#yeah i cannot make clean sketches for the love of god

[kayak-mayak]

So I wanted to make my own transformers designs, starting with Bumblebee and my boyfriend suggested that Bee should be Vintage Fiat 500

[k-hotchoisan]

Yunho smut with his hands? 🥴

Oh god I love his hands I want them around my neck so bad. My choking kink is off the fucking charts whenever Yunho’s hands are present. Here’s something for you, pretty. Enjoy Yunho and his pretty little hands.

Synopsis: what are the odds of getting a tattoo and getting fucked by your tattoo artist because you cannot stop staring at his fuckin hands

Warnings/genres: tattoo au!, mention of needles, slight size kink, choke kink, unprotected sex, hands kink, cream pies, fingering

A/n: I am so sorry for the amount of typos. I fucking swear this isn’t what usually happens omg

You stood before the apartment door, double checking that you got the right address—yeah you definitely did. He did mention that it was a home-based studio. Your first tattoo appointment and you were so nervous because you don’t know what to expect. Hongjoong had assured you to just go with an open mind. You didn’t know much about your tattoo artist, only knowing that his name was Yunho, nonetheless, you did really like his art style, and you soon settled on him with Hongjoong’s advice.

Back to present, you pushed the doorbell, and it echoes through the apartment. There is a silence before the doorknob clicks. The door pulls back, and before you, stood a really tall male. His sharp eyes make him look very intimidating and for a moment your heart races, and you wonder if you stopped into the wrong house.

“You are?” He asks, and rumbles you even more because his voice is so fucking deep for no reason.

You manage to find the voice stuck in your throat, as you reply, “y/n, here for a 7pm tattoo appointment with Yunho?”

His face softens immediately as his eyes brighten up. “Ah right! Yunho’s client! Come in. I’ll get Yunho in a bit”. He ushers you in as you remove your shoes.

You step inside, soaking in the interior of the apartment. It was definitely a shared space��the common areas were spacious, maybe just spacious enough to serve for two people. It was a pretty clean looking, monochromatic layout.

“Oh right, my name’s Mingi. Song Mingi, but you can call me Mingi”, he introduces himself brightly, his smile contagious. “I’m his room mate.” You smile back.

“Please excuse the mess by the way”, he laughs as he leads you through the corridor, and the both of you are standing in front of a wooden door. Mingi knocks the door before saying “Hyung, I’m coming in” with a raised voice. He pushes the door handle down and the door opens. The subtle hint of lavender hits you from the humidifier and it instantly relaxes you.

On the cushioned rolling stool sat your tattoo artist, his frame is as tall as Mingi’s, messy brunette locks tussled on his head. He’s in simple black shirt but he still looks so fucking good. He’s absorbed on his iPad, still sketching out the little details of what seems to be your tattoo.

You feel your heart beat a little too quickly the moment your eyes land on him because you did not expect him to be that attractive.

And you are gonna be stuck with him for at least a couple of hours together.

Mingi raps the door again, and that’s when Yunho looks up, and you take a good look at his face. He doesn’t look like whatever you expected him to look like, well, not that you had any pictures to reference him from to begin with. But definitely, he is pretty fucking good looking. You stay rooted at the entrance of the door, mooning over your tattoo artist in a tight black shirt while he eyes you up and down with a soft smile.

“Oh right! My apologies”, Yunho finally speaks and he sounds like honey, and it suddenly makes you slightly thirsty. “Hey. I’m Yunho. We finally meet”, he greets with a hand up.

His fucking hands. Oh my fucking gods. He has a silver ring cuffing his index finger. Then he beckons you to go over to him. Mingi tilts his head to Yunho’s direction before saying that he needs to leave, giving you a small nod before shutting the door.

You have no choice but to inch closer to Yunho, who’s smiling at you like a fucking golden retriever, and you wonder to yourself ‘this dude is a fucking tattoo artist?’ Yunho beckons you to take seat on an empty stool across him as he mentions to give him a couple more minutes to finish up the design draft. You nod, even if he doesn’t see it since his attention is back on his iPad. You quietly stare at the way he makes his strokes with his Apple Pencil.

And you get a closer look at this long, slender fingers. You’ve never met anyone with such pretty hands before, yet the way he holds the pencil is so gentle, and almost attractive for some reason. It’s especially the way his fingers are veiny and long—his joints are angled in such a way it frames his fingers so fucking prettily. Yunho looks up and catches your gaze, and you flinch slightly, thinking you are caught in the act.

“Eager to see your design?” He asks playfully, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. Oh thank fucking god.

“Yeah of course. I wonder what you came up with”, you quickly say, pretending to peek over at the iPad.

He brings up the iPad higher to his eye level and it’s the way his fingers curls around the tablet. He flips it over to you and you soak in the design he drew out for you. It’s what you wanted. You also don’t miss out how clean and neatly trimmed his fingernails are.

“Is it to your taste? Got any last minute changes you want before I print it out?” He asks, as he stands up and walks over to the printer. You shake your head slowly, trying not to swoon at how deliciously tall he is.

He beams. “Great! Then I’ll print a couple of sizes out. Take your pick okay? I’ll go grab some water for you.” You nod as he disappears out of the room through the door. The printer starts up and it begins to print out the stencil.

You look around the room. Despite it looking small, it was pretty cozy looking. The room has comfortable lighting, with lamps, which you assume are for the tattoo work. There’s a small space just behind the empty stool you’re seated on, with smaller studio lights pointing towards the wall, which you deduce is probably where he takes photos of his finished products. His tattoo machine sat near to the tattoo bed, which was cling wrapped for sanitary purposes, including the pillows. Finally, a small desktop computer set up was against the wall, perpendicular to the small studio lights, with a printer at the side. The door knocks, a short pause before it pushes open, and it’s Yunho with a drink in hand.

He walks over to you and hands it to you, his fingers brushing against yours and it takes you so much nerves to have any wild thoughts. You take a sip to distract yourself as you hear scissors cutting through the tracing paper. As you open your eyes, Yunho is so fucking near your face that it makes your heart jump.

“Oh gosh! Did I scare you?” Yunho laughs as he takes the cup from your hand. “My apologies.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. You just move so quietly”, you joke. Yunho smiles in reply as he places the cup on his desk.

“I need you to lift your shirt up for me”, Yunho instructs, staring at your abdomen.

Fuck, for a moment your mind plunges into some unknown territory. You forgot that your tattoo placement was above your hip. You roll the fabric up high enough, and you fucking jump when you feel Yunho’s fingertips brush against your skin, on your waist. “It’s here right? The placement that you wanted?” He confirms, his touch not leaving your skin. “Yeah”, you manage out.

He cuts a piece of tape to adhere the stencil onto your skin before bringing you over to the full length mirror right by the bed to let you confirm your placement. After a few adjustments (and hell of of him touching your waist with his bare hands which was definitely giving you insane haywire thoughts), you came to a placement which you are satisfied with. He sticks the stencil to your skin, much like a temporary tattoo, pulling out the tracing paper and letting it dry, before having you lie down in the bed as he prepared his inks.

“First tattoo?” He asks as he checks his gun.

“Yeah”, you reply, playing with your fingers from the nervousness.

Yunho chuckles. “That placement might hurt a little though. You’re a brave one.”

You only release a nervous laugh—wondering if it is for the tattoo or because of Yunho. He turns to you, tugging against his ring to remove it before snapping black latex gloves on before pushing your shirt higher. You bite you lip.

How the fuck does his hands look even better gloved? The black latex only enhances the length and shape of his hands, which curls around his tattoo gun.

“I’m gonna start now. Let me know if you need a break, yeah?” Yunho assures. You know it’s probably a customer service thing but god, why did he have to be so attentive?

He switches on the gun and it buzzes. He begins tattooing and sure enough, the placement you picked definitely hurt quite like a bitch, but you force yourself to pull through it.

“Is this okay? Does it hurt?” He asks before continuing.

“It does, but I think I’ll be fine”, you reply, thinking of something else to distract yourself from the pain. Throughout the session, Yunho makes conversations with you, making you laugh when you probably shouldn’t because he was stabbing needles at your waist but still. He was amazing at breaking the ice, especially in such a seemingly intimate space. You feel yourself unwind a little, and although it still hurt, you don’t feel so tense anymore. Nonetheless, you could not shake the thought about his hands running down your body every time you glance at Yunho doing your tattoo.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I even wanted to get a tattoo when I have a shit pain threshold”, you say in between soft giggles to cover up the pain and soreness that was starting to sink in.

“But you’re doing so well for me”, Yunho replies absentmindedly with a smile. Your head spins the moment he says that, butterflies were invading your stomach. What the fuck was that even? Now your stomach in twisting into knots when he’s praising you like that.

“We’re almost done. Hold on a little longer for me yeah?” He assures again, as you bear through the pain. It’s over quickly as he smoothes over your tattoo with a final swipe of the paper towel. He moves back a little to admire his work. He looks satisfied. He pulls his gloves off and sits you up gently, your stomach still fluttering as his fingers brush against your skin. He brings you to the full length mirror, and there you admire how gorgeous the tattoo looks.

“It looks amazing” you gasp, turning your side to have a better view of it. Yunho looks proud. He has his phone in his hand now and requests a few photos, which you obliged to of course. He adjusts your shirt before snapping a few pics.

“I really like how this turned out,” you gush. “Thank you Yunho.”

Yunho shakes his head. “Thank you for entrusting me to it, especially as your first tattoo.”

You laugh in response, and you don’t realise that he’s kneeled down at your waist, preparing to stick on the second skin. He sticks it on and instructs you on proper tattoo care before making another appointment for a touch up. You thank him and left the apartment, heart still beating in your ears.

You’ve developed a way too big of a crush on your tattoo artist now.

The touch up appointment came way too quickly than you thought. To be fair, you were still not over it, and as much as the tattoo scabbing and itch , it couldn’t compare to way Yunho’s hands kept brushing against your waist, as he checks on your tattoo. But in the past month, all you think about was Yunho and his fucking hands. Even now, when he’s only taking a look at your healed tattoo, your mind in swimming in the most dirtiest places you wanted him to touch.

You shut your eyes and bite your lip so no weird sound comes out from your mouth. You feel Yunho’s breath right at your waist as it tickles your skin, a soft sigh escapes your lips as your tattoo artist continues to rub against the tattoo.

And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Yunho.

He could very easily just tug your pants down and you would let him because fuck, he’s all you can think about now. Yunho stands up, and definitely notices how flushed your skin is looking, and he decides to test waters. He traps you at the tattoo bed, and you hear your heart in your ears as he inches closer. Now he’s pretty much towering over you as his fingers are tracing against your waist, sending goosebumps down your skin. “Your tattoo healed so nicely”, he says, hooking his index finger and thumb to your chin so you’d meet his gaze. Your gaze travels down to his pretty lips and he takes it as a sign to cup your neck and pull you in for a starved kiss, sending your mind into a fucking frenzy, and fireworks to go off in your eyelids. He tastes even better than you thought. Your eyes flutter open as he pulls back, catching your breath.

“Won’t Mingi hear?” You ask. He shakes his head. “Not anytime soon, doll.” His little pet name making you flush even harder, and it all goes down to your pussy, which is getting wet enough already, no thanks to your little fantasies and the fucking kiss.

“Now, stop thinking about him when I’m here.”

His hands touch your waist again, as he lifts you onto the tattoo bed, the plastic crinkling beneath you. You watch him breathlessly as he tugs against your bottoms, and your clothing articles drop to your ankles. Yunho doesn’t let them touch the ground, instead, he folds it hastily onto the other side of the bed, before turning his attention back to you, or your wet and sopping pussy.

Yunho licks his lips, before stroking your thighs to coax you to spread your legs open, and you do, your eyes following the way his fingers are stroking your thigh, alongside the ticklish feeling it was sending straight to your cunt.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll”, he compliments, his fingers trailing down your slicked cunt, before stopping right at your hole. He hears your little whimpers and cries, and it goes right to his hardened cock that’s pushing against his pants. But he knows being patient reaps the best rewards. He can be patient for you. Yunho’s fingers slowly plunge into your cunt, and your back arches in pleasure, because oh my fucking god, his fingers are long enough to hit a spongy area and it was sending fucking stars beneath your eyelids. Shivers tickle your spine as Yunho’s lips land soft kisses against your skin on your neck. His finger fucking was sending you into the heavens.

A kiss on your cheeks makes your eyes flutter open, and you meet Yunho’s gaze.

“I’ve noticed”, he sighs, slowing down his finger fucking in you. “That you seem really entranced by my hands since our first session.” Then he plunges his fingers in again, another cry leaving your lips as your eyes roll back.

Fuck. He found out.

“You have such pretty hands”, you admit, hiding your face with your arms, wondering what was more embarrassing—the fact that he found out about your fixation with his hands, or that he’s fucking your cunt with said fingers.

“So I should make really good use of it, right?” Yunho chuckles, adoring the way you’re squirming under his touch. He pulls your hands off your face and holds them down, and oh god, he was truly trying to drive you insane. He picks up the pace and every time his fingers press against your g-spot, your moans only grew louder and more desperate, and Yunho is progressively losing his rationale. He wants to fuck you so bad right now, and the thought of him railing you on his workspace only heightened his arousal, because he has never done that before.

Your orgasm only builds up even more quickly when he thumbs your clit after releasing your hands. Your hands are clawing his arms.

“Yunho, please. Oh god. That feels so fucking good. Gonna cum.”, you cry, lifting your legs higher, and that only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, and the words that leave his lips-“cum on my fingers baby. You know you want to”- and a whimper escapes his lips the moment he feels your walls clench against his fingers, as moans pours out of you when your orgasm floods your senses. Yunho lets you ride your orgasm out, slowly pushing his fingers in and out again, enjoying your cunt squeezing his fingers. He pulls out slowly and you barely catch your breath, as your gaze meet his. His fingers are full of your slick and cream, and plasters it on his lips, giving them a lick before sucking this pretty fingers, covered in your arousal, fucking clean. That does nothing but throw your head into a frenzy, and your cunt clenches at nothing, as you struggle to keep your composure.

But now Yunho is the one starting to lose it, as he haphazardly wipes his fingers on his slacks before hastily pulling his pants down, his cock springing out, glimmering with precum already, very evident thanks to the studio lights. God fuck, as if his hands weren’t pretty enough, his dick is too. Yunho bites his lip, staring at how fucked out you looked, especially since he hasn’t even fucked you good yet. He pushes your knees to bend even more, before lining his cockhead to your hole before sinking his cock right into you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open at this point. Your cunt feels slightly sore, and your walls are hugging his cock so well that Yunho is fighting not to just fuck you senseless. Yunho groans at the sensation, but he leans in for another hungry kiss with you, before his hand snakes around your neck.

He pulls back. “I’m sorry. I really need to fuck you so bad right now. Fuck.” You can’t help but find that so endearing that he’s holding back. Your fingers tug your folds open more, letting him sink his cock further deeper into your heat, which makes him squeeze your throat. It feels so fucking amazing to have Yunho choke you out like this, and you make it even more evident by clenching around his cock.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and starts fucking you so deep and good, that you fucking swear you see a bulge below your belly button every time his cock hits your cervix. The sensation of Yunho’s cock stuffing you full every time he thrusts into you paired with his hands around your neck—softly squeezing and letting go—is only pushing your second orgasm to hit you.

“I would have never guessed that you’d get off my hands this much”, Yunho hums, looking at the way your eyes are rolled back as his balls slap your ass every time he fucks into you, your hands grabbing onto his arm, clawing again from the bliss he’s fucking you into. “Do you like them that much?”

You fight every nerve to focus on answering him, eyebrows scrunched. “Y-yeah. Fuck, I fantasise you choking me out like this since that day. I dream about letting you do whatever you want to me with your han-“ getting cut off from a sob as his cock fills you up again—or did he just grow even bigger in you? Ah, fuck, it doesn’t matter.

“Naughty girl”, Yunho mutters with a smirk, his free hand slapping against your ass, the sound rippling through the room, making you arch your back even more.

