#and like! i was not immune to this!! i was really mad about the change too! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chimielie · 10 months

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what it is

summary: Oikawa x Reader. he makes it out of the friendzone (with some help)

word count: 1.3k

cw: nothing, oikawa in glasses

a/n: i wrote this in under an hour while heavily caffeinated?;!;!4& brain melting

“You’re late,” you say with a grin. Oikawa Tooru pouts at you, his team jacket folded over his arms. He’s already changed out of uniform, you notice; must have exchanged it for a white t-shirt and slacks in the locker room.

“I was swarmed,” he claims as the two of you start to walk together. You roll your eyes and don’t even bother making a jab about his popularity with the girls (and people of all genders, really). At this point, you’ve accepted that deranged fans come with the territory of being friends with the volleyball team captain.

You met Oikawa on the first day of your first year at Aoba Johsai and had been friends ever since. Even though you had no interest in the sport at first, his love for volleyball was infectious. He had even roped you into being the team’s manager. You still weren’t sure how he had pulled that off, but you didn’t mind too much—you’d grown to love the team and the sport too, in your own way.

Despite your closeness, you’d never really understood why he had a fan club, especially as a teenage school athlete. You expected his popularity to grow when (not if) he went professional, but the idea of swooning over some guy you had pre-calculus classes with was totally foreign to you. It was a running joke among your friends that you were immune to Oikawa’s looks and charming magnetism (and, honestly, to all four of the team’s upperclassmen. You could acknowledge how objectively attractive they all were even though none of them seemed to fit your niche).

Sometimes, you caught Oikawa making strange expressions while your friends teased you about not liking him. It felt like you were the only one who noticed these kinds of things, sometimes. You really liked being able to read him so easily: both of you had saved each other under the contact name “Platonic Soulmate” in your phones.

You chalked up the weird faces to your friend’s first-rate ego, and even though you knew that the notion of one person not being desperately in love with him wouldn’t scratch the surface of his self-esteem, you always found yourself taking his hand surreptitiously or leaning your head on his shoulder when you did see him looking mopey. He always perked up, after that, and all would be sunshine again.

Today, everyone else had bailed on you when you suggested a joint ice-cream-and-study-date before next week’s exams. Iwaizumi had claimed that Oikawa was too loud and always distracted him, so he couldn’t seriously try to study together. Matsukawa had to babysit and refused to bring the brats, as he affectionately called his siblings, to get sweets. Hanamaki had just quirked his eyebrows at you and said, “I don’t feel like third wheeling. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You hadn’t really understood what he meant, but you hadn’t questioned it.

Oikawa had almost begged off to do some solo practice, too, but you’d made a fuss about nearing the end of your high school experience and worrying that you would fall out of touch when volleyball became his whole life (even moreso than it was now!), and he’d caved with an overdramatic sigh and a soft look that told you he wasn’t all that mad about your guilt-tripping.

You’re broken from your thoughts when you reach the ice-cream shop, Oikawa jabbering in your ear about some drama you can’t keep up with.

“And then she told me—ah, I can’t read the menu. You know, they were late refilling my contact prescription this month, so I’ve been carrying around my glasses, I hate it. So unflattering.”

You worry your lip as you stare at the flavor chart, barely listening to him talk.

“I’m sure it’s,” you start, turning to him as he slides the case out of his pocket and puts the frames on his face in a smooth motion. “Um.”

The glasses are not unflattering, you think dumbly, staring at him, your sentence hanging unfinished. The glasses perch on his nose perfectly, making you appreciate, for the first time, the shape of his nose and his cheekbones. Had they always been that sharp? And since when had his eyes been so pretty, reflecting the sunlight in so many shades, framed with long eyelashes that would have made you jealous if you weren’t so—

You reach out and lift the glasses off his face slowly, hoping that the old, familiar features that you’d never felt anything but friendship-friendly feelings towards would return. You can still see it, though: the divot of his Cupid’s bow is appealing, now, his smooth skin glowing to you, his surprised expression fucking adorable. You drop the frames back onto his nose.

Very abruptly, whatever immunity you once had to Oikawa’s looks is demolished in one fell swoop.

“I have to go have a midlife crisis,” you say decisively, and march out of the shop.

“Hey! What—where are you going? You’re not even middle-aged?” Oikawa calls after you, and you try steadfastly to ignore him, but every sense seems to have been awakened to your friend. Your face flushes, and you start walking faster, nearing the pace of a jog even though your limbs are stiff.

You finally pull over in a quieter, slightly more secluded spot between two buildings. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes, trying to remind yourself to take deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Oikawa says, and you curse his long, athlete legs for having followed you so swiftly. “What’s wrong?”

You open your eyes. He’s still wearing the fucking glasses. Rest in peace, you think to yourself, surely my heart is going to give up soon, at the rate it’s going. Your lips part, but you can’t seem to get the words out. His worried gaze studies you until he finds something—exactly whatever you didn’t want him to see. A slow smile unfurls over his face, and you narrow your eyes. Ugh, how dare his smugness be attractive too, now?

“I should wear the glasses more often, huh?” He says, and you shake your head no frantically.

“Please don’t,” you say. “It’s, like, it doesn’t even matter anymore, anyway, I can’t unsee it now.”

“Unsee what?” He cocks his head, and he’s getting closer, and there’s nowhere to back away from him because you’re up against a wall—

“You’re hot!” You wail. “I saw it and I’m never gonna stop thinking it now, it doesn’t even matter what you wear, I’m doomed! This is the worst thing ever, ‘Kawa, how’m I supposed to go on… I can’t be your friend and a part of your fan club. I don’t think I can even be a part of your fan club ‘cause I don’t just think you’re hot, I think I have a crush on you—oh, my God, I have a c—”

Your increasingly frantic rambling is cut off by Oikawa sealing his lips to yours. The kiss is quick and sweet, and when he pulls away he still looks so, so handsome, and so concerned.

“Please breathe,” he says, and you nod, gaping at him in shock. “I like you too, okay? Please stop having a crisis.

“Okay,” you exhale, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “Okay. I’m still freaking out, though. I think the only way to stop it is to keep kissing me.”

Oikawa heaves a big, overdramatic sigh, and leans in, his glasses bumping your face; giving in to you, just like he always does.

#WAS this inspired by the time i saw my bf in glasses and literally went to my friend’s dorm and screamed for sixteen seconds (he timed it)#well i’m not telling. that’s a secret.#oikawa: i like you #reader (visions of oikawa in that godawful plaid outfit swimming thru their head): i think even that’s hot now. i have to get a lobotomy #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tōru x reader #oikawa fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu!! x reader fluff #hq x reader fluff #oikawa x reader fluff #hq!! fluff #the word fluff doesnt look real anymore

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reputationmunson · 1 year

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hi mads! how r you? i was wondering if i may request a enemies to lovers with fake dating between reader and steve? where she's shy and kinda nice with everyone but somehow doesn't get along with him... and suddenly they have a situation and have to pretend to be dating... btw, love your writing!

i’m doing well and i hope you are too :) thank you for the request and i’m so happy you enjoy my writing that means so much to me! i hope you like this and i hope it's okay i'm making it multiple parts!

Crossing Lines | S.H x fem!reader

Part One | part two | part three | part 4

summary: Steve isn’t your biggest fan (understatement of the year), so why does he ask you to be his fake girlfriend for a wedding?

content: enemies to (eventual) lovers, fake dating, mentions of drinking, swearing, a guy at the bar is kind of creepy, mentions of reader and eddie having a past fling, use of y/n (not too often)

word count: 3.7K

a/n: this is a little shorter than I anticipated, but I’m going to try and make future parts longer.

