#wonky all over but oh well

[storfulsten]

;*

[dreamlogic]

...

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor's antlers are embarrassingly, pathetically, unbearably sensitive.

He can't for the life of him figure out why—it's not like any of the other transfigured creatures wandering around the underworld were made this way. Most other animal-like sinners don't seem to care about or even acknowledge their characteristics.

Yet here he is, purposefully hiding them away just so that no one will discover his terrible weakness. Oh, what he would give to be like the others if only to ignore their incessantly uncomfortable presence on his head.

Perhaps it was a curse from heaven that made him this way, or karma that he was repaying from his life. Either way, he can't stand being touched.

At least, that's what he thought.

There's no malicious intent behind your hands, no glint in your eye that makes the primal instincts in his head scream at him to melt into the shadows. You're as gentle as can be, fingers running delicately along the intricacies of his antlers and stopping just at the ends of them.

"They're beautiful," you whisper with your eyes blown wide. Your shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath, probably from the adrenaline of standing so close to an Overlord like this. And Alastor, no less.

Your reliable hotelier. Your first real friend in the hotel. The one whose smile cannot be trusted.

But for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that he's looking at you with pure, genuine appreciation even if his smile is a little wonky.

"Why, thank you, darling!"

He jerks away from you quick as the wind, standing tall once again and towering over you. His expression has morphed into something more strained—you can tell by the way his face creases up as his eyes narrow.

He was the one who decided to invade your personal space while the two of you were arguing. He just didn't think that you would be so bold as to get distracted by his antlers and have the gall to reach out to touch them.

The worst part? The absolute worst part of it all is that no one in all the time he's been in Hell has been gentle with him like that.

Add that to the list of things he despises. Or likes. You're confusing him now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You have some nerve, he thinks.

Your hands have found a new home resting atop his head, with your fingers combing through his hair and tracing up and down the curve of his antlers.

It becomes a nightly routine—him on the barstool or sitting in front of the piano and you standing behind him with your fingers tangled in his hair and your chin on his head, perched right between the horns. Others in the hotel have started to raise a brow, but you don't seem to care.

So when you finally decide to break routine, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him, his eye twitches.

There isn't even an audience tonight, everyone else already tucked into bed save for Husk behind the bar who's too busy with a bottle to care. The silence between you is heavy as lead.

"Is something the matter?" Alastor finally abruptly asks, eyes narrowed at you from the side. You shift uncomfortably.

"Why would something be the matter?"

He's not in the mood for games right now. "This is the first time you've sat away from me in months," he observes.

You look at him, surprised by his hostility over this. "Well, Lucifer told me that you don't like—"

"Lucifer," he interrupts, head now whipping to the side so he can fully glare at you. "Knows nothing."

You blink at him, stunned. With the way he's acting, he almost seems... annoyed that you've decided to stop being so handsy?

Silence overcomes you again as you just stare at each other, completely at a loss of words. Alastor finally realizes his snappiness and composes himself once more, exhaling through his teeth.

His smile softens at you, missing its usual edge. You know him like this the best—head in your lap and antlers exposed. It's familiar to you in a way that it could never be to anyone else. At least, you hope that's true.

"He knows nothing," the radio demon says one more time for good measure, eyes drifting shut under the weight of your hands.

Alastor has never liked to be touched before. But maybe there is a first time for everything, and maybe the safety of your touch brings him enough ease that you're the first he admits he can tolerate.

His smile says it all. He's content like this, even if he would deny it with his chest if you ever told anyone else.

"Okay," you breathe. "I believe you."

[lailau7904]

So y'all have seen the Williams F1 Logo before, yeah?

well get ready, becaues I am about to ruin your day!

where does one even begin with this. i am sorry in advance. -just a poor learning graphic design student, who simply tried to enjoy their saturday evening

The Logo

For anyone that doesn't know, here's the Williams F1 Logo. Entirely unedited, copied straight from Wikipedia:

Now like many fans, I actually quite enjoy this logo. I like the modern, sharp edges of it and it's simple yet intriguiging design. It's memorable, while also easily recognizable as a W. I also really enjoy the colour choice (this, however, is entirely a personal preference.)

(entire rant under the cut. please keep reading this took years off my life span.)

How did we even get here?

Let's start at the beginning. How did we even get here? Well I, a poor poor learning graphic designer, was watching this lovely video from Mr. V's Garage about bad F1 Logo's over the past 35 or so seasons. Very interesting, I can only recommend it (but you don't need to watch the video to understand this post)!

Now, to cleanse the palette at the end of the video, Mr. V included a top 10 GOOD logos from this time span, it was very kind of him.

On P4 of this "Good List," Mr. V placed the current Williams F1 Logo, as pictured above. At first I vaguely agreed with this, believing that he probably simply hadn't noticed one of the things that's been bothering me about that Logo since the first time I saw it up close.

The first sign of Trouble

So, what is this mystery issue, you might ask?

It's simple really. You don't necessarily notice it at a first glance, but something about that logo seems off. Taking a second longer, you may notice it yourself.

No, I mean it, take a minute and go look at the logo. It looks wonky as hell, doesn't it?

Well I can tell you the first thing that I personally noticed. The arms of the W aren't in line with the bottom half, see:

(Graphic by @girlrussell who was so kind to let me use it, as it is way prettier than the one I made)

It's a crooked W. There is no good explanation for this. The rest of the font is perfectly fine, geometrical shapes.

Anyway, the good person that I am I went to point this out to my partner ( @leftneb ) who proceeded to inform me that he, infact, was not aware about this and was, quote, "never going to unsee that."

Now, the good FRIEND that I am, I, of course, proceeded to rush into our broader F1 friendgroup to make them suffer for eternity.

What's the logical next step to take? Of course, fix the logo in Adobe Photoshop, you know, as a joke.

(Disclaimer at this point, I am not necessarily the biggest fan of Williams Management Team. I enjoy ALL their drivers this season. I do NOT enjoy James Vowels. Be warned.)(Also I am aware that he probably did not have an influence on the logo)

Trying to fix it. Oh god, I was so innocent back then

Trying to fix the logo in Photoshop is the worst mistake I could've made. THE worst path to take. I could've just giggled about making my friends suffer (which I succeeded in, by the way) and moved on. Instead I ruined a perfectly good Saturday evening, and for what? I don't know anymore.

Anyway, how was I gonna go about fixing the logo in the simplest way possible? Simplest way I could come up with: slap the thing in Photoshop and put two, mirrored boxes at each side to make the sides line up. Small issue, how do I make the thing actually even? Fix: line them up at the intersecting point with the bottom tips of the W.

Here's the result:

Hey, anyone care to explain to me why in THE LORDS NAME the arms are different sized? I mean, surely they weren't before. Surely, certainly, I must've messed up.

I double, I tripple checked. I made sure everything was lined up and made sense. But no.

It just couldn't be. Something was uneven in this logo, something even deeper. Something I could not have predicted when first taking a closer look. It was at this point I realized I had messed up. What rabbit hole had I stumbled across? Certainly, it couldn't get much worse.

And that's when I noticed.

(pictured above; my genuine reaction)

There's MORE? (oh god, the top isn't lined up)

I couldn't believe my eyes. This is the PINNACLE of the sport, and THIS was the logo of one of the competing teams? I mean, yeah, we have a Visa Cash App RB or a Kick Sauber or even a MoneyGram Haas which are all terrible logos, but at least they're CLEAN. (this has not been checked. If anyone wishes to ruin a nice Saturday evening, feel free to check them and tell me how wrong I was in the previous statement!)

But you can see that there is no end in sight for this post. I'm sure you're as scared as I was at this point. By now we were sitting in VC, discussing the horribleness of this logo. I had long informed my irl's about this, who take said design classes with me. And it was one of them who pointed out the next thing that had been bothering me, but I had not been able to put a finger on up to this point.

thE DISTANCE, HOW DID THEY FUCK IT?

I'm afraid I have to confirm your fears.

Yes, those lines are the same length. According to Photoshop, they're on the same level as well, so no flunking with angles.

The gaps of the arms to the main W are not the same. They're differently sized gaps.

It was clear to us, this logo is inherintely flawed. They're subtle issues, but once you pay attention you start to notice things. It all looks slightly wonky and off centre. And eventually, you get paranoid, and start comparing other angles and sizes. And you will keep finding things. This has ruined my life.

HOOOOOW

Honestly, I don't even know what to say. Yes, yes sadly those lines, too, are the same length. Just copied over from one side to the other and layed over on the same height. I admit, they're not layed over perfectly. I was honestly holding back tears at this point. But the point still stands, you can clearly see a difference in width.

Honestly, the only way I can explain it is that at some point there was a mess up of distance or proportions and whoever was designing the logo couldn't pin it down and tried to restore the visual balance by making manual adjustments. And in all honesty? They kinda did a good job, if that's what's happened. I mean, you notice the crookedness of the arms, and then maybe the difference in height, but the rest you probably will not notice if you don't spend too much time staring at it. (like some of us) And even those issues clearly aren't noticeable to the vast majority, considering I had to go point it out to a group chat for my friends at least to notice.

what the fuck is THAT?

Now, the thing about doing this investigative work of prooving a team you dislike is worse in more aspects than you previously thought, is that you do a lot of zooming in. And zooming in means you might notice bits that yours eyes simply overlooked before, because they were too small.

Here you can witness the top of the middle point, that, for whatever reason, really wants to touch the top border of the Logo. I'm relatively certain that's the highest few pixel in the entire graphic, considering earlier chapter "There's MORE?" I have no idea why it looks like that or why they thought it was necessary for it to not end in a clean point.

I just actually have no idea how to even describe what is going on on the top of the left arm. That left hand side, again, touches the side and is therefore the most-left-pixel in the graphic. I, once again, have no idea the purpose of this. However the RIGHT hand side also makes no sense, as it is the most prominent corner in the whole logo. There's pointed corners, and rounded OF corners, but nothing that is trying to form it's own colony in a distant land that hopefully isn't this god awful logo. I hope that blob gets away. I really do. You go king.

i'm loosing my mind

Anyway, the only reason I could come UP with those weird "reachy-outy-bits" was to establish the dimensions of the logo? But if that was the case, I don't understand why they managed to keep all the other potentially border touching corners clean?

Like, look. Those are clean, sharp corners with some clearance off the borders. I have no clue why they managed it here but not with the others.

guys. please.

Backtrackig a little bit, going back to the positioning of the arms.

Do I need to mention that those lines are both the same length and the same (mirrored) angle? I really hope I don't, because I don't think I could be making this shit up. Like, once you roughly know what you need to look for it just kinda becomes easy to find.