“Yunho, p-please’, you stutter, the knot in your stomach so taut. “I think I’m gonna cum again”. Now you’re sobbing. This only encourages Yunho to tighten his grip around your neck as his strokes become harder, and you snap—broken sobs leaving your throat as your cunt fucking squeezes Yunho’s cock, the sensation of his hands around your neck only amplifies your orgasm as stars burst in your eyelids, and you cream so fucking much, that it gets onto the cling wrapped bed below you. Yunho immediately loses it, his thrusts becoming straight up ruts. He releases his grip from your neck, and the oxygen returns immediately, leaving your heaving. Yunho is leaning into your ear, as his both hands are now on your waist as he fucks desperately into your overstimulated cunt.

“You’re so fucking adorable, y/n. I’m cumming too”, he grunts, as he ruts a final time before a soft moan hits your ears, then a flood of his warm cum right into your spent pussy, and oh god, did that feel amazing. Yunho stays by your side for a moment, before straightening his back, and pulling out, not missing a beat at the way his cum just trickles down your inner thigh, out of your hole.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. This is your work space and all”, you panic, taking a handful of tissues that Yunho had offered to clean yourself up. Evidently, that doesn’t get to him because Yunho immediately rushes over the moment he notices the red marks around your neck.

“Shit, did I choke you too hard?” He asks rather frantically, lifting your chin up, rubbing against your neck gently. You shake your head, suddenly wanting to just kiss him again, but you hold yourself back. “Also, don’t worry about this. My next appointment isn’t until 4pm. I have time to clean up. You alright though?”

Fuck, why did he have to be hot and gentle? It was genuinely driving you nuts. “Is it okay if I use the toilet?” You ask, fitting your clothes on. Yunho immediately nods, rushing to the door to leave it open for you, as you gingerly head to the washroom.

You sigh as you leave the washroom, wondering if it was about to simply be a one time thing, because you were falling for your tattoo artist, hard and fast. Your gaze meets Yunho’s the moment you shut the door behind you, and Yunho has cleaning supplies in his hands. Suddenly your face flushes again, thinking at the mess the both you made.

Yunho’s smile doesn’t falter though, and you see a tint of red colouring the tips of his ears, which you could have definitely missed if you hadn’t noticed closely. There’s a strange air of silence between the both of you, that is, until Yunho speaks.

“My 4pm client is my last one for the day. I’ll text you when I’m done, if you’re down for dinner?” He asks, rubbing the nape of his neck shyly. Oh my fucking god. You laugh softly, because, holy shit, you never expected this outcome, and then you nod. “I’ll be waiting, Yunho”, you reply.

Yunho steps forward to you and strokes your head. “I’ll see you to the door then. And then I’ll see you tonight.”

[thunderheadfred]

🐈‍Aizawa HC’s🐈‍

I dunno if people will care for this; I suspect my HC's for Aizawa are a little off the fandom norm. Still. I tried. Things get approximately NSFW under the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He has like, one discernible change of clothes per season. There is no distinction between hero outfit, casual wear, and pajamas. That fabric used to be black. It is now an exhausted shade of ‘please stop washing me.’ If you suggest that he buy new clothes, he will stare you down like you have three heads, and none of those heads have a brain.

This man does not spend money. He has a mind-blowing amount of savings, but no one will ever know until he dies and wills it all to a random animal shelter in the middle of nowhere. Has a secret scholarship fund for UA students. Again, this is completely anonymous. Only the principal knows.

He's a startlingly competent sketch artist. Nothing fancy, and he never took an art class in his life, but his quirk innately lends itself to spacial reasoning and feature recognition. He has sketch books brimming with sloppy but pin-point accurate life drawings. He can capture your soul in three strokes of a dried-up ballpoint pen. It's eerie.

Given his schedule, you’d expect him to prioritze convenience first, but junk food makes him cross-eyed. His body is a temple and he eats like a fucking monk.

He’s a wine snob. Well, a liquor snob generally. He knows the name of every regional sake-maker in Japan, and can tell you exactly which bottle is the best, down the the month of production. Assumes everyone possesses such laser-focused knowledge.

Tea drinker. Yeah, he has encyclopedic knowledge about that too. Apparently everything this man drinks comes with a bibliography.

Technically he’s supposed to live in the UA dorms part of the time. He sleeps poorly there, and goes home whenever he has the opportunity.

His house is old, but not valuable. Probably inherited. Traditional style with very few modern updates. He keeps it meticulously clean and does repairs as needed, but the age is still obvious. Everything creaks. You swear the place is haunted but won’t dare admit it aloud - he WILL laugh you out of the house.

There’s a garden but he doesn’t have time to keep it up. He has a lot of memories of the plants in full bloom. Letting it go to seed upsets him more than he lets on.

He has zero personal possessions aside from household appliances, which he meticulously researches and keeps in perfect condition.

Reads an insane amount of books. These mostly come from the library. There’s always a stack near his bed. You have no idea how he finishes them, because every time you see him with a book, he’s asleep with it on his face.

He doesn’t adopt cats so much as just leaves his doors open and lets them freely colonize the place. It’s not his house, it’s theirs. Somehow there's not a single cat hair on anything.

Most of these cats are cuddly little angels; you've never met nicer. But there’s a few beasts in the mix, with battle scars and three legs and a craving for human meat; these are Aizawa’s special favorites.

- - - - -

Dating

Falls for you when he stumbles across you taking care of one of the hideous strays he usually feeds on his route. Doesn’t approach you at first (definitely tries to hide) but the cat is like "mrrr?" and brings you over to him, giving the game away. Traitor.

Will make you pay for your half of everything, down to the last yen. So what if you’ve been together for ten years? You have your own income.

One exception to the above: he’ll never buy you presents but he WILL treat you to lavish meals in dark restaurants with hand-written menus. Don’t mistake this for romance, he just likes the quiet atmosphere and excellent service.

He cleans every day; there’s an unwritten five-dimensional schedule and that schedule is EXACT. Zero time wasted. He’ll never actually ask you to help with any of it. He’ll never directly thank you, either. But if you learn how to take over certain chores and do the daily upkeep while he’s away, he’ll love you forever.

Not the type to talk about his day; he’d rather sit with you outside. He values silence. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to you, but a lot of the time he doesn’t have the energy to give you his full conversational attention. Physical contact is easier, and more comforting besides. Just... hold his hand a while.

His scalp gets tingly and sore from overusing his quirk. If you run your fingers through his hair he will pass out instantly.

He will cozy trap you. He’s touch-starved and was definitely a cat in a past life. Will hang all over you if you don't give him enough attention and constantly falls sleep in your lap. Hope you don’t need to get up anytime soon; he’s not moving.

You don’t exactly ‘move in’ with him. He never wants to spend a night without you, but his living space is already exactly how he likes it. He will never move out of that old house, but he’ll give you some rooms to yourself. Your stuff and his... complete absence of stuff... stay pretty much separate. Do NOT clutter up the bedroom.

The kitchen is the exception. That's a warm and cozy shared spot, the heart of the home. You’ll always be stepping around a cat.

He LOVES when you cook for him (so that he doesn't have to take the time). Will shower you with praise and encourage you to make huge earthenware vats of old-timey tsukemono that the two of you cannot possibly eat by yourselves. He’ll help with food prep and knows his way around, but he insists you’re the better cook (even if you aren’t).

Big on actions over words. Makes an effort to be present with you as much as he can.

Will stare into your eyes until you look away. When you look back, he's still staring with a rare warm smile on his face.

God, he loves you. You will never, ever know how much. He doesn't tell you often, but he shows you every day.

- - - - -

Somnophilia???.........

ACE ACE ACE ACE

This man is A-fucking-sexual. He’s not sex repulsed in any way, he’s just not personally invested.

Aromantic too. Deadass doesn’t get the hype. You are the most important person in his life and he’s deeply commited to and comforted by you. Just don’t expect to be seduced; it will literally never happen.

If you are allosexual, he will still be devoted to your sexual well-being. At first, that means buying you a DELUXE toy and encouraging you to use it on your own.

His voice is too damn sexy, even when he isn’t trying. He’ll give you all the phone sex you want; he thinks it’s sweet how you unravel for him. Edging you for ages is a fun little power play, but he’s definitely grading papers while he does it. Don’t be offended. Toshinori has overheard some THINGS.

When your relationship gets sufficiently serious, he’ll help out with his hands. He’s VERY SKILLED AT IT. He likes to lay down next to you and whisper encouragement in your ear. Eventually he gets possessive about your orgasms, and will make you ask for permission.

Sometimes the stars align, but his arousal is a rare bird. He'll take a whole afternoon to prepare. It’s love-making, full stop. Always slow and intensely emotional. He'll cherish every inch of you but might not cum at all; you can’t force it.

[btsqualityy]

Assuage: Chapter 4

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers

Warnings: None to note.

Author’s Note: This chapter is the last of the introductory things to the universe and this is where the story will start to pick up more! I hope you guys enjoy it!

A few days later, Yoongi was sitting at the front counter in the hardware shop, sketching out a design for an armoire that an Omega in the pack had put in a order for. Kibum was quickly giving Yoongi more and more responsibilities within the shop, and that included designing some things. He had to admit, it sort of scared him but he also enjoyed it. 

Yoongi had never really been particularly good at anything (except for hunting but that was expected for him being a Prime Alpha), so discovering this hidden talent for woodworking and carpentry was doing wonders for his psyche. 

Just as he added some small designs onto the sketchpad, he heard the telltale ringing of the bell above the front door and when he looked up, he saw you and Hyorin stepping inside. 

“Hi Yoongi!” Hyorin greeted him happily, her hands on her large baby bump as she waddled over to stand in front of the counter.

“Hey Hyorin, Y/N,” he replied stiffly, his eyes narrowing at you when you only nodded at him. “What can I help you with?”

“I just came to put in my formal request for a crib,” Hyorin smiled brightly. “Since Namjoon and I only have a little less than two months until this pup comes, I figured now would be a good time.”

“Yeah, it should be,” Yoongi nodded, reaching over and grabbing the order book and flipping it open to a clean page. “Anything specific that you’d like, such as colors or wood preference?”

“I’d like oak, for the whole thing,” Hyorin began. “And maybe a white or cream canopy.”

“White or cream?” You repeated. “You sure you don’t want something different?”

“Since we don’t know what we’re having, I want it to be gender neutral,” Hyorin shrugged. “And you know how Joon and I feel about the whole “blue for boys and Alphas and pink for girls and Omegas” thing.”

“Hey, I was just making sure,” you held your hands up in surrender. 

“Anything else that you’d want?” Yoongi wondered after writing down what Hyorin had said. 

“Maybe a rattle,” Hyorin added. “Joon was telling me that you guys got a shipment of plastic in from Seoul the other day.”

“We did,” Yoongi nodded. “Anything specific in regards to the design?”

“Whatever you come up with is fine,” Hyorin shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

“Alright, I’ll tell Kibum when he comes back and I’m sure he’ll want to get to work on it right away.”

“Oh no, tell him not to forget about any of your other orders just because of mines,” Hyorin chuckled. “Me and this little one can wait.”

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” Yoongi smiled lightly.

“Well, I have to go because I told Namjoon that I’d sit in on his meeting with Jin,” Hyorin sighed as she looked at the clock on the wall that showcased the time. “I’ll see you later Y/N-ah?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Ok. Thank you Yoongi, and tell Kibum that I said thank you too,” Hyorin smiled as she turned to walk out of the store. 

“No problem,” Yoongi called out after her, watching as the door to the shop shut behind her before turning to look back at you. “Why is she sitting in on Namjoon’s meeting with Jin?”

“What do you mean, why?” You wondered. “She’s Pack Omega.”

“Exactly, she’s an Omega,” Yoongi nodded. 

“Is this more of your sexist bullshit coming out?” You scoffed. “In our pack, the Pack Alpha and Pack Omega have an equal amount of power. And to answer your question, she’s sitting in on the meeting because Jin is the Head Omega of the pack, which means that he looks out for all of the unmated Omegas and the newly presented Omegas. He wanted to talk to Namjoon about some things and Hyorin is going to be there because she used to be Head Omega before her and Namjoon mated.”

“Oh,” Yoongi uttered.

“Running a pack is a big job, even for two people and Namjoon is smart enough to realize that as good as his intentions might be, he can’t understand what Omegas go through because he’s not one,” you continued. “That’s why he leans on Hyorin sometimes.”

“And the pack still respects him?” Yoongi wondered.

“Of course. Traditionally, the only person that an Alpha will back down for is their mate so he’s not doing anything completely unheard of,” you shrugged.

“It is to me,” Yoongi replied. 

“You know, maybe you should have Tae teach you our pack history and laws if you’re going to stay here,” you suggested.

“I don’t plan on staying,” Yoongi shot back, his eyes widening when you just snorted in reply.

“Please,” you rolled your eyes. “You’re working in the hardware shop with Kibum, which no one has done in years, mind you, because the man is off his rocker half the time. If you think he’s gonna let you leave, then you got another thing coming. You’re definitely staying.”

“Regardless,” Yoongi continued, ignoring your words. “Who said that I wanted to learn more about your pack anyways?”

“It was just a suggestion. I mean, I figured that you were tried of looking like a complete dumbass anytime you talk to someone around here,” you smirked. “But hey, if you wanna stay in the dark, that’s on you.” You then turned around, swiftly walking out of the hardware shop. As the door shut behind you, Yoongi realized that maybe you had a point. He had been staying with your pack for almost a month now and his previous blissful ignorance was quickly turning into just plain ignorance. As he thought about it, he figured that having just a little bit of extra information could help him out.

............................

“God, I never thought you’d ask!” Taehyung squealed as he led Yoongi into a large room, where the walls were covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves. They were in the Head Hall, where all of the records of the pack’s history, laws, and every event and birth within the pack were kept. 

“I only want to know the basics Taehyung,” Yoongi tried to say, jumping out of his seat slightly when Taehyung dropped a large book down onto the table in front of him. 

“Our pack is almost 100 years old,” Taehyung smiled as he sat down next to Yoongi. “There’s more than just ‘the basics’ to be learned hyung.”

“Well, where should I start?” Yoongi wondered.

“Start here, with our family,” Taehyung told him as he opened the book and flipped the pages until he was almost to the end. “You don’t have to learn about the beginning of the pack right now, but starting with our parents would be a good point.”

“Ok,” Yoongi nodded, looking down at the page and beginning to read.

Alpha Kim Chan-woo rose to the coveted position of Pack Alpha in our year of 1990 after winning in ritual combat against his Omegean sister, Kim Dohee. In 1993, he was mated to Omega Park Mi-hee who then gave birth to two pups; a son named Namjoon in our year of 1994 and a daughter named Y/N who followed swiftly behind in our year of 1995.

Nothing of significance is to be noted of the family of our Pack Alpha and Pack Omega, until our year of 1998. While on a treaty trip to visit a pack in Daegu, Pack Alpha Chan-woo and Pack Omega Mi-hee came across an orphaned pup. Not being able to bring themselves to leave him alone, they allowed him to come back to pack territory with them, intent on welcoming him into their family.

The council of pack elders were staunchly opposed, citing the issues of lineage that could be encountered once their pups were of age. However, the two of them (especially Pack Alpha Chan-woo) were insistent on giving the abandoned pup a loving home and family. The councils of elders relented and since the little pup could not remember his name, he was dubbed ‘Kim Taehyung’ by Pack Omega Mi-hee, and he served as the last addition to their family.

“Wow,” Yoongi muttered before looking over at Taehyung. “Your parents sound like amazing people.”

“They were,” Taehyung nodded with a soft smile. “Here, we can skip forward a little bit.” Taehyung reached out and flipped forward a few pages, skimming over one before motioning to Yoongi for him to continue reading.

In our year of 2009, Pack Alpha Chan-woo and Pack Omega Mi-hee’s first born son, Namjoon, presented as an Alpha at the age of 15. There was a glorious celebration, as it’s known to be a blessing from the Gods to have a first born son become an Alpha. Their last born son, Taehyung, presented as well two years later as a Beta at the age of 16. This caused a great commotion, as there was only one other living Beta in the pack at the time, and he was an Elder. 