There’s something strange about having an “enemy”. Especially when that enemy is Steve Harrington. You don’t exactly consider him an arch nemesis, but there’s really no other way you can describe your relationship with him. You aren’t friends with him by any means, not anymore, despite your several attempts at kindness.

Cupcakes you made him got thrown in the trash, smiles you’ve given him had been reciprocated with glares, and every time you spoke was the perfect time for him to roll his eyes.

No matter how many times you try to pinpoint a moment in your life where you might’ve offended him or done something to make him have such a great dislike for you, there’s nothing you can come up with.

You never had many interactions with Steve in high school, which isn’t very surprising. You always tried to stay in the background with your nose buried in a book and he was the complete opposite of that.

You admit you had a teeny tiny crush on him in high school, much like the other girls. How could you not? He was so charismatic and carried himself with confidence. You weren’t as immune to the Harrington charm as much as you liked to pretend you were.

It wasn’t until he became friends with Robin a few years ago that you had your first real conversation with him. She’s been your best friend since you were six and if she was convinced he changed, then you were willing to give him a chance.

He seemed like a completely different person than the boy you used to pass in the halls as he talked about how wasted he got the night before with his herd of wannabe Steves.

He was friendly and also a little bit of a clutz. Sort of awkward, as well. He was still handsome, though. A lot more handsome. His eyes were kinder and his hair as lovely as ever. You always wondered how it managed to still look so soft after that much product usage.

After the first two months of what seemed to be a friendship, he flipped the switch. His words to you became grumbles and he always kept a distance from you, like he’d go into anaphylactic shock if any part of him accidentally brushed yours.

It drove you mad. The one thing in life you always tried to do was treat everyone with kindness no matter what and he made it nearly impossible. You had more friends in your life now than you thought imaginable and it was nearly perfect, but all you seemed to be focused on is how much Steve hates you.

From Steve’s point of view, he would never outright say that he hates you. It’s more of an annoyance. Your shared friend group constantly raves about how great and delightful you are. The kids, who aren’t kids anymore but always will be to Steve, idolize you. Everyone thinks you walk around with rainbows and sprinkles shooting out of every single one of your orifices.

You and your delicious baked goods that you make in celebration every time someone so much finds a lucky penny on the ground. You and your stupid perfume that makes you smell like a damn bouquet of flowers. Your dumb dimples and eyes that some might claim light up a room every time you smile. Don’t even get him started on the short, nonsensical pleated skirts you wear.

You’ll probably be wearing one of those skirts tonight when you all go out for drinks later and he dreads it, terribly. Definitely not because he’s attracted to you, no, that’s insane, but because of all the guys that are going to swoon over you and he’ll have to be responsible for making sure none of those creeps try to touch you.

Robin made it very clear to him early on that you are off limits. She told him he wasn’t ready for a girl like you. You’re different from the girls he takes on dates and sleeps with. You aren’t a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of gal, as she put it. . She said you’re a hopeless romantic, spending the rest of your life with one person, the type of love they write songs about, kind of gal. Steve wants to settle down one day, but he also isn’t ready for that yet.

Apparently, Robin forgot to give Eddie the same speech because Steve caught the two of you in a hot and heavy makeout sesh at a party awhile ago. Steve put all of the puzzle pieces together that you and Eddie were secretly hooking up. It wasn’t hard to figure out with all the glances, giggles, and body language. Plus, the sexual tension was so obvious.

No one else knew, neither of you even know that Steve’s aware anything ever happened.

Yes, you and Eddie were hooking up. Past tense. It was nice at first, way more than nice. You’d never done the whole no strings attached thing and you felt comfortable with him, but then you both quickly realized that it would end in complete disaster and called off the agreement. Surprisingly, there was no awkwardness after, but you did miss him sometimes.

It was gratifying to be out of your comfort zone, but you needed more. You wanted a love that felt like an easy Sunday morning everyday, but as long as you were confined to Hawkins, you doubt that you’d ever find it.

The bar was absolutely packed tonight, crawling with regulars, college kids back for the summer, and high school students with fake ids. There was a bachelor party sitting in the corner shouting obscenities and catcalling any girl that walked by them.

It was overwhelming. Usually this place, even on its busiest night, is still manageable to walk to.

Your walk to the table where your friends are sat feels like you’re climbing mount everest.

“y/n! you’re here!” Robin hops out of her seat at the high top table and throws her arms around you, squeezing you a little too tight. You can smell the tequila on her breath and her cheeks are flushed. That, combined with her affection for you, alerts you she’s one drink away from being hammered.

Everyone else happily greets you, apart from Steve who gives you a tight lipped smile and takes a drink of his beer so he doesn’t have to say hi because god forbid he speaks one of the shortest words in the english language to you.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink. Does anyone need anything?” you ask. “I’ll go get your drink. It’s a madhouse in here, what do ya want?” Eddie offers and you lay your hand on his shoulder, making Steve subtly roll his eyes so no one notices. “That’s sweet, Eds, thank you. I’ll have a vodka cran please”

“He’s, like, so in love with you” Robin says and you laugh. Steve laughs too, but not out of being humored like you are. “He’s not in love with me. He’s just nice, unlike most of the guys in here” you say the last part a bit louder and look at Steve when you say it. His eyes roll again and you think that must be the only thing he’s good at because he does it all the time.

“Your beverage, madam” Eddie says as he hands you your drink and sets down a tray of tequila shots for the table. “Do we really need more shots, Eddie?” Steve groans. “Tapping out already, Harrington? I guess we shouldn’t be surprised” you tease and he scoffs. “Oh, that’s just rich coming from you”

“heyheyhey, can you two have your lovers quarrel another time? We’re all here to have a good time, okay?” Robin reminds you and you give her a sorry smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s not waste this tequila!” you exclaim

You all cheers your shot glasses and when you lick the salt of your hand, Steve’s eyes can’t leave you. He’s still staring when you put the lime in your mouth afterwards, you close your eyes in satisfaction and suck out all the juices. He hopes he never has to watch you take another shot again.

When your eyes open, you see Steve staring at you and he immediately looks away and pretends to be occupied by whatever the bachelor party to his left is doing. His mind drifts to the wedding he has to go to next weekend. One of his cousins on his fathers side of the family is getting married and he’s dreading it. Being surrounded by his snooty, rich family members who are all CEO’s of some business and they’re all married to or engaged to the ‘perfect woman’ that they undoubtedly cheat on while away on ‘business’ trips.

Speaking of business, they can’t keep their noses out of Steve’s life. When are you going to get a ‘real’ job?, when are you gonna settle down and have kids?, are you still living in that tiny apartment?. So no, he isn’t exactly looking forward to telling his family he’s a single loser who practically lives in a shoebox.

“Steve? Are you okay?” your voice brings him back from his thoughts. “Yep. perfectly fine”

“Ya sure? You seem distracted” he hates that you care. Eighty percent of the time, you’re still so nice to him, apart from a few jabs every now and then, despite his coldness towards you. “Just thinking, so you don’t have to pretend that you care.”

“Okay…I’m gonna go to the bathroom” you say before leaving the table.

“Why are you such a dick to her? She’s the nicest one out of all of us.” Eddie’s tone is sharp as he defends you. “I’m just stressed about this wedding I have to go to and my entire family is going to be there and I’m the only one without a date so that’s just another thing they’re going to criticize me for” Steve sighs and looks down at his drink.

“How about that girl you went out with last month? Trisha?” Nancy suggests and Steve scrunches his nose. “No can do. I realized I slept with her roommate after the first date” he cringes at the memory of walking into her apartment and seeing a familiar face sitting on the couch.