As said before, I genuinely do think that most of these issues happened in a chain-reaction. For example, the distances between the main part and the W wouldn't be as noticeable (and they do get noticeable once you start looking at it) if the angle wasn't fucked. And guess what, there's more fucked angles here! Which ALSO influence this specific area of the logo!

this is just embarrasing for you.

something something same line copied over and mirrored etc etc

It's not as visible but the angles defintely don't line up here as well. As mentioned before, these issues for the most part all influence each other. It doesn't really excuse the issues, in my opinion as a designer, because a big company like this shouldn't have these sort of issues in their logo.

So let's review;

to sum it up,

i cannot even BEGIN to explain to you how big of a fucking JOKE this FUCKING logo is. because, i thought to myself, to round the post out, hey, why not show ALL the issues i pointed out in one picture? that would round it out quite nicely, wouldn't it?

Yeah well, this logo sent STRAIGHT FROM HELL just could NOT let me rest. I had only done the lines visualizing the crooked arms in PAINT up until this point, i.e. I had only pulled both up individually. To make a nice "rounding out" picture I still had to add them into PHOTOSHOP. so i did. i pulled up the line. i mirrored the line.

THE ANGLE IS FUCKING DIFFERENT

none. and i mean NONE of my friends had noticed this before. i need you to understand that we looked at this thing with FIVE pair of eyes, and NONE of us noticed that until i thought to myself "Oh I still need to add these specific lines to have ALL the issues I pointed out in my SILLY TUMBLR POST in ONE image" and i get THAT FUCKING SURPRISE

I was PLANNING to round the post out with a statement on how obviously this isn't a serious post. Here, I even had it all written out already because I accidentally started writing it in the last paragraph:

Of course, this is nitpicking, and it's not that serious. I'm aware of that. AS MENTIONED most of these would not be noticeable if we hadn't gone specifically looking for them.

yeah, well, fuck that. i just spent two hours seething about this logo. i'm ending the post on this instead.

[hellofears]

wasn't me no one in this home of mine voted for anything of the sort and most likely anyone I know didn't either. I forget how many ppl live in the uk sometimes peace and love to the william wanters well and truly

[wifeyoozi]

Lee jihoon - Popsicles for dessert

w.c : 1.5 k ┊ synopsis : jihoon's tired of all the pink underwear teasing and shows you he doesn't wear one┊ content warning : smut , bestfriends to lovers kinda , blowjobs , big dick jihoon , really big dick jihoon

a/n : aka the prompt ask y'all had been waiting for is finally here. Crack and smut.

 It's all because Soonyoung.

He started it.

The whole pink underwear drama. Jihoon, for the fact, does NOT wear pink underwear. Maybe he wore them once for the sake of one of his ex’s kinks. But he doesn't own pink underwear. There's black and there's dark grey and there's dark blue. A red one for when he's feeling extra freaky. Nothing pink.

And yet all of this fuss and teasing. And it was still bearable when it was just the boys teasing him.

But then you caught on that inner joke. Well, more specifically, soonyoung told you. On purpose. Knowing how big of a crush Jihoon had on you, his best friend. And you found that funny too. And then you started teasing him about it. And he's so embarrassed. 

And today it happened again. You two were just discussing your lives lately, and you told Jihoon about all the new make up you bought recently and how much you love that pink lipstick you got from your favourite brand. A sudden shit-eating grin spread across your face and Jihoon instantly knew where this was headed to. 

“You know, Jihoon, what else is pink”

Jihoon groaned, “oh my god, not you too! Not again!"

You giggled at his reaction, “your underwear Jihoon! You wear pink underwear, don't you? Little pink panties?”

Jihoon groaned, burying his face in the throw pillow on the couch. As you continued teasing him, he snapped. 

“God, y/n, I don't wear pink underwear,” he whined loudly, suddenly standing up, “should I show you or something?”

Your eyebrows quirked. “Why not, show me the proof.” There was a glint of mischief in your eyes. Jihoon should have known this was a bad idea. But he was tired of all the teasing already. He hastily untied the knots of his grey sweatpants and pulled them down to his thighs, revealing his slick black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. 

Your eyes widened. And the colour of his underwear wasn't the reason. It was the big bulge at his crotch which you couldn't take your eyes off. Your mouth watered at the sight. “God, Jihoon,” you were speechless. 

Suddenly shy again, Jihoon attempts to pull his pants back up, but you stop him, your hand on top of his as you move closer. He definitely has a really big dick hidden in there for the bulge to be that big.. And he wasn't even hard. Well, yet.

Your free hand moves and cups his crotch. Jihoon flinches but doesn't push you away. Instead, a soft moan leaves his throat before he could think. “Y/n what are you-”

“What fucking monster kind of dick you have in store here, Hoonie,” you can feel his dick come alive under your hand, the bulge growing as if it wasn't massive already. You palm him through his boxers. His hands fly to hold your wrist, stopping you. He really will just cum already if you keep doing that. You look up at him with a pout. 

“I want it,” you demanded, as if you were a little girl asking for candy or ice cream. Not able to hold himself back, his hand briefly looses over yours and you take the opportunity to instantly pull down his boxers, freeing his cock as it springs up, hard under your attention. 

“Oh my god, hoonie, it's so pretty,” you say, taking Jihoon's cock in your hand, examining it as though it was your first time seeing one. It was a pretty thing indeed, thick and long and only slightly darker than his fair face. It was a pretty shade of pink at the top and the purple veins prodded throughout the length. Its shape was just perfect, not too wonky or long and drippy or ugly. It was the kind of dick every girl sees in her dreams and every artist draws for their characters.

Jihoon, on the other hand, was trembling. Two minutes ago, you two were bickering. Now you had his dick in your hand. A shudder passed through his spine and he let out a whine as your tongue suddenly lapped over his head. “Y/n, you-”

“Shh, baby, sit down on the couch. I cannot stop myself from tasting this cock.” It was like you were hypnotised by his cock and he by you. He sat on the couch, his underwear and sweatpants pooled at his ankles. He opened his legs wide, giving you space to kneel in between as you take hold of his cock again. 

You lick over the length again, dragging your tongue along the veins, making Jihoon moan and groan and grab a fist of your hair. You loved when he pulled, the sting making your panties damp. You take the tip in your mouth whole sucking on it slowly. 

You try to take his dick deeper in your mouth, holding your breath as you do, before his cockhead touches the back of your throat, and it's just half way there. You forced your gag reflex to soften as you took him as deep as you can, wrapping your hand around the rest of it. You suck on it, hollowing your cheeks, feeling encouraged by all of the filthiest noises you head jihoon make. 

His hands grab your head, not pushing or pulling, but just holding it as a support as you commit yourself to giving the best blowjob you might have ever given. Your pussy feels so wet at the thought of taking this monstrosity in it. You can't take him today. You're gonna need training for it. But jihoon will help you stretch out for him. And then he'll fuck you till you can't think about anything other than his dick and how well it's fucking you. Your clit throbs. God, you're so cockdrunk over him.

Your other hands come to play with jihoon's balls, who seem big and heavy from his cum. He's close already, you can tell. So you suck on it till he's cumming down your throat with a whiny shudder, his hips tutting up in your mouth reflexively. You drink in all of his cum, the bitter-sweet malty taste making you only want more. 

Jihoon's panting. He just recieved what would be the best blowjob of his life. God, you should be put in a porn film with skill like that. His head falls back, catching a breath, as you climb on his lap, giggling as you lean in to kiss him. It's messy and wet and filthy, but he loves it. He could still taste himself on you. He wraps his arms around your waist.

It's all because of Soonyoung. 

He started the pink underwear rumours, spread it to you, had you tease him and it led to this. He's thankful to his best friend for it, but he wouldn't say it. He might write a nice song for him though as a thank you.

[ahsokaismyqueen]

Watergate Pairing - Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Summary - Dustin has a theory that there's a new gate, and Nancy has a suspicion of where it might be. The best swimmer needs to go to the bottom of Lover's Lake and check it out. Unfortunately, much to Steve's displeasure, that happens to be you. Word Count - 3.2k Warnings - Language and violence Steve Harrington x HendersonSister!Reader Masterlist

You could feel Dustin glaring at you from the shore as Steve settled in beside you at the last moment. “You said four!” He called after you. 

Steve let out a quiet, “Sorry,” while you just waved at him with a grin. 

“If he thought I was letting him that close to a possible gate, he’s out of his damn mind.” You said, glancing at the compass that he had tossed you. 

“Bedtime at nine kiddos!” Robin yelled to them. “Miss you already!” 

Dustin flipped you all off. 

While you had been one of the first ones on the boat, you couldn’t deny the way your heart was beating hammering in your chest. What the hell were you guys going to do if you actually found a gate? Would you have to go into it to destroy Vecna? You glanced over at Eddie who was rowing at the front with Robin, and then back at the shore where Dustin, Lucas and Max were now barely visible. You knew you would do it. Whatever it took to save both of them, you would do it, but it didn’t make you any less scared. 

“Hey, the compass.” Steve’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he shone his flashlight down at the instrument in your hands. 

Eddie and Robin stopped rowing, and you all bent your heads towards it, watching as it spun around wildly. All of the sudden you heard Dustin’s voice coming through the walkie. “Guys, what’s going on? Come on, talk to me.” 

Robin grabbed the walkie and replied, “Uh, Dustin, your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital waahhh.” 

Steve reached out and started taking his shoes and socks off. “Steve . . . what do you think you’re doing?” You asked him. 

He didn’t meet your gaze. “Somebody’s gotta go down and check this thing out. Unless one of you can top -” He looked up at you then, realizing his mistake. 

“.3 seconds, Harrington.” You reminded him. 

“Woah, wait, you can’t go down there.” Eddie said, being the first to catch on. 

Steve looked like he wanted to agree with him. “Remember what happens when we separate?” He replied, and you did. The memories at Starcourt flashed in your mind as well as the ones from last night, watching that body snap while you had been in the lake completely helpless  with Eddie, thinking how that’s what would happen to Max . . . 

“We’re not separating.” You said as you started to pull off your own socks and shoes. “I will be a few feet below you. That’s it.” You stood up and took off your sweatshirt, handing it to Steve. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Nancy asked you. 

You nodded, “Eddie hand me that flashlight. I won’t be able to see shit down there.” 

“Are you fucking shitting me right now? You’re going to let her go down there?” Eddie asked Steve. 

“Oh, let’s not pretend she needs Steve’s or any other man’s permission.” Robin told him, rolling her eyes. 

