chimed in, “You know we’re all dying to hear how you really feel about him." You threw your hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. I’ll tell you everything, but later.” Everyone agreed— but you did earn a few groans before continuing your night.

When you finally made it to Ekko’s dorm, you were relieved to have a chance to relax. As everyone filed in, you grabbed snacks and drinks and settled on the couch. “Alright,” Ekko said, popping open a soda and leaning back. “Movie time” You groaned dramatically, “But you always pick the worst rom-coms ever, let Isha pick she always picks the good shit.” Ekko flips you off, grumbling before sitting down on the coach.

After a few moments of silence once the movie credits came rolling in, Powder leaned in with that recognisable mischievous grin. “Alright, no more dancing around it. Tell us what Viktor said. I need the full rundown.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of their anticipation, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. You knew you wouldn’t get out of this without giving them some details. Isha leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement. “We promise, no freakouts. Just the details.” She signed and sat right next to you, throwing her legs over your lap to scoot closer so she could see your phone screen which contained all the messages they’ve been dying to see.

You let them scroll through the messages, earning some dramatic gasps and ‘no way’s’ as they handed you the phone back. Of course, Powder spoke up first; “Yeah that’s definitely not a ‘we’re just friends’ type of message.” She said, pointing out several of the messages she deemed fit to that description— Ekko and Isha agreeing. You tried to brush it off, but your heart fluttered at the memory of his words. “It’s just polite. Nothing more.”

“Sure,” Ekko chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “I definitely text my friends good morning texts, ask to meet her alone without her very close group of friends, ask if she’s free the day after that and give her cute little nicknames.” He said very obviously with sarcasm laced in his voice.

The room went quiet for a second. Isha was the first to say something, her expression filled with intrigue. “Hold up. So, he asked if you were free tonight? Like, right now?” “Yeah, but I told him I had plans,” you said, looking at them sheepishly. “I have this sleepover with you guys, so I couldn’t—” you gestured toward them, “—ditch you.”

Powder raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fair, I’d be mad if you ditched us for Viktor. But still... that’s.. something.” You groaned and sank back into the couch, realizing you’d just confirmed all their suspicions. “I don’t know, alright? It’s not that deep. He’s just... being nice.” Ekko shook his head, smiling. “Nah, that’s more than being nice. He’s interested. You’d be crazy to think otherwise.” Isha nodded, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, he’s not texting you like that unless he really wants you.”

“Ugh,” you groaned again, covering your face with your hands. “Why do you guys have to make this such a big deal?” Powder laughed, slinging an arm around you. “Because, Y/N, it’s adorable and we’re here for it. Also, you’re totally not fooling us. There’s definitely something going on.” You shook your head but couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your face. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was something more to all of this. But you weren’t ready to dive into that just yet.

“Alright, enough about Viktor,” you said, sitting up straight. “Let’s just focus on having fun tonight, yeah? No more talking about him.” “Sure, sure,” Powder said with a grin. “But tomorrow you need to text him— and let us help you out. You’ve been warned.” You laughed, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease as your friends went back to teasing you in the most ridiculous ways. For tonight, though, you were content. You had your friends, a whole sleepover ahead of you, and the feeling of something new and exciting with Viktor still lingering in the back of your mind. You were okay with that—at least for now.

Viktor sat back in his chair, working on an essay the professor handed out two days ago. He let his friends tag along to the library with him so he had some sort of company— and partially because Jayce practically begged to come with.

Vi leaned forward with a grin that Viktor knew was both teasing and knowing. “Come on, Viktor. What’s going on with you and Y/N? There’s definitely some sparks between you too.” He carefully avoided her gaze, taking a long sip of his coffee, as if it would ground him. “There’s nothing going on. We’re just—getting to know each other.” The words felt rehearsed even as they left his mouth. Jayce raised an eyebrow, his attention now fully on Viktor. “You sure? You’ve been acting differently. You’ve never really been one for.. opening up to people.” Viktor remained calm, though his pulse quickened. "I’m still me, Jayce," he said, his voice a little too smooth. "Nothing’s changed."

Mel, who had been watching him quietly, folded her arms and spoke in a voice that was always direct. “You’re not fooling anyone, Viktor. Something’s different. I can tell by the way you’ve been acting around her.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered to her, his usual composure slipping just slightly. “I don’t think you understand,” he replied softly, his tone serious. “I’m not looking for anything complicated. I’m just.. not ready to go down that road. Not yet.”