“You could borrow nance? She’d just have to take off the engagement ring” Jonathan jokes and the table laughs. Steve considers it for a half of a second, but realizes his parents already know about her engagement to jonathan. “Nice job, Steve. You let the only decent girl who liked you get away and now she’s with that byers boy” he recalls his dad saying in a snarky tone.

“I have the perfect idea!” Robin exclaims and everyone waits for her to continue “you should ask y/n to be your date!”

“That’s a terrible idea, Robin. Why would I do that?” It isn’t a terrible idea. His family would be over the mood to see him with a girl like you. You’re kind, funny, smart and gorgeous, but he’d never admit those things to anyone, least of all you. But the thought of spending a whole weekend with you seems like torture.

“Actually, that could work. You need to get over this weird hatred you have for her and this could be some good bonding! Maybe you’ll finally realize how great she is” Nancy states. “I know you all worship the ground she works on, but that isn’t good enough reason to ask her to pretend to be my girlfriend”

“Just think about it, okay?” Nancy says, kindly and he half-heartedly nods. The conversation ceases as you arrive back at the table and everyone stares at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. Nothing. We just missed you” You know Robin is acting weird about something, but you let it go. “um, okay. I missed you guys too for the whole five minutes I was gone. I'm gonna go get another drink.” you tell them before making your way to the bar.

“Hey, beautiful. Wanna take a shot with us?” One of the men from the bachelor party asks as you walk by their table. “No thanks. Have a good night, guys” you walk away and hope they leave you alone.

One of the guys gets up to follow you. Steve’s keeping an eye on you and moves to get up when he sees the guy following you. “I’ll be right back, guys”

“C’mon, baby, let me buy you a drink” Steve hears him say to you as you’re standing at the bar. You look uncomfortable and with the bar packed, you barely have a way to escape. “I already said no. Just go back to your friends”

When he moves closer, Steve steps in between the two of you. “She said no, man. Just leave her alone, alright?”

“you her boyfriend?” he slurs and Steve can’t believe the words that come out of his mouth “yeah, i am. so, fuck off, okay?” your eyes widen when Steve says he’s your boyfriend.

“Alright, alright.” the guy puts his hand up in defense “she’s all yours, buddy”

“are you okay? you’re not gonna cry or anything are you?” he asks when he turns around to face you. “No, I'm fine. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you” you smile at him sweetly.

“It’s whatever. Don’t let it get to your head” And just like that the Steve you know is back. “Can you tell everyone that I went outside for some air?” you ask and he nods then you go your separate ways. He watches the door to make sure you get outside alright.

“So, hypothetically” Steve starts once he returns to the table “How would I go about asking her to be my fake girlfriend?”

“Just be honest about it. Oh! and offer to pay for everything!” Robin says. Her advice could not be more vague. “I still think this is a terrible idea, but I literally have no other options, so when this goes to shit just remember it was all of your fault” he tells them before turning around and bearing the crowd to get outside.

When he walks out the door and into the fresh air, he sees you standing up against the brick exterior of the building. “Don’t tell me you came out here to check on me. Thought you said I shouldn’t let anything go to my head?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You are not making this any easier” He puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back, letting out a sigh. “Making what any easier?”

“I have a proposition for you”

“I don’t do prostitution, Steve”

“It’s not- would you just let me talk?” he groans and you make a zipping motion over your lips and throw away the invisible key. “Okay, you owe me a favor after what I did for you, right?- don’t make that face you totally do- anyways, I have a wedding to go next weekend and my family is always harping on me about having a girlfriend and I was thinking-”

“you want me to be your girlfriend?” you ask in a skeptical tone.

“What did I say about letting me talk? and no not girlfriend, fake girlfriend. Just for three days”

“You can barely stand to be around me and you want me to be your pretend girlfriend?”

“Look, I know it’s weird, but we don't have to worry about feelings or some shit like that being a problem because there’s no way that would happen” he explains. “What do I get out of it?”

“A super fancy hotel and all expenses paid. You’ll even get to pretend that you’re dating someone as hot as I am” he smirks and you huff out a humorless laugh. “You’ll pay for everything?” he nods “you’ll drive, too? I hate driving” he nods again “and you’ll be nice to me?”

“Ugh, fine, okay. I will be so nice to you that you’ll puke. Is that a yes?”

“Sure, why not. Can I talk in a British accent and pretend to be part of the royal family? ya know, to fit in with the rich people?”

“Absolutely not”

“Why are you no fun, Stevie?” you whine. “Stevie?” his brows furrow. “yeah, i’m thinking that as your new girlfriend, my nickname for you is Stevie”

“Fake girlfriend” he reminds you “Stevie, you’re so uptight.” you pout at him and he hates himself for his eyes lingering on your lips.

“So, what time should I come over tomorrow?” you ask like you’ve already been invited to his apartment. “What?”

“We need to hang out so you can get used to not acting like I don’t have the plague. Plus, we need to get to know each other” you state. “Fine. Come over tomorrow night and we’ll go over everything”

“Looking forward to it, Stevie”

You knock on Steve’s door at 8 p.m. sharp with a bottle of wine in hand because let’s face it, you’re both going to need it. “Hi, Steviekins” you greet as he opens the door. “That’s worse than Stevie”

“You love Stevie and you know it”

“Just come inside” he grumbles. “I ordered a pizza if you want a slice. It’s in the kitchen”

Once the wine is poured and you sit on the couch to eat, you pull out your notebook and two pens from your bag. “Are we writing each other love notes or something?”

“No, doofus. We’re taking notes on each other. Our likes, dislikes, details about our relationship” you tear out a piece of paper and give him a pen. Even your pens and notebook were nauseatingly adorable. “If I knew this was going to be like school I would’ve asked Robin”

“ha!” you laugh loudly “she would punch you if you tried to hold her hand or do anything that was even remotely romantic” you point out “and you’re not going to punch me?”

“I’d like to say no, but I’d hate to be a liar”

You and Steve practically chug your wine and pour a second glass before playing your own version of twenty questions.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask to start. “My favorite color? you really think my family is going to question you on shit like that?” he responds and you glare at him. “Okay, fine. um, blue, I guess”

“That’s so basic”

“Then what’s yours?”

“all of them” you reply. “all of them? really?” he snidely remarks. “yes, moving on”

You learn an abundant amount of things about each other, much against Steve’s will. You know each other's favorite candies, movies, songs, all the way to childhood memories and discussing scars you have and how you got them.

Then you moved on to the details of your relationship. Friends first, fell in love, you know the deal. You’ve “been together” for five months. Long enough that it’s somewhat serious, short enough for it to make sense that you haven’t met his parents yet.

The bottle of wine is almost gone and Steve’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a bit glossy. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you might even think he looks pretty.

“Can I ask you a question? and not one about your favorite food or anything like that” you ask in a soft voice and you seem a little nervous. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why did you ask me to do this? i’m like the last person you should’ve asked”

“That’s actually why I asked. If I asked a girl that has any romantic interest in me at all, then it might get confusing, ya know? With you, once these three days are over we can go back to normal. There’s no risk of us falling for each other”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. I have an observation, by the way. You always speak of love like it’s a terrible thing. Why is that”

“Holy shit that’s a loaded question. Um, well the first time I was in love was in high school and we all know how that turned out. Haven’t been in a serious relationship since so I guess it’s hard for me to believe that it’s as great as everyone says it is” he sighs. He’s never drinking wine again. If it makes him this vulnerable with you he can’t imagine what it would be like if someone else was sitting here.

“Do you still love her? Nancy?” you wonder. “No, I don’t. I have love for her, but just as a friend. What about you?”