You knew that Steve would never stop you. He’d do his damn best to convince you, then protect you if necessary, but there must have been something in your eyes that told him it’d be futile. “I don’t like this.” He said, while Eddie cursed in the background, taking the flashlight  and wrapping it in a plastic bag. 

“Well that makes two of us.” You said, glancing at the water again. You took a step closer, getting ready to dive, but stopped when you felt Steve grab your hand. 

“Be careful.” He said, his eyes pleading, worried, and you wished you could reassure him. 

But you wouldn’t lie. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the water. Thinking about Max, thinking about Eddie, and saving both of them, you shoved your anxiety deep in your gut, and dove. 

The calmness and easing of your muscles that you normally felt when swimming never came. Lover’s Lake wasn’t super deep, but the blackness that surrounded you still made you feel uneasy. You used the flashlight to glance across the bottom, looking for anything out of the ordinary when something white caught your eye. You swam over, and found the skeletons of several fish which only served to confuse you. If the fish had died . . . Wouldn’t their bodies still remain? Or had they been down there that long? 

That was when the red light caught your eye. You tried to force yourself to remain calm, and swam over, stopping above it. You had seen a gate once, back deep in those Russian tunnels last summer, but it was a sight you'd never forget. This was much smaller, maybe three feet wide, but unmistakable. Nancy and your brother had been right. As you leaned down to get a closer look, a vine smacked against the other side of the gate. 

Your heart took off and so did your body, swimming away as fast as you could until you breached the surface. 

“Oh Christ!” You heard Eddie say as they all jumped at your sudden appearance. 

“It’s there.” You said, grabbing a hold of the edge of the boat. “It’s a gate.” You looked at Steve and Robin. “It looks like the one we saw in the tunnels, just smaller.” 

“Great, now you can get out.” Steve said, grabbing a hold of your arm to help pull you back in the boat, anxiety lacing his tone while Robin told Dustin the news over the walkie. 

That was when you felt the first tug. It dragged you under for the briefest moment before you kicked it off, and you didn’t even have another second to react. All you did was share a glance with Steve, who looked increasingly panicked, and then you were dragged under again. You felt Steve above the water still holding onto you, trying his best to pull you out, but your hand was wet, and slid right out of his grasp. 

It was like two years ago. You felt the vine wrapping around your ankle, dragging you down faster than you could ever hope to swim, and a scream left your throat as you tried to find anything to grab a hold of, but no matter how hard you tried the gate keep getting closer and closer until it spat you out on the other side, still dragging you along as you screamed and your fingers tried to find purchase on something, anything to stop you. 

A big huff of air left you as your back slammed into something and the vine had to let go. You kept your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath for a moment, when your brain caught up with the sounds surrounding you. 

You had never been to the Upside Down. The closest you had ever gotten was senior year when you, Steve and the rest of the kids had set fire to that hub. Without opening your eyes, you knew this was worse. The sounds, the smells, all of it was so . . . wrong, and when you did open your eyes . . . The world was too. It was dark . . . desolate . . . You could almost feel the hopelessness that hung in the air. You stood up on shaky legs, thunder crackling and the sky flickering with clouds of red lightning. A screech of a creature behind you had you turning around, terrified of what you might find there, and you saw what looked to be some sort of bird or bat flying towards you. 

Then you heard the sound again, and again. Everywhere you turned those creatures were headed in your direction and all you could think was run. 

You didn’t get very far before a tail wrapped around your neck. You screamed again, clawing at it violently as the force of it tugged you to the ground. No matter how hard you tried, the creature's grip only became tighter and you began to choke, your eyes widening as you caught sight of more of the creatures surrounding your body. You yanked harder at the tail around your neck when pain exploded through your stomach. 

Looking down in horror you saw the bat-like creature stabbing into your skin and attempted to slap it away to have another one do the same to your opposite side. You kicked and thrashed every way possible trying to dislodge the creatures, but it was no use. As soon as you knocked one off, another would attack from the opposite side. You screamed, tears of pain streaming down your face as you tried to fight them off.

You couldn't die like this. You had to help save Max and Eddie . . . You had to lounge around your room with Robin and laugh at everything even when it wasn’t that funny . . . You had to play Dungeons and Dragons with Dustin again . . . You had to tell Steve you loved him every day for the rest of your life . . . 

Another choked scream of pain and terror left your throat as you looked down at the creatures eating your flesh, when suddenly, one was knocked away. 

You looked up to see all of them. Steve, Eddie, Robin and Nancy. They had all dived in after you. 

And the fighting began. 

Steve was vicious. You’d never seen him that violent before as he yelled at Robin to stand on the tail of the one that was holding you while he stabbed it over and over again with an oar. Nancy and Eddie tried to keep the bats from the three of you, but when one of them got Nancy in the back, Robin had to help. 

Tossing the oar he had been using to Nancy, Steve landed beside you, tugging at the tail again, and finally the two of you were able to make it release you. Taking deep gasps of breath you watched as he held the tail tight in his hands and used all his strength to throw the bat against the ground over and over, and the bastard still wasn’t dying. With shaky hands, you grabbed the broken top half of Eddie’s oar, and the next time Steve threw the bat down you stabbed it with all the strength you had, holding it in place while Steve literally ripped it in half. 

There was a beat of dead silence for a moment, and then you were wrapped up in his arms. You clung onto him with everything you had, sobs racking your tired throat as Steve held you, his hand cradling the back of your head while your face hid in his shoulder. God you had almost lost him. You’d almost lost everyone. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” You cried, needing to get the words out. You weren’t sure if you’d told him today, or if he could even understand you with the way you were hysterically crying, but you vowed never to let there be a day when he didn’t hear those words again. 

His arms gripped you so close you could barely breathe, rocking you back and forth as he held you. “I know, I know. I love you too. So damn much.” 

You pulled back for the briefest moment so you could kiss him, desperate to feel his lips on yours and reassure yourself that you were still alive. He was here, you were here, and you were both breathing. Judging by the way he kissed you back, his need was as extreme as yours, his fingers digging into you so hard it was painful, but you didn’t dare want him to stop. 

The sound of the creatures made you flinch, pulling away from his lips and clinging to Steve’s chest as he helped you to your feet. There were more. At least six or seven, and they landed around the gate, blocking all of you from going back out. 

“All right. There’s not that many. We can take them.” Steve said, his arm wrapped protectively around you. 

Then you all caught sight of the swarm. “You were saying?” Robin said. 

Your shaking hand gripped the arm Steve had around you. “We’ve gotta get out of here.” You said, your eyes locked on the bats, panic rising in your throat once again. 

“The woods!” Nancy said, and you all turned around to see what she was referring to. “Come on!” She took off running.

Steve glanced at you, a question in his eyes, and you nodded. You could make it. The two of you took off running after her, Steve holding your hand in his grip as Eddie and Robin trailed behind you. 

You didn’t start to feel weird until the five of you were hiding under the Upside Down’s version of skull rock. The adrenaline had started to wear off on your body, and you could feel any ounce of energy that you had fading away as the swarm of bats flew overhead, all heading to the gate. Dizziness started to make the ground in front of you fuzzy, and you squeezed Steve’s hand, trying to focus on something else. 

“Okay, that was close.” 

“Yeah, too close.” 

It was Robin and Eddie talking, you could tell that much, but it sounded like they were underwater. Taking a deep breath, you let Steve pull you out from under the rock, and immediately the world went out of focus. You felt yourself start to stumble, but Steve grabbed you moments before you hit the ground. “Woah, I got you.” He said, and you grabbed a hold of his biceps, using them to steady yourself. 

“I’m losing too much blood,” You admitted, after you felt steady enough to look up at him. “I need to stop the bleeding or - or you guys are going to have to carry me around on your backs everywhere.” You said, able to muster the smallest grin as you slid down to the ground. 

“We’d do it for you, sweetheart.” Eddie said, giving you a grin as well, but you could see the worry in his eyes as he glanced down at all the blood on your shirt. 

Steve sat down on his knees in front of you, his hands gentle as they tugged on the bottom of your tank top. “I need to see -”

“How bad it is?” You interrupted with a hoarse chuckle. “I thought I was the future doctor here, Harrington?” 

“You really do have the worst timing for jokes, you know that?” He said, shaking his head at you as he started to ease your shirt away from your skin. 

Eddie turned away, attempting to give you some privacy, and your humor faded at the pain as the shirt tugged at your shredded skin. You let out a breath that sounded more like a hiss that made him stop, but you gestured for him to keep going. You needed to know how bad it was too. 

And it was bad. “Shit,” Steve said once he had gotten the bloody tank top over your head and onto the ground. 

You were going to need stitches. Several stitches actually, and while every building that existed in your Hawkins also existed in the Upside Down, there was no chance you were going to use any sort of medical equipment from here to try and heal you. 

Steve’s hands hovered over your wounds, and it was then that you noticed they were shaking. “What-what can I do?” He asked, looking at you. 

“I need to stop the bleeding.” You said, glancing around. “Do we have anything we can -”

“Here.” Nancy was already tearing at part of her shirt, and you spared her a smile. 

“So the good news is I’m pretty sure wooziness is not a symptom of rabies.” Robin spoke up, and she bent down beside Steve. “But if you start having hallucinations or muscle spasms, or you start feeling aggressive, like you wanna punch me, let me know.” 

You had to admit, the thought of rabies hadn’t occurred to you, but that was a worry you didn’t have time for right now. “Robin, if I had rabies, symptoms wouldn’t be setting in this quickly.” You told her. 

“What if I kinda want to punch you?” Steve said, clearly irritated  that she had brought up another thing for him to worry about. 

“I’ll chalk it up to stress.” She replied, but then turned her focus back to you. “You know - it’s - It’s not so bad when you look closer?” She said, giving you a lopsided smile that wasn’t even remotely convincing. 

You shook your head at her. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

By this time Nancy had finished tearing off the fabric and handed it to Steve. She gave Robin a look, and the two of them left to give you and Steve some privacy. 

“You’ve got to tie it around me tight, okay? It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.” You told him, placing your hands on his shoulders in anticipation of the pain this was going to cause. 

He frowned, but nodded, stretching the fabric out in his hands. “You ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” You replied, sitting up on your knees and biting your lip as he wrapped the fabric around you. It hurt like hell, but you allowed yourself a tiny whimper as he secured the fabric. 

Of course he noticed as soon as you did and stopped, leaning back to look at your face. “Is it too tight?” 

You shook your head. “The tighter the better.” 