After the presentation of Taehyung, there were many rumors abound as their daughter, Y/N, had not presented yet. Finally, in the autumn of our year 2012, Kim Y/N finally presented and surprised the entire pack. The celebration was unlike any the pack had seen in years, rivalling and even surpassing that of her elder Alpha brother. 

“Why was Y/N’s presentation so important?” Yoongi asked Taehyung. 

“That’s not important,” Taehyung said quickly, making Yoongi’s eye narrow. Taehyung moved forward and shut the book closed, pulling over another one and opening it up. “That’s enough about the history. Why don’t you read some of our laws and beliefs?”

“Alright,” Yoongi replied slowly, looking back down at the book. 

This pack prides itself on being a place where Alphas, Betas, and Omegas are treated fairly and equally. In order to have a harmonious pack, the talents of all three subgenders are needed and without any of them, a pack cannot be fruitful. 

An Alpha’s job, of course, is to be the breadwinner of their respective family. They are also the first line of defense when it comes to the safety of the pack, and are expected to protect it as such. However, Alphas are also expected to respect Betas and Omegas, especially the latter. While a pack wouldn’t be able to survive without it’s Alphas, too many prideful Alphas can lead to the eminent downfall of a pack. It is important for Alphas to be able to take a step back, realize that they don’t have all of the answers, and be able to turn to those who do; all for the good of the pack. 

A Beta’s job is to be the supporter of Alphas and the confidants of Omegas. Betas have a hard job, because they are the closest to our non subgendered humans while still having the feelings, senses and thoughts of subgendered humans. Betas have the ability to not be as clouded by hormones and pheromones' as their Alpha and Omega packmates, which gives them the invaluable role of peacekeeper within a pack. Without Betas, a pack would dissolve into turmoil. However, it can be hard for Betas to remember this so reminding them of their importance is of the utmost priority; all for the good of the pack.

An Omega has what’s arguably the most important job within the pack; they are the main ones who give birth to and teach our pups. Within this pack, Omegas are always to be treated with the utmost respect, as our pack would have no future without them and their guidance. While Omegas are free to do what they please within this pack, many of them chose to stay home with their pups or devote their talents to teaching our pups, which are all extremely selfless decisions. Without them, Alphas would not have people to lean on, Betas would not have anyone to confide in, and the pack would die out. Treating them with the love and respect that they deserve only leads to happy Omegas who are content with their lives; which is all for the good of the pack.

“You know,” Yoongi spoke up suddenly. “I never thought about Omegas this way.”

“How did your old pack view Omegas, hyung?” Taehyung wondered. “I mean, you have to admit that your views are a little...sexist.”

“Basically, Omegas were objects and not people,” Yoongi shrugged. “They were there for Alphas to fuck and that’s it.”

“Ugh, one of those packs,” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, does it make sense? The way that we view and treat Omegas?”

“Actually, yeah it does,” Yoongi admitted. “Like I said, I just never thought about it like this.”

“That’s understandable hyung, and it’s not completely your fault,” Taehyung replied. “We can’t help the way that we’re raised. The only thing that we can do is try to change our mindset, if you want to.”

“I guess that’s true,” Yoongi sighed. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What’s with the tattoos that you, Y/N, and Namjoon all have?” He wondered.

“Oh, you mean this,” Taehyung smiled, reaching over and lifting up the sleeve of his t-shirt on his left arm, showcasing the small, circular tattoo that was there. “It’s a crest.”

“Your family’s?” Yoongi guessed.

“Yep. After our parents died and Namjoon became Pack Alpha, we all got them since we’re the children of the former Pack Alpha and Omega,” Taehyung explained. “Namjoon has his right on the center of his chest because he’s the center and head of the pack. Y/N has hers on the right side and I have mines of the left because we’re Namjoon’s main supporters and we’re always going to have his back, through anything.”

“That’s amazing,” Yoongi found himself smiling lightly. “I kind of wish I had a family like you guys.”

“You can hyung,” Taehyung said, reaching over and setting his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I know that you keep saying that you don’t plan on staying, but I really don’t want you to go back out there on your own. We can give you a nice life here and you won’t ever have to risk what happened to you before happening again. So, will you stay?” 

Yoongi couldn’t help but to chuckle because despite the façade that he had been putting on in front of Taehyung and everyone else that he talked to, he realized that he had already made his decision a while ago and he had a sneaking feeling that he wouldn’t regret the words that tumbled out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

[franeridart]

Anon said: Do you have any more of the comics where Kiri's cat gets into Bakugo's apartment?? B being a dumbass is adorable hrnfjf

I don’t, sorry!! But the very amazing extremely skilled chonideno wrote a whole wonderful fic on it, so you can read that if you want more!! I still can’t believe she did that for me ily mag ;;;

Anon said: kirishima with......... a braid

Honestly the best thought horikoshi should get on that already 🙏

Anon said: i think... that bakugo should give kirishima a sleeby nose smooch..... as a treat.........

Anon said: hello it is i, sleeby nose kiss anon, and i want to say that kiri should also get to wear bakugo's sweatshirt. as a treat. i think he deserves it.

I think kirishima deserves anything and everything in the world and then some so honestly yes, bakugou should absolutely do that! It’d be very soft and it’d make me very happy

Anon said: your blog is a kirishima fucking goldmine thank you for your service in these dark ass times

I’m very glad you enjoy my indulging myself for the past 4+ years hahahaha the more kirishima there is in the world the better, that’s for sure 💕

Anon said: WHAT is your drawing process please reveal your secrets I am b e g g i n g you

It’s nothing complicated, honestly! I sketch out a very rough idea of what I want to draw, then line it as loosely and smoothly as I can manage, add flat colors on another layer, shadows on a multiply layer clipped on the flats one, and then adjust the light/intesity of the colors with a airbrush tool on an overlay layer - it’s really the simplest process known to human artist hahaha I posted a step by step on my patreon at some point, but maybe one day I’ll find a way to make a process video and show you guys how I do it.................... maybe if I’ll ever get to buy an ipad, that’d make my life easier

Anon said: OH MY GODYOUR VIGILANTE AU JUST-- HSJXJDJDJS THESE IDIOTS

So very glad people are still finding and liking that one! I had fun for the little it lasted, it was a very self-indulgent au haha

Anon said: Your art is honeslty the only thing keeping me going atm cause I'm going through a tough time rn and your kiribaku art just 🥰🥰🥰 also what program do you use?? I've cycled through so many and I cannot for the life of me find a good one

Thank you so much! I use easy pain tool sai, which is the easiest, most simple program I could find since I’m easily overwhelmed by too complicated things lol it’s got its shortcomings but it works perfectly for the little I have to do :D

Anon said: so i, like, keep going back and reading and re-reading that really long kiribaku comic (the one where kiri won't let baku kiss him) and everything about it makes me happy!! like, your art is already such a delight to look at but you also write them so well and it makes my heart feel all bright and happy and that comic feels like a culmination of all of that and i just feel like '!!!!!!!' everytime

Oh god I nearly forgot about that one, I loved that comic! Had so much fun making it and it was so satisfying to post it 😭😭 I’m happy you still like it and go look at it!! feels very very good to know, thank you! ;;; <3

Anon said: you draw touches, like hugs and stuff, and remind me that i'm a bit touch-starved and i honestly can't say i regret it

Sorry I hope this means that you don’t regret looking at my art even if it reminds you of being touch-starved because I’m!!!! glad to hear that??? though I really hope you’ll get to be hugged soon, anon! ;;;;

Anon said:For some of your black/white art (lineart), do you mind if people color it with proper credit?I like to color manga panels, and I really like your art, so, along with crediting you, is it okay if I color your peices?

I’m not a hundred per cent opposed to it, but I’d prefer it if you could ask before doing so telling me specifically which piece we’re talking about! Cause there’s a couple I’d prefer didn’t get reposted in any form or way, after all ;;

Anon said: I was looking through the jujutsu kaisen tag and found you and looked through some of your recent art and I was about to follow you and then I realized I already followed you for your bnha stuff

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! glad to hear I could make you want to follow me twice over, then!!! 😁

Anon said: Reminder to drink water and relax, overworking yourself isn’t healthy and we all need time to wind down!

Anon thank you!!!!!!!! The same goes to you, take care of yourself!! <3

Anon said: you are the light by nine lashes has me feeling kiribaku feelings and i have not a single person around me who i can tell ;n;

OHHHHHHHHHHHHH I absolutely do know the feel, please feel free to come cry about them in my inbox whenever you’d like anon ( TT^TT)9

Anon said: Could you do a tutorial on lineart? Yours is so clean I’m jealous

It’s not like I don’t want to, it’s just that there’s very little to it I could actually make a tutorial about? I try to keep my sketches vague and simple to not trap myself in the need to make the line look exactly identical to the sketch, and I try to keep my lines as long and uninterrupted as possible, let my hand kind of go the way it feels most comfortable to it if that makes sense, and I use ctrl+z A Lot to be sure the line flows the way I want it to in the direction I want it to go, and that’s honestly all there is to it! It’s not really about technique as much as it is about letting yourself keep as loose and fast as possible while putting down the lines, I really have no idea how else to explain it I’m sorry m(._.)m

Anon said: Sorry if this is an overasked question, but... what are your pronouns? I don’t wanna misgender you -.-

she/her! and don’t worry, you asking is no bother :D

Anon said: can ppl send, like, random hcs or thoughts to you? not like, drawing requests, you don't take those i know, but just because?

Hell yeah, please do!! I love to hear thoughts and headcanons, it makes my own creativity itch to get to work!! 

[master-sass-blast]

The Color of Our Love.

I LIVEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Summary: You and Piotr take the next step in making your house a home: painting the walls.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 1.5k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

It’s the smell that gets to you the most. You’re used to soaring through the skies, drawing in gulps of fresh, pure air into your lungs. You’re used to smelling sun-warmed grass and fresh flowers and the dampness of rain in the air once a storm’s passed and—

“How do you deal with this?” You grimace, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your husband opens cans of paints and pours them into the trays meant for roller brushes. “I’m gonna get a headache.”

“You get used to it,” Piotr says as he unwraps the detachable brush head for his roller brush. He smiles sympathetically when you start massaging your temples and pats your shoulder reassuringly. “We can open windows. And take breaks.”

The two of you are starting the next leg of your journey to making your house a home: painting. Neither of you like looking at bland white walls.

It’s been a long process, though, of quibbling over color options, making sure those options match with the other choices for other rooms (as needed), and planning out which rooms to do when so you don’t inadvertently spend a whole paycheck on cans of paint.

You two decided to start in the master bedroom, for the sake of simplicity down the line.

Impatient, you pick up one of the paintbrushes Piotr had purchased for edging around window and door frames and smear a thick stripe of paint over an empty stretch of wall. “Chop chop, baby! We’re wasting daylight!”

Piotr laughs, loading up a roller brush with paint and letting the excess drip back into the tray. “After you, myshka.”

The two of you work for a while, chatting aimlessly while you transform the room from a sterile sea of white to something much homier –and less likely to cause eyestrain. Piotr handles outlining the window and door frames so there’s guidelines for the rollers and takes care of the high spots, while you flit around the room, alternating between the regular brusher and a roller brush as you fill in the places your husband’s prepped for you.

Eventually, though, your self-control starts to wane –and then your opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.

Piotr’s got his back to you. He’s working on painting the parts of the wall near the ceiling.

And, on prime display in a pair of old gym shorts, is his butt.

(God, he has a fantastic butt. Perfectly sculpted by innumerable squats and obscene amounts of protein bars. You can bounce a quarter off his ass –and, yes, you’re speaking from experience.

Not that you’d warned Piotr what you were planning on doing when you’d tried it.)

You bite on your lower lip, trying to stifle your excited giggles as you coat your hand with paint from your brush. Then, before Piotr can turn around, you dash across the room and smack your hand against his rear.

Piotr yelps. Jumps. Whirls around, twists to look at his backside, then faces you. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in a smile, as if to say, “did you really just do that?” Then, his grin broadens as he paints his own hand with his roller brush. “It is on.”

“No!” You squeal and sprint away, darting around your bedroom as you try to evade your husband’s pursuit of vengeance.

There’s only so much space, though, and your husband’s a large man. He catches you eventually, snagging you with his clean hand and locking you against him with his arm before pressing his paint-covered hand against your chest.

You bust out laughing, leaning back against his solid, warm chest; there’s not much point in trying to run away, now that you’ve been caught. “Not on my boob!”

“Serves you right,” Piotr teases, nuzzling against your cheek. “Naughty myshka.”

You tip your head back and grin up at him. “Yours.”

He grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours.

 ***

 Fumes aside, there’s not a single other thing you dislike about the painting process. It’s incredible to watch the bedroom slowly transform before your eyes.

“It’s like the feeling off the room has changed,” you comment as Piotr works on the delicate edging work near the crown molding; the two of you had opted for a soft, pastel color for the bedroom to promote rest and relaxation. “It feels cozier now. More relaxing.”

“Da.” He lays down a careful line along the crown molding –miraculously not getting so much as a speck of paint on the pure white border, which is why he’s doing this job and you are not—then dips his brush back into the pint can in his hand. “Is color psychology. Impacts our mood, perception of room.”

“I like it.” You stretch your arms, smiling as you admire the freshly painted walls. “It feels like it’s ours now.”

Piotr nods. He smiles as he finishes the last of the edgework, then sets his paint can down next to the roller tray. “Shall we rinse brushes, then take break for lunch before starting work downstairs?”

“I like the sound of the lunch part,” you say, offering up an impish grin.

“How about this,” Piotr chuckles. “I will rinse brushes, and you can make us lunch.”

“Okay, yes. Sounds great!” You shove your paintbrush into Piotr’s hand, then quickly skip out of the room and float down the stairs. “Love you!”

Piotr’s laughter echoes down the hall after you.

 ***

 “Oh, yeah. This is it. This is how I want to work from now on.”

Piotr glances over his shoulder at you. A smirk tugs at his lips. “You are sitting on couch while I paint.”

“Correction!” You hold up your index finger. “I am sitting on the couch while you paint and staring at your butt. It’s a very integral part of the process.”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. His cheeks flush –and, even though he’s trying to hide it, you can see the bashful smile playing on his lips. “My apologies, myshka. How could I forget?”

“I get it. I doubt you spend much time staring at your own butt –which, really is such a shame; you’ve got an amazing ass, babe.”

He laughs and shakes his head once more.

The reason he’s working and you’re not –aside from the obvious superiority of sitting down and staring at your husband’s ass—is because the family room and kitchen require a lot of edge work. You’d offered to help… and then gotten paint all over the baseboards, light switches, window frames, and crown molding within fifty seconds of starting.

You just don’t have the patience –or Piotr’s well-practiced, steady hand.

“Are you still going to do the zhostovo mural in the kitchen?” you ask as you watch Piotr work.

“Da. I have sketches in art studio, if you want look.”

You’re never one to pass up on seeing Piotr’s art, so you hop of the couch and scamper down the hall to his art studio.

Since Piotr’s art studio is fastidiously organized, it’s no trouble at all to find the sketchbook with the mural sketches in them. You flip through it until you find the various drawings of the bright, richly colored flowers, then lean against his desk as you gaze down at the page.

The bulk of the mural –which, based on Piotr’s sketches, looks like it’s going to be in the center of the wall between the fridge and the coffee counter—is comprised of large, delicately curved flowers. Roses, daisies, poppies, cornflowers… all of them weave together, bowing outward in dramatic flourishes of color. Vibrant green blades of grass form the base of the main mural, moving with the arcs of the flowers and leaves. You can see a few different designs for some edgework –to be placed on the edges and corners of the wall, so as to frame the main part of the mural—made of varying bits of filigree, Russian lettering, and tiny, white and purple tinged blooms.