“Alright. I won’t pressure you. But you’ve got to admit... there’s something there.” Vi said with a awkward smile, sensing the slight tension of the topic. Viktor didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, the conversation seemed to lull. He couldn’t really ignore the way Y/N made him feel—how she’d slipped into his life so effortlessly, how easy it was to be around her. But it was still too new. They’d known each other for less than a month. It felt too soon to even consider anything beyond what it was now.

Finally, after a long pause, Viktor sighed and set his coffee down, his fingers gripping the edge of the table with a tension that betrayed his calm exterior. “Fine,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter. “I do feel something. I won’t deny it.” He hesitated before continuing, his tone thoughtful, almost guarded. “But it’s too soon. We’ve barely known each other for a month. I’m not ready to rush into anything.”

The room fell quiet, the others processing his admission. Vi gave him a knowing look, but she didn’t press him further.

Mel spoke up after a bit, her tone more measured than usual. “It’s understandable, Viktor. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right. But don’t let fear of moving too fast hold you back, either. Whatever happens, happens. Just don’t shut yourself off completely.”Viktor nodded, the weight of their words settling on him. “I’m not shutting myself off,” he muttered, but his voice was softer now, almost to himself. “I just don’t want to move too fast. I need time to figure things out.” Jayce leaned back, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “Hey, at least you’re being honest with yourself. That’s a start.” Viktor gave a slight smile but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his attention to the books in front of him, the conversation lingering in the air between them.

For now, he’d keep his feelings close. But somewhere deep down, he knew that whatever happened with Y/N, it wouldn’t be so easily ignored.

© just1cefor4ll— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

taglist: @skullmvncher @startingtoloveyou @lolixsstuff @astarionapologist @erica2024

[unsiriuslydrowninglikereg]

Again, my fruity vamps

Marauders era vamp AU ( 3/3 for now ) :

Yay we’re done for now !! Here’s more lore

I'm back AND with the Jegulus fanart I've been on since November at that 🫢 ( posted on Insta the 12th of January )

I can't believe I was this slow just to finish this, but oh well. Also, my vamp AU is back !! I really liked the lore I came up with for this one, so I'm glad I could add a third fanart to complete it. I might do a wolfstar one too (I've got some vamp x vamp hunter stuff brewing for them, just gotta figure out what I want their dynamic to be like ).

Now, for this fanart in particular, I have to admit I kind of improvised the whole thing on a whim and just went with the flow afterwards ( there are so many plot holes in the overall story 😭 ). 

In this, since Regulus and Sirius are vamp royalty, Reg having a relationship with James (who's very much human) isn't too pleasing for Walburga and Orion ( not to mention the fact that they're plain out homophobic, but yk). Thankfully for him, Regulus' friends already have a lot of experience when it comes to running away for romantic and other personal purposes 😌👍. 

On James' end, it's not much better either. Since Fleamont, a retired vampire hunter, also happens to be closely tied to multiple vampire hunter families, James is kind of surrounded by people that would very much like to off Regulus and the Black family as a whole. But frankly, for James, the most complicated part is probably having to hide his feelings for Regulus from his childhood best friends, Remus and Peter, who are vampire hunters in training. Overall, it was sort of a relief for James when he finally managed to sort things out in order to create an escape for Regulus (honestly it's all thanks to Pandora and Lily be they were the passageway between the two ( Lily is James' fiancée if you didn't already know )). In the end, l'm not sure if I want to give them a happy ending or not, so I guess we'll see.

[nthspecialll]

Sorry if this is too out there, and if it is, feel free to ignore it!

How do you think the gang would react, in a zombie apocalypse AU, if Arthur got bit if they found out? I have a little zombie AU that I’ve made, where I try and keep the story the closest to canon as I can while making it zombie apocalypse instead of Wild West, (tlou and rdr2 are my biggest special interests right now, lol) and I’ve decided that at the end, Arthur ends up getting bit, (it’s Micah’s fault, not his), and I’ve thought about him telling Charles, and maybe Sadie, and asking them to help get John and his family as safe as they can before he potentially turns, but it just feels out of character for some reason? It’s probably because I’m trying to make the story go in a way different direction, though.