At your words, he went back to work, tying off the fabric and leaning back to look at you once more. Once he seemed satisfied, he looked down next to you and your ripped shirt, and didn’t hesitate for a second to pull off his sweater, gently putting it over your head and tugging it down your body before you could even protest. The scent of him blocked out everything else and you let out a sigh as he pulled you close once again, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead that sent tension melting from your body. “I thought I was scared shitless this morning when I got to Reefer Rick’s and all the cop cars were there.” Steve said, his voice as gentle as his kiss. “That was nothing compared to just then.” He took a deep breath as you wrapped your arms around him, and his nose bumped against yours. “I thought I lost you.” 

“I thought I lost you.” You whispered back. “I thought I lost everyone.” God, you had never been more terrified in your life. “I fucking hate this place Steve.” You told him, tears filling up your eyes as you looked at him, thinking about how close you had come to never being able to look into his eyes again and see that deep love that he had for you there. 

Steve brushed away the tears that had started to fall down your face. “We’re going to get out of here baby.” He said with conviction, kissing you on the forehead once more. “If I have to take on every one of those damn bats by myself, I’m getting us home.” 

You held him tighter, hoping to God he was right.

[jam3sacaster]

“I can’t sleep. I just think of you.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by the wonderful @nebulastarr / Rupert realises he’s in love with reader.

Sorry if this seemed a bit long winded, I just like a slow burn ya know.

18+ FANFIC / No smut, just a few lewd references & a soft, soppy mess 🫶🏽 Blood mention! Reader character aged 21. Please request any pieces you want! Just hit my ask box with a character and/or suggestion 💋

Whilst chopping a medley of large misshapen onions, the incessant ticking of your dining room grandfather clock taunted you — a constant reminding of passing time. You had been seeing Rupert Campbell-Black for a few weeks now. Well, you say seeing, more-so arriving at Penscombe Court as soon as he clicked his fingers, spreading your legs and letting him blow off steam. All truth be told, you hated being his personal call girl but you believed there was something so much more to it. You’d seen the way he’d glared at you as you unclipped your bra, eyes ablaze with passion. The way he touched you was no longer fuelled with lust, but was intricate and gentle — the tender touch of a man so eager to please such a dainty woman. Was he really beginning to fall for you, or is it wishful thinking? Seeing his chest rise and fall as he slept beside you kept you awake, speechless by the serenity of such a raucous man. Watching his lips contort as he laughed at your hopeless jokes, most likely out of pity, but sent a chill through you nonetheless. You were beginning to… grow rather fond of him.

Right on time, three firm knocks on the door made you jump, and you jolt slightly, scratching a wonky line into your chopping board. Before waiting for a response, Rupert entered the wooden door of your cottage and lowered himself into the kitchen. Leaning against the doorframe, he took a long pull of his cigarette, casting his carven face in an ashy amber glow. “Afternoon.” You chirp, pumping your speech with fake enthusiasm. Rupert replied only with a suave wink as he puffed once more on his cigarette. “I thought I’d cook first.” You respond to yourself, motioning to the variety of fresh vegetables laden across your kitchen countertop. “Oh darling, I haven’t come here for that.” Rupert chortled, his eyes following your every move. You felt your eyes subconsciously roll back to the back of your head.. you could call out his bullshit straight away.

“I’ve just been to look at a horse. Beautiful. Thoroughbred. And the woman advertising her was just gorg-“ He began, evidently trying to rile you. You felt your hand tighten around the large kitchen knife as you kept your eyes focused on your chopping board .. feeling your slices get more and more harsh by the second. “I don’t… want to hear it, Rupert.” You bark, gently placing down your knife and momentarily turning round to face him. You want him to see the jealousy flooding your eyes green. Rupert knew exactly what he was doing. Fighting back the most marvellous smirk, he lowered the cigarette from his mouth to add fuel to the fire, but decided against it.

Continuing to prepare your unromantic meal, your heart pounded furiously and the repetitive thump of blood coursing through your body blurred any other sound from your ear. “I wasn’t interested anyway, angel. She was all over me like a rash.” The chiselled man continued to coax vexation from you. Who the fuck does he think he is? Coming into your house and telling you about- “Fuck!” You bellowed. Your frantic chopping had gone rather wrong— the pure spiteful mess of Rupert’s words had riled you so heavily that you had miscalculated the direction of your knife and chopped straight into your finger. Blood crept into the natural layers of the onion, and began to seep into the wooden cutting board. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You scream again, applying pressure to your finger with the nearest tea towel, immediately soaking it. And of course, you feel your body weakening and your mind dizzying. You do NOT like blood. Springing into action, Rupert stood directly behind you, using his body as a human shield as you inevitably fell into him, just on the brink of fainting. “Are you okay, angel?” He whispered, taking control of the tea towel, squeezing it tight onto your finger and placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead. But the words he spoke sounded too heavy to make any coherence in your head and your vision grew thicker and hazier.

What felt like an eternity later, you awoke on your sofa, head propped up on a pillow and covered in thick, woollen blankets. “Rupert?” You croak, and look down at your finger. Perfectly cleaned up, and wrapped securely in bandages. The bitter smell of TCP filled your nose and made you wince. “I’ve disinfected it. I managed to save your finger, but the onions are a little worse for wear I’m afraid.” He mocked, and took a gentle seat beside you. You managed to push out a chuckle, and sat yourself up on your elbows. “You scared me, angel. Please be careful next time.” Rupert warned, waving a cautionary finger in your face. How dare he! “Are you serious, Rupert? The only reason I cut my finger in the first place is because you come in here, gloating about a woman being all over you. Shoving it into my face like I’m supposed to care…” You can feel fury coursing through your veins and attempt to speak in the most coarse tone possible, but you still feel incredibly weak and hunker back down half way through. Your usually supple porcelain skin has been drained of blood, and your limbs tremble under your weight.

“Shh, shh, angel. You need to relax.” Rupert speaks in a hushed tone — one so soft and gentle that it feels otherworldly from his lips. He caresses your mottled cheek with the back of his hand and just.. freezes. His cerulean orbs study you intensely, admiring every freckle. Every crinkle of your nose. Every misplaced hair on your head. “I didn’t come to have sex with you, you know, angel.” He murmurs, hand unmoving from your cheek. Your breath catches in your throat — too afraid to exhale. Even the sound of your breathing will be much too loud of an interruption. “Seeing you hurt like that… it was as though it hurt me too. All of a sudden, I feel this great wave of protection flow through me. I think of you constantly, you’ve infiltrated my mind. I can’t sleep. I just think of you.” Rupert blurted out, filled with unwavering confidence and an expression of adoration.

“Rupert…” You begin, but there are simply no words to say. This is what you have craved to hear all along. “I feel as though I cannot shake you. You are a part of my soul.” He whispers softly now, placing your hand on his chest to feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat.

“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” - Wuthering Heights

[kazumist]

CAUSE I'M FALLING SLOWLY IN LOVE WITH YOU .ᐟ

✩ — in which you found yourself falling for them even harder because of the little things they do.

✩ — includes: wanderer, wriothesley, alhaitham, kazuha x gn!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 438. i really would've written more if this was a modern!au but oh well. you all just get another four characters i guess. please reblog bc it would help me a lot !!

wanderer is not an individual who’s used to expressing himself—he’s very aware of that fact. he also has this sort of social stigma when it comes to flirting. he finds it awfully disgusting when he sees others be affectionate towards their partners in public, to the point where he really can’t imagine himself doing the same. but for you, he tries. he starts by wrapping an arm around you as you walk in public, and then he slowly pulls you closer to him as he does so. you knew kunikuzushi was not the one for these types of things, but the fact that he’s trying for you? your heart just couldn’t help but flutter. 

wriothesley was not blessed when it came to the arts. his hands were not made for anything that’s concerned with art—painting, origami, you name it. but you find it adorable because that just means his artwork would always have this... touch that would always remind you it was wriothesley who made it. whether that may be a smudge of the paint, crumples around the matter, or wonky cuts despite a guideline already present for him to use. yet when your birthday comes around, you’re surprised that wriothesley presents himself to you with a small bouquet of paper flowers in his hand. “sigewinne had to help me with this; you know how hopeless i am when it comes to arts and crafts.” and just imagining him struggle to put up this little paper bouquet in your head, you were sure that you could never love anyone else other than him.

you could always see alhaitham having his nose in a book. whether it’s something from the akademiya’s library or a novel he decided to pick up, there’s one thing you’re sure of: you two would always bond over books. though you’re both interested in different genres, alhaitham finds himself picking up the book you recently finished and enjoying himself with it. he does this because he knows that you love it—and whatever you love, alhaitham finds himself loving it as well.

kazuha is a passionate man; he’s quite the talker too. he would always have this glint in his eyes whenever he told you a tale of his recent travels. and that glint is something you always find endearing because kazuha clearly enjoys himself telling you all of these. you listen to him attentively, absorbing and understanding every detail his story would hold, laughing alongside him whenever he mentions an amusing memory that happened on his trip. and just by the sound of his voice, there’s no one you’d rather listen to other than him.

[skelliko]

★- Tokyo revengers

- cute, little, not so subtle things they do to show that they like you

featuring: kazutora, chifuyu, Baji, Inui, rindou

-honestly some of these aren't even hints they're just straight up green flags-

°- kazutora hanemiya

• he'd innocently tap his fingers or pat his hands on you to a certain beat of a song, on your shoulders, head, knees or arms. he'd do it out of nowhere and without a warning and it'd last between a few seconds to a minute

• sometimes he'd tease you with small annoying acts, that could go from from taking your pens and pencils and holding onto them in his grasp as you try to take them off from him but fail, or taking your work sheets that you need and making little origami boats all with a mischievous smile.

• he'd do anything with you, but only if it's just the two of you and he'd make that clear. you only have to ask once if he wants to join you in something or if you need help with anything, but if you ask while you're in your group he'd be reluctant and always make an excuse for it to just be you two

• when you're both doing something mischievous in school like cheating or going in places you shouldn't be, if you both get caught kazutora takes the fault and would try to get you out of detention, (despite him blaming others for certain things if it revolves around actual punishment he doesn't point to someone) though if your still dragged into detention then kazutora would throw a little note at you and try to humor the situation

• his love language is physical touch and quality time

°- chifuyu matsuno

• he'd hand write little sweet notes while you're there and watching chifuyu write and pass it towards the corner of your desk but then act like he didn't do that, "oh what's that?" "hm, who's that's from?" all with a good poker face

• he'd ask the question "if I were a worm would you still love me?"

• whenever you mention that you were out late at night he'd become a little protective and insist that next time when your alone at night to message him and he'd accompany you, that's exactly what happened. every time you're out and it's late he'd comes over to the location that you sent on his motorbike to safely take you home - like Baji though he'd use that as a slight advantage to feel a hug from you but he won't admit it

• when you'd talk about manga he'd slip up a little about "that character reminds me of you" and then the character is the most gorgeous, most likable and so like you that you hadn't even thought of comparing yourself to them until chifuyu mentioned it that sometimes it got you thinking into how well he takes notice of some things about you.

