#throws him into a pile of leaves and elbow drops him

[shrapnelstars]

Babe, wake up. New Josh Dry Face fighting fantasy book stream just dropped.

There better be some lunging, or else -5000/10.

[axelsagewrites]

Ragnar Lothbrok*Pet

Pairing: Ragnar x f!captured reader

Kinktober Day twenty-four: thigh riding/dry humping with Ragnar Lothbrok – after taking a Christian girl prisoner he decides to show you the pleasure a heathen can feel

Word count: 1491

Warnings: talks of religion, religious corruption, religious guilt, teasing, heavy flirting, mini crisis of faith ig, being ragnars pet/prisoner, making out, thigh riding, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

“She is a Christian,” Floki whispered in Ragnars ear as the pair studied the girl presented to them, “We should get rid of her, not drag her around with us. She will only slow us down,”

While Floki’s eyes bore into Ragnars skull the kings’ eyes lingered elsewhere. They had taken your village some days ago when one of his men found you hiding in the forest. The sight of you on your knees, even if it were to pray to a false god to survive, was enough to convince Ragnar.

“I should like to keep her,” he said, watching how your lips wrapped around the words you mumbled, “Untie her hands,” he commanded one of his men as Floki sighed.

“What is it with you and your Christian pets? At least keep her hands bound,” he tried to reason but Ragnar just shook his head. He knew you wouldn’t run.

A couple of weeks had passed of successful raiding and gold was beginning to pile up around him. Ragnar sat at the makeshift feast they had decided to throw after taking another village however his eyes were once again on the Christian girl who sat across from him. At first you used to flush under his gaze, a sight he enjoyed and often tried to tease out by whispering pretty words in your ear.

Ragnar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, “What are you thinking about?” he asked, your eyes snapping up to meet his.

“That I may sleep soon. The night is growing long,”

“That is an excellent idea. Perhaps I should join you,” he said, smirking at the way you began to stutter and flush, “Tell me something. Where you married before?”

You paused for a moment before answering, “No, why?”

Ragnar shook his head, “well I heard,” he said, leaning in closer and grinning as you did the same as his voice dropped to a whisper, “that it is only the married ones who get fucked,”

“I-well-I- yes it would be a sin otherwise,” you stuttered out, face growing hot as Ragnar poured himself another glass of wine. “I’m not even supposed to talk about…that,”

“Why not?”

“It is a sin,”

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious child.

The awkward smile worn on your lips made a real one grow on his face, “Because god said so,”

“Have you spoken to god,”

“Well, no,”

“Then how do you know?” a frustrated sigh left your lips that made Ragnars grin widen. He was getting to you and enjoying every moment of it. he leaned in closer once more, whispering for your sake more than anything,” Why would a god create something so beautiful then not let you appreciate its wonders?”

“It is a sin,” you clung to the excuse, realising you did not know why either.

The laugh that left his mouth however caught you off guard and your lips twitched, almost forming a smile at the smile on his face. That was until he spoke again, “Perhaps we should sin together one time,” he said, standing and grabbing his cup of wine. Before he could leave, he sauntered over to whisper one last thing in your ear, “And the idea of you falling apart on my cock is enough to make me believe in my god,”

A few more weeks had passed and soon you would be heading back with the raiders to their land. Despite still being wary of many of the men some, Ragnar specifically, had grown on you. “Where will I stay when you take me back with you?” you asked one night as you began to brush through your hair.

Ragnar glanced at you as he began to unlace his boots. While he had unbound your hands, he had insisted on keeping you in his tent, thankfully on your own bed, thought you wondered if this was for his entertainment or safety, “I will find somewhere for you,” he answered simply before reaching to pull his shirt over his head.

Despite seeing this sight many times, the way his muscles flexed, and his tattoos gleamed against his skin made a tingle shoot through your spine. “So, I won’t be a slave? Or is it a thrall you call them?”

Ragnar paused for a moment, his eyes scanning over you, “You need not worry little one. I will take care of you,”

A moment passed before you allowed yourself to smile, “Thank you Ragnar,” you said and a small smile crept onto his lips as he settled himself above his sheets, his eyes scanning over you.

“Come here,” he said, nervousness washing over you, “Trust me,”

You paused at first before standing from beneath your covers. Your underdress was the only thing to cover you now as you crossed the tent. Ragnar patted the spot beside him and cautiously you sat down, picking at your thumbs. His hand closed over yours, “You’ll make yourself bleed,” he said, and you just nodded as his eyes continued to study your face.

“Has anyone ever kissed you?” he whispered.

You swallowed before answering, “Once,” you said, tempted to pick at your skin but somehow resisting, “But I wasn’t very good at it,”

“Perhaps you should try again,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he moved to rest his forehead against yours.

“Perhaps you could teach me,” you whispered, a spark lighting in his eyes, “if I am to go back to your land perhaps it is time I Learned your ways,”

“All our ways?” he asked, his hand reaching over to run his fingers lightly up your thighs making you shiver, “Is that what you desire little one?”

“Would it be so wrong if I did?” you asked and the way your wide eyes gazed into his made Ragnars cock begin to harden.

His hand trailed slowly up your leg, torturously so until it arrived at your hip. You gasped when he grabbed it, pulling you over to straddle his thigh. “Ragnar- “you gasped, when he bent his leg up, propping you up on his strong thigh, “What are you doing?”

“Teaching,” his hands reached for your hair, pulling your lips down onto his. This was far different from the last time someone had kissed you. this was rough and needy and made whines leave your throat as one of his hands moved to your hips.

You couldn’t even question what he was doing before he began to move your hip, making you grind down onto his thigh. The way you whimpered made Ragnar wonder if Odin himself had blessed him. Ragnar guided your hips and soon your body took over, rubbing your clit against his strong thigh as his hand squeezed the flesh of your hips.

When he pulled his lips away yours chased after his making a chuckle leave them before he began to kiss down your jaw. “You don’t need to be quite little one,” he mumbled against your skin as a soft moan left your mouth, “No one will judge,”

His lips soon found the crook of your neck, kissing it in a way that made a knot in your stomach tighten. Since your hips now moved of their own accord his hands were free to travel up your frame, taking your tits in his hand and making you gasp as he squeezed them softly.

He felt his cock twitch at the feeling of the Hardened buds beneath your shift. His fingertips trailed slowly around your nipples at first, enjoying your needy whines before he finally began to roll them between his fingers.

“Oh god,” you moaned as he pinched them gently, but your words just made him want you more and groan against your skin.

It didn’t take long for a tight feeling to spread across your body, “What is happening to me?” you asked but it came out as more of a whine.

“Enjoy it little one,” Ragnar said, his lips moving to kiss your check, “Let yourself let go,” he said before your lips slammed onto his even catching yourself by surprise. Your moans allowed him to slip his tongue in, the kiss becoming messier and more desperate as you grinded against his thigh.

He felt your body jerk and Ragnar smirked into the kiss knowing what was about to happen. Your lips broke apart only for your head to fall in the crook of his shoulder, “Oh god,” you began to moan again before you felt your peak wash over you like a tidal wave.

sensing your body tensing and hips slowly Ragnar reached for your hips, moving them for you so he could watch you ride out your peak on his thigh. Curses left your lips before you finally slumped into his chest. Ragnar let out a small chuckle, letting his leg lay flat and holding you against his chest. Ragnar had defiantly made the right decision he thought.

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩. 𝟑﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! tsukishima comes to a realization ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! timeskip k. tsukishima x chubby!fem!reader, angst (i dont write angst much i hope i did good) ﹒ ◠ note!!  playlist i listened to while making this !  i still cant reply to comments, ALSO LAST PART i hope you liked the ending, but if u didnt let me know if u want more or just another tsuki series౨ wc!! 2.2k part 2 not proofread

Opening your eyes the sun shone on your eyes, memories of the night before instantly flooding your mind making a blush form on your cheeks.

Leaning up and resting on your elbows you smiled, the memories weren't a dream, and you weren't being delusional. Your eyes scanned the room, remembering how the stars looked while Tsukishima was on top of you. You shook your head, metaphorically swatting the thoughts away.

Facing to the right you noticed the bed was perfectly put together, what time was it?

Searching for your phone, and some clothes, you saw there was a small pile on the nightstand to your right. On top of the pile was your phone, and below it was a pair of volleyball shorts and his hoodie.

Grabbing your phone first the screen lit up, he had charged it for you. A smile appeared while you read the time, it was six. Tsukishima didn't have to leave until seven, you knew that because you leave at the same time.

Tsukishima would never tell you but he is supposed to leave at six thirty, but to talk to you he waits the extra thirty minutes and chooses to sprint to practice.

Throwing on the clothes you made your way to the living room finding Tsukishima sitting on his couch in silence, seemingly lost in a deep thought with a pensive look on his face.

"Hey, Tsuki," You greeted softly, not wanting to frighten him.

He swiftly directed his attention to you, he didn't answer for a moment as he gathered his thoughts and words. The silence brought a nervous look to your expression.

"Listen," He paused, "About last night,"

"Yeah?" You felt your heartbeat quicken.

"It was a mistake," He stood up now, walking over to you with ease.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. You weren't quite sure how to feel in the moment, or well, you couldn't decide how to feel with so many emotions mixing in your head. You were filled with anger, sadness, and confusion. If barfing was an emotion, you'd feel that as well. Your mind was so clouded with emotions you couldn't form a reply, and if it wasn't what were you even meant to say to him? Just agree with him? Agree that it was a mistake and you'd go back to your normal routine together? It was something you'd never be able to do.

"We shouldn't have done it," He added.

You let out a scoff, staring up at him with your tear-filled eyes, "I cannot believe you, Tsukishima," You felt your tears drip down your cheeks and onto the floor.

"I dont want to lose you," Tsukishima felt tears threaten his eyes as he stared at your form. It was true, he didn't want to lose you, and being more than your friend meant there was a possibility of that happening. He was scared of how things would change.

"Lose me?" You sobbed out, "Youre losing me now,"

You turned on your heel towards the door, but before you could even get a step in Tsukishima wrapped his hand around your wrist.

You turned your head to him expectantly.

Tsukishima wanted so badly to tell you to stay, to tell you he didn't want this, but nothing came out, no matter how hard he tried to verbalize his thoughts he just couldn't, so instead he stared into your eyes with a pleading look, hoping and praying you understood what he meant.

You pulled your wrist away, "Dont contact me anymore, Tsukishima,"

He watched as you turned around, he watched as you slammed the door, and he watched the time pass as he stood planted in the same spot for thirty minutes. He wanted to cry, he wanted to sob, he didn't remember the last time he felt like this, if ever. Tsukishima in no way was an emotional person, well he wasn't until you came into his life. He thought back to his life before you, how every day was the same, how most of his days were filled with boredom or anger.

He missed you and you had only been gone for thirty minutes. But he decided it was simply for the best, you deserved someone who could properly speak their emotions, someone who isn't so passive-aggressive, someone who isn't him.

Your heart ached and yearned, you weren't sure how you could cry so much about someone who you had only just seen thirty minutes ago, someone who was probably fine without you, who was probably going about his day like his words held no meaning to them. You let him see all of you, feel all of you. The ghost of his hands only made you sob harder into your pillow, the way he roamed you as if you were the only person he'd ever laid eyes on. Were any of his touches real, did the words he said hold genuine meaning? So many thoughts ran through your head.

You knew you'd be late to work at this rate so you decided to call off work. You noticed you were still in his clothes, god, it was like he was haunting you.

Tsukishima didn't want to stay in his apartment any longer, everywhere he looked there you were. Memories of you on the floor studying, watching movies on his couch, baking in his kitchen, and now ghosts of you in his bed. He settled on heading to practice to hopefully take his mind off of you.

It was a decision he had really regretted.

You never left his mind, so much so it was affecting the way he played.

"What is the matter with you, Tsuki?" Kogane shouted after Tsukishima didn't even jump to block the ball. The nickname reminds him instantly of you.

"Its just practice," Tsukishima replied in a calm tone while walking to the benches for a sip of water.

"But you totally could've blocked that!" Kogane followed him.

Kogane considered Tsukishima a close friend, but Tsukishima did not, and he thought he always made that clear, but every day Kogane proved him wrong.

Tsukishima just sighed in response, he knew Kogane was right, Kyotani was always easy to read in two-on-twos, but how could he focus when all that he could think of was the sight of you crying? He wasn't sure how hed ever be able to forgive himself, let alone forget you.

"Is it about that girl that brings your lunches?" Kogane asked after taking a big gulp of water and almost choking on it, much to Tsukishimas's misfortune.

"It's none of your business," Tsukishima tried to maintain his usual scowl.

"Oh, it so is! Tell your dear friend about it," Kogane said, waiting expectantly.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because when she was coming around here you actually smiled a few times," Kogane explained, mimicking Tsukishima's angry face.

Koganes words didn't help Tsukishima in the slightest. He missed you even more so now, he missed how happy you'd make him, though he had a weird way of showing it.

"It's too late," Tsukishima said, he couldn't believe he was actually saying this to Kogane.

"It's never too late, Tsuki,"

Tsukishima didn't believe him, Kogane wasn't there, and he didn't see the look you gave him when you told him to not contact you again.

Despite everything, Kogane's words stuck with Tsukishima, and they rang in his head annoyingly, they rang on his way to class, and on the way back to his apartment, they especially rang when he passed the bakery you worked at. So there he stood, in the cold, outside the door. He contemplated walking in, what would he even say? Were you even at work? What if you already moved away?

Before he could change his mind Tsukishima opened the door, the warm air welcoming him in, as well as the smell of freshly baked bread and cakes.

"Welcome!" A girl called from the desk.

As Tsuki walked over to her he examined the walls and the pictures that hung on them, some were of customers, and cakes, but there was one of you standing next to a cake about as tall as you. You looked beautiful with your smile, the smile that used to be towards him. How he missed you.

Once Tsukishima asked if you were here the girl gave him a strange look, "Why? Whats it to you?" She spoke, attitude lacing her voice.

Tsukishima was taken aback by her aggressive tone, "I'm a friend," Though friend wouldn't be the best choice of wording.

"Are you Tsukishima?"

He raised a brow, "Yes?" How would she have already known his name?

"Oh! She talks about you like all the time, she let a cake burn one time to text you back!" She said with a smile.

Tsukishima felt his heart pang at the new information, here you were burning cakes to text him back and he shattered your heart like it was nothing, how could he have allowed himself to do such a thing? Losing you because he couldn't properly communicate his feelings because he was scared of something unknown.

Tsukishima liked to consider himself a smart person, but at this moment, here in this bakery, he felt like a complete and utter fool.

He found himself standing outside your door, hands by his sides. What was he even doing? You made it painfully obvious you wanted nothing to do with him.

"Tsuki?" Your voice called from down the hall, Tsukishima swiftly turned his head to meet your gaze. You were holding a brown grocery bag, your eyes were puffy and your hair was a mess, but he saw past that, to him you still looked as beautiful as you did that night.

Tsukishima didn't know what to say, everything he was previously thinking faded within a flash, his words once again failing him.

You stared at Tsukishima, he looked distraught, the sight of him was almost enough to make tears form in your eyes.

You walked closer to your door as he turned to completely face you, he prepared for you to yell at him, tell him you hate him, anything. He wasn't prepared for you to walk right by him and straight into your apartment.

Tsukishima sighed and entered his own, if he couldn't use words, he'd use something he knew you loved.

Baking.

Heading to his kitchen he took out all the ingredients he'd need to make strawberry shortcake. Looking at the bottle of vanilla you helped him pick out he smiled, remembering the look on your face while you were explaining the differences, the glimmer in your eye.

Tsukishima wasn't the best at baking, which was one of the reasons he liked having you over so much, you'd always bake his favorite dish for him, you were always doing things for him and he didn't even realize what he had.

Placing the last strawberry on the whipped cream he stepped back to get a full view of it. It was... strawberry shortcake for sure from certain angles. He didn't have enough vanilla to make another one since you'd always use his, so this... creation... would have to do.

Carefully walking to your door he knocked, and after a few moments you appeared, teary-eyed.

You rolled your eyes at Tsukishima, you didn't want to, but you couldn't help it. He broke your heart, and even after he did you still thought of him, you should be angry, and furious, you should hate him, and you hate that you don't. You hate that you still want him, you hate that he's still the person you think of most.

"What-"

Tsukishima cut you off by showing you the shortcake.

Your expression turned to confusion as you examined the creation on the plate before you.

"I didn't know that color was possible..." You muttered, trying to hide your amusement.

"I made it for you, I didn't have any more vanilla left so I couldn't make another one."

"Its gonna take more than that for me to forgive you," You flatly stated despite everything in you wanting to forgive him, to pull him into a hug, to hear his laugh.

"I'm sorry," He blurted out, finally finding the words to say to you, "I was scared,"

"Scared of what?"

"Losing you,"

You weren't sure what to say to him, you weren't even sure what to think at that moment. He lost you because he was scared of losing you? None of it made any sense to you.

"I meant what I said," He paused, "I can't stay away from you,"

And for the first time in a while, you managed to crack a smile, and so did Tsukishima.

You took the plate from his hands, "Youre on thin ice, Tsukishima Kei,"

Tsukishima felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, he finally had you back, albeit he had a bit more work to do but he was more than ready for that if it meant having you in his life again. You, the one who made mornings tolerable, the one who made him realize there were more emotions than anger and boredom.

"Dont be a stranger, Tsuki," You said with a soft smile, to which he happily reciprocated.

"I dont think there's a world in which I would be,"

Tsukishima hated a lot of things.

He hated mornings, he hated polyester, he hated loud neighbors, overly enthusiastic people, and most of all, making friends with his neighbors.

But when you were around, he learned to tolerate things just a bit more.

mlist. rules. tags.

© 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

tag: @ilovemymomscooking

part 1

part 2

[chidorrrita]

・❥・and I just might know you too

the worries of a scientist never go away but you make them slightly better

: ̗̀➛ viktor x gn!reader

: ̗̀➛ cw: just sweet fluff, s1 act2 vik, angst if you squint your eyes and have watched s2 (but no spoilers so don't worry)

: ̗̀➛ wc: 1k+

: ̗̀➛ a/n: My finals are coming up and I’m feeling incredibly stressed so in the spirit of things I thought of making Viktor equally stressed so we can tear our hair out together

Progress Day is only a week away and Viktor couldn’t be more stressed. He’s spent almost every day he can at his lab, opting to sleep in his makeshift bed and eating subpar cafeteria food in order to try and finish the grand machinery he and Jayce have planned to show off. 