You grin. Your fingers trace over the various filigree designs Piotr had been testing out. Wow. You amble back into the main room, gaze still focused on your husband’s designs. “These are amazing, sweetheart.”

“Spasibo, myshka.” Piotr looks up from his lining work, watching you –almost apprehensively—as you study his artwork. “Do you like design?”

“Piotr… I love it.” You let out a small, stunned laugh; as if there was ever a chance you wouldn’t like his art. “It’s so beautiful. It’s going to look perfect in the kitchen.”

Piotr ducks his head, cheeks flushing. His lips curve into a pleased smile. “Thank you, dorogoy.”

“Do you know which border you’re going to pick?”

“Not yet.” He shrugs. “Cannot find right ‘feel.’”

“You’ll get there,” you reassure him. “I kind of like the one you paired the Cyrillic. What does it say?”

“Is blessing,” Piotr explains. “Moya babushka made for family home, in Siberia. Illyana would have to do magic for it, but I liked idea of including words in design.”

“I like it, too.” You close the sketchbook and set it carefully on the coffee table (where it’ll be safe from potential paint splatters), then walk up behind Piotr and wrap your arms around his waist. “We have a home,” you murmur as you nuzzle your face against his back.

Piotr lets out a delighted giggle. His free hand clasps both of yours. “That we do, lyublyu.”

“I love you, Piotr. So much.”

“And I love you, Y/N, so very much, too.”

[lovelylogans]

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun. 

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds. 

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day. 

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy. 

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy! 

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.” 

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball. 

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies. 

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle. 

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted. 

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.” 

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

[horrorslashergirl]

The Collector x a reader who has heterochromia (different colored eyes)

The Collector x Reader- Exterminator Hero

Authors Note: I can do soft Asa, but I love angsty twisted Asa more. You cannot simply tell me that a man who has kidnapped and murdered over hundred people is ‘normal’.....Well....we do love the abnormal..so therefor we love Asa.

You were a very healthy human being, nothing that would put your health in danger, but there were other aesthetically things that bothered you, things that weren't your fault and were hereditary, since the day you were born. Each time you looked into the mirror, it was like you were looking at two different persons in the same body. At first, it really bothered you, because people stared and you didn't like to be ogled like you were some kind of freak of nature.

Having two different colors of eyes made you the prime attraction in middle school, and in high-school? Some were freaked out, some intrigued, and tons of questions were thrown at your head.

Are you blind?

Do you have X-Ray vision?

Do your eyes hurt?

None of the above were and it annoyed you how ignorant people could be, not to mention your head was going to explode if you had to explain to one more person what heterochromia is.

Now, in college, you decided to wear a contact lens to stop rumors, and these questions to rise. With contacts, you were a normal twenty-something student who just lived day by day without being stared at, and it felt nice to walk down corridors without people piercing your skull.

You moved to college in a new city, starting a new life and you stayed with your aunt and uncle; you made friends and none knew about your eyes.

It was Saturday and you were glad you didn't have to wake up earlier to go to college, meaning you could spend your day doing whatever you felt like. Getting out of bed, you marched to the bathroom, getting ready to take a shower and freshen up, only to open the door and your eyes to widen when you saw the shower curtain full of cockroaches. You took steps back, your nose scrunched in disgust, not a big fan of insects, especially by such disgusting beasts. 

A shiver went down your spine, feeling like the monsters were crawling all over your skin. You marched downstairs and told your uncle who was drinking his coffee, while your aunt set down the breakfast.

You told them about the infestation and looks like a nest of cockroaches was inside the old walls.

Great, that's how you wanted to spend the weekend, being the queen of cockroaches.

"I called for an exterminator. He said he will arrive in half an hour." Your uncle told you as he put on the jacket, adjusting his tie.

Your uncle and aunt were going for the weekend to a little trip, celebrating their 25 marriage, leaving you alone for a few days.

"You sure you will be alright, honey?" your aunt asked, adjusting her purse over her shoulder.

You gave her a small smile and nodded.

"Yeah, I hope I won't be the cockroaches meal for the next days." you joked, making your aunt giggle, kissing your forehead.

They waved goodbye and you watched from the window as they entered the car and drove away, leaving you alone, your stomach grumbled and decided to eat the remaining breakfast, only for your face to morph in revulsion as you saw some cockroaches on the food.

Not your best day for sure.

You threw the infested food in the garbage can and cleaned up the table, trying to look out for the gremlins that were probably hiding God knows where, then you heard the doorbell ring. Sighing in relief knowing it was the exterminator, you marched to the door, opening it.

The man was tall but more so bulky, and because of your height, you had to look up; he was dressed in dark blue coveralls with work boots, a utility belt around his waist, and gloves covered the skin of his hands.

"Master Trap Exterminator. I got a call about Blattodea." he spoke in a deep voice, mouth covered by a mask, only his eyes were visible and you had to admit they were unique; obsidian and they had a certain glint to them.

You tilted your head to the side at his words, a little confused. He gave a sigh.

"Cockroaches...a simpler name." he explained, making you raise your eyebrows and stepped aside to let him enter.

He took a look around, not really fazed by the investors that roamed the floorboards like they were just right at home.

"Umm...my uncle said that they made a nest inside the walls." you told him, making him turn to look at you.

"No wonder. Old houses are a very good environment for them." he said, looking to inspect the whole house, while you sat inside the kitchen on a stool, your feet up, not wanting for any insect to crawl up on your skin.

After waiting for almost one hour, the exterminator came back and you got up, waiting for him to say something.

"I can take care of the problem in no time. It's not that complicated as it seams." he told you.

"So, you will get rid of the roaches?" you asked hopefully.

"Yes."

You grinned in happiness, but only for the said grin to disappear when you felt something on your calf; eyes looking down a grim face formed and you squealed, wiggling your leg so the bug fell off your calf. You backed away only to bump into the exterminator like he was some sort of protector.

"Not a fan of bugs?" he asked, slight amusement in his black eyes.

"Not really....Mr..." 

"Emory...Asa Emory." he replied and you nodded, taking a step back since you were into his personal space, feeling your cheeks heat up.

He didn't say anything else and went straight to work, leaving you to stay on your front porch on the swing, reading a book, and waiting for him to finish. After probably four hours, he exited the house, his gaze moving to yours.

"Finished. The house is clean, but a piece of advice, try not to leave food under the bed. You basically called on to them." he told you, making you blush in embarrassment.

You weren't exactly a neat person to say so.

"O-Of course." you said, then paid him the money your uncle left you.

Nothing else was exchanged and you entered the house, happy that the monsters disappeared....for the time being.

Later that night...

Asa hadn't planned to collect anyone at the moment, he still was working on two other pieces for his unusual collection, but the moment he laid his eyes on yours, he was done for. Asa wasn't stupid, he knew what heterochromia was, but never once saw a person with this distinctive characteristic face to face.

Being an exterminator was a side job he most took to fill in his free time since he had no wife, no kids, no family, plus it gave him an opportunity to get into his future victim's houses.

You were oh so naive, small, and unusual; maybe that's why he found himself with a copy of the house plan of yours, his mind forming strategies and traps; first, he had to take care of your uncle and aunt, not a particularly hard job for him.

He wondered what he will do to you once he gets his hands on you; kill and make you part of his collected ones that were dead and shaped like an insect? Not really, that wouldn't do you justice. Drive you completely insane and transform you into a mindless dog? Not even close. Perhaps keep you alive as a pet?

His plush lips formed into a sadistic smile as he sketched a trap into the hallway on a copy of your house structure.

It's been a long time since he had a pet; Abby was a formidable pet, young and obedient, but her stupidity was what killed her, and Asa hated stupidity with a passion.

Thoughts of gauging your eyes out and putting them in a jar crossed his mind, but they weren't as pleasant as the thought of collaring you like a dog and tugging you along his hotel.

Yes...That would do you justice...and your eyes?

They would be only his to ogle on.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 4/8

Summary: D&D is planned, two characters get their very own breakdowns, Thomas reminisces, and Virgil has one good day

Pairings: (eventual) QPP’s Remus and Patton, Pre-Relationship prinxiety, sibling-y Virgil and Original Character, Creativitwins

Read on AO3

Word count: 3326

Warnings: Questionable parenting, period-typical homophobia, the foster system, semi-graphic (?) depictions of violent death, rage breakdown, nervous breakdown, minor arson.

Other notes: None!

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Logan quite frankly had no idea what Janus meant by ‘friendly hissing’. All hissing was a warning sign to potential prey, and wasn’t friendly in any incarnation! How could certain kinds of hissing be friendly? They all sound the same!

This was a level of insanity nearly topping Neil DeGrasse Tyson playing Merlin in the fucking Sharknado movies. But not really. That would top everything. Either way, Janus, someone who also hissed rather often (information citation being Patton) was likely the superior authority in tonal hissing. Logan’s a bit too sleep-deprived looking up resources for ghosts and surviving midterms to care too much.

Either way, the Dungeons and Dragons planning session was starting today. Everyone would be there at lunch this time and that meant that one, he would get to see his brother for the first time since homeroom (no common classes on Wednesdays was not ideal), and meeting with the rest of their newfound friends.

(Logan had never had anyone other than Virgil, and the rest seem to be alright. Janus knows, anyways, and he didn’t hate Logan for it, so it’s probably alright. He hopes it’s alright.)

“Lo-Lo!! Over here!” comes a friendly voice from his northeast. It’s Patton, who’s waving at him, glasses crooked, big smile. Logan fixes his glasses, and tries to smile back. It works, and even feels real.

Patton from up close certainly looks a bit tired, but he’s still happy enough, so Logan refrains from pointing it out.

When they reach the lunch table tentatively labeled as ‘theirs’, Virgil scoots over to let Logan slot between him and Roman, while Patton curls up next to Janus, relishing being with their siblings again, as much as friends are ‘neat’.

(Maybe he’s been getting back into Welcome to Night Vale. Maybe Amma cried and hugged him, calling it progress and Mom sat next to him and listened to her own show, the Magnus Archives and held him close. Maybe Virgil squeezed him tight and brought out the ‘What the Fuck is Happening in Night Vale’ board they’d made when they were twelve. He’d never tell)

Remus starts to hand out sheets of paper, asking everyone to draw their characters while he and Virgil work on plot, and it’s quiet in that little space of three pairs of siblings sketching out D&D characters, later talking about little things, big things and everything in between in the courtyard because the senior kids had exams and therefore none of them had last period. It was pleasant, and they’d all be paying their third ever group visit to Thomas later in the afternoon, too.

This was nice.

…

“Hey, Vi?” Hildi asked from behind him. They were sitting back-to-back, on her bed listening to a new album from All Time Low. The name didn’t matter too much yet.

“Yeah, Di?”

“Wanna do low level arson?” she asked, turning to face him and reclaiming her earbud. This was probably a terrible idea, but Hildi was the one person he wasn’t scared of acting out horrific ideas with. He smiles, and it’s reflected in Hildi’s eyes, dark green like the forest she lives in.

“Sure, why not?” he gets up, and Hildi turns around again for him to take his binder off and put on a sports bra, before putting his jumper (that Patton had given him for his birthday last week) back on, and patting his jean pockets for his phone. Once he knew everything was there, Hildi turned back to him, took his hand and led him outside. - “Okay, so how did you possibly, in any fucking timeline convince me to set fire to your old ‘Secret Diaries’ in the middle of the very flammable woods as if it was, at all, anything REMOTELY RESEMBLING a good idea?!”

“The power of friendship, Virge. Don’t fret, the damages are going to be well hidden in a week.”

“Oh my god but this is how forest fires start, were we crazy?!”

“Virgil calm down, nothing is more than slightly scorched, nothing is dead, and we caught every last ember! You’d know!”

“How would I know? Isn’t that more your department?”

“Spend enough time with a witch, and this is what happens. I regret nothing.”

“I regret so many things.”

“Sadness.” - “Hey, scaredy-bro, Love you.” Hildi whispers into the night, and Virgil remembers nights like this in middle school, when he started to realise that not everyone was as scared as him all the time, and he’d become more scared because everyone was watching, and laughing, and--

And Hildi had been there, a casual acquaintance from primary school becoming his best friend becoming his kind of sister because what other word is there (?), offering him trash earbuds that made the grunge music sound that much grungier, and holding him close on the nights Logan came home, unable to speak, covered in bruises, never letting Virgil tell their parents even though Logan was their twin and Virgil was so scared-- She caught him as he fell, and he hopes that she knows that he’ll forever be grateful for it.

“Love you too, you fucking danger noodle.”

Hildi chucks a throw pillow at him. It misses by at least three feet, falling off the shared bed. They both giggle, loud enough that Hildi’s mum ‘ssh’’s them from her own room, audible even with the closed door.

Three hours later, knowing full well that Virgil’s been on tumblr this whole time, Hildi whispers again.

“Hey, let’s look for Kelpies in the creek tomorrow”

This is an awful idea. But it has fewer environmental ramifications.

“Sure, why not. After December break?”

“Fuck yeah.”

They don’t last a lot longer after that.

…

Virgil wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find when he went to check on Roman, after it was ten minutes past final bell and he still hadn’t shown in the chemistry room after going back to pick up his papers.

Having a minor breakdown was not on that list, even though murder was. Virgil’s brain needed new priorities.

“Ro-Ro, Roman, what’s happening?”

“I-I can’t Virgil, I can't do it, please, I’m sorry” Virgil’s hands clenched tighter onto Roman’s shirt collar, knuckles white from the worry.

“You can't do what, Roman?” he asks, as gently as he can

“I-I’m so scared, Virgil. Mom’s not doing well, Dad’s doing the opposite of helping, and Remus and I don’t know what to do, Virgil. They keep f-fighting. The last time we tried to tell, it was by accident, and Mom had gotten so mad, and she’d said “If you keep talking about how Mom and Dad fight, then there won’t be a mom and dad’ and I can’t-- I can’t live without her, I can’t, Virgil!” Roman blubbers into his shirt, staining his hoodie and and pressing against his (currently unbound, but no big deal) chest, but Virgil literally could not give a shit about his hoodie right then, pulling him closer and cradling Roman’s head in the crook of his neck, one hand in his (fluffy, holy shit is this cotton?) hair, the other cradling his back. Roman smells like wood and some kind of flower.

“Have you told her any of this, Ro?” Virgil asks, and Romab lets out a bigger sob, burying himself into Virgil’s torso. Virgil knew that Roman’s parents weren’t on the best of terms right now, even though they kept trying to be good parents, but this? This was new.

“I c-can’t because-hic- She’ll get more upset, and she’s alsways so close to snapping and i can’t tell dad because he’ll get angry and I can’t tell Remus because he knows but he doesn’t, he doesn’t---fuck”

“Doesn’t?” prompts Virgil, softly into Roman’s hair, muffled by the soft chestnut curls.

“know, not same as I do, he doesn’t get sad, he gets mad, and he doesn’t want to become like dad but he stops talking and locks himself in rooms to not yell at people and I don- I don’t wanna make it worse.” he says softly, and Virgil starts stroking his hair, as a way to try and calm Roman down, trying not to cry a bit himself. He wishes, in a horrible way, that this was a panic attack. He doesn’t know what to do here.

“Could you find a way to maybe more quietly tell her to stay, perhaps?” asks Virgil again, even quieter this time. Roman more feels the words than he hears them, a soothing sort of humming.

“But it’s so selfish, isn’t it? That I think that? She deserves to be happy, and if being without us is happy, then she should, right? But I can’t do this with just my dad- he’s trying, but I can’t, help, please.”

And Virgil doesn’t know what to do, or what to say anymore. So he just holds Roman tighter in that very small corner in the 9-D classroom, and Roman clutches back until he’s cried it out entirely, and is ready to face everyone else. It’s been a few minutes, but they can clean up real quick.

Virgil takes out his spare hoodie and changes into it, Roman with his back turned in the boy’s bathroom, while Roman fixes his hair and washes the drying tear tracks off of his face, which were starting to feel like a mask on his face. He tries for a smile, and it’s small, but at least it’s real.