• his love language is acts of service and words of affirmation

°- Baji Keisuke

• whenever he walks past you in hallways or even if you're both in your separate groups and accidentally meet in public, he would bring his hand up to pat the top of your head once while walking past ya and not say anything about it but hold a grin

• he'd always try to bring you out on his motorbike just so you could wrap your arms around him and he's admitted to that before, "I just like it when you hug me" he said that with a small shrug and a confident smile. sometimes when the road is all clear he purposely speeds up just so he can feel your grasp get a little tighter and become closer

• in lesson or if you're trying to help Baji with some work he'd lean over to your page and do a quick little drawing. one of them was of the two of you as stick figures, holding hands above your heads. other drawings he'd done is wonky, unsymmetrical stars and flowers, very rare occasions mainly at the end of the lesson he's quickly do a tiny little heart at the very bottom corner but only if you weren't paying attention.

• whenever Baji comes across a cat, either a stray or an outdoor cat he'd take a picture of it and send it to you with a text, sometimes you'd be compared to the cat, "you if you were a cat" "it has your eye colour" "the cat has the same personality as you" "I bet you both would get along great"

• his love language is quality time and physical touch

°- Inui seishu

• he would straight up stare at you, without saying anything he'd shamelessly look at you and admire you, a lot of the time with a small smile and if you catch onto him and ask him about it he just shrugs and carries on looking at you

• out of nowhere, rarely, when hes behind you he'd be holding your favourite snack and hold it behind the back of your head until you turn around to notice it, sometimes if you take too long he'd crinkle the package to make you notice

• he'd fix up your hair for you, if the wind blew it and made your hair to be a little off than how you want it to be then he'd move the strands for you without saying anything

• he'd observe you and remember everything, not once did he forget any little detail about you, your temporary favourite colour for the week, what you ate last Thursday at 2:37pm, that one scene in an episode of a series that you mentioned last month that inui was so far behind in watching but then brought it up that he got up to that part, it's as if he keeps note of everything

• his love language is acts of service and quality time, a bit of gifting

°- rindou haitani

• whenever you're both together, for even a brief moment, if he sees a flower outside in the grass, concrete, over someone's garden fence or even on someone's private property he will pick a singular flower and then pass it to you (he expects you to keep it until you both part) and it'd be a large variety wherever you both go out, it's hardly ever be the same flower and he makes sure of that

• at some point he let you try on his white gloves that he uses to fight people with and someone else saw that and asked him if they could also try it on and rindou went, "no fuck off" with no hesitation whatso ever, even his mood switched up a little but then immediately went back to smiling at how the gloves were a little bit too big on you

• if you're both together and walk past a group of guys he'd place his arm around your shoulders and keep you close, his reasoning was so that they don't try to hit on you knowing damn well your a single and a free person (someone's protective?)

• he loves to braid your hair, long or short doesn't matter. he's braided his brother's hair before and even though it took him a few tries to get it right he wouldn't miss a perfect opportunity to try and braid yours if it means to get close to you

• his love language is acts of service and gifting

 ♡---

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

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

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

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

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

Word count: 7.8k

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

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

He didn’t lie. 

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

When did he find the time?

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

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

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

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

You frown. “What was what for?”

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

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

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

Uh oh. 

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

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

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

“Trying not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

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

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

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to taste them.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, did you.

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

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

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

“I’m glad you think so.”

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

And decides to torture you.

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

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

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

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

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

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

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

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

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

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

—

“I brought you something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

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

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

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

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

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

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

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

It’s November before you know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

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

Right. 

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

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

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

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

“You grew up in Russia?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

Changed his name?

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

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

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

“Come closer.”

God help you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much faster.

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

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

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

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

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

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

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

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

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

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

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

He listens.

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

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

“Do you think you can do it?”

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

But yes. You think you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s so warm. 

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

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

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

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

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

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

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

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

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

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

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

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

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

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

“A shock wave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

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

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

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

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

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

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

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

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

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

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

9:34

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

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

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

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

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

Who is that? 

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Thank you.”

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

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

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

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

12:05 

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

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

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

Me

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

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

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

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[hyunsvngs]

hyunsvngbinimas!

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader

warnings: they're in love your honor, mostly vanilla, brief rimming, brief foodplay, kitchen sex, clit play, unprotected sex, creampie

You hate that Felix is so good at these types of things. He’s had to help you reassemble your gingerbread house three whole times now, when it’s unceremoniously fallen apart on the tray, and his creation looks perfect. He’s even done you and him standing outside in icing, with Bbokari standing next to you both as your little chick pet.

Not that you’d have been able to truly focus on yours anyway. Felix had been accidentally brushing against you, grabbing your waist, sometimes pushing past you to grind his cock on your ass. It was meant to be a cute experience, both of you in matching Christmas pyjamas and Felix in his Santa hat, but of course your gremlin of a boyfriend had to turn it into something sexual.

“Mine looks bad,” You whine, stomping your feet. Felix looks at your house, all slanted walls and barely-attached roof of it, and bursts out laughing. You whine again, elbowing him in the tummy softly. It’s his fault! “Felix. Don’t be mean! Not all of us can be super creative.”

“I know baby, I know,” He’s still laughing, but he wraps his arms around your middle. The Christmas music is still playing softly in the background, and he sways you and hums along to the song. His Christmas hat tickles your neck, and you finally let yourself smile, hands grabbing his forearms where they rest around you. “At least you’re good at making cookies. Look! You even did a Jureumi one for Minho hyung.”

You blink at the cookie where it’s cooling on the tray, before nodding in acknowledgement. The lines are a little bit wonky, but you know Minho will kiss your forehead and thank you nonetheless. “I think he’ll like it.”

“He will,” He nods, kissing your cheek. “He’ll love it, baby, and if all else fails, Chan will love your gingerbread house.”

“He’ll just lie to be nice about it.”

“Well, yeah, but-” Felix is cut off by his own giggle as you swat at him, before he grabs your hands, rendering you motionless. “Don’t attack me! It’s Christmas!”

You ignore the urge to tell him that it’s not quite Christmas yet. You’d been invited to Felix’s dorm to bake for the other members and have a sugar-infused Christmas party prior to the actual day, and Felix had ushered everyone out so that it would be a surprise. An unhappy surprise, you think, because your gingerbread house looks shit. 

“It’s not my fault it looks bad anyway, Felix,” You groan, pointing an accusing finger at him. He throws his arms up in surrender, a faux-innocent look on that beautiful freckled face. “You kept touching me.”

Felix drops his arms then, giggling. “Did it get you hot under the collar, baby? That’s so cute,” You let him crowd you against the counter, the smell of gingerbread and sweet icing filling your senses. He braces you with his arms, surprisingly muscly, and your hands come up to your chest as if to defend yourself. “You’re so cute. I couldn’t help myself, not with you looking so delicious in these pyjamas.”

You glance down at your pyjamas. Minnie Mouse in a Christmas dress stares you dead in the eyes. “I have Minnie Mouse on my shirt.”

“That’s what makes it so cute!” Felix gushes, a smile on his face. “You know I love you looking so domestic. It makes me just wanna… y’know.”

You watch with an amused smile on your face as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. He’s so ridiculous. You love him. “Makes you wanna what?”

“Touch you,” He breathes, leaning in to peck your lips chastely. When he pulls away, there’s a more determined look on his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I want to touch you. I have since we started this fucking baking date. I just wanna bend you over the counter and make you cum, you look so cute.”

Oh. Your chest starts heaving, breaths tumbling out your lips. “Oh, Felix…”

“Will you let me?” Felix questions, little fingers coming up to play with the collar of your shirt. His hands are burning hot on your skin, making you squirm in your spot and huff out a sigh. “I want to make you cum, baby. Will you let me?”

“I- Yes, yeah, I’ll let you.”

“So cute,” He murmurs, dark doe eyes scanning your face, and then he’s kissing you. You let him, mouth opening pliantly for Felix’s typical soft, yet messy kisses, open mouthed and channelling all of his love through them. 

The pom pom on his Santa hat dangles precariously and tickles your face, but you ignore it, fingers moving up to rest on his broad shoulders. He crowds further into your space, if it’s even possible, and pushes his hands up your shirt. You gasp into the kiss when his hands knead your breasts, sans-bra due to your intended comfort in your pyjamas. Your nipples are hard, pebbled against his palms, and he groans into your lips.

Felix groans into the kiss, his deep timbre reverberating through you, and then he’s shoving his hand down your bottoms. “I wanna play with your clit, make you cum before I push inside,” He huffs, and you nod eagerly, letting your legs fall apart just slightly to accommodate him. His fingers push into your folds, finding your clit and almost whining at the mess he finds between your legs. “Oh, baby. It’s so wet down here, you liked me touching you?” 

“I always like you touching me,” You murmur, a pink flush rising to your cheeks. Felix chuckles, and then he’s rubbing circles around your clit. He always knows how to touch you, how to make you cum so quickly and so hard that you’re seeing stars and can’t breathe for a minute afterwards.

You usually love tangling your hands in his hair while he pleasures you; you love to hear his sharp intake of breath each time you tug a little harder. With the scarlet santa hat hiding his locks, you’re lost. His fingers speed up, harsh circles on your sensitive bundle of your nerves making your hands scrabble for purchase, flitting between his chest, his shoulders, cupping his cheeks and bringing his lips back to yours. You don’t know what to do with yourself, you can barely contain your upcoming climax.

“Felix,” you utter, a breathy moan. “Lix, Lix, look at me.” He looks up obediently, dark eyes wide as they meet yours. “Cumming, cumming, I-”

He hushes you with a kiss, he doesn't need to hear what you're trying to say. He knows you're cumming, he sees it in the way you look at him, the way your eyebrows furrow and your fingertips dig into his skin with a wail. He feels it as your wetness floods his fingers, and he gives you a second to try and catch your breath before speaking.

“Good?” Felix chuckles, kissing your nose. You scrunch your nose up in response, and he does it again, and again, until he stops and presses his forehead against yours. “Mm. I want to fuck you. Can I?”

“Yeah,” You nod, smiling. “You can always fuck me. How do you want me, Lixie?”

“God,” He grins, teeth white and shining. You let your eyes trail across his freckles while he thinks, hands securely on your waist and eyes fluttering shut. He hums, and then spins you around, pressing your front into the counter. “Like this. Bend over for me, baby, I’ll hit it nice and deep.”