On the rare occasion, you drop by his little lair to leave an important paper from his apartment or a home cooked meal. He gives you a curt thank you and immediately returns to work leaving no time for distraction as you are often his biggest one. You had once come with plans of eating lunch with him, which he greatly appreciated, but had to turn down as he surely would not want to leave your company and work would never be done. So you keep your visits short if only to save Jayce the headache of yet another unfinished stack of papers on his desk.

The week slowly passes, uneventful and boring with Viktor cooped up, unable to share his new findings or sassy wit, which you sorely miss, but soon Progress Day arrives. 

The entirety of Piltover is buzzing in excitement and everyone at your job can’t seem to stop talking about what “Golden Boy” Talis has in store for them this year. Although it is a very exciting day, your giddiness is not towards the new fancy technology or the colorful parade, but rather a certain, currently distressed, scientist. Your boss yells over the commotion for everyone to settle down before sulking off to his office and you count the minutes until your shift is over.

The moment the clock hand hits three you are out of there, missing your boss once again shouting over the desks demanding a thank you for half-day of work, and rush out the door and towards the trolleys taking people to the center of town. You hop on the back just as one is leaving, nearly tumbling over your impatient feet before grabbing the copper pole, watching as the buildings get smaller in the distance as you approach the ever growing academy building. Leaping off the trolley, you race inside, taking two steps at a time on the several staircases until you find yourself in front of Viktor’s lab once again.

You rap your knuckles against the door once then twice. On the other side you hear light shuffling and the sound of a metal crutch hitting the floor until the door opens to an exhausted looking Viktor. 

The bags under his eyes have gotten significantly deeper, and his suit quite wrinkled no doubt from hours of hunching over his desk. His face visibly lightens at the sight of you 

“What a welcome surprise. I thought you were coming here after the ceremony.”

You step through, eyes scanning the messy state of his lab, crumbled paper strewn about the floor and varying sizes of metal gears taking up most of his desk.

“I was but my boss let us out early today. A sign of his endless generosity.” You draw out your words, elegantly throwing your hands up, as your boss is anything but generous. Chuckling to yourself, you spin on your back foot towards Viktor, taking in his disheveled appearance, the fluffy spikes pointing in all different directions. “I hope that’s okay.”

He lets out a light laugh, nodding his head. “Of course.” 

Closing the door behind him and settling into his stool pushed to the corner of his desk, the only part that isn’t covered in gears. You saunter over, leaning against the side of the desk, peering at piles of paper with chicken scratch writing that could only belong to Viktor. How he’s able to read his notes is beyond you. One of science's greatest mysteries. 

The desk creaks as Viktor places his elbows upon it, a hand above his brow then dragging it down his face in frustration, shutting his eyes. A low grumble escapes his chest before he blurts out “I just don’t understand.” 

You turn your head slightly, but stay silent and let him continue, and he lets out another dejected sigh. “The professor won’t allow us to present our new technology. We could be changing lives right now.” 

Now you’ve never been very scientifically inclined, but you have learned that much in the field is controlled by shady deals and red tape through Viktor. This must be another one of those cases and Viktor has never been one to care for what he would call “petty office politics” even concerning the Council. 

There isn’t much you can do other than comfort him, so you take his tired hands in yours, rubbing slow circles over his overworked tendons. “I’m sorry Vik.” 

His voice softens, relaxing against your touch. “There's no need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.” 

He momentarily leaves your hold to guide you in front of him, moving his papers and patting the empty spot on the desk. You oblige and gently take a seat as to not disturb the rest of his contraptions. Opening your legs, you scoot his stool closer with your feet, and he smoothly slots in between, head resting against your chest. The soft beating of your heart calms him, and he melts further into you. 

Your hand reaches up to brush through his thick hair, tucking it behind his ear, bending down to whisper, “it will all work out. I’m sure of it.”

He snorts and gives you an incredulous look. “How can you be so confident?” 

Your reply comes easily. “Because I know you. You’ll find a way. You always have.”

Any response he had dies on his tongue and instead he gives you a sheepish smile, cheeks turning slightly red at your compliment. You smile back, leaning forward to give him a chaste kiss which only turns him even more red. He retreats back to your chest, arms circling around your waist squeezing tighter than before. 

Perhaps you are right. All this will work out in the end and he can do what he set out to be. Not merely a scientist chained to create whatever his contributors wanted but someone who actually helps people. Perhaps even help the people of Zaun. Give them the same hope you have given him.

He presses a kiss just above your heart, a promise to you and himself that he will stay true to his dream. 

[midnightspasms]

Pairing: Professor!Geto x reader

Synopsis: Geto likes your type. The kind of girl who'd never risk her future by engaging in any sort of inappropriate rendezvous with her nasty professor, him. So when you apply to become his teaching assistant, he can't let the opportunity go.

Content warnings: Swearing, male masturbation, lewd/perverse behaviour, age gap, teacher x student relationship, spit sharing if you squint, Geto is a creep and a pervert!

Suguru wouldn't exactly consider himself a moral person. Sure, he didn't steal or kill, but that was the bare minimum. He wouldn't ever fail a student purely because he didn't like their face, but maybe he'd put much of the topics they struggled in in the test. So sure he wasn't exactly Jack the Ripper, but he wasn't that much of a good person.

The first day you walked into his class, he could tell that there was something in his chest for you. It wasn't serious, wasn't plentiful. Truly, if you dropped the class, he'd probably end up forgetting you entirely.

But you didn't, and the more he saw you, well...

He likes the kind of girl you are; the pretty, wealthy heiress with gold on her wrists and diamonds on her ears. You're the girl with a meticulously crafted reputation. The model student with big brains and a nice ass but doesn't show off the latter. The one that's gonna graduate Summa Cum Laude and pretend like that's what landed her summer internship and not daddy's connections.

Oh, he likes your type. The kind of girl who'd never risk her future by engaging in any sort of inappropriate rendezvous with her nasty professor, him.

When you apply to be his TA, he's pleased. He picks you without hesitation, throwing the rest of the applications in the bin.

When you step into his office with your not-too-tight top and not-too-short skirt that does nothing to hide that ass, he grins at you lazily, pleasantly, as you sit before his desk and he begins giving you the rundown of your work as his TA.

"You can begin with grading those papers," he says afterwards, voice smooth like velvet, deep like a 15-foot well as he gestures to the pile of test scripts on his desk.

You look over to the pile of test scripts at the edge of his desk. "Sure," you hum as you stand and pick up the stack.

You look up at him, Professor Geto, "Is there a marking guide I could use?" You ask him slowly as you stand before his desk.

Out of all your professors, Geto was probably the one that intimidated you the most. And not in a scary way, it was the way he was; the languid yet confident way he carried himself that made him seem untouchable, made him seem so far away from the other academic staff.

You became his TA because of his connections in the world of academia. Otherwise, he unsettled you.

Geto cocks his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest, as he regards you with a languorous blink. He's amused, though for what reason, you don't know.

He lets out a small huff, a sort of exhale through his nose as he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a slender booklet. It's a copy of the marking guide; crisp and new. He hands it to you, eyes never once leaving your face.

"You're a smart girl," he says lowly, voice honeyed and smooth.

You take it from him with your free hand, "Thank you."

You turn around and wake over to the smaller desk next to his, putting the pile of scripts down on the wood. "Do I have a time constraint, sir?"

Geto sits back in his own chair, the leather making a quiet creaking noise as he folds one leg over the other, ankle over knee. He leans his elbow against the chair handle, his jaw propped on his knuckles.

"No, not exactly," he replies with a shrug. "Do it in your own pace."

You hum as you take a seat, your lips pursed. "Alright." You say as you pick up the first script.

You sit with your ankles crossed, the marking guide to your right as you begin grading the scripts. It's the scripts of freshman students, and it's obvious in the way the answers are structured.

You furrow my brows as you lean closer, trying to grade it the way your professor does, strict but not harsh, and with comments on how to improve.

All the while, Geto watches you. There's something almost voyeuristic in the way he does so - as if he were a photographer taking a candid picture of a woman without her knowledge. His eyes slowly drift over your form, the way the sunlight shines on your hair, the way you push a stray strand away from your face, the way your skirt tightens over your thighs...

It's strange. He doesn't even really like you, but there's something about you that pulls him towards you like a moth to a flame.

And you can't deny that the atmosphere is calming. The silence in the air and the air conditioning has your focused, and you finish the scripts in a little over an hour, silent as you put the last paper on top of the pile. "I'm done, sir." You call out to him as you finish, turning to look at him.

When you turn to look at him, he lifts an eyebrow, and his mouth slowly quirks up. "All thirty test scripts in an hour?" he says disbelievingly, but the impressed tone in his voice betrays his words. "I knew you were smart, but God damn."

You purse your lips as he speaks. "Would you like to go over them?" You ask slowly, eyeing the scripts. Now that he's expressed such surprise in the time you'd used, you can't help but doubt your work.

He lets out a low chuckle as he uncrosses his legs and stands up from his chair, rolling his shoulders back as the muscles in his back flex. He's a tall man with a wide chest, a lean swimmer's physique, all lean muscle and languid grace.

He walks over to your desk, and looks down at the pile of testscripts before he picks one of them up, thumbing through it.

You sit forward on your chair, a leg crossed over the other as you eye him tensely. Your elbows on the desk, fingers holding your pen to your mouth as you slowly, absently chew on the cap at the end of it.

Geto's gaze is how it always is, meticulous and calculated, as he scans through. The way he flips through papers, the way he stands, the subtle yet immense precision and grace in his posture as he examines your work only makes you more on edge.

While you sit there, tense and with a pen in your mouth, Geto stands tall and relaxed beside you. He reads through some of the answers for a minute, before he hums and nods to himself.

Then, slowly, he sets the paper down and looks down at you, and his gaze drifts down to your mouth, where your pen is in between your teeth.

He reaches out, and without saying a word, he gently pulls the pen from your mouth with his fingers.

Your lips partly just slightly as he pulls the pen from them, and you say nothing about it.

Geto holds the pen in his hand, idly spins it through his fingers with a practiced dexterity. His gaze drifts to your mouth, now open slightly, before it slowly lifts to your eyes.

Then, he lets out a huffed laugh, and looks away.

"Your grading is good," he says slowly, a hint of amused surprise in his voice as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "You picked all the correct answers, and you gave just enough critique. Good girl."

The praise feels inappropriate, but then again, everything about Geto does.

"Thank you, sir." You murmur as your gaze drifts down to the pen in his hand. Embarrassingly, you can see the shine of your saliva on it, and a weird feeling spurs in your belly at the thought of your professor holding that pen. "I tried to emulate your grading."

As you mention emulating his grading, he hums, a languid sound in the back of his throat as he glances back at you. He doesn't smile, not really, but the amused look in his eyes only deepens.

"You did a good job of it," he says lowly. "You've a knack for this."

You can't help but smile. It's a slow, little one, but there's a tiny hint of pride in your eyes. "Thank you. Honestly... I didn't think I'd do this cause of scheduling difficulties." You murmur. You already have a lot on your plate. Truly, you only applied to be his TA so you could get recommended for Master's programs.

His eyes remain on you, taking in the small, slow smile that curves your lips. He's never really seen you smile in class, and the way your small mouth curves up on the edges makes you look so different.

Your phone buzzes then. You look down at it and Geto looks down at you.

"I have a meeting now, sir." You say as you stand, relieved to finally be done after grading those scripts.

"Sure," he says, voice deceptively light as he lets the word roll off his tongue. "Have fun, darling."

You offer a noncommittal hum as you grab your bag, hanging it over your shoulder as you turn to leave.

"Good night, sir." You tell him slowly as you bow once before making your way out of the room.

Geto's eyes remain on you as you walk out the door, watching the way your hips sway.

Once the door closes after you, he stands in place for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then, he sits back down in his chair with a huff, picking up your pen again, tracing his thumb over the cap.

Even as he sits alone in his classroom, Geto thinks about you.

That small, barely-there pout you had on your face as you left, the way you walked away from him with your hips and ass swaying, the way you sat before him and focused on your grading for an hour.

He brings the pen to his mouth, and before he can even fully register what he's doing, he sticks the tip of the pen into his mouth, tasting the drying remnants of your saliva on the cap.

He's not quite sure what he's doing, but once he tastes the residue of you on the tip of the pen, a single thought runs through his head.

What would you taste like?

He pulls the pen out of his mouth with a quiet pop as his thoughts wander, a sly, serpentine smile on his lips.

He looks down at the pen, tracing the writing on the body idly with his eyes, before he lets out a soft hum.

Oh, he's going to have fun with this...

He slowly pushes back from his desk, the chair letting out a creaking noise. He stands up from his chair and walks over to the door, quietly opening it, peeking his head out and looking at the quiet, empty hallway.

He can't see anyone. It's completely deserted, not a single person in sight.

Geto steps back into his office with a satisfied hum and locks the door with a click. The silence in the room is deafening. No one's there to interrupt him. He walks back to his desm with no apprehension.

Geto leans back against his chair, palms planted on the wood of his desk as he stares down at the pen he still holds in one hand. He holds it up in front of his face, and he slowly runs his tongue over the plastic.

Your saliva tastes slightly sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Intoxicating. Just like you...

Geto lets out a quiet exhale as he imagines the taste of you in his mouth. He's never tasted you - of course he hasn't - but the thought of that saliva being on his tongue and not on some inanimate pen is enough to make him shiver.

He looks down at the pen again, at the saliva shine, the way it gleams in the light...

He pops the cap into his mouth and swirls it around with his tongue. A quiet grunt escapes his chest as he tastes you on the plastic, and he slowly brings a hand down to his trousers...

He knows he really shouldn't be doing this, not in his office, not after hours, not as your professor. But something about you turns him on, badly. Maybe it's the way you bite your lower lip when you're focused, maybe it's the cute way you chew on the pen caps, maybe it's the way you look him in the eyes with that tiny, little pout...

The thought of you looking up at him, down on your knees, mouth open in front of him...

He lets out a hiss, leaning back against the edge of the desk as he palms himself through his pants. He closes his eyes and lets out a low moan as he pictures it, one hand cupping his bulge through his trousers and the other keeping him steady on the desk as his mind conjures up images he's never had before.

You're not just a pretty girl, no, you're a smart, pretty girl. The kind that gets straight As and knows how to use your words.

You could probably talk him into almost anything, if you tried. That thought makes his knees almost buckle.He knows that you're too good, too pure to be as dirty as him, too innocent to be as perverted as he is right now, but still, he can't get the images out of his head.

Imagining you in front of him, on your knees, wearing that pretty green skirt of yours, looking up at him with that little pout on your face as he tells you to do whatever he says...

"Darling." he murmurs your name, voice husky and rough as he unbuckles his belt one-handedly and spits out the cap of then pen unto his free palm before dropping it on his desk. The metal of the buckle clinking against itself. He unzips his trousers quickly, hands almost shaking in his eagerness.

He knows this is wrong, that it's wrong to think about you like this, but God, he can't stop. He lets out a quiet moan as his hand wraps around his already hard, the head already slightly sticky with pre-cum. He strokes himself once, twice.

He's used to imagining nameless, faceless girls, the kind they use in porn, the kind that don't make the right noises, but instead of that, instead of them... he's imagining you now.

You're not even here right now, but he can almost hear you. The way your voice gets all soft when you're focused, the cute little noises you make when you're concentrating on your work.

He can practically see it now. You, on your knees, looking up at him between his legs, watching him with that cute little pout on your face as he tells you to do whatever he says...

He can't hold back from letting out a moan as the thoughts continue to spiral. He imagines you looking up at him through your eyelashes, pink, little tongue sticking out of your mouth, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"Darling," he says breathlessly, eyes still closed, "Open your mouth for me."

He tightens his grip around his cock, stroking just a tad faster as the scene changes, imagining you in nothing, looking up at him with your eyes wide and eager on your knees.

And, because he knows you're good, his brain even supplies him with the image of you begging him to do it. "Fuck-" He chokes out a groan, squeezing at the base of his cock.

It's all slimy and moist at this point, his purple head still bubbling out pre as he masturbates to the thought of you, hips bucking into his hand like a schoolboy virgin.

He can't hold back from letting out a moan as the thoughts continue to spiral. He imagines you looking up at him through your eyelashes, pink, little tongue sticking out of your mouth, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"Shit baby," he says breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut, free hand tightly gripping the arm of the chair till his knuckles are white. He's going to cum soon and he knows, the room filled with the nasty schlack schlack of his hand furiously stroking his dick. "Open your mouth for me, baby."

God, he can't get enough of the thought. You, with that cute little pout, opening your mouth, wanting to do as he says, wanting to be good and swallow all the cum he's goibg to release.

"Oh Godddd," his head falls back, neck against the headrest as his hips buck up into his palm and his body goes tight like a bowstring.

His dick spurts it out when Getou finally cums, ropes of sticky, white arousal landing on his stomach and his slacks.

He's breathing heavily when he finally comes down, limp dick still in his grip as his eyes catch the pen cap on his desk. Your pen cap.

"Fuck- I have to fuck her."

[clockwayswrites]

Cozytober Day 14 & 15: Unexpected family gathering Getting comfort after a bad day at school

masterpost CW: referenced abalism

It was a Bad Day.

It had started as a so-so sort of day. The sort of day where words were a little slower and harder to find. Danny could work through those days, he always had to, after the accident. But then, of course, it had been a day that his sociology professor had actually shown up instead of just leaving the teaching assistant to do his work for him.

Of course he had called on Danny. And being a so-so sort of day, Danny had fumbled through the answer. Apparently, that meant the fucking jack-ass decided to use Danny as ‘an example’ right there in front of the whole class. As if public speaking was Danny’s issue. As if sometimes struggling with words meant that he couldn’t do social worker. As if he was worthless.

Danny made himself close his eyes and just breathe. He’d contact his ADA rep tomorrow. There were avenues to deal with this. It was just… it was so much effort and was probably going to be a fight over it. The professor as there for research reason, he didn’t actually care about teaching. Danny would probably have to go in front of a committed and tell his side and—

Tomorrow.

He’d deal with that tomorrow.

Right then Danny just wanted Jason.