“No, I’m not in love with Nancy. She’s pretty and all, but can’t say i’m in love with her”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re always raving about some dumb romance novel, yet I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend.” he says and you sigh “There’s not much to tell. Hopeless romantic with standards that are too high”

There’s a hint of sadness in your voice and you clear your throat before speaking up again. “So, I think that’s enough for tonight. I know way more about you than I ever wanted to”

“Right back at ya. I’ll walk you to the door”

“It’s a short distance, I’ll manage”

“Hey, I gotta start working on being chivalrous as your fake boyfriend. Can you stop being stubborn for one second?”

He walks you ten steps to the door and even opens it for you. “Same time tomorrow night? unless you're busy” you say, halfway out the door. “What could we possibly have left to learn about each other?”

“We still have to work on acting like we’re in love. You might have to put your arm around me this weekend. Oh, the horrors!” you gasp dramatically and he suppresses a laugh because he refuses to let you think you have the ability to make him laugh.

“Tomorrow's fine. But if something comes up and you have to skip that would totally be okay”

“You’re such an ass” you whine. “Not as much as you are” he retorts.

You flip him off as you walk away and he does the same.

He can’t wait for next weekend to be over so he can go back to pretending like you barely even exist.

part two coming soon to a screen near you ;)

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things fic

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katiexpunk · 6 months

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Heat Wave | Pairing Javier Peña X fem!Reader

Summary: In the sweltering haze of a Colombian heatwave, everyone's on edge, including you, your nerves fried crispier than plantains in a hot skillet. Even Javi is not immune - his nights spent tossing and turning, the relentless heat driving him mad. Imagine his surprise - and yours - when he knocks on your door late one night, a little buzzed and sweaty, craving a distraction. What's a generous soul to do but let him in and share some cool, sweet cholado? As the night unfurls, the heat outside might be unbearable, but inside, things are just starting to warm up.

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI. I say this with love -- GTFO.

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Javi wasn't super nice to reader and has to gravel a bit, female masturbation, references to the cartels, use of pet names (Hermosa, Cariño), emotions, reader cries, sweat, fingering, female stimulation, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up, don't lead by my written example), direct p in v, pussy slap, somewhat rough sex, sensual sex, creampie, and cum eating.

Authors Note: Eek! This is my first time writing for Javi, so be kind to be hunnie bunnies. Joel will always have my smutty heart, but damn, Javi can fucking get it. Special thanks to @sydneyinacoma for being my personal hype woman on this one, and to @josephquinnswhore for telling me this premise wasn't total trash. Ily bbs.

Also I often edit after I post (hello typos) so if you saw one originally sorry 🫣

The window is wide open, but the curtains aren’t moving; only offering a slight flutter now and again, offering a deceptive promise of a breeze that you know will never come. You lay there, restlessly, the cotton sheets sticking to your damp skin. The eerie silence of the room was punctuated by the whirring fan overhead, its blades churning the stale, hot air in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It’s nearly midnight, hours since you’d gone to bed, but yet, you find yourself staring at the ceiling, cursing why you ever decided to move to Colombia. Had you known it would be the hottest summer on record, you might have thought differently and denied the job.

You turn to your side, annoyed at the hair clinging to the back of your neck and forehead like velcro. You stare at the alarm clock on your nightstand, watching the numbers slowly change, like a shitty version of trying to count sheep, but there’s no point. You’re wide awake, and there doesn’t seem to be anything that can change that.

You roll onto your back to splay out like a starfish, hoping the gap between your limbs will somehow offer you some reprieve from your burning core, and you stare at the ceiling. You wonder if you’ll actually get any sleep tonight. The heat was enough to keep you awake, but there were other things that would probably prevent you from dozing off if the heat weren’t a factor.

Outside of the thud of your own pulse, it’s completely quiet in your apartment. You’re sure people are awake, but no sound comes from Steve and Connie’s apartment next door; nor from Javi’s. Odd, you think, considering work has been slow as of late and most of Colombia, even the cartels have hidden themselves away from the relenting sun and suffocating humidity, too tired to do anything substantial.

In your haze, eyes transfixed on the ceiling panels above you, you try your best to think about something else, anything but him, but your last conversation replays in your brain like a bad rerun.

You knew he wasn’t really the type to settle down, and you were more than aware of his reputation, yet you let yourself hope that this situation might be different, that you might be the one to change him.

He had insisted that it was for the best and that he wasn’t the right guy for you; that it should be simple for you to move forward and erase any trace of your connection, and that he should do the same. Perhaps that was the reality of it; maybe it was only you who had experienced a heightened sense of joy during those countless nights he held you close. When wrapped in his embrace, the burden of your conscience seemed to lighten, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever found comfort in your presence as well.

Your mind begins to drift to the ways he made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. You can still feel his pillowy lips leaving a soft trail of kisses up your neck and across your jaw, cock buried deep inside of you. The memory of it sits low in your belly, adding to the stickiness between your thighs, now a cruel mixture of sweat and arousal.

Your mind swirls with thoughts of him, and you decide that there might be one thing you’ve yet to try that might be able to help you fall asleep. You lay there, trying to focus, to let your mind sink into better days, better nights, ones you had spent wrapped around him in every way possible.

You tease your fingertips along the thin fabric of your tank top, trying to ignore the way the sweat that’s seeped into its fibers causes it to bunch up as you stroke your hand down your sternum. You circle your nipples through the fabric, trying to call forward any sense of arousal or sensuality. You slide your hand under the waistband of your linen shorts and place your hand between your legs, resting it atop your lace underwear, already wet, courtesy of Colombia and your incessant thoughts of Javi.

Your fingers are quite delicate compared to his, and you miss the thickness only he can seem to provide. You slide your underwear to the slide, and drag your index finger through your folds, bringing your slick up to your clit. Your hips lift at the sensation, and you let out a little moan.

You begin to slowly draw small circles, eventually increasing your pace enough to provide a nice mix of movement and pressure. Your restless thoughts of him have you so keyed up, already so close to the cliff of your orgasm you can practically taste it. Your body heats even more as you chase your high, desperate for a release, practically begging for an escape from this inferno. Like a cord about to snap, you swear you’re starting to see stars when you hear it – knock, knock – and the distraction cruelly pulls you back from the edge, your pressure gauge falls, and your orgasm retreats back inside you like you scared it.

No! Fuck.

Now hot, tired, and sexually frustrated, you let out a long sigh. You slide your underwear back in place and withdraw your hand from your shorts. You wipe your wet fingers on the fabric beneath you, gaze at the clock once more, and wonder who the hell would be at your door at this hour. You rise, legs still a little shaky from your would-be orgasm, and walk over to answer it.

Your aggravation at the disruption vanishes the moment you clock his face through the peephole. You unlock the top and bottom lock and release the chain from the door, opening it to completely see him.

He looks like he’s been chewed up and spat out, his hair a disheveled mess of thick, dark, damp curls, small beads of perspiration collecting on his lush, tan skin. You’ve seen him like this before, a look of affliction, hiding behind soft brown eyes. But there’s something else flickering in his eyes – some kind of yearning. For what? You haven’t got a clue. He’s made his stance on your relationship very clear, or at least, the parade of women filing in and out of his apartment speaks volumes.

You lean up against the door frame, waiting for him to speak, to give some sort of explanation as to why he’s on your doorstep.

“Hey,” is all he says, eyeing you up and down, eyes lingering a little too long on your exposed stomach.

You’re positive you must look like a mess right now, but you don’t really care, you feel like one.

“Javi – is everything okay? It’s late,” you answer quietly.

He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, then shifts the weight from one hip to another, unsure of himself, obviously uncomfortable.