You wiggle your ass teasingly and Felix moans, slapping your asscheek. It only takes a second and he pulls your pyjama trousers down with your underwear, running a thumb through your folds. 

“So sloppy,” He muses, and then you hear him sigh. “I want to try something, baby, stay still for me.”

He reaches over and you hear a few clattering noises, and Felix dribbles something cold on your ass. You squeal, shifting, before his hands go to your hips to keep you in place. 

“Lix, what’s-”

“Icing,” He groans, and you hear him shifting onto his knees. His tongue hits your skin, licking up the trail of sweetness on your asscheek. His tongue dips over your skin a few more times for good measure, even going as far to lick over your asshole, tonguing the rim.

“Lix, please, I can’t wait,” You whine, hips wiggling tantalisingly. “Lixie, please, please-”

You’re cut off by the feeling of the blunt press of his cockhead against your hole. It has you wondering briefly if the boys are going to come home halfway through you getting fucked, and it makes you whimper, pushing your hips back into Felix’s cock. The feeling of his pyjamas against your skin makes you realise that he’s fucking you with just his cock pulled out, otherwise fully clothed, and you gasp, feet kicking against the floor.

“Gimme it,” You slur, head dropping down onto your arms. “Wet enough, feel, gimme it!”

When his cockhead breaches your hole you wail, loud and unabashed.

“Pussy’s so fucking tight, baby, fuck,” He groans, sinking into your heat slowly. You whine, pushing your hips back on him again, and his hands splay across your ass. A beat passes, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow and passionate and so delicious that it makes you moan. You feel his pubes against your ass, trimmed hairs on his balls slapping against your clit with the sinuous rhythm. “Feel good? Tell me, tell me, fuck, baby…”

“It’s so good, Felix, I can feel everything, it’s so- hnnnng, Felix, Felix, please, faster-”

“I’ll cum if I go fast, baby, give me a second,” He huffs, head dropping to your neck. His chest presses against your back, and he continues to fuck you slowly for a bit before he speeds up. With the position, he’s got you deep and pliant, legs spread for him to do what he wants to you against the counter. Finally, his pace increases and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You feel a wave of pleasure crash over you as Felix's thrusts become faster and harder, his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust.

“Ah, ah, like that, like that, oh my god,” You moan, eyes rolling back into your head. Felix always fucks into you just right, and you reach back to grab onto his hand, pulling him closer into you. “Oh, keep going, just like that, I’ll cum again, I’ll cum.”

“Cum for me, cum for me,” Felix moans, his voice higher pitched as his balls slap against your clit. He’s getting close. Your pussy’s so wet that the slapping sounds echo around the kitchen, yet your moans and whines are louder than anything else. “Baby, c’mon, cum for me, I’ll cum inside.”

Your head lolls forward, your bottom lip wet with drool. Felix rarely came inside, too worried about the risks, and the idea has you hurtling into ecstasy. “You’ll- really? You’ll cum inside? God, I want you to, Lixie, please-”

“I’ll fill you up, baby, I promise, c’mon. Show me how good this cock makes you feel.”

With a particularly well-timed thrust into your g-spot, you fall apart, wailing through your orgasm and trying to grip onto the counter with sweaty palms. Your cunt flutters around Felix’s cock over and over, the tightness forming a new intensity for him, and he groans before his hips halt against your ass. You feel his hips trembling against you as he cums inside, filling you up with pulses of white cum and making you feel full of him. It’s so hot, so sexy that it almost makes you want to go again, but you’re interrupted by the sound of voices by the front door. 

“Oh my god,” Felix mumbles, pulling out of you with haste. You gasp at the realisation that the other boys are back, yanking your bottoms up and trying to ignore the feeling of Felix’s cum leaking out of you. He shuffles around the kitchen awkwardly, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible, and you giggle as he wiggles his bottoms up awkwardly. 

You both try to make yourself look busy, trying to fix your now collapsed gingerbread house and fiddling with the cookies. You hear a scoff from behind you, and you turn around to see Seungmin, Minho and Jeongin. The youngest has a dumb smile on his face, Minho looks to be suppressing the loudest laugh he’s ever done and Seungmin’s scowling.

“Hi!” Felix says, too cheery. “Do you wanna try our gingerbread house?”

“Only if you promise that’s actually icing,” Seungmin remarks, raising an eyebrow. You flush, lips parting in shock. “It stinks of sex in here.”

Jeongin grins, elbowing him playfully. “As if you’d know, hyung.”

“No, but seriously,” Minho smirks, eyes flitting between you and Felix. “Can’t you two do anything without fucking like rabbits?”

Felix turns to you, a bright blush beneath his freckles. You’re embarrassed, but the soft look in his eyes reassures you, a fond smile on his face. “It’s Christmas, and we’re in love.”

You coo, and Seungmin fake gags.

“You’re both disgusting.”

[radiance1]

To say Danny was worried about Vlad's continued disappearance was... sort of an understatement? At first, he was glad about it. He could finally kick back and relax when one of his more insistent and cunning foes were gone to who knows where and left him alone.

When it continued, Danny very obviously thought that hey, Vlad might be cooking up some supremely intricate plan that'll ruin Danny's day so, of course, Danny started to look for him.

He didn't expect to find Vlad when he was (surprisingly) captured by the GIW. All of his pride scrubbed away, all the elegance he insisted upon exchanged for something more.. beastly, collared and reduced to some raging experiment that was more animal than human.

It scared Danny.

Like a lot.

Danny thinks that Vlad was many things. A fruitloop, annoying, overconfident, intelligent and cunning when he wants to be, also an idiot and, again, extremely annoying.

But not. Well. That.

So he, understandably, didn't like it one bit. Especially when they tried doing the same thing to him. So, Danny tries to escape, which was surprisingly harder than he had first thought because you know that collar they put on Vlad?

Yea, they put it on him too, and it makes his powers all wonky and harder to use. The only thing that wasn't really impacted was his regeneration.

And then there was the dehumanization.

Oh, by the Ancients.

The dehumanization.

Being referred to as it, thing, animal, anything besides human really takes a toll on a person when they're actually going through it. Sometimes Danny caught himself calling himself an 'it' too and he's not happy about it.

Danny wanted out.

And he wanted out bad.

So while he may have felt guilty, that guilt didn't exactly stop him from using Vlad to his own ends to get himself out of there. Even with that power wonker of a collar, Vlad was still an outright menace without the rest of those chains on him and Danny?

Danny was extremely, very glad about that fact.

So there Danny goes, escaping into a portal with Vlad at his back because, well, he wasn't just going to leave him there. When they actually escape is fair game though. And then the last thing the GIW do to fuck them over is hit them both with some experimental tech that forces them to reveal their 'true form' which, obviously Danny didn't expect to actually work.

Then he found himself significantly younger with a younger but no less traumatized and feral Vlad in a place that wasn't Amity Park and oooooh boy this did not go to plan and everything is fucked up.

The worst thing about all of this?

The both of them are still collared. So wonky and/or weakened powers, in a place Danny has no knowledge about, with a feral Vlad that he couldn't leave alone anymore because Danny was a toddler and he'd use every advantage he could get now, both of them wounded because it wasn't a clean escape and oh hey apparently heroes exist here-

Wait.

What.

[nhlclover]

𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎 | 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: as you and quinn have a little pumpkin carving contest, a hidden talent of his emerges.

warnings: quinn being a bully (kidding but also not), halloween fluff!

word count: 1.59k

notes: fic number three of cozytober! also making it a headcanon that quinn would actually be a secretly elite pumpkin carver.

The sun was just beginning to set as you and Quinn stepped through the rows of pumpkins, your uggs crunching on the hay-strewn path. The air was crisp with that signature fall chill, and the scent of autumn leaves filled your senses. You loved this time of year—the cozy sweaters, the pumpkin-flavored everything, and, of course, the Halloween traditions. But what made it even better was doing it all with Quinn. It was your first fall that you were spending with Quinn and you were elated to do fall-themed coupley stuff with him.

Rows upon rows of bright orange pumpkins stretched out in front of you. Quinn’s hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his breath coming out in little white clouds.

“Think this one has potential?” you ask, nudging a round, medium-sized pumpkin with your boot.

“It’s… okay,” Quinn says, you snorting at his pickiness around pumpkins. “It’s a perfectly average pumpkin.”

“Alright, buddy,” you say, rolling your eyes and picking the pumpkin off the ground. “I’m taking it.”

You continue on, stepping over rogue vines, while Quinn scans the patch for the perfect pumpkin. Finally, Quinn picks one—big, smooth, and almost annoyingly perfect. Of course, he would. Meanwhile, yours is a little less flawless, but it has character, you tell yourself. It’s smaller, but round with just the right amount of wonky.

Once back at your place, you both set up at the kitchen table, spreading out newspapers and pulling out carving tools. Quinn insists that you carve in secret—“so we can do a big reveal at the end,” he says, waggling his eyebrows like this is some high-stakes challenge. You agree, slightly amused by how into this he’s getting.

The kitchen is filled with the sound of scraping, slicing, and your occasional grunt of frustration as you work on your pumpkin. The strong scent of pumpkin guts filled the air as the two of you worked side by side, throwing the seeds and pulp into a bowl. Every now and then, Quinn would glance over at you, trying to sneak a peek at your progress.

“Hey! No peeking at my masterpiece,” you scolded, pointing your spoon at him.

Quinn held his hands up in surrender, a smirk on his lips. “Alright, alright, sorry. I’ll wait.”

You go for one of those basic patterns—the triangle eyes, a jagged smile. It was simple, but you figured it was foolproof. Quinn, on the other hand, seemed focused, too focused, as he meticulously worked on his pumpkin. His brow was furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly in the way it did when he was deep in a thought.

“Almost done over there?” Quinn calls from his side of the table, sounding suspiciously confident.

“Almost,” you lie, frantically trying to smooth out the jagged lines that seem to get worse the more you touch them.

After what feels like forever, Quinn finally announces, “Alright, the moment of truth. Ready?”

You hesitate, glancing down at your pumpkin. It’s…well, it’s not your best work. The eyes are uneven, the smile is crooked, and the whole thing is more ‘lumpy blob’ than ‘spooky jack-o-lantern.’ “How about you go first.” you suggest, hoping that Quinn’s carving will make you feel better about your own.

Quinn turned his pumpkin around with a dramatic flourish. And you froze.

“Oh my god,”

Quinn has somehow carved an intricate scene—Jack Skellington and Sally, perfectly etched into the smooth orange skin of his pumpkin. The detail is incredible, down to the stitching on Sally’s dress and the eerie grin on Jack’s face. It’s from your favorite movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“How did you—?” you stammer, still staring at it in disbelief.