Uncovering the hidden panel, Danny typed in his code, popped open the covered door, and swung himself down through it and onto the steal beam.

“Who the fuck?”

Danny froze. Very slowly he looked down. Below him, Jason’s table was expanded out into an oval and surrounded by people. People who were looking up at Danny with a frankly frightening amount of attention and suspicion.

The person closed to Danny stood. Their hand went to something on their belt in a move that Danny was sure was intended to be casual, but wasn’t actually. It made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck stand up. That person was dangerous. All these people were dangerous.

“So who exactly are you?” They asked.

“Jay wasn’t inviting anyone else, right?” Someone at the table asked rest of of the people.

“Jason didn’t even invite us,” one of the other redheads answered.

“Oh, right.”

“Hey,” the redhead glaring at Danny barked. “I asked who you were!”

He was Jason’s boyfriend. He was allowed to be there. Jason had given him the code. Jason wanted him there! Words that Danny couldn’t manage to speak piled up in the back of his throat.

The redhead’s hand tightened around something.

Danny leaned back.

The rest of the table tensed.

“I swear to fuck Roy, if you throw something at my boyfriend you are not welcome back here!”

The room froze and slowly all eyes shifted to look towards the bedroom where Jason was walking out of it and into the main space.

“Boyfriend?” Someone at the table repeated in a near squeak.

Danny ignored them. Jason was there. Jason was there and knew who he was and that he was welcome even when he didn’t have the words for it. He dropped to hang of the edge of the rafter for just a moment before he flung himself at Jason, trusting the other to catch him.

And Jason did. Jason wrapped Danny up in one of his warm hugs and spun them so that his back was to the group and Danny was hidden.

“Hey, boo,” Jason said and pressed a kiss to Danny’s temple. “They sort of all just showed up. Apparently they decided to have a game night and that this was the place to have it. I was going to text you a warning later. I thought you still had class right now?”

Danny scowled and tapped a sequence against Jason’s hand. S.O.S. Something that Jason had suggested they use as a sign for when Danny was having a Bad Day.

“Shit, yeah?” Jason dropped his voice to keep his words more between them. “What do you need? I can kick them all out if you need me to.”

“Hey!” Someone at the table protested, followed shortly by a omph and a wheeze. “Ow! Fuck, keep those elbows to yourself.”

Danny quirked a little bit of a smile despite himself and shook his head. He pointed over his shoulder before running the same hand through his hair as if washing it.

Jason nodded. “Okay. You know where the bath salts and things are. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Danny pressed a grateful kiss to Jason’s lips and practically dashed to the bedroom without a single glance towards the table full of Jason’s friends and maybe even family. That was… it was just too much right then.

-

By the time that Danny was settled into the warm, scented water he had managed to calm down a great deal. He still couldn’t find his words, they were still stuck down deep under his ribs, but he wasn’t in a panic anymore.

(Not having someone about to attack him helped with that, go figure.)

Danny sunk a little further into the luxuriantly large tub and rolled his head slowly this way and that. The rest of the world could wait until tomorrow. All that mattered was what was inside of Jason’s apartment.

Of course, inside the apartment meant Jason’s friends right then, but Danny knew that Jason would let him hide in the bedroom if he wanted to. For the moment, Danny tried not to be worried with figuring out what he wanted. Right then was about relaxing.

[orangeheliophile]

Dynamy and destruction

What happens when a small little gremlin appears right on top of your boyfriend's head? And why does it look exactly like him? Will you love it? Will your boyfriend hate it? Yes.

Warnings: Cursing, Dynamy, and Bakugou, slightly suggestive?

Established relationships, crack, fluff, Bakugou is secretly a simp for reader, making Dynamy also a simp, reader is silly and a bit sassy.

Reader calls Katsuki 'Kacchan' sometimes, as they've been childhood friends. This can be read as a sequel to the "Peaches" fic I made.

It's funny, really, how the little thing popped out of thin air and onto the top of Katsuki's head.

As much as everyone wanted to laugh at the small monster on top of Katsuki's head, they quickly shut up as he threatened to blast them all the way to hell. And the little Dynamy, as you liked to call it, agreed with the bigger Dynamight.

But it turns out, the only thing the gremlin can say is 'fuck,' 'bastard,' 'shit,' and 'asshole.' The interesting thing is, is that Dynamy can understand what's happening and words, he can't just say any other words than those foul mouthed ones.

Currently, you're in your boyfriend's dorm room, helping to figure out this situation with the mini Dynamight.

Katsuki huffs in annoyance, side-eyeing Dynamy as it's sitting on top of the pile of books. The thing blinks, as Katsuki blinks back. You're laying on your stomach, reading a comic on the blondes bed as you watch the interaction between them.

The silence is a bit awkward, with Katsuki sitting on his chair with his arms crossed while staring at Dynamy in a judging manner. The small grenade scowls, eyes squinting at the bigger blonde as it bears its pointy teeth. "Fuck ya."

The both of you stare at it in disbelief, you snort, quickly covering your smile as Katsuki's eyes widen as his jaw drops. "The fuck did you say?!" He barks, offended by the little monster as he glares at it. Dynamy only blinks, having an angry resting face as it speaks again, "Fucking Bastard."

This time, you giggle, feeling surprised by the savage personality of the mini Katsuki as your boyfriend gives you a non hateful glare. The two start to argue, throwing cusses at each other as you smile and watch from your seat. You sway your feet, resting your cheeks on your palms as your elbows are propped against the mattress.

Katsuki scowls, throwing a middle finger towards Dynamy as a thin arm appears from the little thing and shoots a middle finger back. The blondes brows furrow in confusion. Is the little shit mocking him?!

"I'm gonna blast this piece of shit all the way to hell." Your boyfriend states, his tone nonchalant as he deadpans when Dynamy mutters out a 'fuck you' to him.

You snort, shaking your head as you smile at the interaction. Getting up from your spot, you make your way towards Katsuki, placing your hand comfortingly on his shoulder blade as you lean down and kiss his cheek. "Aw, don't be like that, Kacchan. " You reply, cupping his cheek as you coo when he leans into your touch immediately. Katsuki closes his eyes, wrapping an arm around your waist as he hums at the feeling of your fingers tracing circles on his shoulder blades and back.

You smile, turning your attention to Dynamy as you fawn over the small but explosive thing. He blinks, looking at you in confusion as it hops in place to get a better view of you. "Fuuuck?..." He trails off, not knowing what to do as you gasp at the rush of cuteness aggression flowing through you. It's like a mini version of your boyfriend! But cuter.

"You're so cute!" You smile happily, dropping Katsuki's face as his eyes widen when you let go. He stumbles slightly, trying to chase your warmth as he furrows his eyebrows when you crouch down in front of Dynamy. Did you just leave him for that fucking thing!?

You gasp, smiling as you gently pick up the little living grenade and press quick kisses all over its tiny head.

Dynamy flinches, looking at you wide-eyed as he turns into a bright shade of pink. Katsuki's jaw drops, feeling a mixture of confusion, betrayal, annoyance, and maybe slight jealousy of how quick you were to abandon him. You giggle at the tiny thing, reaching your finger to rub the little spiky tuff of hair it has on its head as you caress it soothingly. Dynamy jumps again but leans into your touch this time.

Katsuki is taken aback and merely gaps at you.

Your boyfriend scoffs, having a scowl on his face as he glares at the small grenade. "Baby, what the fuck?!" He barks. You wave him off, paying him no no attention, which your boyfriend loathes. Dynamy curses happily this time, hopping on your hand as he wags the safety lever like a dog tail. And your heart melts. Completely. Katsuki, who?

"Fuck!" Dynamy curses, voice filled with joy as his tiny head leans into your touch, wanting more of your affection as you smile and press tiny pecks all over it. You're going insane. Katsuki is almost sure of this by now. There's no way you love that thing, over your awesome boyfriend and future husband-

"I love him so much!" You squeal.

Katsuki feels like dying at this moment.

You're giving and smiling at the little monster, giving him kisses and head scratches, and words of affection, and- Katsuki deadpans. Are you treating the little shit like a dog? But you always do the same things to him- Oh. So you've been treating your fucking boyfriend like some puppy this whole time.

Katsuki flops onto the floor, falling out of his chair as he lays face first onto the wooden tiles. Yeah, he wants to die now. But you ignore him. The betrayal.

Smiling, you hold Dynamy to your chest, wanting to take some pictures together as you walk over your boyfriend who groans and whines. You sigh, shaking your head as you gently kick him away to make room. Such a drama queen.

Your boyfriend grunts, rolling away as you walk past him. But the bastard grabs onto your calf and wraps his arms around your leg. Dynamy glances down at the blonde, having a judging look on his face as you stare down at your dramatic boyfriend. "Katsuki?" Nothing. "Katsuki." Nothing again. You sigh, slapping your forehead at your boyfriend's pettiness.

"My handsome and awesome boyfriend, who I love so much...?"

Your boyfriend grunts in response, curling into a ball as he clings onto your right leg. You deadpan, shaking your head as you give a small kiss to Dynamy's cheek while dragging your boyfriend across the floor. He does this to himself, honestly.

And why is he so heavy?!

You struggle, trying to shake Katsuki off, but he holds your leg tighter and clamps onto you like a koala. Dynamy curses at your boyfriend. Your boyfriend curses back. You're getting tired of this. So you do the next best thing.

You totally didn't grab a random spray bottle filled with cold water. And you definitely didn't spray your ridiculously dramatic boyfriend with it.

Your boyfriend hisses, flinching as he uses his arms as a shield to protect himself.

"BABY! WHAT THE FU-"

You cackle in victory, kicking him off as you run out of his dorm room and go all the way back to yours!

Which is right across his dorm room...

But you're fast, so it works!

Immediately rushing inside your dorm, you lock the door, placing a chair over it as you hold Dynamy to your chest. You're safe from the feral blonde with rabies. For now.

You pant, looking around to see where you can hide as you smile, hiding inside the cabinets next to your desk. There's enough space for you and Dynamy to hide. But then you remember that Katsuki also knows where your dorm is. Oh. Oh, shit!-

Your breath hitches, hearing quiet footsteps approaching as you cover your mouth with your palm, also placing three fingers over Dynamy's mouth so he keeps quiet. Dynamy peaks at you, nuzzling into your hand as you send a smile at the adorable little grenade. But you're interrupted. By your jerk of a boyfriend.

"Baby, let me in!" You huff, your cheeks heating up as he uses the stupid nickname that makes your heart flutter every time. Nuh uh.

Katsuki starts knocking on your door, sighing in frustration as he realizes you probably locked it. How fucking dare you. You were the love of his life, yet you wanted to stay away from him. The blonde shudders, wanting to rip his throat at the thought as he takes a step back to think.

And so he decides to knock aggressively, knowing you dislike the noise. If you weren't going to give him your love, he would just have to irritate you to death.

And boy, was your insignificant other good at that.

Your eye twitches, starting to regret how he knows everything about you and your likes and dislikes. The stalker. Dynamy turns to you, hopping out of your palm and onto your shoulder to comfort you. The action makes you smile.

At least someone doesn't irritate you.

Unlike your boyfriend. Who keeps annoying you. The impulse to sell him away is strong with you right now.

Maybe back to his mother? Nah. She offered to pay you to keep him when you met her for the first time. You like her, though!

Katsuki scowls, deciding to pick the lock of your dorm. He grins like a madman when he succeeds, bursting the door open as he knocks over the chair barricading your door. "Babe! I know you're fucking in here!" You freeze, not uttering a sound as you place a hand over Dynamy's mouth again.

Your boyfriend steps quietly inside your dorm, looking around as he pokes his head in to where you could be hiding with the tiny demon. He checks under your bed, the bathroom, desk, couch, and even the space between your bed and the wall. You're a bit small and bendy. And he's seen you get stuck in a box before.

Your boyfriend's eyes widen in realization, flickering to the cabinets next to your desk. The blonde smirks, having finally found out your location as he knows he can't get you out of there without a fight. Katsuki sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes as he chuckles and plops down onto your bed. Your bed.

Your eyes narrow to the cabinet door, knowing that he just slipped under the extremely comfortable covers of your bed by the sound of ruffling and him grabbing your pillow. The bastard.

You frown, pouting in annoyance as you hold Dynamy close to you. "At least you don't annoy me, Dynamy." You whisper, bumping your nose against his head as the small grenade hops happily.

But your dramatic boyfriend ruins the moment again. He decides to open your mini fridge.

You gasp, jaw dropped as you hear him shuffling through the small refrigerator and cabinets. "Hey, princess! You don't mind if I eat your nachos, right?" You mind. You very much mind. And your stupid lover knows this.

Katsuki smirks, grabbing a soda as he pulls out your precious nachos out. He plops down onto your couch, placing the items on the coffee table and grabbing a few hot sauce packets. Oh, yeah. He's dead.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll make sure to put extra hot sauce for you." Katsuki snickers, opening the box of nachos as he's about to open the hot sauce packets. "I know how much you love spicy stuff, princess."

Oh, he thinks he's so funny. You scowl, glaring through the cabinet door. It's fine. You can just make more-

All rational thoughts fly out the window the moment he opens the can of soda. Your soda. Your favorite flavor of soda. How do you know this? Because the bastard says it himself.

"Peaches! Do you think I can have your soda? I'm sure you'll still love me." You don't. And that's the last straw.

The cabinet door slams open, making your boyfriend flinch in surprise as you tackle him to the couch. "DON'T YOU DARE!" You shout, pushing the coffee table away as you stradle Katsuki and start slamming pillows onto his face.

But the bastard laughs.

Katsuki cackles, wrapping his burly arms around your waist as he traps you to him. You squeal, realizing this was his plan all along as he presses big, sloppy, smooches all over your face and neck. It's worse because you're ticklish.

You laugh, trying to catch your breath while squirming in his grip. He already has his arm around your lower back, keeping his other arm on your waist to keep you in place. Then, he does the unthinkable. He slaps your bottom.

You yelp, cheeks flushing as your jaw drops in offense. He smirks at you, grabbing the thickness of your bottom as he squeezes it jokingly.

"Damn, you got some nice peaches, peach."

Oh, that cursed nickname. You groan, feeling embarrassed as you remember how you obtain the nickname. You slap his chest, hiding your face in his neck as you bite his shoulder in revenge. Katsuki laughs, rolling you both around on the couch as he squishes your body like a teddy bear.

Dynamy watches this from the coffee table, observing everything as he tilts his head in confusion. "P... peaches?"

You both freeze, snapping your heads towards the tiny living grenade as you realize what he just said. Your jaw drops, feeling embarrassed as Katsuki grins wickedly.

Dynamy's eyes widen in pride, jumping up and down at the new word he is able to speak. "Peaches! Peaches!" He wiggles side to side, looking towards you as his safety lever wags like a dog tail. Katsuki laughs, watching your horrified expression as the tiny grenade rambles the new word it learned.

Your eye twitches, realization coming to you as there's going to be two living things that call you by the name, 'peaches.'

The blonde snickers, smirking at you while sitting up on the couch. "Looks like the little bastard learned one of your nicknames... peach." He teases. You groan, trying to pull away from him as he sits you on his lap and shoves his face into the side of yours, rubbing his nose against your squished cheek.

Dynamy jumps happily, cursing while muttering the fruit over and over again, making your boyfriend laugh a bit harder.

Yeah, dying feels nice now.

Your boyfriend smiles cheekily, crossing his legs while having you trapped in between them and curled up against him. You deadpan, giving him the side eye as his finger pokes your cheek while he squishes his face against your other one. Dynamy hops from the coffee table onto Katsuki's knee, yelling your nickname as your boyfriend chuckles.

"I hate you."

"Aww, I love you more, peach." He replies, giving a big sloppy kiss to the corner of your lips as you squirm at the feeling. A whine escapes your lips, feeling his palm squish your face against his lips while his arm squeezes your waist. He's definitely getting cuteness aggression.

Your eyes glance down to Dynamy, as the little bomb seems happy that he learned a word that isn't a cursed one. Your eyes soften, a smile appearing on your face as a hand slowly reaches towards him as Dynamy reaches for your palm. Katsuki notices this, giving you the side eye as his face is pressed right against the side of yours. "Don't you dare." He whispers, making you shiver as you glance at him from the corner of your eye.

God, he's staring into your soul.

So you stare back, gulping as he leans forward, making his face press more against yours. Dynamy blinks, cursing in confusion as he bumps his head against your hand, waiting for your affection that hasn't come.

"You're invading my personal space."

"There is no personal space when you're with me."

You sigh deeply, shaking your head in regret as your gremlin of a boyfriend bites your cheek while pressing his nose against your philtrum. You squint at him, watching his every move as he keeps looking into your eyes with his cherry colored ones. He blinks. You blink back. He bites your cheek. You knock your head into his.

Katsuki groans, nuzzling his face against yours as he waits for you to apologize for giving him a headbutt. You don't. Instead, you place your hand in his fluffy spiky hair. Katsuki's eyes light up, thinking you're going to pet him, but instead, you pull him away by his hair. He gasps dramatically, arms gripping you tightly as his upper body is being pushed away.

You huff in satisfaction, turing your head away from him sassily as you place your knee against both of your chests as a barrier. Katsuki pouts angrily, shoving his face into your knee as you lean back on the couch to cuddle Dynamy.

Dynamy is happy. That makes you happy. You being happy makes Katsuki happy, unfortunately. He'll have to deal with it, and you both know it.

The mini bomb chirps happily, snuggling against your chest as you smile and peck his temple.

"Peaches!"

"I love you too, Dynamy."

"Damn, baby. Thought you loved me." Your dramatic boyfriend mutters, switching his position so his face is pressed against your thighs and tummy. Your hand plays with his thick, fluffy hair, letting Katsuki cling onto you like a baby.

"Shut up." You say, words rude, but the love in your eyes and smile says otherwise.

This sort of reminds me of Unicorse from the show "Bluey." But Katsuki is more like the insufferable puppet than Dynamy is.

[symbiomancy]

LAUNDRY —ryomen sukuna

summary: Step-brother Sukuna finds your panties. He's only borrowing; you'll get them back later.

cw: stepcest, masturbation, panty stealing

wc:. 1,2k

also on ao3

Coexisting with you is unbearable.