“I know, ‘m really sorry to bother you. Can I come in?” he asks, looking at you with his big puppy dog eyes, and you can’t turn him down. You step aside so he can enter your small living room, hoping he can’t smell your arousal on you, hoping that he’ll assume the musk lingering in the air was just from the cracked window, the outside world seeping in.

Your apartment was rather small to begin with, but with his presence, it seemed to shrink before your eyes. He walks over to the center of the room, and pauses once he sees the couch; a memory of him railing you on it flashes through his brain.

No.

No, he won’t let himself think about that. He swallows the thought, and palms at his jeans to adjust himself. He’s not here for that, he’s here to gravel.

You let out a sigh, and walk over to him. You come to stand right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to commit the sight of you like this to memory – all pretty, skin clammy, cheeks a darker shade of pink than normal. You pause before saying anything, still unsure why he’s here in the first place.

“Can I get you some water, whiskey, anything?” you ask, cringing at how awkward it feels to play hostess with him now, considering he’s explored every inch of your body with his tongue.

Javier shakes his head and runs a hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat collecting there as if he’s deciding what to say.

“Mmm, no. Probably shouldn’t have any more whiskey tonight,” he admits. “Some water would be good. You don’t happen to have anything cold by chance, do you? This heat is fucking killing me,” he says.

“Actually, yeah, I do,” you say, your voice an octave too high, remembering your creation earlier this evening. You nod to Javi to take a seat on the couch, giving him a perfect view to watch as you saunter over to the kitchen. You open the freezer and reveal a container with a kaleidoscope of colors. It closes with a thud, and you open the fridge next, pulling from it a bowl of fresh fruit – juicy chunks of mango, sweet pineapple, zesty oranges – and a can of whipped cream. Javier watches intently as you gather it all neatly onto a little tray, glide over to the end of the tiny kitchen to grab two spoons from a drawer, and close it with a quick thrust of your hip.

You place the tray on the coffee table. The couch lets out a little squeak as you find your seat next to his.

“Fresh cholado – made it tonight,” you say, offering him a spoon.

You neatly assemble the fruit on top of the colorful slushy mixture. The sound of the whipped cream releasing its contents onto the top of the fruit causes the hair on the back of his neck to rise to stand.

“Go ahead, dig in,” you say, offering him a kind smile. God, you’re always so sweet and nice to him, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

Both with a spoon in hand now, you delve into the sensory masterpiece, pausing in silence as you savor the blend of textures and tastes, a welcomed escape from the heat.

Javier closes his eyes and lets out a small hum in delight.

“This is so good, holy shit,” he praises, not even finishing with his latest bite before he’s digging in for another.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, and you really mean it.

The elephant in the room becomes harder and harder to ignore.

“Why are you here, Javier?” you ask, voice a little unsure.

His eyes hold your gaze for a moment, and he swallows his last bite and then places the metal spoon onto the tray in front of you both. He doesn’t say anything, instead, he holds out his hand, his eyes pleading with you to take it. You hesitate, before deciding to place your palm in his, allowing his fingers to wrap around yours. He stares at it, the pad of his thumb tracing over the back of it, and he inches closer to you.

Neither of you says anything, but your brows furrow and you look at him, hoping he can see the pain – the hurt he inflicted on you – in your eyes.

“Cariño,” he whispers softly, and you sense the obvious change in his tone. His hand releases yours, and he brings his palm up to land on your cheek. Maybe it was just the heat playing tricks with your emotions, but the simple action causes tears to well up in your eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admits.

Oh god, he already broke your heart once, was he here to just do it all over again? The thought causes your already battered heart to sink into your stomach.

“I can’t pretend like I don’t need you anymore,” he continues, “like you’re not the only thing - the only person - in Colombia preventing me from losing myself,” he adds.

The sudden truth bomb he’s dropped leaves you speechless.

“I —” you start to say, but the broken silence is all it takes before Javi pulls you in closer, hugging your waist, dragging you up onto his lap, your knees straddling him. You try to ignore the uncomfortable press of his DEA badge digging into your inner thigh but secretly hope it leaves a mark.

Fuck, it feels so good to be on him like this again. You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do. You rest one hand on his shoulder and instinctively run the other hand’s fingers through his hair. Old habits die hard. For the first time in a while, you feel a bit of relief; you wager he must feel the same by the hefty sigh that escapes his lips.

“Javi – I don’t,” you pause, your words trembling, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” you say, allowing your hands to wrap around his torso and your head to fall into the crook of his neck. Hot tears begin to spill from your eyes and fall to the fabric of his shirt, the weight of your confession compounding with all of your other frustrations from the evening.

“I know, baby. I just…fuck, I don’t know how to do this. I suck at the emotional,” he admits, gently patting the back of your hair and holding you close to him. He pauses before guiding your face up to look at him and continues, “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was just scared; didn’t want to get hurt, or even worse, hurt you, but I realize now that I did, and I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. Shit. I just… I need you, I need you more than I need air in my lungs,” he adds, and you hear the break in his voice.

“You do?” you ask, hating how pathetic you must sound, your eyes puffy and cheeks wet from your crying.

“I’ll always be here for you, cariño, if you’ll let me. I know I don’t deserve it, but do you think you can forgive me?” he softly mutters. Seeing you trying to blink away the silent years trailing down your cheeks, he reaches up and swipes away at them with his thumb, and his hand stays there, cupping your face.

You nod yes in response.

Just like that, it’s almost as if everything were still the same; as if it were just you and him against it all. A thought of doubt crosses your mind, one saying this might just be temporary, your heart still unsure if you can trust him, but you allow yourself to cave into the feeling all the same.

He holds you quietly against his chest, the pressure of his strong arm around you is soothing. You feel his cock begin to stiffen under you, and it causes something to stir in your lower belly. God, you want him. It was less than half an hour ago that you were coaxing yourself to orgasm with just the thought of him inside you.

Your chest begins to flush, and the heat your bodies generate together mingles with the warm air in the room around you. You slightly press off of him to find some reprieve from the burning surface of his chest and place your hand on it, his shirt slightly clinging to it as you do.

You lean forward and press a soft, breathless kiss on his lips, one laced with the taste of tears. It’s delicate at first, as if to test the waters of your reunification after so much time apart, but it’s not before long that it deepens; his tongue exploring the recesses of your mouth, your mutual lust boiling to the surface. His hands glide down from your waist to your hips and he grips onto the delicious flesh there, inviting you to grind against him.

Your hips roll on him, and you feel a sudden disdain for the clothing that clings to your skin like a second skin. The fabric is damp and heavy, and with each roll of your hips, it chafes against you. Your eyes tell you that you’re not the only one who’s uncomfortable, Javier’s face in a slight twist, one that screams both pleasure and pain.

“You know, Colombia’s hot enough without the two of us making more of it,” you say, letting a little giggle out as you do, tilting your head back, letting your hair fall behind. Javier trails kisses down the side of your neck and then darts his tongue out to lick the hollow of your throat. The action causes your breath to hitch.

“You’re right, Cariño, we really should do something about these layers, hmm,” he purrs, and you catch his drift.

He releases both of his hands from your hips and helps you lift your tanktop over your head, your perky tits bounce in response and the friction of the fabric on your nipples causes them to stiffen. One of his hands finds its home on your hip, and the other comes to grab your breast. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, the feeling sending a tiny zap through you as he does. His mouth finds your chest and his tongue trails the valley of your breasts before slowly making its way over to the stiff peak of your other exposed nipple. A low, hungry growl leaves his chest, it’s a needy and desperate sound that goes straight to your cunt.

“Javi –” you moan, “clothes,” It’s not a question, but a request, one he’s happy to oblige.