Quinn rubs the back of his neck, looking oddly proud of himself. “I know it’s your favorite, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

Your heart squeezes. He knew. He remembered. “It’s amazing,” you say softly, still staring at the pumpkin like it’s a masterpiece in a gallery. “Seriously, Quinn, this is…it’s perfect.”

He grins, his usual cocky confidence flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Like it? I love it.”

But then you glance down at your pumpkin — your sad, lopsided creation — and suddenly feel a wave of embarrassment. Compared to Quinn’s masterpiece, yours looks like it was carved by a five-year-old.

“Alright, your turn.” Quinn says, urging you to turn around your pumpkin to display your artwork.

“Nah, that’s okay, I think this one ought to go in the compost.” you joke, picking it up and turning to take it out to the bins.

“Hey, hey, no backing out now,” he says, pulling you back to him. “Let’s see it.”

You sigh, placing it back on the table and reluctantly turning it to face Quinn. You hold your breath, bracing for the teasing you know is bound to happen.

To his credit, Quinn tries. He really does. He looks at your pumpkin, his lips twitching as he fights the urge to laugh. You see it in his eyes, the struggle to hold back, but after a second, he just can’t help it and he bursts out laughing.

You cross your arms, fighting a smile. “You’re mean”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Quinn says between laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s cute! It’s, uh—” he pauses, still chuckling. “It’s unique. Yeah, that’s the word.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but you can’t help but laugh too. “Yeah, ‘unique.’ That’s what people say when they don’t want to say it’s bad.”

He steps around the table and nudges you with his elbow, his laughter fading into a softer smile. “Hey, I’m serious. It’s cute. I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to carve, like, Michelangelo or anything.”

“Gee thanks, I’m glad you kept your expectations low for me,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Quinn says in a soft tone, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your torso. “It’s actually really cute… in a kind of dopey way.”

You snort, pushing out of your boyfriend's grasp, going back to Quinn’s pumpkin that you can’t help but admire. “Whatever, at least we have a cute pumpkin to display.”

“Yeah… you know I think I’ve found my true calling.” Quinn joked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Pro pumpkin carver instead of pro hockey player? Bold career shift,” you quipped, crossing your arms and giving him a playful look.

Quinn shrugged dramatically, eyes twinkling. “The heart wants what it wants, babe. Sure, scoring goals is fun, but nothing beats the thrill of carving cartoon characters into a gourd.”

You burst out laughing, the sound filling the cozy kitchen. “Right, because that's totally the dream: trading in ice skates for carving tools.”

He stepped closer, slipping his arms around your waist again, pulling you into him with a smirk. “Hey, don’t underestimate me. Maybe I could be the first dual-career athlete and pumpkin carving champion.”

You couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your face. “I can see it now—‘Quinn Hughes: NHL star by day, pumpkin Picasso by night.’”

“Now that is a title I could get behind,” he said, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His playful grin softened as his lips lingered for a moment. "But really, this was a good night. You’re a pretty great carving partner, you know?”

You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you as you rested your hands on his chest. “I’d say the same about you, but I think you might have stolen the spotlight.”

Quinn chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “How about we light these suckers up and see how they look in the dark?”

You grab the package of tea lights that you’d purchased from the Dollar Store earlier that day, placing them in the middle of your pumpkins and lighting them, before flicking off the kitchen lights. The small flame illuminates the inside of your pumpkins, fully showing off the designs.

“How does it look worse in the dark?” you groan, Quinn chuckling softly.

“I think it has… a rustic charm. Like, it’s so bad, it’s good.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re terrible. But fine, it can stay.” You step back, admiring his intricate carving of Jack and Sally, illuminated now in a way that makes it feel almost magical. The soft candlelight flickers, casting shadows that give Jack’s face a slightly sinister edge while Sally looks hauntingly beautiful.

A thought suddenly pops into your head, and you turn to Quinn, eyes lighting up. “Alright, we have to watch Nightmare Before Christmas now. It’s basically a requirement after this,” you say, gesturing to his pumpkin. “You can’t just carve Jack and Sally and not watch the movie. That’s sacrilegious.”

Quinn grins, stepping closer to you. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to cuddle up and watch your favorite Halloween movie?”

You smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe… but you’re the one who set the mood with this carving, so really, it’s your fault.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls you into a warm embrace. “Alright, alright, I’ll take the blame. But you’re in charge of making popcorn. I’ll go put these on the porch.”

“Deal,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out of his arms.

As you head to the kitchen to grab popcorn, you feel a rush of warmth and contentment. This was exactly what you’d imagined—a perfect fall night even if your pumpkin didn’t turn out exactly how you’d hoped.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: we're here to boo Andrew.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, you’re coming?” Jacob’s voice quavers with excitement. You can’t imagine how he’d sound if you said no. You hate letting people down, it seems to be all you've ever done.

“Uh, yeah,” you say as you steer around the track; opting for some MarioKart over Minecraft that night, “boss says it’s no problem to get the days off. Just have to make it up after. Is... Is everything still good on your end?” 

“Oh yeah, sure thing,” he assures buoyantly, “I can’t wait. Did you still wanna split the airBnB?” 

“Actually, I got a place to stay for the night then I’ll take the early bus back,” you explain as Princess Peach knocks you off the track, “argh!” 

“Right, that’s good,” he says, “good to know you won’t be stranded out there.” 

“Mhm,” you use your boost to catch up to Peach and get your revenge. You don’t mention that Kara will be with you at the con. You just want to be sure this isn’t something wonky. “It’ll be nice to get out of town. My grandma will probably be happy to have the place to herself.” 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “what’s her problem anyway?” 

“Just the way she is. She likes her space,” you shrug, “I don’t know, I don’t think she expected to be raising her granddaughter...” 

“Ah, yeah, I guess that would be stressful,” he says, “still, seems like you’re not too bad to be around. Got a job, go to school, all that. Think my dad would love it if I put in half as much effort.” 

“Yeah? You make him sound like a hard ass.” 

“Can be. Lawyer, so kinda his schtick,” he chuckles. 

“Oo, fancy,” you snort. Maybe if either of your parents had been lawyers, you wouldn’t be living off your grandma’s resent.  

“I guess. Never really see him that much...” he grumbles. 

“Hm, well, no winning, is there?” You mutter. 

“Not really,” he sighs and hisses, “ugh, Toad!” 

You chuckle and cross the finish line. A respectable second. You wait for him to finish and stifle a yawn. 

“Tired?” He asks. 

“Little.” 

“Me too, long day,” he groans, “neck’s killing me.” 

“Oh, what’d you do--” 

“You know, I’m-- an idiot. Was messing around on my bike.” 

“Of course,” you snicker, “well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna sign off. I don’t wanna keep my grandma up and my head’s starting to go.” 

“Sure, I gotta get up early anyway,” he sounds less than enthused. “Good night.” 

“You too.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Can’t, work. Day after?” 

“Okay, I’ll make it work,” he confirms, “I’m excited about meeting up. Aren’t you?” 

“Yep,” you try not to show your doubt. You’re still not really sure about everything. 

“Can’t wait,” he rasps and the silt in his tone makes you shiver. 

“Yeah, er, bye then,” you hit end session and take off your headset, your ears tender and a bit sweaty. Even if it is awkward, at least you’ll get to hang with Kara for a bit. You haven’t seen her since grad. 

🎮

You’re already exhausted and you’re not even inside yet. The line for the convention is bustling and your excitement keeps you going as you and Kara gab away and move with the slow crawl. The sun beams down and has you sweating, though you could easily blame that on your nerves too. 

“So, this Jacob... is he cute?” She winks. 

“Kara,” you roll your eyes, “it’s not like that. Really. We just game.” 

“Oh yeah. But do you want it to be more?” She teases. 

“You know I’m not really into all that. I don’t have room for a boyfriend in my life.” 

“So boring. Never change, girlie,” she nudges you playfully. “But really, that’s smart. Calvin is too much. I’m thinking of cutting him loose.” 

“Again?” You squint. 

“Not my fault he keeps coming back,” she giggles. 

You peer around, searching out a familiar face amid the ocean of strangers. You haven’t seen Jacob yet. You’re almost hoping he doesn’t show up. Then again, why wouldn’t he? He paid for you to be here. The reminder of the fact strikes guilt in your chest. 

You pause as your eyes catch another pair, further back in the queue. An older man with a beard. He stands out among the crowd. He wears a tidy button-up where most wear graphic tees or cosplay attire. He stares for a moment before he turns away and looks down, probably at whatever kid dragged him there. 

“Well, what are you going to do if he sees you and falls in love?” Kara asks. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. 

“If he’s a nerd like you, how could he not?” 

“Hey,” you frown. 

“What? You’re like the sexy gamer girl type. Isn’t that what dudes want?” She shrugs. “Let me see his pic again. He’s a skinny little thing. He’d definitely be into you.” 

“Urgh, stop,” you cross your arms. 

“Sorry, I’m only playing. You just seem so nervous, I’m trying to loosen you up.” 

“I know,” you puff, “it’s just... I should’ve just said no. This is stupid. I don’t know why I even agreed.” 

“To get out of that shithole,” she snips. “Why do you think I hauled ass the minute I popped by grad cap on?” 

“Mm, yeah, I just hope... do you think he really wants that? Maybe I gave him the wrong idea. Oh, Kar, I really didn’t mean to lead him on.” 

“No, no, I’m sure it’s nothing you did if he does. I mean, he’s probably a virgin so...” 

“That’s mean,” you pout. 

“What, so are you,” she laughs. 

“Exactly,” you shake your head and drop your arms, a buzz jittering your skirt pocket.  

You look down at yourself as you slide your phone free. That was probably a bold choice but it’s so damn hot out. Besides, your Pikachu tee is loose enough to counteract the denim sheath. You turn the screen up, shading it with your hand as you read. 

‘Sorry, not going to make it. Something came up. 🙁' 

You frown and reread the message. Really? You came all the way here, took time off of work, and he’s flaking? 

“What’s up?” Kara asks as she clicks her manicured nails impatiently and stands on her toes, trying to see past the bodies ahead. 

“He just cancelled,” you mutter and type in your reply. 

‘Oh no. Hope it’s nothing bad. Maybe another time.’ 

You hit send and drop your shoulders. You’re surprised how disappointed you are. More so about the wasted effort than anything. Even if you are a bit relieved, it’s shitty. 

“Ah, bullshit!” Kara sneers, “what the hell? What did he say?” She reaches for your phone and you hold it out of her grasp. “That fucker.” 

“It’s probably not his fault. Shit happens.” 