You’re everywhere, he can’t escape the traces of your existence. What was once just his room and Yūji’s room with a small guest room (that they moreso used as a storage space than an actual bedroom) on the second floor of the house, is now their rooms and yours.

He can’t escape. The lingering smell of your perfume—strawberry—and an array of body and face products, make-up, hair items littering all surfaces of the second-floor bathroom. Time and time again he removes your shampoo and conditioner bottles from his shelf in the shower only to find them there again within the week. You leave your clothes all over the place, all of them skimpy, barely covering your chest and ass when you prance around the house—he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you wearing a bra, always averting his eyes from the stiff peaks underneath your cropped shirt whenever you breeze by.

Sukuna stares at yet another pile of clothes on the bathroom floor. Fuck, you’re messy, leaving your stuff everywhere that isn’t your room. He’d folded one of your black shirts with his laundry the last time he ran the dryer, had grabbed your strawberry yogurt from the fridge because it was right next to his unflavored yogurt and the cartons look exactly the same—fuck, he’s essentially been walking you to and from school like some sort of bodyguard or a lame boyfriend for nearly two months because his father had asked him to show you the way the first week or so.

Coexisting is unbearable and yet it is utterly impossible to escape your presence.

He grabs the crumpled clothes, intent on throwing them at your head when he walks past your door to his room but something catches his eye. Right there, in the middle of the pile, nestled between what he thinks is an unholy union between a skirt and a pair of shorts and a shirt that’s more zipper than fabric. He pulls it out of the pile—underwear—hot pink, lined with frilly lace—and runs a thumb over the seat of them. Still warm, only barely so.

He pockets the offending item and drops the rest of the pile back onto the floor where he found it. His cock is straining uncomfortably against his boxers as he slips out of the bathroom, glancing down the hall to check you’re not there, one hand in his joggers’ pockets, twisting your panties around his fingers.

He kicks his door closed and throws himself onto his bed, pulling down the waistband of his pants and boxers. His cock springs out, already hard, and slaps against his abdomen. It leaves a dribble of sticky precum on his skin. He thumbs the slit at the tip with a low hiss from the back of his throat, then drops his hand to circle the head in slow, deliberate motions.

His mind conjures up an image of you in nothing but one of those skimpy excuses for a shirt you’d pulled out the moment the season turned to mid-spring, and the pink panties in his hand, dragging them along the length of his cock. A shudder rocks through him and—no, no, that’s—that’s not his imagination, but a thinly-veiled memory of your early days in this house. He’d thrown the bathroom door open one morning to find you sitting on the toilet lid, elbows resting on your knees, brushing your teeth, white dribbling from between your lips. You’d stared at each other for a few long moments, his eyes dipping to your cleavage in the nearly see-through white shirt, your nipples perked. He only barely avoided the shampoo bottle aimed at his head.

That’s right; you’ve been a tease since the day you moved in, walking around in shorts so short he sees more cheek than fabric, not locking the bathroom door when you shower—he’s barged in to piss while you’re in the shower more times than he can count. He’s let his eyes wander from his reflection in the mirror to your figure hidden behind the opaque shower door when washing his hands.

His hand twists and curls in rapid motions around his cock, the texture of your underwear a welcome change of pace from just his hand, even though they barely qualify as underwear with how little there is to them. Yeah, you’ve seen him, held eye contact with him in the middle of the night when you’re leaned over the table, ass up, eating a sandwich while the TV played a rerun of some shitty vampire show in the background. A flimsy shirt, halfway unbuttoned, giving him a clear view of your cleavage. He didn’t miss the way your eyes dipped to his gray sweats, lingering there for a moment too long to be considered an accident. He’s not insane, no, he’s seen the lingering looks you’ve been sending him ever since that night, noticed the way you press so close to him when you need anything in his immediate vicinity, tits straining out of your shirt, caged between your upper arms as you lean over to look at something.

He’d bend you over the kitchen table if he could, plunge his cock into your wet, tight heat, and take you right there with the curtains drawn back so that anyone walking past the house could see him claiming you, filling you up with his cum.

His cock twitches in his hand and thick ropes of cum spurt out. It splatters on your panties and his joggers, and a few drops land on his chest. His chest is heaving, thin beads of sweat decorating his forehead as he breathes in the stale summer air. His muscles relax, your panties sandwiched between his hand and his softening cock, and he sinks into the mattress. A pleasant haze settles over him.

He’s a fucking pervert. Holy shit, he’s a disgusting, sleazy pervert.

Sukuna drags his free hand down his face with a long exhale to recalibrate himself.

His bedroom door opens with a flourish and you lean inside, one hand gripping the doorframe for balance, mouth open as if you’re about to say something before you abruptly stop. Your eyes dart from his face to his cock still fisted in his hand, some of the hot pink frilly lace peering between his fingers. Your face goes blank for a moment, then you manage a smile, something too saccharine to be genuine.

“I was looking for those,” you say, pointing a finger towards your underwear. “I’m doing laundry. Throw ‘em in when you’re done but don’t take too long!”

The door slams on your way out and Sukuna is left there, staring after you, jaw slack. He sits up in a flash, lets go of his cock, and hikes his pants and boxers up with one hand, the other clutching the cum-seeped pair of underwear. He almost trips over his rug in his haste to the door and throws it open.

You pause at the top of the stairs and raise an eyebrow at him, your small laundry hamper under one arm. Sukuna shakes out the tension in his shoulders and throws the balled-up underwear and you catch the pair with ease.

You stare at the pair in your hand, run a thumb over a glob of cum and press it into the fabric. Then, you look at him, smile that too-saccharine smile again, before disappearing down the stairs.

divider & banner from @/cafekitsune

[evieskiesss]

PSYCHO KILLER- TOM KAULITZ

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙨𝙮𝙘𝙝𝙤 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧, 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮, 𝙜𝙤𝙧𝙚, 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜

a/n: HAPPY MF HALLOWEEN SLUTS. I HOPE YALL LIKE THISSSS

-

"have you heard?" Lana asked in a whispered tone. You turned to her, eyebrows furrowed, "heard what?"

She jerked her head toward the crowd of people in the hallway. "Otto from math class was found dead yesterday." Your head whipped toward her, your jaw dropping. You slowly walked further into the school hall, people crowded in front of a locker.

Piles of flowers, letters and writings, all surrounded by the photo of Otto. Your heart sank, you stood in front of the locker as you got a clear view.

You weren't close friends with Otto, you two only occasionally spoke during your math class, especially since he sat directly next to you. "shit... i spoke to him yesterday.."

Lana raised her eyebrows, a slightly sorry expression on her face. The small interaction between you two from yesterday played in your mind. You bit your lip, staring at the photo of him. His pearly smile showing, the small chip in his teeth evident. It was from a small accident he had when he was little.

The bell rang, indicating the next class had started. "shit," Lana cursed under her breath. She grabbed your wrist, pulling you along, "let's go!" You silently ignored her, your eyes not leaving the boy's image as she pulled you away.

You both silently entered your math class, sneaking your way into your seat, setting your bag down. You look over to the seat next to yours, it was empty. You bit your lip again, fingers gently reaching over to his empty spot.

Your fingers grazed his small doodles on the table, suddenly, a hard smack of a book bag on the table startled you. Your body jumped in its seat, your arm retracting itself immediately. A laugh came from above you, you looked up to see the familiar boy.

Tom snickered, now taking his bag off the table as he plopped himself into the ,what used to be, empty seat. "scared ya?" he smiled, his black piercing perfectly adorning his lip.

You chuckled, hand on your chest as your heart beat out of your chest, "yeah," you breathed out with a flat smile. "you've been really easy to scare lately," he smiled cockily, adjusting himself in his seat.

     "yeah.. i guess it's just with what's going on lately," you chuckled nervously, looking down at your hands. You shook your head, "i don't know who could even do something like that.. you gotta be some type of... psycho killer to do that."

    His head whipped towards you, staring. His tongue poked through his cheek, "psycho killer?"

You turned to him, nodding. "yes. you've got to be some type of insane to do that.."

Tom stayed silent, his tongue now playing at his tongue ring, "yeah.. i guess you do," he agreed, a strange smile on his face . Something about his tone was just.. off..

Nine victims. Nine people dead in the past 3 weeks. All found stabbed, bloodied & with their mouths wide open. The killers signature was established right after the second murder, using the victims blood to write next to them, GHOSTFACE, which has been used throughout every single one.

Police have gone insane trying to find this masked killer. Some witnesses have reported having seen the killer, dressed in a costume of the infamous Ghostface from the well-known Scream movies.

The murders stayed on your mind constantly. Paranoia consumed you everywhere you went, whose to say you weren't going to be the next victim?

The worst part, was that you knew all of them.

You now always looked behind you, to your sides. One earphone out of an ear, just to hear if someone was near you.

And even then, you were startled completely when Lana threw herself onto your back. "hello!" she squealed, throwing herself on you. You grunted, nearly falling forward, "fuck- lana! i almost just fucking elbowed you in the face!"

Lana laughed, rolling her eyes. "whatever," she smiled. She looked around her for a moment, making sure no one was listening. "haven't you heard?" she asked, her toothy grin showing.

Your heart sank, "..another murder?"

She made a face, hitting your shoulder. "no, silly! gosh- you with those murders. anyway, Hänsel is going to ask you out!" she whispered harshly, shaking your arms with excitement.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "what?". She nodded rapidly, chewing her gum, "mhm! i overheard it during physics and wait- wait, now he's coming!"

You freaked out by her excitement, her constant shaking of your arms now causing nervousness to bubble. You heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You turned to see Hänsel. He was tall, pale, his hair was a messily straight, light brown. Rosy cheeks & a broad nose. "hi," he smiled.

You smiled back, "hi." He bit his lip for a moment, "not to sound weird but, are you doing anything special tonight?". His eyes wandered down, leaving your eyes to meet your cleavage.

He shamelessly stared, then let his gaze wander downward again. You felt a tight squeeze on your wrist, you could recognize Lana's touch even with your eyes closed.

"uh- no, i'm not," you chuckled. His eyes snapped back to yours, "great. i'll send you my address," he smiled again before walking off.

You turned back around, a large smile on Lana's face. She jumped with excitement, "you have a date tonight!". You chuckled, "yeah, i guess."

From the corner of your eye, a tall figure moved around, cutting down the corner from the hall. You only were able to catch a glimpse of what you could only find familiar from the person, black braids.

       You turned back to look at yourself in the mirror, "i don't know, lana! what if he's not what i think he's like?" you pouted, sitting on the edge of Lana's bed. She groaned, throwing a sock at you.

    "oh, shut up! he asked you out for a reason. plus, haven't you kinda had a thing for him since like.. middle school?" she asked obviously referring to the many times you'd commented on his attractive appearance.

    You rolled your eyes, "well, yeah.. but.. i don't know," you rubbed your nape. "i just... feel weird," you mumbled, rubbing your own arms. She groaned louder, "gosh- here you go again with these murders!" she complained.

    You sighed, looking around the room to avoid her scolding. "you've gotta let that go! i know, it's bad- really bad.. but, c'mon! you can't let that just control your life!"

    You looked back down to your hands, chipping at the fresh nail polish. She wasn't wrong. Ever since the murders started, you really let yourself go. You never went out, only stayed in, refused to go anywhere that wasn't crowded (for more witnesses).

"just let loose, that's not a crime. now let's go, we have 15 minutes to get you there," she smiled, grabbing your bag. You sighed, following her out the door.

It didn't take long for you to arrive at Hänsel's house. The front porch light was on, everything around was quite quiet. The house was slightly isolated, you didn't exactly expect for him to leave near a woody area.

The sounds of bushes rustling filled your ears, the tree leaves falling as the wind blew harsher, a natural whistle coming from its strong blowing. The door opened, a smiley Hänsel standing, "hey," he stepped aside, letting you in.

"hi," you chuckled, stepping in. He closed the door, locking it behind him. The house was dimly lit, it was strangely cold.. and oddly quiet. "we can head to my room, I put a movie on for us," he took your hand, leading you.

You nodded, swallowing as you followed him. You entered his room, it wasn't as dark. His lights were low , the bed done, along with a couple of snacks.

He sat down on the bed, patting the place next to him as he scooted over. "i hope you like Bride of Chucky," he joked, turning it on. You sat down next to him, smiling, "i love that movie."

"so do i," he replied, dimples showing. He was attractive, his lips very tempting as he licked his lower lip. His hands managed to travel around your shoulders, holding you close as the movie progressed.

It started off at a distance, both of you slowly gravitating toward each other until your bodies were pressed against the other. It felt nice. He was warm, the snacks were yummy & the movie was great.

But again, there was a strange feeling that you couldn't shake off. Especially, with the occasional floor creaking. You'd whip your head each time towards the door, but nothing. The paranoia began building up on you.

The tapping on his window, which he explained to be the tree branches. The creaking, the loud gushes of wind, so many things began to build up on you, even, the hand of his that began to travel down.

His hand left your shoulder, slowly inching down to the top of your breast. His breath slowing as you could feel his lustful gaze from the corner of your eye. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, thinking that if you'd ignored it, it would just go away.

It didn't work, as you can feel his breath grow closer, nearly hitting your ear directly. You cleared your throat, sitting up abruptly, ripping his hand away. "where's your bathroom?" you asked, not looking at him.

He was taken aback, and to say the least, disappointed. He didn't respond for a moment, bringing his arm back to his side. "door to the left," he mumbled, clearly upset.

You hopped on your feet, leaving his bedroom and entering the first door to your left. You locked it, your hands finding the door as you placed them flat. You steadied your breathing, "fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck."

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths. You should've known he wasn't looking for a romantic night. You looked at yourself in the mirror, staring at your reflection. "you're okay.. you're okay," you comforted yourself.

You gulped, turning the water on as you collected some wet water to pat on your neck. You swiped some water across your chest, trying to freshen yourself up.

The sounds from the movie were loud, Chucky's cackling heard from the bathroom as what you presumed to be, stabbing sounds. You shook your head again, fingers tightly gripping the sink. "get yourself together. it's fine, it's fine. just tell him you're feeling sick."

You took another minute, collecting yourself & your thoughts, rehearsing your line over & over again. You brushed your fingers through your hair before taking a deep breath, & leaving the bathroom. Your steps were loud compared to the quiet home, the movie loudening as you grew closer to his room.

The door was slightly opened, only an inch or two from it being completely shut. You looked at your feet, pushing the door open before taking your steps inside. "Hänsel, I think I should just go-"

You stopped in your tracks, your voice caught in your throat as you took in the scene in front of you. Hänsel laid on his bed, sprawled out in a starfish position. His sheets were soaked in blood, wide holes in his shirt. His eyes were wide & bloodshot, deadly staring back at you with no life.

His mouth was wide open, blood pouring out as he gurgled. He coughed, tongue shaking as he tried to speak. Blood splatters painted his walls, drops of it all across his face. His shirt was slightly lifted, you only caught a glimpse of the numerous deep wounds that oozed red liquid.

You screamed, an ear piercing, chilling scream. You stumbled back rapidly, eyes never leaving his wounded body until you collided with something harsh. You whipped around.

"boo," he smirked. You shrieked, stumbling back. He laughed at your reaction, "you really are getting easier to scare." Your breathing became heavy, your head spinning as you couldn't believe it. It was Tom.

    The thick black cloak covered him entirely, the bloodied Ghostface mask in his right hand. He held the bloodied knife in his left, head cocking to the side. "what, honey? don't tell me you're scared," he said pouting, fauxing a sympathetic tone as if he were talking to a child.

      He took a step closer to you, to which you stepped back. Your whole body trembled with fear and confusion. "T-tom.. h-how could you?" you asked, hurt in your voice. The boy you'd known for so long, was the killer.

     He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "you still don't get it, do you?" he asked, tapping his knife to his forehead. He took a step closer, his hand firmly holding your arm, digging into your flesh to hold you still.

    He pulled you close to him, you winced as his tight grip never faltered. "honey, i did this for you. for- for us," he explained, a smile on his face. You felt sick to your stomach at his tone, at his wicked smile.

      He chuckled as your face clearly showed your struggle to comprehend, your arm still trembling. "gosh, my love. i know you're not that dumb," he cooed, his hand loosening on your arm but now cupping your cheek.

     He chuckled as he explained again, "honey, all you had to do was not talk to all of these guys but.. look what happened," he turned you around, making you face the dead boy.

     Your breathe got caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. You shook your head, not wanting to believe he was dead. dead because of you.

    You choked out a sob, backing up, attempting to leave the room. Your back collided with his chest, your own heaving as you let the tears leave. He wrapped his arm around you lovingly, moving your hair to one side, leaving it bare for him.

     He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes as he breathed in your scent. His nose nudging against your neck caused goosebumps to rise all over your body. His embrace oddly soothed you.

      He kissed your neck softly, his lip piercing gently grazing the sensitive skin. "did this all for you, baby," he whispered sadly. You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly. "why? why?!" you shouted.

    He turned you around again, making you face him. He smiled wickedly, his eyes soft on you. "because you're mine," he held your jaw, "nobody belongs with you except me."

     Your glossy eyes stared back at his, your breath steadying as you took in his words. His fingers were coated in blood, smearing it on accident across your face & clothes. He smiled softly, "c'mon honey, let's get you cleaned up," he whispered.

      He pulled your hand to the bathroom, quickly swooping you onto the sink. By wetting some paper, he wiped your face gently, making sure to rid you of another boy's blood. You were silent, staring at his face intently as you watched him be so loving after murdering someone.

     He'd smile at you occasionally, obsession coursing through his veins. He slipped the bloodied papers into his pocket, sighing as his hands now held your thighs. His face was so close to yours, his breath fanning against your face.

     "i knew you'd be so understanding," he sighed happily. You stared back at him, silent, mouth slightly agape. He held your head, pressing his lips softly against your forehead. His thumbs rubbed your cheekbones,

    "i love you... you're never leaving me."

[ladysomething]

no snippets on snippet Wednesday? 🥺

I truly-truly in love with little developments, must’ve reread the last chapter 10 times over…

Thank you for your tireless work!!!

I can’t tell, did you guys want a snippet?? 😂

Here, have an extra long one!

With this being the last meal before Max leaves, Charles takes it into his own hands.

He still can’t hear anything from Max’s room when he passes by the closed door to go upstairs, but he gets started anyway because it’s now almost half past eight.