If it helps you any, see the bite as a substitude for TB and the appocolypse as a substitude for the downfall. He does tell Charles about TB, he does ask Sadie to help him get John to safety. It is absolutely in character because he does it.

As for how they would react, John we already know through undead nightmare, he just wants to save his family, he isn't too annoyed.

Dutch's stress is likely THROUGH THE ROOF, Hosea's patience will be far far shorter, Charles will be overworking himself, Lenny likely will too as he has expressed liking guard duty. Karen and Sadie will be at arms at all times, Susan will be herding the girls far more, making sure the camp is safe. Jack is scared and Abigail is trying to take care of him. Kieran is either going to try to keep the camp safe too, or try to make everything within it work while everyone else stresses over zombs.

Their advandages will however be that they are used to being raided, they are used to hiding and they are used to moving, they are not bound to one place and they know how to survive off the land. Hosea can make medicine, Kieran can make some too, Charles is a good hunter and Javier can make posions and... Someone can make firearrows, was that Charles too? I feel like that was Charles.

Uncle would also step up his game, we see that in Chapter 5 too where he is on guard duty and Reverend might actually use this crisis to get back to god, which is needed because several of the in game characters are religious and might need that guiding hand. Strauss would however be very useless unless he starts loan sharking in food rather than money but I got a feeling no one would trust him enough for that.

The first breakout would be the hardest, trying to find out what is going on, how to identify a zomb and so on, but after that they would be fairly okay. They don't need to worry about being poor because now they are rich, they have the skills and capablities to survive a zomb appocolypse.

[thelemoncoffee]

HPA au but Kokichi finally gets therapy

the idea is he spends his first two years at HPA with no therapy and everyone gets use to him being a total fuckass, halfway through the second year he and Shuichi get together, and that following summer break Shuichi joins his family and DICE in convincing him to get therapy and he finally caves and gives it a shot

come time for school to start up again he's actually made some progress in therapy and while he's still his usual lying trickster self, he's gone through just enough healing in therapy for everyone to notice that something has changed and it's kinda freaking them out a bit

one of the things i thought would be kinda funny for this is if Kaito refused to believe Kokichi's actually in therapy after Kokichi himself told him because to him that is The Most unlikely thing for him to do- like surely there's a more reasonable explanation for this behavior change than Kokichi fucking Ouma getting therapy.

but then later into the year he his friends are all hanging out at Kaede asks Shuichi how that therapy she heard Kokichi was getting was going and to Kaito's complete shock Shuichi actually giddily tells them about how much he's improved in his personal life- even if it can't be seen all that well at school- and how proud he is of Kokichi for his efforts even if they're small

and for those of you who are fond of my hc Kokichi, might i offer the prospect of him finally confronting the trauma that is the death of his brother? i mean it is the trauma that makes my Kokichi the person he is today, the trauma his entire life is built around, the trauma that drives him to move forward.

it would be really interesting for him to finally get professional help for it and have to relearn who he is because of just how much of himself was born from that trauma. i can imagine him being very lost for a while after he realizes he doesn't really know himself all that well because so much of who he presents himself as is derived from his drive to make his brother proud of him, and his attempts to try and fill his shoes in a way he just can't

[pomefioredove]

AAAAAALLLL IIIII WAAAANNTTT FOR CHRISTMAAAAAASSSS IIIIIiisssss...

A sugar cookie #10 (help which boy is that idk) with whipped cream, sprinkles and chocolate drizzle please?

(I am SO HAPPY YOURE MAKING AN EVENT SERIOUSLY I love your blog!)

part one here

order #10, sugar with whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ opening old wounds II

summary: ruggie's first love is leona's new fiance(e) tropes: royalty au, hurt/comfort, exes to lovers characters: ruggie additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu

"This isn't going to work,"

Leona rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time. "Since when are you so picky? It's not like you to reject free stuff,"

Ruggie crinkles his nose, looking down at the outfit Leona had "thrown together" for him. "Maybe to sell, but not for me... it's scratchy,"

"It's my old ceremonial robes, and it's what you're getting. Now shut your trap before you get us both in trouble,"

He sighs, dragging his feet behind Leona as he leads him through the darkened halls of the palace. The guards are quiet and imposing as ever, sharp eyes following the prince and his servant.

Ruggie is thankful when they finally make it outside, away from the prying eyes of the palace staff, but they're still the least of his worries.