Virgil passes him a granola bar, and Roman hesitates for a second, before smiling again, taking it in hand and pocketing it. Roman offers his hand for Virgil to take, and he does, feeling the softness of Roman’s hands in comparison to his own, long and calloused with fidget rings on both hands. He squeezes.

Virgil looks up at Roman again, and they share a small smile, before walking out of the bathroom, hand in hand.

Wait- why are his hands glowing?

“Fuck you, Hildi.” he muttered under his breath.

“Huh, what?” Roman looked back at him, questioningly.

“Uh, nothing. Just thinking. ‘Cmon.” he smiles again, and he means it. With Roman, it feels like all his fears can be kept aside for another day.

…

“Oh my god, Remus, no you cannot make yourself a dwarven stripper this is a PG-13 D&D game oh my god--”

Remus looks up from the (probably very gory) conversation he’s having with Patton to reply to Virgil. “And why not? Minnie could be a stripper in the way back!”

“Just… no, thanks.”

“UUUUUGH, you’re no FUN, Virgey.”

“C’mon Bro, you could be… I dunno, a taxidermist?” Remus gets the manic glint back in his eye, snatching his sheet back from Virgil to add in the new information, scribbling frantically. His handwriting is already nigh impossible to read on a good day, so he’d better be able to read his own character sheet.

“Hey Thomas, what do you want to be?” asks Janus, undoing his loops to start a new string game, having finished his character profile- a Tiefling Wizard, about ten minutes ago while Logan became his work partner and roommate (Oh my god they were roommates), a human wizard. Virgil was the DM, therefore without a character other than an ominous voice with anxiety and a god complex at the same time, and Patton and Roman were both Elves, though Patton was an Artificer and Roman was a Bard.

Logan quickly jotted down Thomas’s responding morse code, chuckled, and read it aloud. “He says, and I quote: Can I be the thing that goes bump in the night? But also offer tea and biscuits to wayward travellers.”

Virgil smiles in Thomas’s vague direction, trying to make eye contact with the static. He fails, but Thomas thinks it’s quite nice of him to try.

“You’re too nice, T. I’ll write it down for you.”

You’re too nice

He was too nice to not let them get away with it, to stop them from killing him, to stop them from--

”Oi! You fruitcake, too nice to go running to your boyfriend, huh? Get a taste of this and see whether you’re nice enough to take it.”

He was. He didn’t object to the stuff in the bottle going down his throat, burning up his organs and destroying his body from the inside.

He didn’t have enough vocal chords left to scream, even as the other boy, final year, shook him as if trying to see whether he’s wake up, even as a hole formed in his throat, bleeding and burning and burning and burning--

It’s the last thing Thomas remembers.

“Thomas? Thomas? You’re making static-y noises again. You okay?” it’s Virgil, and it’s been nearly a hundred years and they’re dead and he’s dead and there’s nothing left of anyone he remembers but memories and he pushes aside his last memory, the worst one, to try and think of Valerie, his amazing sister who got to go to his school, sit in the same chemistry room once it was converted into a public school. Terrence, his family friend who came to his gravestone specially when segregation ended, and he could finally come and visit.

Everett, his boyfriend, who kept visiting, every day at four P.M on the dot until he was twenty and left town for college. It feels better to remember them as they were, in loose clothes playing in the woods, hide and seek and dolls and Valerie-the-Nurse and Everett-The-Soldier and Thomas-The-Film-Star and finding ways to get Terrence away to play with them too, as Terrence-The-Mechanic who could fix anything, even emotional problems as their Mom’s tittered and their fathers scowled but they didn’t matter because they were having fun.

He snaps out of it proper when Virgil manages to locate his hand, semi-visible ...

Patton’s pulling at his hair, not enough to fall out but enough to hurt, Sarcastrophe by Slipknot raging through his headphones and he knows that this is bad for his hearing, but at this point if it can drown out the absolute rage pounding in his mind, then going deaf is worth it.

He doesn’t even know why he’s mad. It’s just there and he’s screaming into his sleeves, tears caking on his face for moments before the anger arrives again and there’s a new layer of saltwater on top of it, endlessly endlessly going and he can’t stop it and why can’t it just stop--

There’s someone calling. It’s Remus. And Patton has to be happy and he thinks he might just implode with the… everything building up in him, but he has to do this so he picks up the phone.

“Hi Patty-Cakes!” The nickname makes him want to puke, even though he doesn like it, but he swallows the imaginary bile in his throat and replies.

“H-Hey, Remus.”

“Patton? You alright?” No, not at all he wants to scream and kick and cry but also freeze and never move again and his head hurts and there’s a pit in his stomach that won’t go away!

“YEAH! Uh, yeah. I’m good.” he sniffles, and he hopes Remus didn’t pick up on it. Judging by the silence on the other end, he probably did.

“Pat, please, tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything. Just let it out. It usually works for Roman and I, but just- see for yourself, okay?” Remus sounds a little concerned, a little desperate, and Patton thinks Remus can hear him trying to stifle his crying. He tries a little harder and all that comes out is one long moan with hitches for cries and the tears are drying, and Remus starts again, concerned, but Patton can’t hear, because the tears are catching up again and he’s screaming again and his fingernails have cut little red crescent moons into his cheek and it drips a little and Remus is still talking, soothingly and Patton latches onto that voice like it’s the only thing that could possibly carry him through this because it damn well feels like it.

He hears footsteps but not really, too focused on trying to regain control of his breathing, following Remus’s count.

When it's been a few minutes of following the count, and Patton’s breathing has evened out, he wipes off his face in his old faithful broom skirt, always ready for days like these, and he buries himself a little further into his hoodie, covering with it the phone on his ear.

“Patty--”

“No, not that, please.”

“Patton, Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, actually, but he doesn’t really see the point, since nothing lasts for him. He’s a fucked up foster kid ™ style. Good things don’t happen to him. (Maybe to Janus. Janus deserves good things, good people, better than him--)

“Why wouldn’t this last? And you’re a foster kid?” fuck, he said that aloud? Well, rest in fucking pieces, brain to mouth filter.

“Yeah, f-foster kid here.”

“Janus too?”

“Yeah.” he whispers, throat too tired for anything else. He’s not ready for the universal ‘how’ question, but he’s not been prepared for any of this so far, so maybe he should just not bother.

“Okay. Do your foster parents show any signs of wanting to let you go?” no, not really. In fact, he’d seen Remy and Emile trying to quickly hide a sheaf of papers any time Patton or Janus entered a room, and Patton’s been pushing down the hope as much as possible, even as he sees Janus start to believe it eventually. Patton has to be ready for something to go wrong, he can’t afford to let down his guard, lest he can’t protect Janus anymore. He has to make sure nothing can faze him.

But he wants. He wants so, so badly that sometimes he lies in bed for hours, pushing down the want and trying his best not to cry, until it’s morning and he’s waking Janus up even though he could barely push himself out of bed. He says this to Remus, because he still wants. He wants to stay near Remus forever, recite oddly dark facts and binge-watch the Sharknado movies again while Logan and Janus screech in betrayal and huddle up close and he wants to have this. He wants this so badly.

“Pat, I didn’t know how to say it, but I want to be with you forever too. You like my weird facts, and you stay by me when I’m mad and I want to be there when you’re sad, Patton. I want this too.”

“R-really?”

“Of course, Patton. I don’t lie. Especially not to you.” Patton laughs, somewhat wetly, and Remus’s tone brightens when he hears it, and Patton can feel the smile on the other side of the line, manic-looking but inherently full of kindness, and everything feels a little more okay.

The hurt isn’t gone, but at least he isn’t forcing it down into his large intestine anymore.

“Thanks, Re. I-I’ll talk to Emile and Remy when they come home, okay? I’ll tell you what happened. See you in school tomorrow?”

“Course, Patton. Now I’m gonna go get something for Roman to eat before his stomach acids digest his entire body, eyes and all.”

Patton laughs. “Okay! Just don’t miss your therapy appointment, okay?”

“Never do. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The call finally cuts off, and the timer reads 37:19:73, and he probably spent a good chunk of that time having a breakdown, but strangely enough, Patton doesn’t feel super bad about it. The want is there, and he’s still not super sure about what to do with it, but he knows that he wants it to be real, and even if something does go wrong, he’ll still have Remus’s number.

The door swings open as Janus enters the house, and creaks closed downstairs, and Patton flops onto his bed, eyes still a little red, putting his phone on charge to take a nap. He’ll have emotionally charged conversation, but after this nap, thanks.

[emy-loves-you]

Wrong Numbers and Useless Gays Chapter 4

Sad Boys and Fun Facts

Patton’s a sad boi but Virgil has a distraction

Chapter 3 | Masterlist | Chapter 5

Three weeks had passed since Virgil had first texted Roman. In those three weeks, Virgil had learned a lot about his new friends.

First, there was Patton. God, did that man love puns. Virgil also loved puns, but he preferred reading Patton’s puns over making his own. Remus had caught Virgil blushing at his phone and made a comment about his new “friends with benefits” (Virgil had been unable to respond. He was too busy trying to hold back his giggles from one of Patton’s pun tangents). Patton also made it clear that he was the “Dad Friend” of the group. Virgil couldn’t type a single self-deprecating comment without Patton threatening to physically fight him. It was rather terrifying, really. He also made sure that everyone was taking care of themselves. Once they learned that they were in the same timezone (They hadn’t shared cities yet. Friend or no, Virgil was telling where he lived in that quickly) Patton made it his goal to check in and make sure that Virgil ate at mealtime. One last thing about Patton was his… struggle with technology. He tended to send almost everything directly to the group chat instead of private messages. Logan said that he tried to teach Patton how to do so, but the lessons never seemed to stick.

Speaking of Logan, the nerd had his own quirks. He didn’t type much, usually only responding when someone required everyone to respond. The other time that he typed was during debates. Nine days into their friendship, Virgil had mentioned saying “you too” to a cute barista and claimed that he ruined any chances with his new crush. While Patton and Roman offered words of encouragement, Logan remained silent. Virgil had assumed that Logan agreed with him but didn’t want to upset his boyfriends. As soon as their conversation ended, Virgil received a private text from Logan, requesting to debate. They argued over cognitive distortions for a whole hour before they reached a compromise. Logan had called the debate “lit” and asked if they could debate again in the future. That was another thing about Logan. Apparently, he had vocabulary cards for slang words. When he was talking out loud, he would hold the card up so the others knew what slang word he was attempting to use. When texting, he would put quotation marks around the word. It was adorable, in Virgil’s humble opinion.

Then there was Roman. Princey was known for his dramatic flair and Disney references. When he was feeling especially Extra™ , he would use “thees” and “thys” and call people peasants. He also had a love for nicknames. Patton had very few personal nicknames, with most of them being terms of endearment like “honey” and “amor.” Most of Logan’s nicknames pertained to him being a nerd, such as “pocket protector” and “Microsoft Nerd.” He seemed to have a limitless number of nicknames for Virgil, with most of them referencing his emo-aesthetic (how Princey had discovered that so early in their friendship, Virgil had no clue). He never repeated Virgil’s nicknames; the only exception was “storm cloud,” which he tended to use at least once every conversation.

Virgil had become extremely close with the trio over these three weeks. That wasn’t the only thing he did, just the thing he did most often. The Dark Sides had finalized their contract with Thomas, who set up a tour almost immediately. Virgil really should have seen that coming. Their band had become extremely popular over the past few years, and they had only done one tour before this. Performing across the country would help boost their popularity even further. Virgil sighed, his anxiety spiking at just the thought of seeing all those faces in the crowd. That was why he used the persona Anxiety. Anxiety wasn’t afraid of anything, he was fear. Being Anxiety allowed Virgil to be confident and suave without worrying about judgment. They judged Anxiety, not Virgil. The case was similar for Janus and Remus. Deceit was elegant and mysterious, while Duke was loud and over-the-top. They didn’t have to be rejects wanting to fit in with society. No, they were Rockstars. Society wanted to fit in with them. And Virgil was just fine with that.

Bzzz

Vigil glanced over at his phone. He was in Los Angelas right now, around halfway through his tour, which put him 3 hours behind his new friends. He glanced over at his clock, 9:45 PM glaring at him through the dark. He turned back to his phone. Why are they up at 12:45 in the morning? I know Logan keeps them on a rigid sleep schedule.

P- (9:45 PM) Ro? Are you still up?

V- (9:45 PM) Pat, why are you still up?

P- (9:45 PM) Why are you still up, kiddo? It’s almost 1 AM! Don’t you have a hangout with your friends today?

Virgil sighed, thinking of the concert he had tomorrow. He glanced over to his sketchbook. Patton had been really impressed with his sketches, so he had been practicing less gory drawings to show him. It had evolved into something almost therapeutic. Knowing how he worked, Virgil would probably sketch until around 2 in the morning, then sleep until 8 AM. The concert wasn’t until 7 PM, so he had enough time to sleep in if necessary.

V- (9:46 PM) First of all, you know I’m in California right now. It’s 9:46 for me. Second of all, we’re not hanging out until tomorrow night, so I can sleep in if needed. Third of all, you’re avoiding the question: What are you and Roman doing up at 1 in the morning? I thought you guys had work in the morning.

P- (9:47 PM) We do. Roman got a burst of inspiration at around 10, and he usually refuses to sleep until he writes it all down. He probably fell asleep at his desk, that silly billy!

V- (9:47 PM) That doesn’t explain why you’re still awake. And why didn’t you get up to check on him? I thought you guys lived together.

P- (9:47 PM) We do! I just couldn’t fall asleep tonight. And the bed’s too warm to get up!

V- (9:48 PM) Well, Princey’s probably being a “sleeping beauty”

Virgil frowned at his phone. Patton hadn’t responded to his text. Sure, that wasn’t a very good pun, but it was still a pun. Patton laughed at every pun he saw, or at least followed it up with another pun. He could be asleep, but didn’t he just say that he had trouble sleeping?

V- (9:50 PM) Pat?

P- (9:50 PM) Yeah, Kiddo?

V- (9:50 PM) Are you okay?

V- (9:52 PM) Patton?

V- (9:52 PM) I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Just because you didn’t answer my pun doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you. I’m sorry that I sounded like an asshole.

P- (9:52 PM) No, Sweety. It’s fine! It’s nice to know that someone cares about you!

P- (9:53 PM) I’m just a little sad today.

V- (9:53 PM) Do you wanna talk about it?

P- (9:54 PM) I’m fine, Kiddo! This just happens sometimes. No need to worry!

Virgil sighed, thinking about how much Patton reminded him of Janus. Janus grew up neglected, and was taught to convince everyone that his life was perfect. By the time Virgil had met him, Janus was 19 and a compulsive liar. Virgil wasn’t much better, having just gotten kicked out of the foster system. Virgil lived with Janus (and soon Remus) until The Dark Sides had enough income for Virgil to live on his own (technically Janus had more than enough money for that- his parents were loaded. But Virgil wanted to have something that he earned. He wasn’t just some charity case). When they first lived together, Virgil could never tell what Janus was actually thinking. It took a lot of time and trust to separate Janus from Deceit. Now, he was still heavily sarcastic, and he tended to close himself off when he got upset, but Janus had come a long way.

Virgil looked back to his phone. Patton didn’t seem to have it as bad as Janus did, but you could never tell. At least he acknowledged that he wasn’t okay. There is the chance that something really is bothering him, but Virgil had to trust Patton on that note. It is entirely possible that Patton is just feeling down today; God knows how many times Virgil would question why he should get out of bed. He bit his lip. What helps me when I feel sad for no reason? He smiled, remembering when Remus would spout the most obscene things to distract himself from his own negative thinking. A distraction.

V- (9:56 PM) Did you know that giraffes can clean their ears with their own tongues?

P- (9:56 PM) What?

V- (9:56 PM) “Rhythm” is the longest word in the English language that doesn’t have a vowel.

V- (9:56 PM) Elephants are the only mammals that cannot jump.

P- (9:57 PM) More like Elecan’t!

V- (9:57 PM) Haha :)

V- (9:57 PM) Without food coloring, Coca Cola would be green.