Aware that Max is probably going to be the hungriest he’s been now that his rut is so close, he chops up all the fruit he can find. Bananas, strawberries, melon, grapes, oranges. He puts three croissants in the oven to warm up—one for him and two for Max—and scrambles eggs. He pours them both some juice, but makes Max a smoothie as well. The only meat Charles can find is chicken, so he grills that as well.

When Max comes upstairs, there are circles under his eyes, he’s got on two sweaters, and there’s a stack of paper under his arm.

“Morning,” he says carefully, eyeing all the food Charles has piled high. “Looks . . .”

The fruit is oddly shaped and mushy from his terrible cutting; the tops of the croissants are burnt; the eggs are cold and rubbery; the chicken is dry; there are smoothie chunks everywhere from when he’d tried to add more milk to the blender without stopping it.

The only thing that looks good is the juice, which he poured straight from the carton.

Charles pulls his lip between his teeth, cheeks pink.

“No, it looks good!” Max says quickly.

Great. It looks so bad that Max, the bluntest person he knows, is lying.

“I tried really hard,” Charles defends weakly.

It’s not really like Max can cook so much better than him—most of their meals are still pre-made, and supplemented with food that's easy to make. Still, even Max has never butchered heating a croissant.

“It’s fine, Charles,” Max promises. “I haven’t even eaten any yet.”

Charles tries to fight his pout, but it doesn’t quite work because Max circles the counter and puts his hand on his elbow.

“No, see, it’s fine,” he repeats, reaching out to pick up a croissant as he squeezes Charles’ arm.

His face twists a little as crispy, burnt flakes of croissant drop everywhere, but he still swallows his mouthful. Charles doesn’t believe him at all, but there’s nothing he can do now except throw it all out, which he doesn’t want to do.

Max seems determined to eat it anyway, so they both carry it all outside into the sun. Charles sits in the shade while Max sits directly in the sunlight, glasses perched on his nose.

The food is far from good, but it's edible, and Max eats it all like he can barely taste it anyway. Charles was right—he is clearly the hungriest he’s been, and he eats everything, even all the fruit that Charles was sure he’d need to store away.

Charles eats far less, but watches on, pleased with Max’s satisfaction when he leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head.

His shirt pulls up, revealing a patch of pale skin and the waistband of his underwear. Charles doesn’t even realise he’s staring until Max slumps back down, shirt falling back to cover him.

It’s getting warm out here, Charles decides, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek to cover his flush.

“I brought the contract up,” Max says after a moment, putting his hand on top of the stack of papers he’s brought with him. “If you still want to read it.”

Charles reaches over the table eagerly and Max simply hands it over, though there’s still a large stack of paper left on the table.

The Mating Rights and Exclusive Access to the Omega, Charles Leclerc.

It’s thinner than he remembers it being.

[campingwiththecharmings]

driver!jake x rich girl!reader

👀👀👀👀

i...am 99.9% sure @melodygatesauthor has probably written this (or something similar lol) but i am happy to put my spin on it as well 😌

---

You're wearing that skirt again.

The one he's sure you know drives him crazy, the one that's so short it barely covers anything, the edges fluttering slightly as you walk, granting him glimpses of the tantalizing treasure beneath.

He tries not to stare, really he does, knows it's not the most professional thing to do (especially as an employee of your father's) but...it's just so hard (in more ways than one).

You certainly don't make his job as your driver easy. Dancing and drinking into the early hours of the morning with your friends (all of whom have tried to pick him up at least once), drunkenly piling into his limo in your designer dresses and heels, giggling and screaming as he quietly drives you back to your penthouse (where the party will likely continue). If he wasn't paid so much, he might be more annoyed at the state of his backseat after he's dropped you off--more than once, he's had to have his (normally) pristine limo professionally cleaned after one of your overserved friends has puked all over his leather seats.

Yes. You're definitely lucky he's paid so well.

Tonight had started as it usually did, with you and your friends asking to be dropped of at some club downtown. It's 1 a.m., and Jake knows he still has a few hours before the club closes for the night. Deciding to stretch his legs, he exits the vehicle, shucking his jacket and tossing it in the driver's seat. He closes the door with his hip, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

Briefly, he considers taking a walk but this part of town is a tad sketchy and he's not too comfortable leaving his car unattended here in the street. Instead, he opts to lean against the side, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it, groaning softly as he takes a pull, the smoke filling his lungs as he inhales deeply. Jake closes his eyes to savor the pleasant buzz in his head from the nicotine, tipping his head back a little and exhaling slowly. He opens his eyes just as the last tendrils of smoke are blown away by the warm, night breeze, and sees you.

There you are, standing alone on the sidewalk in front of him, designer coat folded over your arm, soft smile on your lips. Jake starts, immediately throwing the cigarette down and stomping it out, his back going rigid as he stands to attention.

"Oh, ah--Ready to go, Miss?"

Your lips twitch, eyes dragging slowly down the length of him before you say, "Yes. Take me home, Mr. Lockley."

Jake nods, briefly wondering where the rest of your group is as he pulls open the door to the back of the limo for you. When you don't get in immediately, he looks back, questioning.

With a twinkle in your eyes that he hadn't noticed before, you tell him, "I'd rather sit up front this time, actually."

He nods slowly, wondering what game you're playing with him now. "Of course, whatever you'd like."

Jake closes the back door and turns, pulling open the passenger door for you instead. You make eye contact with him as you brush past, the delicious scent of you invading his senses.

Yeah. He's in big trouble.

Absently, he wets his lips, closing the door once you're inside. He takes his time making his way back around to the driver's side, trying to compose himself for the ride back to your penthouse.

You've always been a hard one for him to read. You've teased him before, sure, but...he'd always figured you were just having fun, that you were just toying with the hired help--that's just what spoiled, little rich girls did, right?

He tosses his jacket into the back and gets in, closing the door and pulling his seat belt on. The engine purrs to life when he turns the key in the ignition, the sound calming his nerves a little. He puts the car into gear, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You're looking out the window, head turned mostly away from him, body angled so you can rest your elbow against the door. He takes a moment to admire your profile, the soft line of your neck, the way the material of your skirt pulls against your thighs. Then, he clears his throat.

"Seat belt."

You look over at him, teasing smile returning to your painted lips as you look at him from beneath your lashes. For a moment, he thinks you're going to talk back, to argue, to tell him you can do whatever you want, but instead, you wordlessly buckle yourself in, eyes never leaving his. He nods, swallowing thickly as he returns his attention ahead.

Your penthouse isn't far from the club you'd been at, and it normally doesn't take long for him to make it back there after your nights out on the town, but he remembers too late that you left earlier than usual this evening and hits a little more traffic than he'd like. You've been quiet the entire drive, simply staring out the window, shifting in your seat every now and then. He can't be sure, but he feels like you might be doing it on purpose, to draw his attention to the fact that your skirt has ridden up so high on your delectable thighs that he can see a flash of the white lace panties beneath them. Jake fights the urge to groan, instead keeping his attention on the road a head of him.

He's relieved when he spots the familiar building that houses your penthouse, internally breathing a sigh of relief as he smoothly halts at the entrance. The doorman rushes out to open the door for you, but you wave him off, instead turning back toward Jake, that gleam still in your eyes.

"Would you mind walking me upstairs, Mr. Lockley?" you ask, your voice soft and far more innocent than the look in your eyes. "I'm not used to being up there all alone."

Jake pauses, considering the repercussions. If he says no, will you complain about him to your father? He could lose his job. But if he says yes, and you do what he thinks you're going to do, he'll lose it anyway, won't he? (that, or your father will kill him)

So either way he's screwed, it seems. Least he can do is have a little fun first.

Jake nods, wetting his lips again as he steers the car toward the garage beside your building. He parks in the spot marked for the penthouse (a spot that's conveniently located right beside the elevator), and helps you out of the vehicle. The edge of your skirt has risen up so high, he can see the curve of your ass cheeks peeking from beneath it as you walk ahead of him to the elevator. He stifles another groan, trying his best to remain professional just in case he's misreading this situation.

The ride up in the elevator is excruciating. All he can think about is pinning you up against the side and shoving his face between your legs. He wonders how you taste (he imagines something rich and sweet, like champagne), how you'd sound, how you'd look just as you're about to come.

The elevator chimes, startling him from his thoughts, the doors opening into the foyer of the penthouse. It's lavish, elegant, but also somehow understated. Perhaps a little like you, he thinks.

Inside he breaths a sigh of relief, thinking his task is done, that he's free to return to his car and go home for the evening...but as you step off onto the white marble floor, you turn slightly, waving him inside.

"Come in, have a drink with me."

Jake hesitates, and you must see it because you chuckle and say, "It's the least I can do for making you walk me all the way up here."

He smiles, nodding his thanks as he makes a waving gesture with his hands. "Please, Miss, there's no need. I'm just doing my job."

Disappointment clouds your eyes at his words and you look away with a quiet sigh, one he only catches because he's watching you so closely. Suddenly you look so....lonely. Standing there in this grand penthouse, all alone. He shouldn't feel bad for you, you have everything you could ever want, everything he doesn't, but...he can't seem to help himself.

Knowing he'll likely end up regretting it, he steps inside, his shoes squeaking slightly on the floor. Your head swivels back toward him at the sound, a light in your eyes when she realizes you've decided to stay. The sight makes something warm unfurl in his chest.

Half an hour later, you're both sitting in your living room (on the most uncomfortable couch he's ever had the misfortune of sitting on), glasses in hand and a bottle of Macallan whisky between you. Your ridiculous heels lay discarded on the floor, delectable legs curled up beneath you as you both laugh about something one of you had said.

Jake's always prided himself on being able to hold his alcohol but, honestly? He's pretty certain that, if he's not drunk now, he is well on his way. He can't stop staring at you, at the way your smile lights up your whole face, the way your eyes sparkle when you say something cheeky...the way your skirt is still riding up your thighs.

He takes another sip from his glass (which he should really stop doing if he's planning on driving himself home later), the liquid burning down his throat. Jake licks his lips, eyes glued to your thighs, wondering idly how soft your skin is, how you'd react if he pushed his calloused hand beneath the hem of your skirt, his fingers dancing along the edge of your panties--

"Jake?"

His eyes shoot back to yours, heat flaring in his cheeks at being caught. You're close (when had you gotten so close?), so close he can smell you, can feel the heat of you through your clothes.

He hums in response, not trusting that his mouth is capable of coherent speech at the moment. You smile, putting your arm against the back of the couch, the length of your body pressed along the side of his as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

"I want you."

Jake groans softly at your words, unable to contain himself any longer. He feels you smile against the side of his neck, your lips dragging along the skin there. You press a feather-light kiss just below the hinge of his jaw and he leans back a little, giving you more space. You hum, nipping at another spot and soothing it with your tongue. Your fingers find their way into his hair, plunging into his soft curls, and gently angling his head where you want it.

You kiss him and he groans again, eyes fluttering shut as your lips move tentatively against his. His hand cups your cheek and you sigh, the action making something tighten in his chest. Soon you're straddling his lap, skirt ridden up so far you might as well not be wearing it (which would be just fine with Jake). His hands are everywhere--cupping your face, slipping beneath your top, clutching your ass, pushing up your thighs toward the hem of your skirt--

You break the kiss with a gasp as his fingertips skim over the delicate lace covering your pussy, your thighs quaking on either side of him.

"Please," you whine breathlessly, mouth falling open as you chase his touch.

Obligingly, Jake slips a finger inside, groaning softly at how warm and wet you are. He swirls his fingertip around your clit, gently teasing it, and dragging the most delicious sounds from between your lips. He watches transfixed as you writhe in his lap, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted. You moan as he slips his fingers further south, briefly teasing your entrance before dipping inside. Your fingers clench in his shirt as you move against his hand, his name spilling from your mouth like a prayer.

"That's it, bebita," he breathes, his chest heaving a little as he watches you. "Take what you need."

You moan again as he circles your clit, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, breath fanning against his lips. You whine his name again and he groans, the sound going straight to his cock. When you come, he swears it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, your breath hitching, mouth slack, eyes closed in ecstasy, body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you.

Jake brings his fingers to his lips as you try to catch your breath, moaning as the rich taste of you explodes on his tongue. He wants more, wants to devour you, to make you come over and over and over again on his tongue until he's swallowed every last ounce of your essence.

He wonders if you'd let him.

You kiss him then, slow and sensual, humming a little as you lick into his mouth. He groans when your hand slips inside his trousers, taking him in your hand.

"Need you, Jake," you pant, lightly rubbing your thumb over his tip.

He throws his head back against the edge of the couch, cursing under his breath in Spanish. He hears you chuckle, your delicate hands working him from his pants.

He clutches at your hips as you sink down onto him, that silly little skirt bunched up around your waist. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as you ride him, your hands fisting in his thick hair as you pull his mouth back to yours. You're squeezing him, your cunt fluttering around his length as he fucks up into you, searching for the spot he knows will fling you over the edge. You break the kiss with a gasped moan when he finds it, whimpering and whining into his ear as he hits it again and again ("Oh fu--right there, Jake. Yeah, just like that. Oh God. Oh fuck---"). You gush around him when you come, soaking and squeezing his cock. He follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a broken groan.

He ends up staying the night (and if he makes you come a few more times before the sun rises, well, who's to say?).

**apologies for any mistakes, this was absolutely not proofread lol**

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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PART 2

[gouraminnow]

Galley on 4th

Pt. 2 (Modern AU- Yandere Thatch x gender neutral reader)

Part 1 | Ao3

Raising your kid sister all by yourself is hard enough on it's own. But add classes, poverty, and several jobs to juggle and the pressure builds awfully fast. Most employers will drop you on a whim and it's all you can do to stay afloat… So when you somehow manage to land a well-paying position at The Galley on 4th Avenue, a famous, high-end place run by some well renowned Chef- You're desperate to hold things down. Good thing your new Boss is so friendly and understanding, huh?

Warnings: Not much for this chapter. General themes of poverty, hints of yandere sketchiness

Kind of a filler chapter! Mostly setting up Reader and Grub's relationship + background characters. Wish there were more named WBP members outside of the commanders, I'd make the restaurant staff canon 4th division characters if I could. Ah well, I still like my ocs lol. There WILL be more reader/Thatch interaction in the NEXT chapter! Happy Holidays to those who celebrate!

Despite the hell of a day you’d had, it turned out to be… a pretty good night, somehow. Thatch didn’t even stay that long- not that you could blame him. If he thought the way he’d been skulking around your kitchen was slick he had another thing coming. And while it was nice he hadn’t said anything rude, you still didn’t appreciate the… looking. You just didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Grub. Or at all, really, if it means this goes away… you think, watching the kid pile her plate high with a gap-toothed grin. Your boss had left pretty soon after Grub’s attention was stolen by the food, but not before leaving you his phone number and insisting you let him know if you needed help with anything. You had nodded dumbly, stumbling through another quiet thank-you before he escorted himself out.

And that was it.

You stood quietly in front of the closed door for a moment, the rustling of Grub rifling through bags seeming much farther than it really was. “EARWIG!” She shouts, waving at you from the table. “Come on, come EAT! It’s GOOD!”

“Don’t call me that,” you sigh, words falling from your lips as you turn to trudge back to the table. “... But you’re right, I should eat.” She grins, shoving a white box of buttered rolls towards you- the pull-apart kind.

“Look look look! There’s so many of them! I didn’t know they came attached!” She exclaims excitedly. You smile, reaching across the table to ruffle her hair.

“Yep. Crazy world we live in, huh kiddo? Pace yourself, yeah? I’m excited too, but don’t make yourself sick sweetheart.” She sticks her tongue out, scooping some potatoes onto her plate. “Hey, you put that back!” You playfully scold, pointing to her mouth and she giggles. “I’m serious though, eat slowly. You wouldn’t want to throw up the good stuff, would you?”

She looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, eyes narrowing- then she sighs, and flops against the back of the chair with a sullen expression. “Ugh. I guess not…” Your eyes soften. “Hey, kid, I’m not saying you can’t eat, just that you have to do it slowly, okay? Don’t sulk, now.”

Grub slowly sits up, resting her knobby elbows on the kitchen table. Her wide eyes regard you sternly from behind her bangs- you should probably trim those, soon. “Does this…” she starts, before looking around and lowering her voice almost conspiratorially. “Does this mean we can have seconds tonight..?”

You scoff, but inside your chest you feel your heart clench. It was… normal to try and ration things for a couple days. Whether it was takeout, or you managed to buy some decent pasta the kid didn’t hate the texture of and made a big pot of something with it… it was expected that the both of you would only have one serving of each. You had been thinking of doing the same thing here, honestly- just acting on autopilot until she had asked. But… neither of you really had access to a spread like this since… since your old family dinners.

Since long before you took Grub, and ran.

You relax the muscles you hadn’t realized you had been tensing, and smile warmly at your baby sister. “Of course we can, kiddo. Actually- do you want to put on a movie, too? It’s the weekend, after all.”

And the grin she gives you isn’t one you’d trade for the world.

-

She’s very energetic in the morning, you quickly learn- when you’re torn from dreamland by her little hands violently shaking your shoulders. “EARWIG! BREAKFAST TIME! BREAKFAST!” She yells while you try to figure out where the hell you are. Is this a rollercoaster? Car crash, maybe?

“K-kid- jesus, I’m awake, I’m awake! Yes! Breakfast! Very exciting!” You stammer, forgetting your wrist when you try to grab at her. That familiar jolt of pain shoots up your arm, and that seems to do the trick because Grub finally stops.

“Oh, um… Sorry, I forgot…” She mumbles as you lie dazed in your own bed. Well… shared bed. You technically had a twin sized mattress for the Grub, but she always seemed to find her way into your bed. You’d wake up with her curled up in front of you, little hands clutching at whatever nightshirt you were wearing, and eventually you stopped trying to dissuade her. The twin bed was just another storage space now, extra sheets and blankets kept underneath and all her plushies carefully arranged on top. You raise your good hand, giving the kid a thumbs-up.

“S’fine, I forgot too,” you confess, strained voice still heavy with sleep. Your hand drops to rub at your eyes, then the bridge of your nose while you try to blink the blurriness away. “Ugh. What time is it, kid?” you ask, rolling onto your side. She had turned the lights on and the curtains were drawn, so you couldn’t be sure. It certainly felt early, though. You knew she typically got up before you, allowing you to slip in and out of sleep for a couple more hours.