He begins to undo the buttons of his linen shirt, and you watch in anticipation, his stiff cock under you making you impatient. His shirt joins yours on the floor, and you trail your hand down the expanse of his chest, noting the little freckles that pepper it; the small detail drives you to another level of impatience.

You swing your leg over him, feet coming to the floor; a temporary but necessary adjustment so you can step out of your shorts and panties. You stand there before him, happily naked, pleased to be free of your cloth prison. The air is thick and hot, but it feels good to have so much exposed skin for the first time tonight. With his eyes dragging over every inch of your body, you eagerly watch back as his hands come to his waistline and he undoes his metal belt buckle.

You look down and notice his boots are still on; you drop to your knees in front of him and you swear you hear his heart thump in excitement at what you might do. You look back up to lock eyes with him, and you reach down to his shoes and begin to undo the laces of his boots. Fuck, that’s definitely not what he thought you were going to do. With his feet free, his fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his denim jeans, and he slowly undoes them, lifting his hips slightly to let them over his ass as he drags them down, taking his briefs with them, until everything is off his body.

Now both totally naked, you rise to take a seat on him, but his hand darts out to your shoulder as if to hold you in place on your knees. He spits into his free palm, and takes his heavy cock in hand, slowly gripping the length of it up and down. You salivate at the sight, the tip of him is red and weepy with pre-cum.

“I think you look pretty good where you are, Hermosa,” he says, “always so pretty, especially like this,” he adds, still stroking himself.

You love when he uses his Spanish on you, his words sending a surge of desire through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity as the sticky tread of arousal pools between your legs.

You inch closer to him, your hands finding his knees, and you gently pry them apart, creating just enough space for you between them. You look at him as if to say let me, and he releases his grip on himself, and you take over stroking his length. You lick your lips and position him at the entrance of your mouth. You place a soft kiss on the head of his cock, and smear the precum that’s gathered there on your lips like chapstick.

You hum in delight as you sink down onto him, letting your jaw relax so you can take him deeper, savoring the salty taste of his skin. He gathers your sweaty hair into a makeshift ponytail and holds it back from your face, allowing you to work him without distraction. And god, you’re into it – the sounds are filthy, but your delighted little moans have Javier unraveling like a runaway spool of thread. You look up at him through your wet lashes and let out a little wink, an innocent act considering your practically sucking his sanity out through his dick and having fun with it.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna have to stop or you’re gonna make me cum,” he says, holding the hair on your head taught as if to warn you to slow down, letting his head fall to the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling as if to think about something other than how good you’re making him feel. You let out a satisfied mew, and release him, a little pop sound fills the air as you do.

“C’mere –,” he says, a little breathless and sweaty. You rise to stand, your knees pink and sore from the ground, and he stands to join you. At full height, you have to look up to see his face, and you feel him grab both of your hips and twist you around onto all fours, your upper body resting on the couch for support. “My turn to taste you, Cariño,” he says, using his knee to nudge you, and encourage you to spread your legs open for him.

With your tummy flat on the couch cushions, your ass is on full display, and he fucking loves it. Using his middle finger, he inserts it into your needy cunt, gently curling it to sweetly abuse your g-spot. The moans that escape your lips only encourage him further, a light chuckle follows when he reminds you that he’s only using one finger and that he’s just getting started with you. He uses his other hand and pushes your hips and ass deeper into the couch, while his one finger stays in place, gently rubbing the spongey texture of your g-spot without breaking, making you squirm under the bare minimum he’s providing you.

You’re already wet, but once he thinks it’s enough, he extracts his finger, and uses his hands to lift your hips up, making you arch your back for him. He crouches down further to plant a tender kiss on your ass, biting into it very dimly, eliciting a little yelp from you in response. He slowly begins to move lower and lower, kissing the lines where your ass meets your thighs. He taps your cunt a few times with his thick fingers, each time getting a bit rougher, sending a stinging sensation through your whole body. The rough taps eventually become a full-on slap, and you move your hips in desperation, a mellow whimper escapes your lips begging him to give you what you need. He flattens his tongue, and moves it across the expanse of your dripping folds, lapping at you like you’re the cold refreshment he needs.

The tip of his tongue finds your clit, and he stays there momentarily to give it a little suck before moving it upwards, licking the whole length of your pussy. He continues to do this a few more times, before finally stopping and focusing his attention on your now swollen clit. You’re barely breathing as his tongue relentlessly pleasures your needy little clit. He brings his forearms onto the back of your ass, and uses his thumbs to spread your outer lips open completely for him.

“Javi – holy fuck,” you moan as he slides his greedy tongue inside you, moving it in and out as breathless moans continue to leave your lungs.

“Taste so good, sweeter than the fuckin’ cholado,” he praises, and you’re nearly gone at his words.

He continues to eat at you, but releases a hand and then brings it back up, under you this time, as his fingers begin to circle smooth circles over your clit once more; your whole body begins to shake, it’s so much. You’re moaning and whimpering at the feeling of both his hands and his mouth on you.

“Come for me – want you to soak my face,” he says, his encouragement is all you need and you snap. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses under his attention. He rides out your orgasm with you, ensuring no drop of your sweet juices goes to waste. Once your shaking has subsided, he lifts his chest and you readjust, bringing your weight to your forearms on the couch.

“Javi, need you, god, please,” you’re all but practically begging for him.

‘I’ve got you baby,” he coos, “gonna give you what you need,” he says as he strokes his cock a few times, and then places the tip at your slick and waiting hole. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it was your fucking job, like it was made for him.

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a song made as a result of your wetness and his thighs, spurs you on. He reaches out and grips the back of your neck, and jerks you backward into him, forcing you to arch your back against him. The new position lets him take you deeper, harder. Holding you against his chest, he snakes a free hand around and his fingers find your clit once more. He makes soft circles on your clit, working you with each thrust until he once again has you climbing the ladder to your climax.

“Just like that, you’re so perfect, Cariño, taking me so perfectly,” he praises, voice low.

You squirm and babble something of the likes of gonna come under him, and he holds in place as you begin to unravel once more for him. Your hole contracts around him, your perky tits bouncing as he continues to fuck you through it. You’re so tight, your sweet sounds have his own orgasm not far off.

Suddenly, without warning he stops fucking you and pulls out. You look back at him, brow creased, wondering why he stopped.

The sight is one you’ll remember till the day you die, Javi all sweaty curls, ragged breaths, hard and throbbing cock in hand, shiny with your slick, looking at you through needy brown doe eyes.

“Why – why’d you stop,” you ask, breathless.

“Turn around, Hermosa. Lay on the couch. Want to look you in the eyes as I cum,” he rasps.

You do as he says, and spread your legs open for him. Within seconds, he’s back on you, filling you up to the base of him. The dark hairs at the base of him tickle your swollen clit as he rolls his hips into you. A tingling warmth pools in his belly and surges through every sensitive nerve on his body, accompanied by the surge of blood that rushes to every corner of his flesh, his response making it obvious that his release is imminent.

His hips slow, and he lets out a rough moan, spilling inside of you. He pauses there, and you feel him gently pulsate and twitch as your walls drain every last bit of cum inside him.

He collapses on top of you, working to catch his breath, an exhausted mix of sex, heat, and general tiredness from the restless night. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, and intertwine your fingers around his now full-on wet locks and trace small patterns onto his back. You stay there like that, in your sticky embrace of sex and emotion, until your heart rates return to normal and your breaths find a manageable pattern.

He slips out, bringing with him a glob of cum that pools on the cushion beneath you. He leans back on the other arm of the small couch and watches as he slowly pools out of you. “Mmm, sure do love watching me drip out of you,” his gaze doesn’t move from the filthy sight of it.