V- (9:57 PM) A 3-year-old boy was elected as mayor in Dorset, Minnesota

P- (9:58 PM) No way!

V- (9:58 PM) Yes way! His name was James Tufts.

V- (9:58 PM) 7 different dogs have been elected as mayors in the US.

P- (9:58 PM) I love dogs! They’re such good boys!

Virgil smiled, adding Loves Dogs to his mental list of Quirky things I like about Patton Morale. They continued to talk about dog mayors for a while until Patton ended it abruptly.

P- (10:14 PM) Why are you doing this?

V- (10:14 PM) Doing what?

P- (10:15 PM) Why are you going out of your way to try and cheer me up? You should’ve stopped talking to me 20 minutes ago. Instead, we’re laying here at 1 AM talking about dog mayors! I would have been fine on my own. Why are you wasting your time on me?

V- (10:16 PM) Pat, if you tell me that I’m wasting my time talking to you, I’m going to have to physically fight you. You are my FRIEND. I care about you. When you’re sad, I WANT to cheer you up. When you’re happy, I WANT to laugh along to your punny jokes. Because I know, at the end of the day, if I was sad and needed someone to cheer me up, you would do it in a heartbeat. You, Lo, and Princey are amazing people, and my time spent with you will NEVER be a waste. I swear.

Virgil sighed, dropping his phone on the bed. He might’ve been too forward with that last text. But it was true. While the four of them weren’t nearly as close as Virgil was with Janus and Remus, he still cared about them a lot.

P- (10:18 PM) Thanks, Virgil. That really means a lot to me

P- (10:18 PM) I’m gonna try and get some sleep now

V- (10:18 PM) Alright Patton, Goodnight

P- (10:18 PM) Goodnight

The next day, Virgil saw a postcard in the window of a gift shop. It had a puppy with sunglasses on the beach, with cartoonish letters saying “Having A WonderFUR Time!” He took a picture and sent it to Princey.

V- (1:08 PM) What’s your address or PO? I wanna send this to Patton.

R- (1:09 PM) Say no more, Hot Topic!

V- (1:09 PM) Aw, you think I’m hot.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Deprived

Part 13

In case y'all forgot, their entire relationship started with sleeping and cuddles. If you're sick of reading about it, I don't know how you made it this far. Last! Bit! Until the bet's end! Warning, it might take me forever to write part 14. Thoughts are always loved.

Tags!: @emjrabbitwolf @mystery-5-5 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @fandomkitty8 @dast218 @silvergold-swirl @shizukiryuu . @my-name-is-michell @kurogaya913 @elspethshadow @thecatnipmademedoit @shamefullove @ladylucina28 @crazylittlemunchkin @rayray384 @cassiejaydee @yuulxd @ladysblackcat @naclychilli @caffeinetheory @persephonebutkore @fertileleaf @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @weird-pale-blonde-person @st0rmy-w1th1n @littleblue5mcdork @dudet @naoryllis @disneyfoxuniverse @lordsmeldingtonthethird @taoiichii @resignedcatservant @iloontjeboontje @a-fan-fighting-for-equality

~---~

Missing someone starts simple enough. You raincheck a date or have to cancel a few times because life just demanded too much of you that week. Not that big of a deal, especially for a new couple. Surely the attachment and codependency hasn't settled in too heavily yet. Except maybe you're accustomed to seeing them at least four nights and two days every week at minimum even before dating. Perhaps that person helps with your bad habits and the lack of their presence disperses half your impulse control. There's even a chance that your basic human needs get tossed into a shallow grave with no marker because who really needs food and water and sleep? Those are optional right? But really, to skip all the roundabout half speak, it all accumulated into one basic thought, 'I miss Tim.'

...

"Something I should know about?" Robin spoke, not turning towards her where she landed at his side. 

"Not allowed to follow my bestie every now and again?"

"Tt. I am well aware that I am not your usual choice of company, Tuemessian. Angel's? Maybe. Not yours."

She hesitated a moment, contemplating teasing only to stop herself. She came to confide in him, not annoy and he had already offered the branch. No need to have it retracted.

"Batman decided to tail Red a few days ago."

"Hmm, Red Robin hasn't been on any particularly difficult cases lately. Why would he need the extra help?"

"Because of me."

"We all know you shadow him. No reason to start getting uppity about it now," he paused for a moment before shooting her an accusatory look, "Something must have changed. And you neglected to inform me."

Heaving a long suffering sigh at Robin's tone, she fell against his side.

"Might've gotten on Batman's bad side. And let him see me. And hung off Red."

"So he's babysitting you now," he realized.

"Pretty much."

"And you came running to me in retaliation so as not to be observed," he observed with an unimpressed scowl.

"I will not be tailed by a man in a glorified onesie. It's demeaning and rude," she sniffed, nose turned up in a perfect imitation of Chloe.

"Suppose I should get used to my new patrol partner then?"

"Until Bats gets his head out of where it doesn't belong anyways," she pouted further, "I'm going to miss Red."

"If you plan to whine about it, I won't stick around to hear it," he threatened.

"Yeah right, you love me too much to just abandon me."

"Don't push it."

…

Two nights later, Jason found Marinette sitting on the roof of the manor, drawing in her sketch pad.

"You know Littlewing is out tonight, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright sugarcube, what's up? You always follow him on patrol nights," Jason asked, settling behind her and letting her lean back into his chest, taking comfort in the contact, "Unless you're the reason Batsy bitched all of last night?"

"He confronted Tim on why Vixen wasn't following Red Robin anymore. Said that Vixen was his responsibility and he was shirking it."

"And Tim told him to stop supervising his nights out," Jason filled in the blanks, chuckling at the memory, "thought he'd blow a gasket when Tim ignored him after that."

"Red told me he'd let me know when Bruce decided to back off so I could come out again. Followed Robin the last two nights, but it got boring. Taking a night off."

"Yeah, kid's too serious in the suit to be much fun. What you working on up here anyways?"

"New outfit for Kori. Owe her one," she stifled a yawn, concentrating once more on the mechanics of making a crop top that didn't move or lift with your arms up or when turned upside down, without being skin tight.

"And the roof was the best option for this, obviously."

"No distractions up here."

"Or really?"

"Don't even think about it!"

He snagged the sketchbook and took off back through the window and down the hall, laughing when he heard a shriek and the immediate sounds of Mari giving chase.

"Jason get back here with that!"

…

Stephanie dropped into the apartment on a Thursday, taking in the fabric bound chaos of the living area, particularly thick around a work desk that seemingly exploded. Scattered bits of boning, lacing, eyelets, three seam rippers and notably a few chains, sticking out of the disaster. In the center of it all sat a tiny designer with a vicious snarl curling the edge of her lip.

Skipping over, Steph wrapped her hands around and squeezed at the tense shoulders, noticing the concerning lack of reaction.

"Mari, I'm hungry."

"I'll make you something later."

"Hmm, don't think so. I'm calling for pizza. You're joining me and no, work is not allowed during pizza time." 

With that, she dragged Marinette off the chair and into the bedroom, both dropping onto the bed as Stephanie made the call, not needing to ask what the other wanted. Marinette didn't bother arguing, which was only more concerning. Steph wondered for a moment if she should call in reinforcement, but ultimately opted out. 'Nah, I got this.'

"Okay, should be here soon," she stated, relaxing into the comforter for a while, letting the other recover from being abruptly yanked out of work mode; read ten minutes of silence before curiosity won out.

"So what are you killing yourself over this time? Oh! Your suit for the next show? You have to let me see it!"

"No no, that was finished a week ago. You can stop by the studio tomorrow to check it out. You're still coming with me, right? I have a dress set aside for you."

"Obviously. I'm your date. However, that doesn't answer what you were getting so pissy with out there?" She teased, peaking at the other from the corner of her eye.

"It's a corset. Like, an actual, structured, hand embroidered, perfectly laced up corset. My hands feel like a crime scene with how much I've torn into them trying to get this right."

"Oh god, those things are so intricate. You're going to be screaming bloody murder by the end, why would you even do that to yourself?"

"... Haven't been sleeping much, figured it'd help get the frustration out."

"You never sleep much. Hence the sleep cuddle club," she pondered the thought a moment before snickering, "you two could make a business out of that if you weren't already swamping yourselves. Cuddle sessions for the sleep deprived and lonely. Oh! I'll go grab the door. I'm stealing your wallet by the way." 

Stephanie launched out of the room to the sound of a knocking door and a Mari grumbling about it hardly being stealing when you announce it and the owner doesn't care. Walking back in, she dropped the box between them, yanked the top off and grabbed for the garlic butter sauce they ordered to dip the crusts in.

"You're disgusting."

"And you lack respect for sauce. What else is new?"

"... I've been skipping nap time too," Mari muttered, hoping the other wouldn't hear.

"What do you mean you've been skipping naps? That's like, the only time you two ever sleep! Marinette, you cannot be awake 24/7."

"Pshh, more like 23/6. I crash hard on day 7."

"... That's a whole mood. Might I ask as to why you hate yourself so suddenly?"

"My commissions have gone through the roof with award season coming up, and spring weddings start up immediately after that. I might be clientele only, but my client basis is massive at this point! I don't have time and the few moments I've been free, Tim's been out for the night. And lord knows I don't sleep well alone."

"Uh-huh. And how long has this been going on?" Steph focused on the cheese stringing from her mouth that just would not let go, to give the other a chance to build up to tell the truth without having a guilty stare off.

"Um. About two weeks?" Mari flinched, wishing she were Tuemessian so she could disappear right there.

"So what you're telling me is that you haven't slept more than 12 collective hours, you're overworking yourself to the point of compliance to my antics, and your boyfriend, who's just as much of a sleepless wreck as you are, hasn't dragged you off for your regularly scheduled nap dates. Is that correct?"

"Well yeah. Wait, my boyfriend?"

"Don't even try me, I know you and Tim are a thing. No denying it. It's so damn blatant, it's ridiculous the others seem so oblivious to it," Steph rolled her eyes, daintily wiping her fingers off and grabbing a half empty water bottle off the nightstand to drain. A perfect contradiction of uppity and uncaring that only she seemed to pull off.

Marinette could only blink in surprise for a moment before nodding along, "We didn't plan for this," she murmured, half distracted.

"For what?"

"Nothing," she shook her head to clear the thought, "point is.Yes? I mean, we're just really busy and haven't found time and he knows how important this all is to me and even if he doesn't approve, it's not like he can get away to prevent it. Which would make him a total hypocrite if he called me out on it. Honestly, it's not even that bad, I'm catching up on so much now and I'll get to see him soon I'm sure, just as soon as I get through this season and!"

"That's it! I'm staging an intervention! We're finishing this pizza, cleaning you up and then I'm dropping you off at his apartment where you will sleep. Tomorrow the two of you are not leaving the bed until noon at the earliest. No work, only rest. Understood?"

"Noooo, Stephanniiieee, I'm busy!"

"Are you telling me you don't want snuggles?"

"... No."

"Then quit your bitchin, your arguments are lost on me. Now help me with this before I eat it all, itty bitty."

…

It took maybe fifteen minutes to finish the food and get some water down, another twenty to shower and get coerced into wearing cozy black fleece leggings, lavender tank top, and a soft, deep royal purple cardigan, and finally an extra ten minutes to lock up and make it out of the complex.

While Marinette was locked away in the bathroom, Stephanie called up Tim.

"Tell me you're at home. Or can be back in the next fifteen minutes."

"I just walked in?"

"Perfect, I'm dropping Mari off soon. She's like the walking dead right now and that's coming from the Dead Robins Club VP."

"VP…"

"Duh, Jason's the President. Damian's a recruit. Mari's not allowed to become the newbie. She's not even a Robin, it'd make no sense."

"What about Dick and I?"

"You two never actually died, doesn't count."

"Fair… wait, what's going on with ma loutine?"

"When's the last time you slept properly? Or even napped?"

"..."

"So when do you think she last slept or napped?"

"..."

"We'll be there soon."

…

Marinette found herself dragged up to his apartment, the door opening as she was pushed forward into a warm, familiar chest.

Since being dragged from her work, the lack of self care was slowly catching up to her. She hadn't even bothered to pull her hair out of her face, just letting the freshly blow dried fluff fall were it may. She had a vague idea of how they got here, but either way was grateful to find herself warm and held, even if it was in a doorway with the two talking over her head. She caught only snippets: something about not skipping out on each other anymore and a suggestion about living situations that made the body pressed to hers flush. Eventually the two stopped and Stephanie left. A hand pressed to the side of her face and she looked up to Tim who tilted to rest his forehead on hers.

"Hello sweetheart."

"Mon Somnambule," she smiled, eyes closing automatically.

"Think you're beating me there. When have you last slept?"

"Hypocrite."

"That's not an answer."

Mari pouted, not looking like she wanted to answer.

"Have you slept beyond an hour at a time?"

"I can't remember," she admitted.

"Why haven't you slept? You're usually better at self regulation than I am."

"Missed you."

"It's more than that though, isn't it?"

She pulled back and burrowed back into his chest, concentrating on the sound of his heartbeat.

"Couldn't sleep alone. Dark figure stalking me. Brought back bad memories. Became a nonentity for a reason. I do the following now. I make others uncomfortable, observe and toy with them. Not the other way round."

"I took care of that. He won't follow me anymore. You can come back out. But sweetheart, why didn't you call me?"

"Too risky at night with him following you. Too busy during the day. Didn't seem like there was a good time," she admitted.

He frowned, but let it go, gently tugging her arms over his shoulders to clasp behind his neck and placed his hands on the back of her thighs in a prompt to jump up. With her firmly wrapped around him, he made way to his bedroom, sitting down on the edge and pulling back a touch.

"Maybe Steph was right about living situations," he muttered to himself, hushing her when she hummed in confusion.

"Are you comfortable sleeping in that?"

She tugged at the cardigan, accidently getting tangled until he helped her out of it, folding it off to the side. She tucked her face down into the side of his neck and slumped into him completely. Turning them about, he settled her down, curling around her.

"Sleep well, love."

[amianannn]

sssome beta designs for minecraft youtubers bc i was going to make a comic then i... i got really lazy and sad so i just cleaned up the sketch and coloured it so. yeah. have some wip designs that i’m gonna improve later.

i JUST realised i forgot to colour the lines on ranboo’s collar oh my god

uh i’m gonna put some design notes here bc why not! firsdt off yes i’m aware i cannot draw hands don’t @ me. ranboo is technically supposed to have long claw-like nails like catra but again i can’t draw hands so this is as close as we’re getting anyways moving on.

i saw? an edit of tommy with pink hair? and i literally love it so much? so he has pink in his hair look it just looks nice okay. i’m weak for unnatural-coloured highlights in people’s hair and pink is also one of my favourite colours so like..

also PONYTAIL DREAM HELL YEAH :D

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

reverie

The empire siblings have a chat about notebooks, feelings, weird smut and memories.

It takes a while for you to get up the courage to talk to her. Quite a while. You’ve spent the last hour pacing and fidgeting and giving Frumpkin half-hearted speeches about why this is a terrible idea, you should very much not do it and you are going to return to your book now, thank you very much. The cat - little instigator that he is - blocks off this method of avoidance halfway through your latest monologue by hopping up onto your desk, curling up into a ball on the worn cover of your spellbook, giving you a pointed look and shutting his eyes.

“That - that is very unfair,” you protest, waving a hand indignantly. A wave of sly mischievousness floods your bond in response. Problem solved, it seems to say, rumbling with a soundless, satisfied purr.

You hover in the doorway a moment longer, wondering faintly how your own familiar could have betrayed you like this, before another mental nudge - like the tap of a paw against your shoulder - pushes you forward a step. Go. You’ll be just fine.

“I will be just fine,” you repeat, soft, like a mantra. Like the prayers the clerics whisper on the battlefield. “I will be fine. She has been my - my traveling companion for some time now. I can share things with her if I so choose.”

You close your hand around the tiny, precious journal in your pocket, take a deep breath and knock three times on Beauregard’s door.