Your vision comes into focus in time to see Grub bashfully pull away, arms folded behind her back. She’s wearing the oversized tie-dye shirt the two of you made a few months back, when she was home sick for some sort of classroom art activity. “It’s seven…” She mumbles. “B-but I was excited for breakfast, a-and I didn’t wanna eat without you! I already waited a whole half-hour!”

You stare at her for a moment. That’s… sweet, even if you still want to sleep… you sigh, folding your arm over your face. “Alright, kiddo. I’ll be up in a bit, okay? We’ll try one of the soups, I’ll heat it up on the stove…” You punctuate your words with a yawn. “Then I’m gonna take a nap. Okay?”

“Okay!” She cheers, the volume rattling your brain inside your skull. Ugh. Guess it’s time to get up now… you toss the old blankets aside, stretch until your back cracks, and then swing your legs over the edge of the bed, settling your feet against the itchy gray carpet. You’d been meaning to get some sort of mat to set down by the bed, something softer and less… grimy, but it was hardly a priority. You trudge your way into the bathroom. Grub has long since left you in the dust, and you can hear whatever cartoons she’s put on in the living room. You amble your way down the hall, to the doorways at the end- one leading into the kitchen, and the one on the other side leading into the bathroom. The yellowed tiles are cracked, and the buzzing of the flickering light irritates you, but luckily brushing your teeth doesn’t take all that long. Grub loudly sings along to some gratingly cheerful theme song in the other room. You finish brushing, and then go to re-wrap your wrist. Delicately peeling the fabric away, you wince. Dark purple marks gather around your wrist, fading into other shades as the blooms of discoloration spreads from either side. You flex your fingers, as a test- paying close attention to the twinges it causes. You had been… ignoring those, when you had other things to do, but now you were face to face with the fact that this was a lot worse than what you had thought. 

Well, alright. This shouldn’t be a problem, you can manage! You have two days before you have to go anywhere. Two days you don’t have to work. You opt to keep it unwrapped, for now- bracing an icepack between your arm and your chest while you warm up the food should work, and you only need one hand to eat.

So that’s how it goes, injured arm awkwardly folded against your chest while you reheat Millie’s chowder on the stove, stirring slowly with an old wooden spoon, fingers catching on the spots where the wood grain fibers have been picked at. Some of the rolls are being reheated in the oven, so as to crisp them up rather than letting the microwave leave them… strange. Microwaved bread sucks. Somehow both chewier and soggier than it was initially. Horrible texture, just awful.

Grub is nice enough to fetch bowls and utensils without being asked, dragging around that old little step stool you’d found at a garage sale. She’s… surprisingly quiet today, aside from your abrupt awakening- no chatter as she sets the bowls onto the counter next to the stove, nor when she fetches the oven mit for you. “Thanks, button,” you coo, taking a brief break from stirring to rub her head. She hugs your waist, before hopping back. “This should be warm enough now, I think,” you mumble, raising the spoon to your lips to confirm your thoughts.

Oh wow. Millie knows what she’s doing, this stuff is good. You’ll be sure to tell her in person on Monday.

You ladle a portion into each bowl, telling Grub to be careful as she rushes to the table with hers. You smile, turning the burner off, and remove the rolls from the oven before turning that off, as well. Setting the pan onto the empty burners beside the pot of chowder, you take your own bowl to your spot at the table- across from the kid. “Bread has to cool a little bit, but help yourself once it does, kiddo.” Grub nods- already at least a third of the way through the bowl you’d given her. She still hasn’t said much, other than when she woke you up. Normally you have to remind her not to talk with her mouth full. You exhale slowly. “Hey Grub? Is… everything okay, sweetheart..?” 

She pauses her chewing, eyes flitting between your worried face and her bowl of chowder. She gulps, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Um… I just…” She starts, but trails off.

“Hey, it’s alright,” you assure her softly. “Do you want seconds, again? Is that it? We can, if you want.”

Her little brows knit together and she huffs, staring down at her soup. “... I want to eat like this more. D-do you think, um, Breadhead will do this again..?” You snort a laugh, shoving your uneasiness down.

You… don’t want to promise her anything. You’d like to eat like this more too, truthfully. “Well, Thatch is… pretty friendly. I didn’t expect him to do any of this, honestly…” Your turn to go quiet. “I guess, m-maybe I could, um…” The idea alone makes the words hard to get out, like sharp stones digging into your throat as you dredge them up. “... I-I think I could ask,” you offer her.

She smiles a little bit. “We have enough for the weekend, at least…” she says, and you can hear the squeaking of her chair as she swings her little legs. “Then you can get more on Monday, maybe…”

“I’ll see what I can do, kiddo. Might not bring back as much, but I’ll make sure you get something.”

She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at her chowder and swinging her legs. “Yeah, I know,” she eventually says.

The rest of breakfast is quiet, but not unpleasant. Grub has a second, smaller helping of soup and two bread rolls- that kid sure can put a lot away. Weekends are nice. You have an online class to attend on Saturdays, but for the rest of it- no responsibilities other than Grub. You always make sure to put some time aside for the kid, whether it’s an art project, cooking something together, going to the park… but it’s been cold and wet outside lately, so you opt to stay in. She’s gone over to Miss Howell’s apartment for a shower and some cocoa while you have class- your shower doesn’t work. You typically head over and borrow it as well, once your class is over.

Edith Howell was a sweet old woman who lived across the hall. She didn’t talk about herself much, but she was always willing to help you and for that- you were extremely grateful. It wasn’t just letting you use her amenities- she’s the one who picks up Grub when you work evenings. She has a dayjob at a kitschy little craft store, and often had something to give Grub. Your sister thought she was awesome, because anyone who would humor her mischievousness earned points in her book- plus she thought the surname of “Howell” made her sound like a werewolf. Edith humored the kid, even getting one of those classic but tacky three-wolf-moon shirts, which Grub thought was awesome.

Finishing up the lecture, you huff. Finally. You stand, and stretch- waiting for that familiar kink in your back to sort itself out. You weren’t… particularly passionate about medical care, but it does pay pretty well. But it’s endlessly frustrating how you struggle to afford the very same treatments you’re currently learning about. Your eyes flicker to your still-aching wrist. Getting a proper brace for it might be a good idea… maybe you could find something cheaper online?

… Maybe you’d look later.

You stand up from your rickety chair, stepping into your slippers, gathering a change of clothes and ambling into the living room, with the intention of embarking on the grand commute that was the door across the hall. With a warm set of pajamas tucked under your bad arm, you swing open the door with the good one and close it behind you.

Ugh. 

The hall light is flickering again, and it always whines- a low buzzing that settles in the back of your head. It never fails to agitate Grub, who makes a competition of spending as little time in these yellow, moldering corridors as possible, the same way she races you to bed after flicking off the bedroom lights. You take the four steps it takes to cross the hall, cringing at the way your slippers stick to the floor slightly every time you lift your feet. You don’t knock, just opening the door and walking right in. Edith expects you on Saturdays, and you know her hips bother her. No reason to make her walk to the door when greeting each other once inside works just fine.

“Hi, Edith! Grub! I’m here!” you call out in the entryway. You hear the tv playing something, some shuffling, and then Grub is darting toward you. You hear Edith’s laughter from the living room as your sister’s little arms encircle you, your good hand automatically moving to ruffle the kid’s hair- “Kid, your hair’s still wet,” you comment, hand recoiling.

Grub looks up at you, pouting. “It’s fiiiine,” she whines. “I don’t like how the dryer sounds, an’ using a towel pulls my hair!”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re awfully sensitive,” you jab, but there’s only humor behind it. Grub sticks her tongue out at you, then sinks down- sitting firmly on top of your right foot while her limbs wrap tightly around your leg. You quirk a brow, head slowly tilting as you stare back down at her. “Oh, this is what we’re doing, hmm?” The kid grins, bursting into a fit of giggles as her fingers dig in. “Alright, here we go! HUP!” You lurch forward, dragging her along with you. She doesn’t get much air, but she’s having fun regardless.

“Hi, Miss Howl!” you greet, dragging a laughing Grub along with you as you slowly lurch your way into the living room. “Sorry, it’s gonna take me a bit, I seem to have some sort of growth,” you say, finally in view of the old woman sitting on her floral-patterned couch, old shelf of kitschy glass animal figures and craft projects standing a little ways behind her. She’s wearing a long, dark brown skirt, and that cheesy t-shirt she bought to humor your sister. Her apartment is a little nicer than yours, mostly in terms of furnishings- you’ve always been a little envious of her lacy curtains. But the conditions of the building itself still shine through. The linoleum kitchen floor is still warped and the wallpaper is peeling.

“What a shame,” she tuts, shaking her bespectacled head, the few gray, flyaway strands of hair that escaped her bun swaying. “I hear getting rid of those is rough.”

“Normally, that’s true,” you comment, looking down at your giggling sister. “Lucky for me, I’ve got an efficient, low-cost method of enucleation,” you say, grinning slyly at her. Before Grub realizes the game you’re playing, your free hand shoots down and you run your fingers up and down her sides, your tickling immediately earning you a thrashing Grub and peals of hysterical laughter. She flails, arms and legs unwrapping, and your good arm quickly loops around under her arms to keep her from falling backward. Can’t have her hitting her head. Or anything, preferably. 

She straightens herself out with a huff, and you let go- standing back up and stepping away. You gesture vaguely at her. “See? Easy and free.”

“Cheater!” Grub pouts, but your host just laughs.

“I’ll have to remember that little trick,” she chuckles, adjusting her glasses. She moves to stand, and you instinctively move forward to help, but she raises a flattened hand in a silent gesture to stop. “Oh, don’t be like that, I can manage,” she huffs, taking a moment to stretch once she’s on her feet. “I’m hardly an invalid, yet,” she quips, flashing you a wry smile.

“Ah, sorry, I just-”

“None of that either! Come on now, hon.” She continues chastising. You feel your face growing warmer.

“Yeah, Earwig, none of that either!” Grub pipes up cheekily. You turn to where she still sits on the floor, arms crossed. There’s a second of eye contact- and then you drop to the floor as well, good hand shooting out to tickle the girl once again. She howls with laughter, and Edith simply shakes her head, shuffling past the old vintage piano and into the kitchen.

“I’m putting the kettle on!” she calls out. “You know where everything is, so feel free to shower whenever!”

The shower is just what you needed. The bathroom is still humid from Grub’s shower when you enter, and it always smells faintly of mildew in here, but at least Edith gets hot water. You take a couple moments to just stand under the hot spray, eyes closed and head tilted up as the heat sinks into your stressed body. You’re careful with your wrist, but the familiar sharp pangs still shoot up your arm. Your brows furrow. It’s… worse than you thought. You had broken both wrists before. Did it… mess things up again, maybe? You sigh, doing your best to brace yourself, before carefully trying to feel your injured left wrist with your good hand. Taking your right pointer and middle fingers, you try to gently press along your injured wrist but don’t get far- the pain it sends through you has you stifling a cry. Whimpering, you bite your lip. Fuck. You can deny it to Thatch, Edith, and Grub, but not to yourself. It’s worse than you thought. Not broken. At least you don’t think so, you’d at least know that if it was, wouldn’t you? Regardless, you really can’t do anything about it. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you opt to just wrap it again when you finish your shower. You sigh shakily, lowering your arms and closing your eyes, enjoying the hot water for just a little longer.

Your host greets you from the kitchen when you exit, your hair still damp and eyes half-lidded in the relaxed fatigue a nice shower leaves you with. She gives you your tea options, and you call out your preference as you amble towards Grub. She’s currently wrapped up in a blanket on Edith’s dusty pink floral couch, a generous mug of cocoa clasped between her little hands, and residue from the drink decorating her upper lip. Edith has some cartoons on for her- it’s vaguely familiar, a protagonist in white and blue up against some power-ranger-esque looking villains. You ruffle her hair as you pass, returning the raspberry she blows at you with a grin. “You’re due for a trim. You got a cocoa-stache, kiddo,” you tell her, chuckling when she immediately starts licking her lips.

You meet Edith in the kitchen. She’s got one of those quick, electric kettles- heats the water up fast. Something to consider after Grub’s winter boots, you think, taking the steaming mug Edith hands you. She pours her own, following you back out to the living room, both of you sitting yourselves down at a creaky little corner table. She sighs, leaning back in her equally creaky chair, and you busy yourself with your first sip of tea. Ooh. Too soon. Edith snorts at the way your face scrunches up when the hot water scalds your tongue. She doesn’t need to chide you, the look she shoots over the rims of her glasses is enough. You huff, flustered, but give a short nod. 

You both sit there in comfortable silence for a couple minutes, save for the dramatics of the show Grub is watching. You jump, whipping around when the kid suddenly starts excitedly belting something out- ah. Next episode. You quickly settle, a small but warm smile spreading across your face as your sister sings along with the opening theme. You turn back to Edith, noting the twinkle in her eyes as she watches you. “She’s particularly happy tonight,” she notes. You nod.

“Probably the food…” you mumble with a lopsided smile, blowing on your tea and tentatively raising it to your lips.

“Mmm. Yes, I saw the take-out bags. That man is the charitable type, it seems.”

You hum, taking a sip. It’s hot, and irritates the burn on your tongue somewhat, but other than that it’s pleasant now. You lower the mug. “I… think he mostly just felt bad,” you say, eyes avoiding hers.

“Good. Take advantage of that, then, lord knows you could use the break,” she quips, voice laced with good humor. “He seemed fond of you…” She continues. “Could do a lot worse than a man like that, you know?”

Your face heats up. “I- w-what?! Miss Howell!” You hiss incredulously. You know she’s probably just teasing you, but you can’t help it.

She laughs. “Oh come now,” she chides. “He’s tall, he’s very well built-” You slap your good hand over your face with a whine. “-He can cook, and he’s clearly already willing to help you out, isn’t he?” “E-edith!” You stammer, cheeks and ears burning. Your voice is hushed as you glance over at a pre-occupied Grub, making sure she isn’t listening. You know she’d start making fun of you school-yard style for having a cruuuuush, and you could do without a nine-year-old’s witticisms. She might even say something if she saw him again, too. You shudder at the thought. “Come on, he’s my boss!” You continue, earning another snort from the woman before you. 

“Good! Go and get yourself a raise, then! A little sugar never hurt anybody!” She shoots you a wink.

“Oh my god, E-EDITH!” Your exclamation and the elderly woman’s resulting cackle do succeed in drawing your sister’s attention away from her cartoons- you hear the telltale clack of her mug being set down on the coffee table, so you turn to face her direction again. You watch as she cranes her little neck, before opting to shuffle her body around and drape her arms over the back of the couch, hands dangling.

“What? What is it, what happened?” She asks, smiling brightly at you.

You do a frantic shooing motion with your good hand, and your host speaks up for you. “Don’t worry about it dear, I’m just giving earwig here a hard time, is all.”

You jolt as soon as you hear the silly nickname. You whip back around to her, hand flying to the spot over your heart, face twisted in a mask of betrayal. “Et tu, Miss Howell?” You theatrically exclaim, an exaggerated wobble added to your voice.

Weekends never last long enough. Saturday was lovely, the evening capped off by having Edith over for dinner- sharing the gumbo. She reiterated that Thatch was a good cook, and you quipped back that it was likely a subordinate chef who actually did it. But her words did ring true, unfortunately. He was good. You knew that much for sure. And while you were usually focused on other things, now that you take the time to really think about it, he… really isn’t all that bad looking, huh?

You go to bed a little confused that night, Grub none the wiser.

Sunday is nice, too. It’s the one day you don’t have work or class, so you spend it trying to dote on Grub. After breakfast, some cartoons and a short game of uno, you get her into some of her warmer clothes and walk hand-in-hand down to the bus stop for a relaxing day at the local library. Their kid’s section is nice, and Grub adores the comics. You have to tell her not to run and jump onto the bean bag chairs, but other than that she’s very good, curled up next to you with a pile of books. One of the titles catches your eye- that being Sora, Warrior of the Sea. It looks… just like that cartoon she was watching. Huh. Kid’s lucky- you remember wishing some of your childhood favorites were adapted to the big screen, but alas.

Things only went sour once you’d gotten back home, wrapped up cozy on the couch barely listening to the news on your grainy old tv while Grub draws. You’re reheating more of those leftovers when your phone rings, the sudden loud noise making you jump. The scuffed, cracked screen lights up, displaying the name of Grub’s school district, and you answer, holding it up to your ear with your left shoulder while stirring your chili with your right hand. And in that canned, robotic, tone you get a message that makes you want to start yelling. It’s a fucking Records Day tomorrow. No school for the kid.

You groan, taking a break from the food to put the phone down with your good hand. You look back to where she lays on the floor- the drawing paper laid over a heavy book since the carpet didn’t make for a flat surface. “Hey, kiddo,” you call out, watching as she finished scribbling something before raising her head in acknowledgement. “Did anybody tell you there’s no school tomorrow..?” 

She blinks owlishly at you. “Nuh-uh,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t remember any teachers saying that… Do I get to stay home tomorrow?” She asks, a little smile spreading across her face.

“That’s what I’ve gotta figure out, kiddo. Me and Miss Howell both have work tomorrow, and I’m not leaving you here alone.” She looks sad for a second, shoulders drooping, until she looks back up at you thoughtfully.

“... But I still don’t gotta go to school?”

“It’s not that you don’t have to. You actually can’t.” You tell her, getting a gap-toothed grin and a whooping cheer in response. You roll your eyes as if you aren’t smiling too. 

… But it’s still an issue. You have a longer shift at The Galley tomorrow, starting during the afternoon and lasting until closing. You wouldn’t leave her alone in a normal home, let alone this nightmare of an apartment. Speaking of, you need to get some more diatomaceous earth soon- you saw a roach in the hallway. You sigh, hand on your forehead, biting your lip. Your eyes slide to Grub, happily drawing again. Your eyes move back to your phone.

Thatch did tell you to ask for favors. Insisted on it. But it makes you uneasy just thinking about it. You turn back to the chili, giving it a stir before turning the stove off. You stare into the deep, brown red soup for a moment, as if the beans and ground meat would provide you with a way out of it. But you really don’t have anyone who can watch the kid…

With another heavy sigh, you snatch up the phone and type out a quick text to your boss before you can talk yourself out of it.

Hello, sir. Sorry to bother you again so soon. I had another favor to ask, if it’s not too much trouble.