“Babe, you’re gonna settle for a lot of nonsense if you keep that attitude. I’d be friggin pissed if I was you. He brings you all the way here and now he’s too good for you. I bet he saw some cute girl in line and she smiled at him once so now he’s ditching,” she scowls, “I hate boys.” 

“I’m sure... it’s nothing,” you say glumly as your phone vibes again. 

‘I’m real sorry. I hope you still have a good time. Take lots of pictures.’ 

You don’t respond. You lock your phone and put it back in your pocket. It never feels good to be stood up. Even then. 

“You know what, screw him,” Kara snarls, “let’s go in there and buy you the cutest plushie you can find. Hell, maybe you can find an even cuter guy.” 

“Kar,” you warn her. 

“Fine, just the plushie. Maybe two,” she trills, “forget that loser.” 

🎮

The chaos of the convention wipes away the dark cloud over you. You’re almost thankful that Jacob gave you the opportunity to catch up with Kara. You didn’t realise how much you missed her. It’s perfect day where you can forget about your grandmother and your lame job and everything else. 

You rush around from booth to booth. You look at fanart, handmade figures, and stuffies. You’re mindful of your wallet and how empty it really is. You’ll get one thing and a snack. That’s all you can afford.  

As the hours roll by, your early morning bus ride and time spent standing out in the hot sun catch up to you. You feel your muscles starting to ache and your eyelids turning fuzzy. You yawn as you shuffle behind Kara as she waits in line to get a signature from the one D-list celeb she’s heard of. You’d get one too but it’s way too expensive. 

“Hey,” you rub your cheek, “mind if I sit and wait? I wanna grab a soft pretzel anyway.” 

“Sure,” she agrees easily, “looks like it’s gonna be a while.” 

“Want me to bring you a drink or something?” You offer. 

“Nah, just text me where you are so I can find you,” she says. 

You leave her reluctantly. You’d rather not be wandering alone through the hordes but your feet are killing you and your stomach’s been roaring for the last hour. You stand in line for the pretzel stall and get yours with cinnamon sugar and syrup. Messy but delicious. 

You find a table in the corner and settle in. You put your phone beside the napkin and tear apart the doughy goodness. Your phone lights up with a notification from the merge game you like to play and you see several other icons; missed messages. 

You focus on your snack, savouring each bite, as your eyes drift around the crowded centre. You can barely see some of the booths as hordes cluster around. Some cosplayers bat at each other with toy swords as children fight over the arcade machines. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activity all around. 

You put your head down trying to block out the lights and noise. You feel yourself getting overstimulated. It’s like when you’re in the lecture hall and suddenly you can hear every sniff, sneeze, and keystroke. You close your eyes as you wipe your fingertips on the edge of the napkin, only half-finished your pretzel. 

“Looks good,” a deep voice cuts through the blaring din. 

As you recognise the timbre, your heart squeezes and the world pinpoints at the centre of your skull. You open your eyes and slowly raise your head. You blink dumbly at the unfamiliar man stood in front of you. You think you’ve seen him before, or at least he sticks out from the typical convention attendee. 

It isn’t that he’s too old, there’s lots of older geeks hanging around but they have neckbeards and greasy combovers. His hair is tidy and his beard trimmed close. His clothing also lacks the typical Dorito dust or anime character. You remember, he was outside in the line. 

“Uh, hello?” You utter. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as he pulls out the chair across from you. He sits as your insides plunge. You know his voice. 

“Jacob?” You murmur in shock. How? Why? This isn’t the stringy teenager you met online. 

He nods, his jaw tensing, and he crosses an arm over the table, pointing to your half-eaten pretzel, “what’d you get on yours? I can’t decide between sweet or savoury.” 

“Who... are you?” You croak, head spinning as your eyes prick. You knew something was weird. You knew you weren’t talking to Jacob or whoever that boy was in the pictures. 

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. As his chest deflates, you do too. He’s older than you, bigger than you, and by the looks of him, a lot better off. Why the hell would he be chatting with you? Why would he lie to you? 

“You’re right. I’m not Jacob,” he confesses, the colour draining from his face. He steeples his fingers and considers his next words carefully. You sit back and hug yourself defensively. This is fucked. “My name is Andy, Jacob is my son.” 

“Your son?” You eke out, “why-- why would you lie?” 

He cringes and takes another breath, “he was my son,” he corrects himself, “he... passed.” 

You feel like you’ve been struck. Your mouth falls open, stunned. Not only did he hide behind his son’s photos, but his dead son’s. Oh, god. You feel sick. No, you feel stupid. 

“Look, please, just hear me out. I just—it wasn’t meant to go on this long. When I first lied to you, it was supposed to be that one time. I was... I was lost. I just lost Jacob and I was going through his things. I started playing because I missed him. I wanted to feel like he was still there--” 

“No, no, you got on discord and you started talking to me. As him!” Your voice shakes and your eyes tinge. “That’s not just missing him.” 

“I know, you’re right. I lied but... I got lonely playing by myself so yes, I went onto that discord. You were nice. You didn’t call me a noob or whatever. And... and after work, looking forward to hearing your voice, it got me through a lot of pain. Being alone in that house after so long, I couldn’t cope--” 

“So you lied to me?” You stand and snatch your phone, nauseous to the core, “you manipulated me. How do you know—if you had just been you that I would’ve been any different? If you just wanted to play games, to be friends--” 

“I was scared--” 

“I don’t care if you were scared,” you hiss as you stomp forward. “You’re an adult.” 

He stands and blocks your path. You recoil, put off by his height. He’s a lot bigger on his feet. 

“Please, move or... I’ll scream,” you breathe. 

“You don’t have to do that. Just hear me out,” he pleads. 

“I don’t want to hear anything else from you, Jacob. Or Andy. Or whoever you really are,” you sneer, “move.” 

He shudders and hangs his head. He makes himself seem small as his shoulders round and he backs out of your way. You bite down and march past him.  

You need to get to a bathroom. Now. You’re going to spew up your guts. More important, you need to get yourself together before you go find Kara. She can’t know this happened. It’s too embarrassing. 

[donutz]

Shrimpo confession + Headcanons!!

You might not read this bcus its Shrimpo, but like... He's adorable..

— Shrimpo warms up to you, suddenly not hating burgers anymore..

Warnings: Bright colors; That's all I think

^^This is you(If you'd like to look that way)

"Does this mean I'm a girl?!" No, if you remove the eyelashes

It's kinda wonky but I did my best ^_^

☆Intro☆

When you two met, you were a newbie. A lot of the toons surrounded you, wanting to see who you were.

Of course, you were shy. There’s 17 different toons looking at you. One of them is looking at you with a frown.

“I HATE BURGERS!!”

You jumped a little, because of his sudden abrupt voice.

"That's Shrimpo."

“He’s kinda mean.”

“Kinda is an understatement. Also it’s kind of, not kinda.”

“Potato potato Rodger.”

After Shrimpo’s hateful statement, you just stared. You two made eye contact, and he looked away first! So you won!

You smiled at him, and he looked away again.

A day after that, you thought—

‘Maybe Shrimpo could be my friend?’

You hung out with Shrimpo, a lot. He couldn’t understand why you weren’t going away.

Why don’t you hate him like everybody else?

As days passed, he tolerated your presence more and more. Like not yelling at you as much. Somehow managing to be less of a hater, and him continuously losing ‘staring contests’.

You could convince him to do arts and crafts. Convince him to hang with the other toons, convince him to not bang his head on the machines. Say, why does he do that?

“... I DON’T… Know..”

Oh okay.

The other toons noticed obviously! Have you seen how calm Shrimpo was around them? Only when you’re around though. When you’re gone it seems like he’s more angry compared to before meeting you.

Dandy was walking around, looking for you and Shrimpo.

"Shrimpo!!"

He was walking around, with his hands on his hips.

‘Where did those gremlins go?’

He looked into a smaller room, seeing you.

'Oh!'

You were facing Shrimpo, the both of you sitting on your legs. With you holding his hands.

“Why.. Do you like me so much?”

“Well, it’s just that I was hoping for you to not hate me. So it resulted in me hanging out with you a lot. Then the more I hung out with you the more I started to like you.”

“It led to love, I guess. The other toons might not like you but I do. I like you a lot actually.”

Looking up from his hands, you two make eye contact.

“I love you, Shrimpo.”

You heard a gasp, but it wasn’t Shrimpo’s.

Sensing who it was, you got up, walking over to…

“Dandy!”

"Hey you..!! The toons sent me to look for you guys!" (That’s a lie, he did it himself)

“Oh wow really! That’s nice, it’d be more nice if you left!”

"... Yeah alright, just meet up with us in less than five alright?"

“Mhm.”

Dandy walked away. Mainly happy because his theories are right, you two do love each other! He thinks…

You turn around, looking for Shrimpo.

“Shrimpo?”

You could see his little feet hiding behind the wall.

“Aww, silly.”

You came back to him, holding his hands once more. There he was, red as ever.

You’d think that if he got any more red he’d cook himself.

“So..? Do you love me back?”

“...YES. LET’S GO” 

He quickly got up and dragged you over to where the rest of the toons were.

Headcanons—!!

Yells at everybody, except you

Of course he still yells at you, but not as much when it comes to the others

He’s actually started to stop banging his head on the machines, or tries to

You’re very important to him, just your presence can calm him down

That’s one of the reasons Dandy suspected he liked you

Because of how calm Shrimpo was acting around you

All of a sudden he likes burgers.. I wonder why..

Minus burgers, if you’re any type of thing, food, anything really, he’ll like whatever visible trait you have

Like if you were a tape type of character then he would suddenly like tape

PDA is a no no, it’s not like an ego thing or like embarrassment thing(That’s another lie, he gets really embarrassed) he just feels off about public displays of affection

He gets pretty cuddly in private, probably the little spoon, but wouldn’t mind switching it

He’s soft around you

It took some time to get him to smile, it happened when you gave him multiple kisses on his face

He was slightly functioning, then blinked away his non functioning self

Before he knew it, he was smiling

You quickly took a picture

Surprisingly, for the rest of the day he was smiling more, not in front of the toons, but just in front of you

He was really clingy too, he hadn’t realized that those kisses were all he needed to be happy and smiling for a day

It’s hard for him to communicate his feelings, you really gotta reel it out of him

He’s very vulnerable in that moment, so try to not make any jokes or else he’ll be mad at you for the rest of the day

One little giggle and he’s out!! Is what he says

Your first kiss was adorable, it was on his birthday!!

Publicly and sneakily!!

He was trying SO HARD to not blush

He started shaking

I don't even care for Shrimpo that much