A grumbled, sleepy “the fuck?,” then silence.

You come so close to taking the gods-granted opportunity to run back down the hallway and escape into your room before steeling yourself and knocking again. One, two, three. Clean and measured and precise.

“Door’s open, Jessie. You don’t have to knock.” “No - nein, Jester is not - Jester is downstairs.”

A pause. A shuffle of quiet footsteps. You flinch back a bit as the door swings open, revealing a thoroughly rumpled Beauregard. She blinks at you for a moment, her expression softening just a fraction as she takes in your obvious unease. “You okay?”

“More or less.”

“You’ve gotta know by now that I’m gonna call bullshit on that.”

“That may be wise.”

She raises an eyebrow and gestures for you to continue.

“I, ah, I have something that I would like to discuss with you. Something of some importance.”

“‘Of some importance?’ So like, quest stuff?”

You swallow thickly, shake your head. “No, not exactly. Nothing quite so urgent. Memories. Of my past… education.. Since you were so open as to share your history, I thought it was only right to unveil a bit more of mine. Is that something you would be comfortable -”

To your faint shock she nods immediately, opening the door a crack for you to step through. “Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Do you want Nott to be here for this, or -”

“No, no, she is with Yeza.”

“Alright.” She knows you well enough by now not to push. Thank Ioun for small miracles. “You can sit wherever,” she says, gesturing widely around the room as she flops back on her bed. You instinctively scan the unfamiliar space as you hover in the threshold - Jester’s art desk, covered in paint splotches and far too realistically rendered genitalia; Beauregard’s teetering stack of books, their blue leather spines stamped with the Cobalt Soul insignia; an expensive half-melted candle spilling warm yellow light across the floor and filling the air with the scent of sugar and flowers. You spot a rickety wooden chair in the far shadowed corner of the room and make for it before Beau rolls her eyes - not unkindly - and pats the foot of the bed.

“C’mon, Widogast. We’re gonna be adults about this. Gonna have feelings out in the open.”

“Is that what makes one an adult where you come from?”

“Yeah. Real important milestone.”

“In that case, I had not realized we were still traveling with a child. It puts so much in perspective.”

“Get over here and sit your ass down already.” You smile wryly in spite of yourself and do as she says, inching over to perch on the very edge of the soft pile of blankets.

“So,” she says after a moment of painfully awkward silence. “Feelings.”

“Yes.”

“Any in particular you’ve been feelin’?”

“Quite a few.”

“Can you be a little more specific than that?” She lifts one bandaged hand to jab you gently in the shoulder. “Show me what the important thing is. Lay it on me.”

I will be just fine. I will be just fine. I trust her. Nerve slipping away bit by tenuous bit, you reach into your coat pocket and withdraw your journal. It looks so innocent, laying there on the bed. Its oiled leather cover dark as coal against the starched white blankets, its ragged pages translucent in the pale light. Just as damnably unassuming as it’s always been.

You clear your throat thickly, finding the words. “Has Nott told you about my notebook? My, ah, other notebook. I would just like to gauge how much you know. Before we take this deep dive into ‘feelings.’”

She nods. “One night after you went to bed. Back at that open bar place in Zadash. Didn’t tell me what it was or what’s in it, just that you had a ‘secret book.’ Then Jester asked if it was porn and the conversation kinda stopped.”

You smile ruefully. “That is about what I expected, I suppose. It is not porn. To everyone’s great disappointment, I’m sure.”

“Yours included?”

“Mine included. I imagine I’d have to be much less secretive if it were.”

“That depends, man. Who knows what kind of weird shit you’re into.” She pauses and hums a bit, thinking. “Do you think wizard sex is like, a thing? Like Essek or whoever uses his arcane powers to bone down? Are people into that?”

This rampant train of thought startles a laugh out of you. “I cannot say that I have much knowledge of wizard sex, but I don’t doubt that there are some. Jester seems to be an expert on this sort of thing - perhaps you should ask her?”

You don’t miss the tiny, wistful smile that ghosts across her face at the name. “Yeah. Maybe she’d know. Anyway -” She shakes herself out of the daydream with a roll of her shoulders and fixes you with a pointed if not unkind look. “Back to feelings.”

“Back to feelings.” You pick the notebook up and ruffle gently through the pages, the flood of memories crashing over you as it always does. The sketches, the notes, the scraps of paper and snippets of old books, the coffee stains and ink splashes. Closing your eyes, you find your way to the proper page. The drawing of both of them.

“These were my - well, I suppose they were more than friends. We studied together. This was Astrid -” you trace your finger over the sketchy rendering of the girl, standing proud and tall with her nightingale on her shoulder, that familiar crinkle to the corner of her eyes. “She was always the ambitious one. Brighter than any of us. She made her mission to learn everything the world had to offer. Nothing was ever out of her reach. Once, when she learned that our other friend and I hadn’t learned to dance, she spent the rest of the night teaching us how. I would not have known how to waltz if not for her. That and - many other things.” Your scars pulse dully, and a tiny flicker of flame dances across your fingertips before guttering into a wisp of smoke. No. No bad memories now. This is not the time.

“What happened to her?”

“That I am not sure of. I haven’t heard from her since - since things went wrong. I can only hope that she found her way out intact. She deserves that much.” You sigh, trace your still gently smouldering fingertip along the worn out page. “She had a wicked sense of humor as well, you know. Coarse as a sailor, and clever. She’d figure out what made you tick, what made you laugh, within moments of knowing you. Always was good at reading people. And Eodwulf -'' you look at the drawing of the young man beside her, tall and strong, that little smile on his face - “he was kind. Big and tough and strong, but so kind. Gentlest soul I knew for quite some time. He told us stories about his farm back in Blumenthal, his little garden. How he’d tend the plants every day and make sure they reached the sun.”

“So he was kinda like Cad?”

“I suppose he was. He was good. I miss them both very much.”

She reaches a hand out and rests it with surprising gentleness on your shoulder. “Yeah, I get that. They sound like they were good.” She pauses for a moment. “You know that you didn’t deserve the shit you went through, right? None of you did. If you can think of them as being nice kids who were manipulated by a fucked up monster, you can think of yourself that way too.”

“I was not a nice kid, Beauregard.”

“Doesn’t change anything. No kid deserves to be treated like that.”

“Would you say the same for yourself?”

The silence is heavy for a long, long moment. “If I did, would you try? Make it a part of our hold - each - other - accountable deal?” She lifts the hand off of your shoulder and holds it out for you to shake on it.

You take a deep breath and take her hand in your own. “I will try.”

She nods, just a little, and gives a proper businessman’s handshake. “Alright. Cool.”

“Cool.” Still holding her hand, you give it a little squeeze. “You did deserve better than the way your father treated you, Beauregard. He was a dick, and he was wrong. You deserved a family that loved you as you were. And our little group, I believe you may have one.”

“Thanks, Caleb,” she says at last, her eyes watery as she smiles at you and pops you gently on the shoulder.

“Of course.”

The two of you sit like that for a while, watching as the moonlight filters in narrow silver bars through the window, and for the first time in a long, long time, your mind is quiet.

[ladyramora]

Thank you note

Ramora flipped through envelopes, some smelling of perfume or cologne, some written in the most elegant of script with hearts slipped into the letters as if they belonged there, a few with kisses enclosing the contents…

Except one.

She stared at the odd letter out. The handwriting was clean as was the envelope, it was addressed to ‘Rammy D'aubigne’, it was from the holy southern isles…

If she hadn’t just seen Lolz an hour ago and know she was most likly headed to her own home, she would have thought she had been the sender.

She slipped the declarations of love under her arm and tore the envelope open with her finger, being careful not to give herself a papercut as she did so, the paper thicker than she’d of thought.

She pulled the letter free and began to read:

“Hello Rammy! 

I’m Lolz’s Mother, we’ve never met, but Lolz has told us all so much about you and her other friends with those Scones of the Seventh Dawn! (Odd name for a Welfare group, you all sound more like a delightful dish for tea than anything else!)”

Ramora snorted, barely two sentences and she already liked her, she was definitely Lolz’s Mother.

“I just wanted to write to you and thank you for being such a good friend to our Lolz! You have no idea how much it means to us to know she has someone looking out for her and caring for her as much as we do, we were all worried when she left the island, she always had a hard time making friends and with her love of magic and goal to become an adventurer…”

Ah, Ramora immediately understood. 

Lolz had started out as a healer, and a healer without good friends to help keep monsters and beasts from attacking her while she was still new… A little healer far from home armed with low level heal spells and maybe one or two attack spell in a forest full of danger…

She could easily see why her family had been worried, a part of her wondered how her own parents would have-

she stopped herself from going further down that line of thought and forced herself to keep reading;

“but when her first letter came and it was filled with all the fun lessons she had with you, I was glad she did go. You see, due to what we now know was her Echo, as well as her being smaller than most of the other children her age, she was bullied a lot. She didn’t have a lot of friends and spent most of her time wandering around the sacred crystal caves and making little trinkets for others.”

Ramora pictured a smaller Lolz wandering a cave glittering with colorful crystals, picking a few up as she went fiddling with them with a thoughtful pout on her face…

That reminded her, She’d given her a small hair clip with red crystals in the shape of a flower, a few mossy green stones framing it like leaves not too long after they had become friends…

Had she made that herself? She shouldn’t be surprised, Lolz was surprisingly crafty, always making something in her spare time, sweets, accessories, weapons… she had no idea how she made the time for it, but then again, a girl has got to have her hobbies.

She was getting off track here, she refocused on the letter.

“And then there were the twins, the Scones, and all her other friends at her free company, her letters got longer and longer over time, but each letter always had at least a page of all the stuff you two get into and they always make us laugh. 

We cannot thank you enough for being there for her and looking out for her and we wanted you to know you are always welcome in our home. Hells, with all the things Lolz has told us about you, you’re practically part of our family!”

Ramora felt a small twinge at that statement.

Family? Her parents considered her family? Just for being Lolz’s friend?

She didn’t know if she should be touched that they would consider her family just for being a good friend to their daughter or concerned for how socially inept Lolzy had been… and still kind of was, if she was honest.

She made a mental note to make Lolzy socialize more as she got to the last part of the letter.

“There is a festival that comes every five years that lasts a fortnight, we were hoping you and Lolz would come home for it (there are a few old bullies of Lolz’s I’m hoping you won’t like and will make shut up while you’re here.)”

Ramora laughed out loud, yup, this woman was DEFINITELY Lolz’s mother. 

“We already paid for your tickets, I hope you don’t mind dropping Lolz’s off for her too.  

Looking forward to finally seeing you, Rammy!”

Under the last sentence, there was a small illustration and Ramora started to howl with laughter.

It seemed to be a sketch of Lolz’s parents.

Her father was apparently a very tall and somewhat intimidating looking hyur and her mother had to be the sweetest little lalafell  she’d ever seen, who stood on the top of a ladder so they were on the same level, both of whom were smiling broadly and seemed to be waving, as if already welcoming her to their home.

There had been a bet among the Scions in regards to Lolz having Lalafell blood, as she and the other lalafells in their group had the uncanny ability to intimidate others despite looking so tiny and sweet. they had kept it a secret from her, of course, but she found out anyway and made them drop it and then they had to face a wrath an eikon would envy for their actions.

Who knows, Perhaps her mother is where Lolz got her climbing urges from.

Oh Gods, if they had this sketched, then they probably had little Lolz sketches. Embarrassing little lolz sketches! She pulled out two tickets, each one with their names neatly written on them and little flowers next to them, making her smile grow a teeny bit wider at how sweet the sentiment was before the desire to tease her friend about her childhood antics overwhelmed it completely, turning her smile impish.

She immediately ran back to her friends house, loudly calling out her name as she waved the tickets in the air, her love letters still tucked under her arm, forgotten.

Ramora didn’t have any family, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy Lolz’s to the fullest! 

(Yeah, Ramora is never EVER going to let Lolz live that line down. EVER!)

Submitted by: @lolzwaitwhat

[lushjin]

And then there were four|

Warning/Genre: smut with a dash of fluff. Pregnancy/Impreg kink

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 1,9k

A/N: Thanks to the anon who suggested this prompt. Having your second child with Taehyung. This is the 3rd installment of the fic Parenthood. You do not have to read the previous fics to read this one.

Parenthood | Hungry

You’re exhausted, to say the least, your first year as parents was definitely testing you. You make your way to your room in the dark.The room is dim. Lit by your husband’s iPad.

“Beomsoo has a fever again,” you sigh as you fall onto the bed.

Taehyung immediately drops the iPad he was using to sketch. “Should we take him to the E.R?” He asks already climbing out of bed.

“No, he’s okay the doctor said if isn’t over 101 we shouldn’t be worried. Plus I’ve just gotten him to sleep. We cannot disturb him.”

“Are we really sure we can trust what the doctor says y/n?” Taehyung asks as he looks for clothes to change into.

“Tae babe he’s honestly fine. The medicine and sleep should help him feel better.” You reassure him.

“Fine.” Taehyung reluctantly gets back into bed.

“Let’s just get some sleep ok?” You lean over and kiss Taehyung’s cheek, and nestle yourself into bed. It’s too hot to spoon. Your body sweats do to the lack of a working a/c, that went out a month ago. Still saving up to get a new one. Get a house they said.

You lay with your covers off of you. The ceiling fan cooling you off a bit but not enough. You stand up to slide out of your pajamas. Kicking them off. Taehyung looks up at you undressing. His eyes scan all over your bare body.

“What?” You question with a cocked brow. You lay back down. Your backside facing Taehyung.

“Nothing,” He scooches over to wrap his arms around you casually playing with the soft flesh of your breast.

“Taehyung.” You welcome his touch though. Sighing when he pinches your nipple.

His lips are warm on your neck.

“I was just thinking.” There it goes you knew he was up to something. “Thinking about what?” You question. You lay there cuddling as Taehyung speaks into your ear. It feels nice. Even the way Taehyung gropes you seems sweet.

“You, when you were pregnant.” He states like he’s picturing it in his mind right now.

“Oh?”

“Yeah you glowing all nice and plump with my baby inside you. You just looked so hot. Your curves, your breast. God you look so amazing.” He sighs getting lost in his thoughts. “I wanna do that to you again. I want to knock you up.”

“What? Already?” It was for sure that you and Taehyung would have another child. You just didn’t think it would be this soon.

“Yeah why not. We’ve almost made it through our first year. Why don’t we give Beomie a brother or sister? What do you say?” For emphasis Taehyung pushes his pelvis against your ass. Rubbing until he starts to stiffen.

“Hmm I’d have to think about it.” You say jokingly as you giggle. Because let’s face it you’ve already agreed to it in your mind. The thought of expanding you family was something that made you heart melt.

“So that’s a yes then?” Taehyung asks his lips on your ear. Kissing it softly and then tugging on the lobe. It sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you sigh.

You cup your hand over Taehyung’s as he continues to knead your breast. His lips begin to descend down your neck. Sucking on it like you’re a couple of teenagers. When in fact you were a couple of young parents madly in love.

“Mmm, baby,” Taehyung moans into your ear as he grinds his dick into your plump ass. “I wanna knock you up. Fill you up with my cum.”

Now it’s your turn to moan. Taehyung’s words draws an ache to your core that you desperately need to relieve. Your hand slides down to where your thighs meet. You touch yourself. All while pushing your hips back to return Taehyung’s movements.

On any other night you both could get off like this, dirty and desperate. But tonight you want more. You want to Taehyung to keep his promise. You want him to fuck a baby into you.

You pull away from Taehyung and lie flat on your back. You look over at Taehyung his pupils dilated. The look of desperation in his eyes.

“Please Taehyung fuck a baby into me,” you beg.

You lie on your back the perfect position for conceiving.

Taehyung is up and in between your legs. His fingers on your mound. Teasing you with light touches. He draws your arousal out of, and you squirm under him. His finger dip into your core and are welcomed with your wet walls.

He retrieves his finger from your hole. They drip with your sticky arousal. It’s more than usual.

“Are you ovulating?” Your husband questions as he stares at your slick.