Ugh. Your stomach is in your throat. It’s a simple message, but you’re practically nauseous over it. You’re ladeling the chili into bowls when the phone rings again, Thatch’s name lighting up the screen this time.

Wow. That was quick.

You deposit Grub’s portion on the table and gesture her over, before leaving to take the call in your bedroom. You swipe right to answer, then hold the phone up. “H-hello?”

“Hey there sweetheart, everything alright?” You blink, brows furrowing. Sweetheart? You opt to ignore the way your cheeks heat up, shoving Edith's words from the previous day out of your head.

“Uh. Y-yeah, sorry if I was vague, it’s not, um, urgent. It’s just about tomorrow…”

-

Thatch sits down on the break room couch, crossing his legs, reclining with his free arm draped over the back. He’d been irritated to get a text while working, but his face lit up once he fished it out of his pocket and saw just who it was. He told Genkei it was you, and the man shot him dual-finger guns and took over the meal prep without a word, whistling pleasantly. He pressed the call-button as he headed for the double-doored kitchen exit.

A favor, he thought, you were asking for a favor, just as he’d encouraged you to… with your reluctance, he thought it would take longer for you to reach out. This was a welcome surprise. The phone rings a few times before you pick up, nervous voice rendered slightly grainy through the speaker. “H-hello?”

“Hey there sweetheart, everything alright?” he cuts to the point, but asks the question casually. His lips quirk upward when he notices the distinct pause on the other end- a response to the endearment he’d tossed in, surely. He indulges himself for a moment by imagining that you must be flustered.

“Uh. Y-yeah, sorry if I was vague, it’s not, um, urgent. It’s just about tomorrow…” You say, skipping over the pet name. A point in his favor, it would do for you to get used to those. Millie had been visually perturbed the first time he called her “sweet pea,” so he’d backed off for a little while, though the way he used epithets of endearment for her came from a place of paternalism rather than…

Well, how did he feel about you, exactly?

“Ah, do you want to take the day off? Want a ride to a clinic, instead?” he offers, hoping you’ll take him up on it. “Finally taking my advice and getting your wrist checked out, huh?”

“Uh, no…” he has to suppress a sigh at that. “Or, m-maybe? But it’s not about that, sir,” he quirks a brow. “I just found out Grub doesn’t have school tomorrow. I don’t have anybody who can watch her, especially not on short notice, so I-I thought that, um…”

“... You want to bring the kiddo?” He finishes for you when you trail off, keeping his voice light.

“If that’s alright… sometimes I bring her to the diner and she hangs out in a booth, but I know this is, uh… a very different type of place.” Thatch chuckles. As much as he did want you to take the time off, you had mentioned it wasn’t within your budget on Friday… Plus, a chance for Grub to warm up to him was something he didn’t want to pass up on.

“We have a break room for a reason, don’t we? We can work something out.” He pauses for a moment. There’s one small problem. “I don’t have a carseat, though…” Maybe Oyaji still had one in storage somewhere, but it would take awhile to find.

“I don’t either,” you confess, voice small. It was that tone he’d become familiar with in his short time as your employer, the one used when you were nervous or self-conscious about something. 

“Well, you don’t have a car, so there’s not much of a point,” he comments. Someone in your position had more important things to spend money on, poor thing. “We can stack some heavy books in the backseat.”

“Are you sure..?”

“Well, it’s not ideal, but it should work for one day.”

“I guess so…” You trail off, going quiet for a moment. He’s about to ask if you’re still there, but there’s a muffled creaking sound, and a little voice. It’s clearly Grub, but he can’t make out any words. When he hears you again, it’s quieter- he can visualize you lowering the phone. “I’m calling someone right now, sweetie, I’ll come eat in a moment-” something unintelligible. “I can warm it up again, it’s okay. I’m- I’m working things out. I think you’re coming to work with me tomorrow-”

“DO I GETTA EAT?!” The kid’s voice is suddenly much clearer, the enthusiastic yell carrying through the receiver. Thatch laughs, slapping his free hand over his face. That particular remark had him hard-pressed not to think of Ace’s own little brother.

“Uh, yeeess? Probably.” You pause. “Yes, I can at least get you some of that bread, for sure. Now let me finish the call, okay? I’ll be right there.” The kid says something at a much more normal volume, likely just a confirmation, and then he hears a door slam. “Grub! Careful!” There’s a sigh, and then your voice is clear again, phone no doubt raised back up to your ear. “Sorry about that…”

“Sorry for what? It’s no problem,” he says, smiling wide as he speaks. “And I’ll feed the little insect for free. Friends and family privileges, yeah?” There’s another brief silence, before you stammer out a baffled response.

“Oh. Um. Y-yeah? Thank you?” And then, much quieter, “little insect…” the phone only just catches the snort of laughter you let out. He feels a little fuzzy at that. He wishes he could’ve heard it more clearly. 

It’s not something you do very often.

“So, same plan for tomorrow, I pick you up for your shift at 1:30- just with an extra passenger added? Do I have that right?”

“Yeah, p-pretty much,” you confirm.

“Alright! That’s easy. Nothing to worry about, alright?” he assures. There’s another beat of silence. You do tend to get tongue-tied when presented with leniency, no doubt expecting him to be a hardass. Which he definitely was, he just knew when it was appropriate, thank you very much. 

“Okay,” you start, quiet but voice steadier. “Alright, sir, I… Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Thatch smiles again, glad to have eased your nerves somewhat. “Of course. I have to go, but if there’s anything else, don’t be a stranger alright?” 

“I… won’t. Thank you, sir. G-goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” And with that, Thatch hangs up. He lowers the phone, looking at the screen with warmth before pocketing it and making his way back to the kitchen. He had many of his own duties, but enjoyed working alongside his employees when he could, of course. 

He effortlessly slides in next to Genkei at the counter, checking the lanky man’s progress. He was on the last of eight potatoes but hadn’t started on the onions, so Thatch swiped a knife from the block and got to work. He cuts off the top and bottom, leaving the root intact, and then halves it. “What did they say?” Asks Genkei, finishing the potato and dropping the evenly cubed pieces into the bowl with the rest of them.

Thatch doesn’t look up, shucking the outer layers off each side of the onion. “Apparently, their baby sister doesn’t have school tomorrow, and there’s no sitter,” he explains, making quick work of the standard parallel, vertical cuts from the root-end to the top. “So I said I’d pick 'em both up, and the kiddo’s gonna be hangin’ out in the break room.”

“Ohoh! Grub’s gonna visit!” Genkei exclaims, and that gets Thatch’s attention- he looks up to meet Genkei’s smiling face. There’s a strange pang of jealousy that runs through him, settling in his gut. How long had Genkei known about your little sister? But he has the sense to shove that feeling down. You and Genkei work alongside each other and have far more contact than he’s had the chance to, but that can change. Though it’s also surprising he didn’t hear Grub’s name from Genkei himself, considering just how much that man loved to talk. “So, do we get to make the kid some of her namesake?” Genkei quips, drawing Thatch back out of his thoughts.

Thatch chuckles. “Of course. Ace is gonna be in on Monday too. Mr. Black Hole always manages to get a couple free entrees out of us, an’ he’s a grown man with a job. I’m not against spoiling a little kid.” Genkei laughs himself, before snatching another onion and beginning to mirror Thatch. “Speaking of, have you met her, or..?”

“Huh? Oh, Grub? Nah, they talk about her sometimes, but they don’t talk about themselves very much. Which… yeah, I get it,” He says, gesturing vaguely. “Most they said was when they saw my centipede tattoo. Said the kid would really like it.” Genkei beams when he says this, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes strengthening considerably.

Thatch smiles warmly, and that irrational jealousy turning in his gut calms considerably. “Well, I only saw her briefly, but the kid’s hilarious,” he says, words punctuated by the chopping of his knife.

“It’ll be good to meet her, I’m sure. Excited Ace is showing up, too! It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him,” Genkei sighs wistfully.

This gets a snort out of Thatch. “About a week, if I recall.”

“But it feels like so much longer,” he whines, beginning the first of the parallel cuts on his onion as Thatch has finished dicing his own. The familiar sting of allium fumes aids in Genkei’s theatrics, allowing him to squeeze out a tear.

Thatch laughs, shaking his head. Genkei wasn’t part of the family, but he and Ace were good friends. He was the one who told him to apply for the line cook position in the first place, saying Thatch would throw him a bone. And he was right, of course, he liked to think he took some good qualities from his father.

[ephie-om]

Ever since MC was little they always knew they wanted to be a menace

CW: violence, rough language

Day 20: MCs and OCs

MC has adapted incredibly to the Devildom. You were more than a quarter of the reason that Diavolo’s exchange program had been deemed a roaring success. You’ve been nearly poisoned by food, almost killed by demons, actually killed by a demon, and had your privacy invaded at every turn. But somehow you have come to call the House of Lamentation a home. You blossomed into one of the most respected creatures in the Devildom by demons and humans alike.

You throw a pile of clothes into your suitcase haphazardly. Lucifer raps on your doorframe loudly, “We need to be out of the door in ten minutes.” You nod your understanding. The house thrums with a buzz of noise, brothers calling out to each other. MC can hear Beel accuse Mammon of stealing one of his shirts and Mammon’s vehement denial. You smile to yourself as you struggle to close your suitcase and roll it out of the room.

Lucifer’s voice rises above the din. “Does everyone have everything they need? Once we leave, we’re not coming back!” A murmur of assent rises from the foyer. “Alright, let’s go.” Cheers fill the building as you all file out carrying your luggage. Beel’s arms are filled with several of Asmo’s suitcases as well as his. Your group makes its way to a stone circle crackling with magic. Barbatos has just finished preparing the incantations, and Lucifer directs all of you to pack into the circle with nothing sticking out. An elbow jams into your stomach and knocks the breath out of you. You wheeze a curse, and the magic rising makes the space behind your eyes buzz. A powerful hum fills your ears and you close your eyes.

When you open them again, a light wave of nausea passes over you, mostly from the journey but also from the light. The warm sun beats down on you, a welcome feeling. The demons beside you flinch and shield their eyes, and you chuckle. Barbatos has set you outside of a Hotel Corvo branch, and your group piles in as the demons take in the human world from the lobby. Lucifer gets everyone checked into their rooms and tells you to drop your things at the door and reconvene near the front desk. He pulls out a paper schedule from his unseasonably warm coat, which immediately gets crumpled as his brothers spot more interesting things on the street through the glass doors.

You find yourself dragged along with Mammon and Satan to a coffee shop across the street, both nagging you for flavor recommendations. They’re both talking a mile a minute and you finally give up, telling them that you’ll just order for them. Satan gets an iced white mocha and Mammon gets a disgustingly sweet blended caramel drink. You order your own drink of choice and sip idly while they browse the mugs for sale. Another customer bumps into Satan from behind, and he shoots the back of her head a withering glare, remembering Lucifer’s strict instructions to act like humans. That meant no violence unless absolutely necessary and no demon forms, both rules that Satan felt like were personally targeted.

Mammon splits off from your group after spotting a high-end department store and Satan elects to try and find a thrift shop. You’re fairly sure that an affluent area like this wouldn’t have one, but you accept the challenge anyway. It’ll be a good way to see more of the area, if nothing else. You wander down sidewalks here and there at Satan’s insistence, happily taking in the familiar smells and sounds.

He spots a dingy-looking building down a side street, grabbing your hand to tow you along with him. You duck into the door and the heavy scent of patchouli hits your nostrils. You cough from the smell and the person at the front desk glances up at the two of you. “Welcome in,” he drones, looking back down at his phone. Satan stands there for a moment, looking over the variety of clothes for sale.

“Satan, I don’t think this is a thrift store. I’m pretty sure this is just a sketchy regular store.” He shrugs and wanders to look at pants, and you wriggle your hand out of his. You’ve made it a mission to get gifts for all the brothers, and the streetwear style sold here would probably suit Beel or Mammon perfectly. You catch movement out of the corner of your eye, another employee exiting the back room. He’s tall but skinny, slightly hunched over. You go back to browsing, trying to find a good pair of sunglasses for Beel while he’s up here.

A pair with burnished orange frames stands out to you from the back of the rack, and as you circle around to grab it, you notice the same employee again. As you look at him, he hurriedly turns back to a rack of shirts. You pluck the sunglasses out and keep them securely in one hand, trying to show you aren’t stealing anything. Satan waves to grab your attention and holds up an armful of clothes as he heads to the counter, and the tall employee follows. He rings up Satan’s purchase with a smile that looks out of place on his face, and Satan tries to politely smile back. You browse a jewelry rack near the counter just in case you need to stop Satan.

“So, are you two together?” he asks a perturbed Satan.

“No, we’re visiting with family,” he replies cautiously.

“Well, that’s a shame. Two pretty people like you would make a good pair.”

Satan narrows his eyes. “We aren’t.” He grabs his bag from the employee with a little more force than necessary, but he just smiles back. You walk up to the register with the sunglasses for Beel and a thick golden ring for Mammon. He watches closely as you set them down on the counter and takes his time entering the product information into his computer. “So, have you had any work done?” he asks you casually. Taken aback, you stutter for a moment.

“N-no, never.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. You’re telling me all of that is natural?”

You start to feel the annoyance rise in you as you give him a short nod back. The shop door creaks as it opens to reveal Lucifer. Satan turns to him as they hold a quiet conversation, and as you look over at them, the man at the counter takes the opportunity while you're distracted to reach out and stroke your cheek. You whip back around, incredulous, but he doesn’t move.

Wrath bubbles up from inside of you. How dare he touch you without asking? Your eyes blaze green and your animal, or maybe demonic, instincts take over.

He screams as you sink your teeth deep into his hand, and the demons by the door jump. The tall man tries to pull back, but you won’t let him get away so easily. You bite down harder until your jaw pops from the effort. You smell blood, and he howls in pain. “G-GET IT OFF!” he screams to Satan, who doesn’t move a muscle. Feeling like you’ve accomplished enough, you open your mouth. He drops to the floor, tears flowing, and you grimace at the taste in your mouth, like cheap cigarettes. Mission accomplished, you take your purchases from the counter.

You turn to leave, facing Lucifer and Satan, who are standing there in complete shock. Lucifer swallows hard and motions to his mouth. “You’ve got a little, um…” You wipe your lips with your hand and it comes away red.

“We can stop at a bathroom and I’ll get cleaned up. Are we going to dinner?”

Lucifer nods. “I was coming to get the two of you, seeing as you wandered off.”

You shrug. “It’s not like we were in any danger.”

Satan chuckles softly. “I guess not.”

[sir-fenris]

Whumpcember24 - Day 15

Broken Glass

Content: good caretaker, recovery whump, fear of starvation, quick mention of eating glass, blood, domestic comfort, domestic whump, self-deprecation, dissociation, kind of unreliable narrator.

Catetaker had told him not to touch kitchen stuff. They had said that this house didn't go by the rules Whumpee was used to. Caretaker didn't need Whumpee at all, so the least he could do is stay out of the way.

And yet, Whumpee was disobedient and tried to get his own plate instead of waiting at the table until Caretaker was done bringing dinner stuff to it. They must have known this would happen, must have known Whumpee was so useless and clumsy that he couldn't even hold a plate.

When the sound of breaking glass hits Whumpee's ears, the sound of him falling to his knees hits Caretaker's.

Without even realizing he was doing it, Whumpee was getting all the wasted food and glass into a small pile. He tries to keep the glass parts more on the outer sides, so when Caretaker forces him to eat it, he can avoid the glass for some time and at least enjoy the food-

"-pee! Hey! Listen to me, stop!" Caretaker's voice finally rings in Whumpee ears, and he freezes. He can feel his cheeks wet.

Caretaker's hands come in view, ignoring Whumpee's flinch to reach his hands and carefully take them away from the glass. His hands already had bloody cuts.

"It's alright," Caretaker said calmer, trying to nudge Whumpee away from the broken glass. "Let's clean this hand, hm? Can we do that?"

They had that voice of when Whumpee is feeling numb and weird. He wasn't feeling that much numbness today, he could speak.

His mouth didn't move to answer. Perhaps he wasn't ready to speak. Whumpee just nods shakily instead.

Caretaker guides them to the laundry's sink and washes his hand for him, then gets small band-aids when the blood keeps coming back. Whumpee knows hands bleed a lot. Whumper used to get mad when Whumpee dirtied their kitchen with blood.

Was Caretaker mad because of it? Whumpee could never read them, so he didn't know what punishment they would carry out for this. Perhaps they wouldn't make him eat from the ground, like Whumper. Would they starve Whumpee? What punishment would suit disobeying them, breaking a plate, and wasting food?

"...-back. Take your time, you're safe, everything's okay." Oh, was Caretaker speaking to them? Their voice sounded a bit far.

Was he sitting? When did they leave the laundry?

"Hey, there," Caretaker whispers with a sad smile when their eyes meet. "You're back with me, buddy?"

Whumpee nods, though he still feels floaty and wrong. Was he... on the couch?

"It's okay, you're safe," Caretaker repeats and adjusts the blanket around Whumpee-

Blanket? Where did that come from?

For how long was he out this time?

"I'm sorry," Whumpee whispers, almost with no sound. His hands were tingling, all the way up to his elbows, and he registers how his body feels heavy now.

Caretaker just shake their head. "There's nothing to apologize for." They pause, looking for something in Whumpee's expression. "Are you still hungry? I can bring your food here if you prefer eating on the couch. Watching that TV show you enjoyed yesterday, maybe?"

"... Food?" He could eat, then? On the couch? Watching TV? Why was he being rewarded after messing up?

"Yeah. We got pasta, roasted chicken, and some veggies today. There's boiled eggs if you want some, too." Whumpee knew that, he dropped that food, he saw the pasta staining the floor. Caretaker must have seen something in his face, because they speak up again, gently. "Whumpee, you get to eat another full, new dish. I'll throw away the food that fell, it's alright."

"I can eat it, you made it for me," Whumpee whispers, not able to look Caretaker in the eyes.

"The floor is dirty. You shouldn't eat something that fell on it. I made plenty of food, not just that dish. I can get you another, there's no problem." Caretaker smiles, shifting the weight of their crouching legs. "Do you want the food here on the couch?"

Whumpee doesn't know how to answer. Caretaker was so, so different from all he knew. It was too hard to read what they wanted from him. So Whumpee just nodded, hoping that was the right thing to do.