He leans forward to drag his pointer finger through your folds, causing your body to twitch at the unexpected sensation on your tender clit. He slightly presses the tip of his finger into you, and his cock twitches and begins to swell like it’s ready to go again. He drags his finger out, now coated with a mix of you and him, and he brings it up to your lips.

“Taste us,” he says. You open your mouth to welcome the cum-coated finger onto your tongue. You savor the taste of the mix of you, an overly salty, heady mix of sweat and semen.

Once satisfied, he removes his finger and leans back once more.

In your fucked out state, you tilt your head toward the coffee table, noticing that the remaining cholado has turned into a sticky, syrupy mess.

“Sad that’s melted, I could really use something cold right about now,” you say as you reach your arms up and try to secure your wet hair into a little bun on the top of your head.

“How about a cold shower,” Javi offers, a smile on his face. He stands and offers his palm to you for the second time tonight.

Without saying anything, and without hesitation this time, you place your hand in his, and he pulls you off the couch and into his arms. His chest firm against yours, he brings both of his palms to cup your face in an embrace. He pauses momentarily before leaning down to place his lips against yours.

“And then maybe some breakfast?” He says, tilting his head to the side, signaling to the window.

The sun is now rising, bringing with it what you can only imagine is going to be another tortuous day.

Well, almost as torturous.

At least now you have each other.

Although you’re pretty confident you won’t be getting any sleep tomorrow night, either.

END

Tagging some moots: @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @endlessthxxghts

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

#javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #pedrohub #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi pena #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #javier pena x you

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brainrot-stitch · 2 months

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AHAAA I FINISHED IT WOAHHH i usually don't finish art things omg...

Anyways current sabre design!!! (It will probably change bc I can NEVER make up my mind on any design ever sob)

He's such a goof :3 (IM NEVER DRAWING THAT RAINBOW ELYTRA AGAIN IM CRYING)

Anyways some headcanons below cuz I feel like yapping :3

-rainbow totally would have gotten him and sabre friendship necklaces (yk the matching kind with magnets that come together n all) and after knowing lucas for a bit he woulda made friendship bracelets !!

-like that one person I reblogged said, he's such a mad scientist he's so silly omgg

-i love the reincarnation au SO MUCH its literally fire but in normal headcanons I think he used to be part of the creed and an assasin and ermm

Basically I headcanon his whole assassins creed series was basically his backstory before starting to do research on these 'steve' entities

-when nervous/anxious his footsteps will be completely silent out of habit from the whole assassin thing, and he'd obviously do it when purposefully trying to sneak (he has probably scared rainbow or Lucas multiple times by doing this..)

-I'm not sure weather to headcanon that his wings were damaged by a steve really early on in the steve saga (like before rainbow could speak or maybe when dark was still pretending to be blue) or if it was smth that happened when he was still an assassin but it's one of those!!!

-hes an avian.. heh... if u couldn't tell from the ref sheet.. but NOT a chicken!! The chicken jokes are just bc of the hoodie and bc his feathers look a lil similar :3

-he has like 2 of the same chicken hoodie he'll wear most often but still has some normal outfits AND assassins outfits and weapons he keeps away (most are green or have some sort of green in them heh.. I might draw that later)

-ok ok ok I have so many eye headcanons it's so hrggrrrrh the main one tho is one I snatched from the reincarnation au and that's that he doesn't have eyes!! Bc of an injury or sum and he js says he has sensitive eyes and the bandana fabric is see through up close.. but he can still see bc he's a player and the way players work is weird. Other headcanon, green eyes. Other headcanon, brown eyes. Other headcanon, heterachromia green and brown eyes. Other headcanon pure white eyes. Other headcanon code eyes. Other headcanon (gets hit by a bus)

-if we r going with the reincarnation au for the eyes, I feel like only rainbow and Lucas would know, if we're going with the others, I'd say rainbow, Lucas, Alex, galaxy, and maybe the guardian (I forgot if that's what he was called or not) would know. If we're going with the code eyes, then only lucas would know

-not sabre specifically but I feel like steves in general wouldn't be very used to or know but about blood/gore stuff, bc they're more used to being destroyed/poofing, and later on being destroyed through a machine. Being actually killed by a sword or something of the sort they are not used to seeing, and are very touchy on the subject

-on that note I imagine if there's like a steve that's immune to most or all other steve powers and or machines that they're trying to get rid of and arguing on what to so abt I imagine sabre being like "oh 1 sec I got this" and boom that mf DEAD 😭

-and they'd b like 😰

"Guess we're gonna have to kill this guy sabre" "damn"

-ermmm silly billy activity...

-I feel like he'd know a lot more than the other steves on things like the nether and end (not end city tho that's a whole other mc headcanon I don't feel like yapping abt rn) bc those are the dimensions players have access too and steves usually dont.. so they'd b like "WTF SABRE WHAT R U DOING THAT IS A LITERAL HELLSCAPE WITH LAKES OF FIRE AND MONSTERS WEVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE FYM U CAN GET 'NETHERITE' THERE" and he'd b like "well don't go in the fire then and it anything attacks u kill it ig" (not actually sob.. I feel like only he and Lucas would go there bc most steves r hindered greatly by lava and the only ones we've seen that aren't are bad guys if my memory is correct)

Ermm I have more but I'm eepy and can't remember so those r for another day!!!

Reblogs>likes

Don't post my art to other platforms without my permission pls x3

#favremysabre #favremysabre steve saga #the steve saga #steve saga #rainbow steve #lucas #headcanons #headcanon #stitch art #:3 #digital art #art #my sabre design !#the rot is consuming rn #if u wanna see my designs and headcanons for other characters #then go vote on my poll 😈😈😈#praying this doesnt flop sighhhh

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universallychaoticpan · 1 year

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Can u do the stages of Dazai and Reader's relationship through Kunikida's POV like from enemy/strangers to friendship to lovers♥️

This had been on my had for days and maybe you might like this idea. Imma write this down before I go to sleep bc I'm tired af😭.

You have no idea how much I loved writing this, it was so fun. Ugh I absolutely love it!! Sorry it's taken so long so get it out, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Come back anytime. <33

I suggest listening to lovers rock by tv girl to set a nice little mood <3

(reader is gn)

Fukuzawa hadn't lied at all; you were a perfect addition to the agency. Even after just meeting you, Kunikida could tell: smart, accomplished, adept at combat, extensive knowledge in both weapons and hand to hand combat, plus a near deadly control over your ability- you were a dream. You were hardworking and on top of it all, shockingly, amazingly, seemingly immune to Osamu Dazai.

Now, you didn't dislike the man. You just weren't one to fawn over him or giggle like a schoolgirl any time he winked at you. You never really understood the girls who would fall all over themselves when he flirted with them, plus, since he flirted with anyone what was the point in giving in? To him, there were a million people like you; you were just another pretty face to him. So you made it your mission to never fall for his charms.

Unfortunately for Kunikida, neither of you quite understood how stubborn you both could be.

After three months, you found you liked him more than you thought. He made you laugh, with his stupid jokes and his antics. You found you liked being his friend. You would go out drinking with him, he would embarrass you in public until you shrieked with laughter, face burning red with your blush. He would make up nonsense songs to make you laugh and you would foil his attempts at flirting with yet another waitress each time you ate together. Quickly, you found yourself calling him your best friend- something that horrified Kunikida in quite a funny manner.

And after six months, Dazai realized something terrible- something awful, sweet, lovely and terrifying all at once. Osamu Dazai realized he was falling for you. He was falling faster than he could save himself, faster than he could stop it; he was falling for his best friend with the stunning smile, the sharp wit that would bite him playfully if he got to close, the pretty laugh and those eyes that melted him from the inside out.