"I don't like this,"

"Yeah, you've told me about a million times. But you and I aren't accomplishing anything if you keep whining,"

"Why do we have to accomplish anything, anyway! I like my job here!" Ruggie insists, his heart racing as they get closer to the gardens.

Leona gives him a wayward glance. "You really wanna be stuck here forever?"

He has nothing to say to that. Leona grunts and stops in front of a wall, covered in blooming flowers and vines. The night is mild, with a warm breeze, and the stars are out. It's the perfect time and place for a romantic rendezvous... unless you're Ruggie.

"Don't look so nervous. It's just a date. They're not gonna eat you,"

"That's not really what I'm worried about,"

Leona rolls his eyes (again) and gives Ruggie a boost over the wall. "See 'ya later. Don't screw this up,"

And then he's gone, and it's just the sky, the flowers, the soft sound of running water, Ruggie, and... you.

You look good.

Ruggie bites his lip at the thought. Why is this so hard?!

His grandma always told him that time heals, but how can he be sure of that? What if he's just tearing off the bandage and opening old wounds?

You were perfect. You were then, and you are now.

And he's... well, he's himself.

"It's you,"

Ruggie hadn't even noticed you, the way you noticed him. He'd been caught between memories (crushed between them, really).

Still, he forces himself to grin.

"Yeah. I hope you weren't expecting a prince or anything,"

You smile back. It's friendly, but cold. Enough to send a shiver through his body, anyway.

"Not really. I still recognize your handwriting, you know,"

Oh. Right. "Shishi... should have guessed,"

"You wanted to see me?"

That question, simple as it was, leaves him at a loss for words. Did he want to see you? He wasn't quite sure yet.

"...Uh, yeah. I thought you might wanna... talk,"

"About us,"

He nods. You were always good at that- reading him. Even when he didn't want to be read.

You take a seat on an ornately carved stone bench. It smells like Leona- damn it, that's why he picked this place for your date? Because he naps here?!

Ruggie sits on the grass.

"How have 'ya been? I mean- pretty good, huh? Marrying a prince and all that," he says, flicking a beetle off his shoulder. "Must be pretty exciting."

"I guess so..."

You sound kinda bummed out, he thinks. Damn curiosity...

"What's with the face? Isn't this what you always wanted?"

"I never said that,"

"You never had to,"

He crosses his arms and leans against the bench, looking anywhere but at you- the grass, the walls, the starry sky...

Ruggie didn't always believe in all that stuff about the old kings in the stars, but he did then. And he asks them, is there any way I'll get out of this with my dignity?

The silence holds until you speak again.

"It was nice,"

Ruggie smiles, if only a little. "It was, huh?"

Thoughts of hot summer mornings, when you were both younger, when Ruggie served at your palace instead of Leona's. Warmed by the sun and each other's company. His jokes, your laugh, both of your hopes and dreams becoming one.

"It was never gonna last, though,"

"You said that," you say, drawing your knees to your chest. "But how are you so sure?"

Ruggie shrugs. "Cause guys like me don't get people like you. Even if I stayed, you woulda been married off to some prince or duke or something, and I woulda been left in the dust, anyhow,"

"So that's why you left,"

He shrugs again. You furrow your brow and look at your lap, thinking, but not speaking. It goes on like this for some time.

"Don't worry," he's the first to speak. "Leona is real nice. He seems a little scary at first, but he's secretly a big softie."

You smile, again, if only a little.

"I don't want to marry the prince,"

What a thought. A million people would kill for your life, your position. To marry into a royal, stinking rich family. He almost giggles at the absurdity of it.

"And why's that?"

"Because I want you,"

Ruggie finally looks at you. Damn it. Damn your ability to read him, to know just what he's thinking.

"I still do," you say, hands in your lap. "I never stopped thinking that you'd come back, you know. When I saw you here, I..."

"Don't say that,"

You look back at him. He crosses his arms. "You can't say that to me. You're making me... you just... don't say those things,"

"But I-"

"Don't make me fall in love with you again," he says. "I'll get tossed aside no matter what. We both know that."

You stand, suddenly, and look down at him with your own arms crossed.

"Don't you dare say those things about me. I didn't ask to be born into this life as much as you didn't ask to be born into yours. I hate that you still think of me like that- like I'm some villain! Is it so hard to believe that I care about you? That you're not just some affair to me? I would call off the engagement with Leona right now. All you have to do is ask,"

Ruggie stares, wide-eyed, speechless again. There are many thoughts going through his head now, and though some are terribly corny, most are even even worse than that- they're hopeful.