Caretaker's face didn't change, didn't give him the green light that it was the right answer, but they didn't seem angry either. "Alright, I'll bring it here. You can put the TV show when you want, okay? I'll take a few minutes."

Once Caretaker goes back to the kitchen, Whumpee realizes his body is all okay again. Nothing tingles or feels heavy, nor his mind feels floaty. It still takes a while for him to reach for the remote and turn on the TV, but he's not feeling bad, or "anxious", as Caretaker calls it.

For some reason, the voice that always screams "danger" is quiet. Whumpee knows it'll come back soon enough.

But for now, he can believe nothing bad will happen, because Caretaker always promises they'll never hurt him. Because they never broke that promise.

Even when Whumpee broke their rules, wasted their food and broke their plate.

For the first time since the rescue, the tears in his eyes aren't sad ones.

-

[saywhatjessie]

Sit in a Barrel

Written for the House MD 2024 Holiday Gift Exchange (organized by @wilson-is-a-slut! 2.6k [Ao3] Gift for @oriley42. Hope you like!

 “Remember when you said the hardest part of moving was going to be the piano?” Wilson asked miserably, elbow deep in the cupboard.

“We can get a crane to come lift the kitchen out, too,” House said, playing with the tech deck he found. “You were the one who wanted to go through my stuff.”

“You never know what you might need.”

“Wilson, I’ve been living at your place for eight months and haven’t needed any of this shit. Why would I start now?”

Wilson sighed. He and House had argued about this already and he refused to acknowledge that House might be right.

They were both in the kitchen. Wilson had poked House off the couch where he’d been ordering Wilson around the apartment and convinced him to at least be in the room with Wilson while he went through his life. House had parked his ass on the counter and Wilson had started methodically emptying the cupboard of its contents, becoming increasingly baffled at everything he’d found.

“Why do you have so much stuff?” Wilson asked, pointlessly, as he removed an entire stack of disposable baking pans.

House barked a laugh. “You, you fucking loser.”

Wilson looked over at him, frowning.

House sat smugly on his counter, grinding the tech deck on the edge of the microwave. “You always come over and cook for me and bring ingredients for stuff. But you never remember what I already have.”

“No, because you never have anything. You don’t cook.”

“But you never remember what you brought. You think I throw everything away once you leave? No, I shove it in a cabinet to rot.” He flipped the tiny skateboard around his fingers, winking at Wilson. “Now it’s your problem. Reap what you sow.”

Wilson blew out a breath, his cheeks puffing out as he surveyed the contents of the cupboard that he’d spread out on the floor. “Well, fuck.”

House threw his head back and cackled. 

 They were packing up House’s apartment for the last time so he could move in with Wilson for good now that they’ve gotten over themselves and actually committed to being gay together for real.

Wilson definitely wasn’t regretting that decision. Because they were in love. Wilson was 100% sure this time, no matter how many times House said he wouldn’t marry him. But he was questioning himself a little about this whole apartment thing.

“I think I need to bring in more boxes,” Wilson said, mostly to himself. “We can have a donation box for kitchenware you don’t need. A box for unopened, un expired food we can donate–”

“Does food ever really expire?”

Wilson shot him a withering look. “I’m revoking your medical license.”

House just shrugged.

Wilson sighed again, tapping the baking pans against the counter with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. “We’re obviously going to need trash bags. And another box for the stuff you want to keep and bring over to the condo.”

“We probably won’t need that box.”

“House, I will not be responsible for throwing away your Oma’s gravy boat or something.”

House snorted. “Oma was buried with her gravy boat.”

Wilson growled a little, closing his eyes and dropping his chin to his chest.

This was going to be boring. He knew House was going to be bored doing this which is why House had never bothered doing it before now. Wilson probably could have done this on his own but he really didn’t want to accidentally throw away something House would miss.

Also, yeah, he wanted House’s company because he loved him and wanted to spend time with him. It was fine, he was gay, it was allowed.

“Care to make this a little more interesting?” House asked, bringing WIlson’s attention back.

House had his face scrunched up so he could hold the tiny skateboard on his upper lip like a mustache. Wilson huffed a laugh despite himself.

He dropped the aluminum pans on the pile and raised an eyebrow at House. “Offering to get naked?”

“Always,” House answered easily, the tech deck falling into his lap. “But I was thinking more like a drinking game.”

Wilson hummed, a smile appearing on his face against his will. “Well, getting you liquored up will probably get you naked anyway.”

“That’s the spirit!” House said, brightly. He hopped off the counter, shoving the toy into his pocket and landing on his left foot, before turning to line up a couple shot glasses Wilson had already freed from their dusty top shelf prison.

“Pretty sure Chase got me these,” he said, frowning. “His first year with me.”

Wilson came over to inspect them, his hand automatically going to House’s hip.

“And he thought you were really into schnauzers because?”

“He heard me barking at Cuddy.” House said, smiling a little at the dog on the shot glass. “Didn’t get my sarcasm when I explained what was going on.”

Wilson rubbed his chin on House’s shoulder. “Or he did get it and he’s just always been funnier than you’ve given him credit for.”

House hummed. “I think I got too caught up in the lunacy of giving your boss in an elite medical program shot glasses for a gift. I must’ve made a dozen boozer Australian jokes.”

“Which I’m sure he took while looking handsomely befuddled.”

“Yeah.” House sighed. “What an asshole.”

Wilson laughed, pressing a kiss to House’s shoulder. House was absolutely a bastard but Wilson could recognize a save when House gave him one.

He patted House on the butt before going and fetching the worst liquor House had.

They didn’t yet have boxes but Wilson figured they could begin sorting anyway into piles. And there would, of course, be rules for sorting. And while there were already rules for sorting, there would definitely be rules for drinking.

The rules were absolutely nonsensical and mattered less the more they drank.

“Expiration date is over five years old. Shot!”

“Spoon doesn’t match any of the other silverware. Shot!”

“Full of ants. Ew. Shot!”

But eventually they abandoned all the other rules in favor of the biggest and most perplexing offender.

Wilson found at least fifteen open bags of sugar.

“Why is this one different?!” House demanded, loudly drunk and pointing emphatically at a plastic container. “What the fuck difference could this make?”

“It’s raw cane sugar!” Wilson argued, slumped heavily inside a cabinet. “It’s earthier!”

“Why would I want my waffles to be earthy ?”

“I didn’t buy it for the waffles! I bought it for…”

Wilson took a moment, blinking slowly to remember when he’d bought the raw cane sugar.

“Where do they even sell this?” House said, his voice gravelly. He was fully sprawled out on the floor by now. “No way you got this at the Shop-Rite – they don’t have any of this fancy shit.”

Wilson snorted. “Just because it’s not bleached white generic doesn’t mean it’s fancy.”

“It says ‘organic ’,” House said, shittily. “That’s literally hippie speak for fancy.”

“We’re not suffering from food rations anymore, House. This isn’t the food climate of your youth.”

“Do you think I was raised during World War II? What food rationing was happening in the 60’s?”

“Whatever makes you think ‘organic’ is a hippie thing.”

House snorted, chucking the container of sugar at Wilson.

“Yeah, right, just me and ma heading down to talk to the grocer because they didn’t have neat little self-service shelving yet.”

“They actually had self-serving grocery stores as early as 1916,” Wilson said, picking at the cap on the sugar and grinning lazily at House. “You’re not that old.”

House groaned, his head rolling on his neck. “You nerd. Why do you know that?”

“There was a documentary on how Piggly Wigglys fucked up nutritional expectations for Americans by normalizing self-service grocery stores resulting in companies needing to make food more shelf-stable,” Wilson explained, popping the cap open and shutting it. “Hence the return to organic.”

“Ugh,” House complained. “ ‘Hence’ .”

Wilson hummed before slamming the sugar down on the ground next to him. “Jam! That’s what I was making with this.”

“Why were you making jam at my apartment?”

Wilson shrugged. “I think your mom was visiting. There was a chutney or something.”

House grunted and Wilson saw him struggle to sit up. “You make terrible financial decisions.”

“Lucky for you,” Wilson said. House flopped his body over his legs, presumably in total agreement.

Wilson reached down and started scratching over House’s scalp. He felt a content rumble in House’s chest.

“The good news is,” Wilson said. “Sugar never goes bad.”

“Don’t say that like you were prepping for doomsday,” House said, face pressed to Wilson’s thigh. “This isn’t a stockpile of canned beans and peanut butter: you’re just another airheaded pretty boy who could never remember what I already had.”

“You literally just called me a nerd but now I’m an airhead?”

“You are large,” House lazily waved his hand over Wilson’s crotch, not bothering to give voice to the obvious joke. “You contain multitudes.”

“Now who’s the nerd?”

“Fuck you, everyone knows Whitman.”

“You’re quoting poetry at your boyfriend,” Wilson mused, a slight smile tilting his face. “You gay or something?”

“Not sure yet. Mind if I suck you off so I can figure it out?”

“If you think I can get hard right now being this drunk you’re insane.”

“Well that sounds like a challenge.”

“No, it’s not.” Wilson sighed, shoving at House’s shoulders to make him stop trying to worm his way up Wilson’s body. “Goddammit, I really wanted to finish the kitchen today.”

“I mean, you can call me ‘the kitchen’ and then–”

“See, I knew you were gonna get hornier than me when we did this. You owe me $20.”

“Literally an impossible thing to judge, you can’t prove that.”

“Try taking your hand out of my pants and saying that again.”

House pouted, his hand slowly retreating from the fly of Wilson’s jeans.

Wilson patted House’s hand, fondly, and started shuffling them up to be less horizontal. “We can still do this,” he insisted. “We just have to get them in piles today, we can box them up in the morning.”

House grumbled, clawing at Wilson’s body to drag himself to sitting. “Does that mean we’re sleeping here?”

“Looks like.”

House hummed, his eyebrows creased as he thought before they relaxed and he nodded. “Okay. Should be fine. Pretty sure I still have lube in the side table.”

“I now have reasonable cause to be concerned about expiration dates.”

“Lube doesn’t go bad .”

“Medical license. Revoked.”

“Come on, worse that’ll happen is a rash.”

“ Or a bacterial infection. And I should also remind you that a rash in your asshole would be bad .”

“But not as bad as not having you in my asshole.”

“I should make you take a cab home.”

“Noooo..” House complained, shoving his hands up under Wilson’s shirt. “I’ll be good. I’ll be less horny. We can finish the kitchen before I try and convince you to ignore the food and drug administration again.”

Wilson sighed. “Small mercies.” And he submitted to bringing House into a kiss while his face was already there.

Wilson realized they’d gotten back to horizontal after way too long and had also, in their making out, spilled some sugar.

“Oh nooo,” Wilson complained, scooching across the floor to worry over the bags. “We’ve got powdered with granulated. Brown and white. Utter mayhem.”

“We need to segregate the sugars!” House agreed. “Only space for one kind in the mess on the floor.”

“It is a fitting metaphor, I guess,” Wilson said, brushing the mess into a pile with the heel of his hand. “It’s all going in the garbage just the same in the end.”

House grunted, bringing himself fully to his feet. Wilson knew him too well to hope he might be getting a broom. “Does that mean you want to desegregate the sugars? Dump them all in a sack and be done with it?”

Wilson wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Fascist.”

“Get me the broom.”

House grumbled but did limp away in the vague direction of his storage closet.

Wilson had grabbed a paper towel and was slowly sweeping the sugar onto it by the time House came back, shockingly without a broom.

Instead, he carried a leather notebook, grinning.

“Look what I found!” He said, delightedly. “It’s the journal the ridiculously old fraud got me before he left!”

Wilson looked up at him, rubbing his hands together to get the sugar off. “I didn’t know he got you a gift.”

“Yeah, he left it on my passenger seat after breaking into my car,” House said, fondly. He opened the flap and ran a hand over the pages. “He was so cool. I should call him.”

“Aw, so cute,” Wilson said, indulgently. “Old man date.”

“That’s right,” House nodded. “You better start walking around in skimpy outfits before I trade up for someone more distinguished.”

“So then shouldn’t I be aiming to look more distinguished? Put more clothes on?”

“You put on more clothes and I’ll kill myself.”

Wilson snorted, dumping the sugar in the trash. There was absolutely still grit on the floor but that was a problem for later.

He looked back to see House frowning around his old apartment. “Maybe I should actually try and save some of this crap, huh?”

Wilson didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “Nah, you probably won’t miss it. When have you ever needed some of your dad’s old tools to save a patient or something.”

House grumbled, turning toward his old bedroom. “God, that was one time.”

Wilson chuckled, listening to House limp around his apartment while he turned back to the kitchen.

The work went a lot faster without House there to distract him, of course. He even found boxes for everything: baking sheets and favorite utensils in one with some usable foodstuff (yes, including some sugar) to go to the condo, expired food in the trash, another box for cans they would never eat for donation. For everything a place.

Wilson was so bored he could cry.

“House,” he whined, when he couldn’t take it anymore. “There’s stuff I need your input on. And also I miss you.”

“Gay,” House called from down the hallway.

Wilson huffed, pushing himself up to follow House’s voice.

He found House sitting on his bed surrounded by stuff.

There was the Joseph Bells book Wilson had given him and a crochet blanket he’d gotten from his mother. The watch, the LP, and the second edition Arthur Conan Doyle from House’s Secret Santa prank a few years ago. Slippers from Cameron. A passive aggressive alarm clock from Foreman.

House frowned up at Wilson when he heard him come in. “Am I a sentimental idiot?”

Wilson frowned, coming around to sit on the bed next to House and link their fingers together. “Yes.”

House grunted. “Well, fuck.”

Wilson laughed, leaning against House’s body.

House nudged him back. “Will we even have room for all my precious heirlooms? Where will we keep your million bags of sugar?”

“We can probably dump a lot of the sugar,” Wilson reassured him, flicking his finger over the book from Cuddy House was holding. “I think what we’re learning is you’re sweet enough.”

House gagged. “Ew.”

Wilson kissed him on the head. 

[danikamariewrites]

Sunball Sunday

Ruhn x Lidia

A/n: To kick off Ruhn week Ruhn treats his new family to a Sunball game outing. @ruhnweek

Warnings: !Major CC3 spoilers!

“Come on guys, we’re going to be late!” Lidia yells, already standing by the front door ready to go. She had been ready for over thirty minutes now. Males, she groans loud enough in her mind for Ruhn to hear. “I’ll be out a minute I swear.” Her mate responds mentally.

Brann ran from his bedroom right into Ruhn and Lidia’s. The shifter throws her head back in annoyance. Why can’t they just be ready on time? Ace emerges from the room he shares with his twin, dressed in a Crescent City Sunball shirt along with a matching hat. “Thank you, for being the only one ready.” He gives his mother a small smile going to stand next to her.

After five more impatient minutes Ruhn and Brann are finally ready to leave. Without words Lidia ushered her boys out the door and down to the black car waiting for them. The ride over to the stadium was the happiest Lidia had ever been. Yes, she had been ecstatic when her and Ruhn got engaged, and seeing her boys again. But this happiness was something else. Watching Ruhn and her boys talk animatedly about Sunball and just getting along in general is everything.

Pulling up to the back entrance of the stadium Ruhn noticed Lidia staring, returning her loving gaze. “What’s that look for?” He asked mind-to-mind, not wanting to interrupt the Ace and Brann’s conversation about player statistics. “Nothing, I’m just happy. Today’s going to be a good day.” The smile evident even in her minds voice.

Once the car stops the twins are the first to jump out, full of excitement to get to the private box they’ll be sharing with the rest of the family. Today was their first time going to a game which, according to Ace, is much better than watching it under water.

“You must be the Danaan-Cervos family,” a woman dressed in a stylish suit says brightly. Ruhn and Lidia were both taken aback by the words. Never hearing their last names and ‘family’ together before. They look at each other, feeling more alive than ever at the peace they’ve found in each other. Ruhn opened his mouth to answer, only to be beat by Brann, “Yup, are you showing us to our seats?”

Lidia put a hand to her mouth to stop the sob creeping up her throat. Family. They are a family. Ruhn puts an arm around her, pulling Lidia into his side. Pressing a kiss to her temple for good measure.

“Yup, right this way.” The woman’s smile never faltering as the boys followed and bombarded her with questions about the team. Walking through the stadium Lidia watched her boys take in the busy stadium, in awe at the merch and food stands.

“Can we, mom?” Ace asked, breaking Lidia from her trance. Both boys look up at her and Ruhn with hopeful faces. Looking at Ruhn for help he smirks at her. “New shirts before or after the game.” He says nonchalantly filling Lidia in on the conversation she had tuned out. Looking back down at her boys she squints, pretending to think. “I say now.” The twins cheer and follow the guide into the shop.

After spending twenty minutes raiding the gift shop the Danaan-Cervos family made it to their private suite. The guide opened the door for them, revealing Bryce & Hunt, Flynn & Dec with Mark. Ithan and Perry seated in front talking with Sathia and Tharion, drinks already in hand.

Bryce lights up (literally and figuratively) at the sight of them. They rush to hug her and Hunt, who point out all the food and sodas they can gorge themselves on. Dropping their merch bags they head over to make a plate.

“Took you guys long enough,” Flynn teases, “I can’t believe I was here before you, never mind Bryce and Hunt.” Bryce elbows the lordling in the ribs, giving him a smirk at the wince of pain he lets out. “They already look like they’re having the time of their life.” Bryce says with a smile as she stared at the boys piling chicken tenders and pizza on their plates. “Yeah,” Lidia nods. “Thank you again for this. They are so happy to be here.”

The music blaring from the field announcing one minute until game time. Everyone goes to take their seats, watching as the teams run out on the field from the tunnels.

As the game went on Ruhn found himself watching Lidia and the boys more than the Sunball players on the field. Any chance he could Ruhn snapped pictures of the three of them. Selfies of them during time outs and with Aunt Bryce and Uncle Hunt. Dec even took pictures of them, seeing how important this moment is to Ruhn.

By the boys’s next weekend visit Ruhn had a few of the pictures printed and framed for the apartment. One for the living room, Ruhn and Lidia’s bedroom, and one of the boys meeting their favorite player in their room. Placing the last frame of their little family on the wall Ruhn stood back admiring the picture.

Lidia came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle as she stared at the picture. Perfect. It was all Lidia could think. It was perfect.