“I guess so.” You weren’t really sure. You stopped taking ovulation test since you conceived you first son.

“Fuck, you’re so fertile. So ready for me to fill you up.”

You moan when Taehyung plunges his fingers back in. He’s moving fast, curling his fingers upward. You buck your hips into his movements. Desperately chasing your high that is coming a lot sooner than you expected.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming I’m cumming,” you repeat. It’s unexpected but Taehyung fucks you through it anyways. Fucking you faster with his fingers. And just like that you burst. Cumming undone on your husband’s fingers. Coating them with your cum.

“Baby,” Taehyung whines. “You’re so fucking hot. I need to fuck you now.”

With that Taehyung’s pulling his boxers down right below his hips. Enough to get his cock out. Without even a single warning he’s inside you.

“Fuck, your cunt is so wet for me.” He groans pumping himself in and out of you. At first he’s slow. Savoring the feeling of being in your warm wet pussy. Rubbing against your walls leisurely. Anticipation building up as he fucks you slowly. There’s something that bubbles inside you with excitement and not from your impending orgasm. But the fact that tonight might be the night that you conceive your second baby.

Taehyung's body rocks against yours. Grinding his pelvis against yours. His movements make your body tense with pleasure. You cling onto his shoulder blades when he picks up the pace.

He’s fucking you with a purpose. That purpose being to put a baby in you.

His hips move with the rhythm of yours. You’re both desperately reaching for your end.

“Fuck- Taehyung I want it,” you beg for his cum. Your hand is down at your clit. Your walls squeeze coaxing his orgasm out of him.

“Oh god.” Taehyung’s hips stutter when he cums. His body tensing face scrunching when he fills you up with his warm semen. He fucks you through his orgasm wet and creamy.

He peppers your face with kisses afterwards. You both lie there content. Skin shimmering with sweat, post sex glow. Somehow you both manage to fall asleep even with the heat.

A few weeks later two positive lines let you know that you are in fact pregnant.

“Taehyung don’t even think about it.” Your husband's hand is currently creeping towards your breast.

You agreed to a cuddling season because you felt bad, not because you wanted to.

You’re eight months pregnant going into your ninth and the last thing you wanted was for anyone or anything to touch you. The last time Taehyung was even allowed near you was almost two months ago and you know he’s feeling restless. Just as you are but for different reasons.

You lay on the couch awkwardly as the movie plays on the tv. Sprawled out between Taehyung’s legs. Your back against his chest. You can’t even concentrate on the movie because of how uncomfortable you are. Unfortunately Taehyung does not relent his hand softly gropes your breast. And you can already feel him poking at your backside.

“Taehyung,” you whine. You feel bad enough already as it is for not having sex with your husband in almost two months. But now you feel even worse that he’s trying to instigate it.

“Baby, we only have a few more weeks and then we really won’t be having sex. Are you sure you want to wait that long?” He rubs your arm sweetly. “I thought pregnant women were supposed to horny from the hormones?” He questions. His hand sliding down your body petting the expanse of your round belly.

You feel guilty for letting him go without sex for this long. So you decide to give in. “Fine, let's do it.” You say as if it’s more of a chore than anything else. But for Taehyung it doesn’t really matter and he begins to grope your breast with purpose now. He’s going to work as hard as he can to make you feel good.

He’s on his knees kneeling between your thighs. You sit on the couch legs spread wide. And you see Taehyung disappear between your legs. You wish you could actually see what he’s don’t but your view is obstructed by your protruding belly. You can definitely feel him though. His tongue is at your folds. Licking them up and down before kissing them.

“Oh,” you sigh when his finger is at your entrance. You didn’t realize just how much you needed this relief, and Taehyung was more than willing to give it to you. He works hard to get you off. To get you nice and wet for him. You feel your end nearing soon, but that’s not enough. It’s been too long and now your body craves to have him inside of you.

“Taehyung stop, stop,” you gasp. And he listens removing himself from your core. Before he can question what’s wrong. You’re begging him to fuck you.

He’s hard inside of you and it feels like heaven. He holds your legs apart as you sit on the couch. While he stands between your legs and fucks you.

“God baby I missed your pussy so much,” he emphasizes with a hard thrust. Two whole months worth of tension building up and ready to explode.

Taheyungs hips work faster and your loins ache. You’re ready to burst as the pressure builds up in the most delicious way.

You’re moaning out Taehyung’s name with every thrust. You’re so close and you can tell his too. Your body flushes with heat when your orgasm hits. Taehyung isn’t too far behind you feel him twitch inside you. His cum ejactulates inside your warm hole.Two months worth of cum drips out of you.

You’re both out of breath and spent. Taehyung takes care of you cleaning you up. And cleaning his cum off the floor. Luckily none landed on the couch.

After you give birth Taehyung stares at you with honey dripping eyes. It’s a look you’ll always remember. A mix of awe and admiration. It makes your heart flutter. He kisses your forehead, cheek, then lips. Holding your hand tight. It feels like a dream. A sweet, sweet dream.

When they bring your baby back you both fight over who gets to hold him first. Obviously you win because you carried him for nine months and no one can take that away from you. You’re both teary eyed staring at your little baby.

When you go home you’re both scared. Newborn baby nerves. Even though this isn’t your first time. Still the nerves are there. You’re like first time parents all over again.

Taehyung drives really slow and you both hold your breath when you hit a speed bump. But baby just coos in his car seat.

At home everything seems normal. You nurse the baby while Taehyung plays with your other baby. Who doesn’t seem like much of a baby anymore.

You’re both content with your little family. If only the both of you knew what the future had in store.

[the-gunslock]

Amanda 3 - Hammer

Third canon-deviant fic about Amanda Holliday and her journey to being greater, from a mini-series of four.

"This one would be pret-tyyy cool…"

The burnt-blonde Shipwright scrolls through the 'Collections' of Exotics Guardians found in their journeys, analyzing their perks as she patiently waits to be called inside the most envied library in the City.

For some seconds, her emerald eyes fall on a pair of knightly silver Gauntlets that could be what she looks for. She ‘hmm’s to herself for a second, trying on some shaders, and nods in approval.

"Amanda, let's go."

Her head moves to pay attention to the Warlock that has just arrived at her usual spot at the Bazaar, greeting her with a nod as she stows her tablet away and is transmatted into the library. She makes a mental note of the name ‘Stronghold’. Shaxx would probably appreciate her dedication to swordplay.

Other pieces like Fr0st-EE5 and Transversive Steps, which do not require Light usage, would also benefit her while she fought. Good to know, good to know. So many loopholes to be exploited.

Ikora Rey had devoted the day to silent studying and rewriting of her books, still not completely updated after the Traveler’s awakening in recent times. In order to focus better, she does most of it quietly and alone in the library, save for the Hidden that appear to report to her on occasion. Today was an exception, for she allowed the Tower’s Shipwright to keep her company under the pretension that she wanted to learn, and there was no better teacher for that than Ikora.

Ikora’s library has dim, yellow lighting and a rustic aesthetic, with bookshelves and flooring made of dark wood covered with blue and white tapestry. The overall layout of the place was circular, the center having her desk and simple chairs and couches disposed about.

"So, Amanda." Ikora begins, making herself comfortable at the table and suggesting Amanda to do the same, across from her. "What do you seek?"

Amanda quietly taps her fingertips at the table, fidgeting as she tries to formulate a good reason.

"I wanna learn how to… to fight. Like y'all Guardians do."

Ikora doesn’t turn her head, but smiles.

“Is that so?”

“Uh… yeah?”

Ikora gives a chuckle as she finishes rewriting a page.

“I think not.”

“...Why not?”

Not faltering, Ikora turns her head to face her friend as she hovers her hand above the book. “Because if you wanted to learn how to fight, you would have asked Zavala. And, if the words I received are true... you already did.”

Amanda doesn’t have an answer to that, only looking at the desk and pressing her lips together, the inquietude only building up. She observes Ikora using an emanation of Solar heat to dry the ink on the pages.

“Ikora, I… want to be a Guardian. I thought I could ask you to teach me how to think like one.”

As the Warlock turns to the book again, she turns a page and looks at a previous version of the book, also spread open on another part of the table, for reference. “Okay. And why aren’t you?”

She is caught off-guard by this question. She struggles to let out her answer, and the next sentence comes out a bit more condescending than she’d hoped.

“Because I’m not a Lightbearer?” Amanda replies as if it was something obvious.

“During the Red War, we weren’t either.” Ikora says as she starts writing once more. “And I went through the same dilemma. I was lost. I looked to the ashes emanating from the City, and vowed… never again. And since I had nowhere left to go, I found myself on Io, in search for answers. As time passes me by, I realized I was left without answers, without Light, without my team... without anything to hold on to.”

“And then?”

“A Guardian found me. One of those who had made the pilgrimage to the Shard of the Traveler and recovered their Light. They could have refused, but they didn’t. They could have quit the fight, but even if they knew they were going to die, they didn’t. And their very presence reminded me that, while the terms are, indeed, very associable to the outside observer, they are not the same.”

The Shipwright listens intently as Ikora recounts her tale. There were many angles to this. Most, she didn’t consider. Multiple viewpoints are a virtue Guardians must possess.

“It took me some introspection and some... unprecedented incidents, for me to believe that I am more than just my Light, and in being greater than the Light, protecting it and the people who live through its influence is what made me who I am. So, as long as you strive to perfect yourself, you’ll always be one."

Ikora eyes her friend without turning her head this time. Her eyes are amiable, as fierce as they looked.

"A Guardian, Lightbearer or not... is always a Guardian.”

The Warlock delivered each part of that sentence in a very light, but thorough manner, a way that Amanda didn’t even think was possible. It was a nail she still had to hammer, that Guardians are more than just their Light.

During the Red War, Amanda had argued with Zavala after the Traveler was imprisoned and the Light lost. “There are thousands of people like me stranded down there in the City", she had said; “We're all the same now, Holliday. The Light is gone.” She was too angry to realize at the time, but looking back, she realizes she had taken the Guardianship for granted.

While she still didn’t like having to obey Zavala and leave citizens to die, it was paying off, in a way. Everything they did, they did for mankind. And it was beginning to thrive again, the best they could. She could feel it, even if her mission was far from over and new threats were still bound to come.

With a deep breath, she promises to face them gladly.

"Thank you, Ikora." The Shipwright says, eliciting a smile and a deep nod from the Vanguard that was still focused on writing the page.

Amanda pulls out her sketchbook and starts drawing over a sketch of herself. But before she continues, she has an idea for the final part of the 'secret-unnamed-project'.

"Can I, ah, look around for a book?”

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Yeah, actually. Wanna know where the name ‘Leviathan’ comes from.”

Ikora pulls up her own tablet, doing a query search for the word on the archive. It narrows down to multiple editions of a religious book from the old world, called ‘Bible’. Taking a break from writing, she hovers over to a particular section of the library, taking an intricate, gold-foil crafted book, meticulously turning its pages to where the query told her. “Job 41:1–34”, it said. She floats back to Amanda, laying the open book in front of her, before going back to her own seat.

She devours the verses, at first barely making heads or tails of what was on the pages. 'Why'd people back in the day write so weird?' She thought to herself. But eventually she managed to understand what it was about, and suddenly the name of Calus' ship made much more sense.

"Did you gather something new, my friend?"

Amanda recaps in her mind, making sure to try not to miss anything.

"Right, so- uh...” Amanda begins to explain her thoughts, trying not to let anything pass her by. “There was this man named Job, whose faith in this god couldn't be waived. In this part, the god is tryna teach Job how questioning a powerful being is futile by presenting him beasts so powerful that only he can control, one a them being a sea monster called, you guessed it, the Leviathan."

"How awfully appropriate."

"Yep. Apparently there were two beasts, a sea one, and a... land one."

Realization came into Amanda's mind as a name for her project finally snuck through her hands and into the paper.

"Reminds me of the World Serpent..." She adds nonchalantly, having doing some reading on the Edda in her free time back at Hiver’s place.

Ikora finally perks up from her book, stretching her writing hand. "You've been doing some homework."

"Hard not to, when you date a Warlock."

"And you are going to tell them about this… when?"

The one question Amanda dreaded, and it shows. Her 'Lightless Guardian' idea was nothing short of life-threatening, it's amazing she's got this far without being stopped.

Amanda had survived her whole life on the road, fighting off Fallen and hiding with hers and other families, but she would never, ever get rid of the pain of losing them. She survived and is happier than she's ever been, even if it's not a perfect life. Now, she was Hiver's family, and cannot bear the image of her lover having to go through the same — because of her own incompetence, nonetheless.

There was no telling how Hiver would react, the woman is already being a pile of anxieties, but of one thing she was sure.

It wouldn't be pretty.

“I don’t... know.“

"I can help if you'd like. But remember that this is your responsibility — and your burden."

She nods with a nervous face and gives a deep sigh.

“I’ll think of something. Can you take me back to the Tower?”

“Yes. And Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Congratulations on finding love. Hold on to it. It is powerful.”

As nervous as she is, she nods smiling.

“Ophiuchus?” Ikora says to no one. Her Ghost, white and red and with spiking protrusions on the back of his shell, appears in the air next to her shoulder.

“One second.” He replies, spinning.

With a flash, Amanda is back at the Tower’s bazaar. Eyeing the drawing she has just finished, she runs to the Courtyard, in search of a person who could help her make it look much better.

Trying to ignore the built-up tension, she runs.

The Awoken woman stationed at the Tower Courtyard is, as usual, cleaning up dust and reorganizing her inventory, because it’s not home yet, but it would be. Then she hears a familiar voice calling to her.

“Tess!”

“Oh! Hello, Amanda. What can I do for you today?” Tess greets the Shipwright, assuming her usual hands-behind-back posture and giving her usual, welcoming smile.

“See, I got a lil’ project o’ my own, and wanted an expert’s opinion on how ta make it look the sharpest it can.”

Amanda presents the sketchbook with her sketch to Tess, who analyzes it meticulously.

It’s a suit of armor. Titan armor, to be more precise.

“Gothic knight inspiration… baroque decor… exquisite. Practical, but carries a lot of elegance. This looks incredible. Also, you draw extraordinarily well.”

“Thank you,” The Shipwright says, blushing. “But it lacks color. What would ya say works?”

“Excuse me.“

Tess takes the notebook into what appears to be a scanner, converting Amanda’s drawing into a digital projection that can easily be colored, and bringing it to the desk where they both could see it.

“Right, in my opinion the ornaments and trim should definitely be gold.” She says, quickly selecting the decorative parts of the plates and changing their colors to a light golden color. “The style reminds me of Gjallarhorn and the old Iron Lords’ armor. Maybe we can make it a bit more orange…”

“Would black fit with it, maybe?”

She changes the main plate colors to black. Tess and Amanda look at each other in disapproval.

“How about…” Tess changes the color to a deep blue.

“Can you try dark gray?” Amanda asks, and Tess obeys. However, it still seems to not fit, and they experiment with a midpoint between blue and gray.

“What do you think?”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

Amanda scratches her nose, taking some time to think. The girls mix and match palettes for a while until finding one that fits the armor well.

Dark gray plates with crimson details, gold ornaments, and a white, gold-trimmed mark.

“Whew… Thank you, Tess. Anything I can do to repay ya?”

“The pleasure is mine. Although if you have some Silver on you…” Tess says, smiling smugly. “Just kidding.”

“My girlfriend does. She’ll probably come by again, she wants that duster you’re selling. Says she wants to look like a cowgirl.”

Tess laughs at this, eliciting a grin from Amanda, who picks her sketchbook and transfers the colored illustration file from the Awoken vendor to her own tablet, almost walking off and ready to send it to Crux/Lomar for forging.

“Oh, Amanda.”

“Yeah?” She turns back to face Tess.

“Does it have a name?” She asks in genuine curiosity.

Amanda smiles contagiously in pride, remembering what she read from the Bible in Ikora’s library. She had the perfect name for her project, given what was going down on the System — and how she’d fight it, if need be.

“The Behemoth.”