"What will it take for you to trust me, Ruggie?"

He stands, slowly, meeting your gaze with his own.

"You'd really throw that all out for me?"

"Yes,"

You sound so... decisive. Affirmative. As if the answer is obvious.

Ruggie looks at his feet, if only to think, and you tilt his chin up with two fingers to bring his gaze back to the stars.

"Just say the word,"

[chillentertainer]

an interlude (to my john wick au)

thomas is seventeen—a quiet lad, thoughtful. bright, too. and uncommonly beautiful. angelic, his mother’s friend once drunkenly called him. he has his mother’s roman nose and his father’s pensive blue eyes. pretty like a girl, his classmate henry anglteton, sneers at him.

angleton, who holds a particular hatred for thomas and is built like goliath, frightens thomas. he would never admit it, no, but angleton could easily pummel thomas into a paste. in fact, thomas had witnessed him beat another poor boy until his face was a mass of blood and bruises. then angleton turned around, spotted thomas hiding behind the trees, and smiled. 

thomas knew in that moment he was next. and he knew that this was god’s punishment for his fear and inaction. he had stood by and watched as this horror had been committed, and now he had been condemned to experiencing the same. 

still, he prayed for god’s guidance. he asked Him for the wisdom and courage to face angleton, for a way thomas could stop his reign of terror. he asked forgiveness for what he had done to gregory, for penance. he asked Him for mercy. he begged for it. 

and god could be merciful, yes, but sometimes he could be cruel. it was all for our own good in the end, though His actions might be inscrutable. 

it is a rainy night when thomas returns from another failed confession with father samuel. another night of stammering and half-complete sentences finally petering out into an oppressive silence. 

“what it is it, my child,” father samuel had said, impatience underlying his gentle tone. 

thomas could not say. 

thunder roars above him. a hundred years ago, they would’ve said, god is angry. now thomas knows better. (but does he?) the trail through the countryside is quiet. there is no one there except for a figure leaning against a tree. thomas nears him, his steps quickening. a nonsensical string of words pour from his lips, the world’s most pathetic prayer. please god, please god, please god. not today. let it not be today that i am punished. i am not ready, i am afraid—

“hey pretty boy,” angleton calls out and waves a hand. “was waitin’ for you to come by.” lightning flashes and his brass knuckles are illuminated. 

god’s will be done. 

—

the beating is bad enough that thomas is hospitalized for a week and a half. his left eye is sealed shut. his ribs are bruised. the doctors, his parents, and police all ask, who and why? thomas does not answer. 

god did this, he wants to say, which sounds ridiculous but is true. god placed angleton in my path, as both punishment and lesson. 

they would take him to a mental facility if he said all this. he keeps his lips clamped shut. 

his uncle, an SAS officer who has just returned home from service in Afghanistan, enters and sits at his bedside. thomas ignored uncle marcus. they sit in silence. thomas is always sitting in silence lately. finally uncle marcus nods at the crucifix necklace hanging around thomas’s neck. “how much did that help you?” he says. “because it looks to me like your god did jack shit.” he leans forward. “tommy, god can’t save you. he won’t help you. but with some training and a gun? the same bastards who did this to you will be begging for mercy at your feet.”

thomas turns his head to meet his uncle’s gaze. “i don’t want that,” he whispers. “i just want to make sure they don’t do that to anyone else ever again.” 

“and you can,” uncle marcus responds. “there are bullies and evil everywhere in the world. someone needs to go and clean it up. that could be you.” 

he squeezes thomas’s shoulder before he stands. “think about it. get better soon, tommy, i’m tired of your mum crying over the phone to me about your condition.” 

—

the next month, thomas graduates, and instead of entering a seminary like he had always planned, he joins the army. he picks up a gun for the first time in his life, aims, and pulls the trigger. this is how he finds out he is a crack shot. this is also how he falls further from god’s grace. 

—

he hasn’t been considered pretty in many decades now. but grown men flinch when he steps near them. this is called a trade-off. you make many trade-offs in life. you trade in your kindness for evil, your god for a gun, your collar and cassock for camos and dress uniforms. by the time you’ve realized you’ve made a mistake, it’s too late. there is no return.