Worst of all, he knew you would never believe him if he told you.

But Kunikida saw it all. He saw how Dazai's eyes would soften ever so slightly when you would walk in, how he would try to be close to you, how he would volunteer to do the most mundane tasks as long as it meant doing them with you. He saw the new way his lip would curl gently at the edges when he smiles at you, a smile different than his usual rakish grin. And god was it painful to watch. He nearly felt bad for the man, and he would if it wasn't so funny to watch. Kunikida wouldn't deny it was just the slightest bit entertaining to observe you.

Nearly a year had gone by since you had first met; nearly a year since you had promised yourself to never fall for him. Nearly a year since he had met you, clueless to the fact that you would change his life without even trying. And everyone could tell it was driving him mad; everyone, or so it seemed, except for you. A fact that Kunikida doubted to the extremes.

"They probably have figured it out by now," he muttered, sipping his drink as a moan sounded from Dazai. "They're quite intelligent, you know. Perceptive, too."

"Shut up," Dazai muttered, lifting his head from off the bar. "Don't tell me that like I don't already know it."

Kunikida shrugged. "Just checking. But in any case, what are you going to do about it?"

"That's just it," Dazai groaned. "Whatever I do, they won't believe it's real; they'll think I just want a fling or a one night stand and it would kill me to loose them over something so stupid."

"Well you'd best figure it out soon," Kunikida observed. "Time waits for no man."

And it hurt knowing he was right. It hurt Dazai, a dull throb forming in his chest because it was true; no one waited forever. No opportunity stayed open for long. So he shook Kunikida's hand, walked out of the bar, and turned for the direction of your apartment.

"Good luck, you lovestruck bastard."

You were alone when the knock at the door came; alone, your pajama pants sitting deliciously on your skin, a glass on wine barely held between your fingers. You felt the buzz of the stuff, warm and sweet, spreading through your body as you walked over the door, and opened it.

Revealing your best friend, panting with cheeks brushed pink from the night air. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair and you cocked your head slightly, your lips quirking up into a curious smile.

Oh that smile-

"What's the occasion for this lovely visit?"

He swallows hard, hands fiddling nervously as he tries to decide whether to move closer or not. But you choose for him, resting a hand on his shoulder, stepping so close your have to look up slightly for your concerned eyes to meet his.

"are you alright? Dazai, what's happened, is everything ok?-"

"Do you trust me?"

"What kind of question is that, of course I-"

"No. Do you trust me."

You looked into those eyes, and-

oh.

"Of course I do," you whispered.

And those were the last words you uttered before his hand lifted your face to his and his lips shaped themselves perfectly against yours. That was all you had to say before he stole the breath from your lungs with that kiss, a sigh leaving you so sweetly it made him fall for you again, more and more- he would devote himself to memorizing every sound that fell from your lips, give you every second if his life if that's what it took, as long as you promised to never take your touch away from him.

You smiled when you pulled away, lips still parted, laughing ever so slightly as you pulled him inside by the hand.

And when you walked into the office together the next morning, chatting and smiling like always, most people wouldn't have batted an eye.

But Doppo Kunikida wasn't most people. And even he had to indulge himself in smirking in the way Dazai followed at your heels like a puppy. Because even though you were not the first to fall for his charms...

you were the first to get him to fall for yours.

#dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x gn reader

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shemaycry · 3 months

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❛ 'Cause you're really my dearest friend.❜ ⸺ YUKI TSUKUMO.

【⠀♱⠀】 SYNOPSIS. yuki is conflicted. you’re her best friend, nothing more. and yet, all she can think about is ruining such a connection for something more.

【⠀♱⠀】 AUTHOR’S NOTE. originally i was gonna add smut into this. mostly because i know fluff isn’t given as much attention & because i’ve been wanting to write smut for yuki. however, while writing, i noticed it would have not fit here. like at all. of course i still could have tried but it would have felt forced. anywho! this is a fic for the girls that fall for their best friends, hope you recover cause i sure haven’t <\3! as always please excuse grammatical mistakes & errors.

Intimacy was funny when it came to women. A girl could kiss her friend on the cheek, cuddle with her, and maybe even see her naked; but never feel a thing. Some women, were able to hold such a connection without lust or romantic love tainting it.

But, this wasn’t always the case. Some had the misfortune of allowing that model connection to falter. The touches didn’t always seem as innocent, the comfortable atmosphere left whenever one withdrew their clothes, and the gazes no longer held that friendly warmth, but instead.. longing.

Yuki Tsukumo had believed she was immune to it all. That she, would never, fall for her best friend. That her love would never reach a romantic level.

She thought she was immune. Really, she did.

But as time passed, the woman began to see the signs she’s displayed to lovers in the past. The way you would breach her thoughts every single day, how your smiles would melt any sadness out of her body, or even how she would grow hot from even the most lightest touch on her skin.

Yuki Tsukumo had fallen for her best friend, you— and she didn’t have a clue on what to do about it.

Days were blurring together, passing far too quickly without an answer entering her mind. She was going mad, stressed that you would somehow find out about her sin. What would you do then? Would you hate her? Would the friendship the two of you formed go down the drain in an instant?

“I say, ruin it.” Gojo Satoru’s words were blunt, overshadowing the reasonable advice Geto was previously spewing. His dimples were deep, blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he stared at the blonde-haired woman who could only stare back. “You only have one shot Yuki and it’s gonna blow up either way,” He hummed, shrugging as if the answer that she had been searching for was obvious.

“So I say, screw it. Ruin your friendship.”

Those words stuck with her since that day. Was Yuki fully prepared to do such a thing? Once she did, there was no going back. Nothing could change the fact you would know the love she held for you was not like the one she held for Gojo and the others.

That the love she held for you, was far from innocent.

“Okay, you have to really listen to these lyrics for the next one,” Your words cut through her current train of thought, her chocolate gaze flowing from the ceiling and over to you. Air was fleeting each time Yuki looked at you, it was embarrassing really. You didn’t have to do a thing and she was starstruck, unable to think or breath. So while your lips moved, she didn’t hear a thing you were saying.

You blinked slowly, noticing the spaced out look in her eyes. “Yuki? Are you listening?” The smile you held was gentle, placing the device in your hand on the pillow beside you. You then reached over, hand finding her shoulder to gently shake.

That was enough to steal her away from her thoughts again, eyes focusing onto yours fully. Her hand rose, tapping against your wrist. “You uh.. said something about me paying attention to the lyrics?” Yuki forced a smile, cheeks tinted a soft pink as she watched your lips screw in playful annoyance. Oh, how she loved when you did that. All that movement caused her eyes to focus right on your mouth— the softness, how a hint of gloss was almost always staining them.

Yuki couldn’t help wondering how they would feel on her own. Would the gloss melt between the friction of the kiss? Would stickiness taint her chin? A soft breath escaped her, forcing her mind to shut off such thoughts.

And yet you were oblivious as always; hand lifting away from her and back to your phone. “Yes! You have to focus when it comes to Mitski songs. She’s, a lyrical genius.” You smiled, babbling about an artist you’ve loved for quite some time. It was entertaining watching you in such a state, and even more so when you would force Yuki to listen to songs or albums— only to talk about the meanings behind them afterwards.

Yuki chuckled softly, turning to lay on her side upon your bed. “I’ll pay attention.” She soothed, watching you come to lay down— facing her. The promise she had made just a second ago seemed to leave the moment her eyes rested upon your face, however.

You were completely relaxed; eyes closed and softly humming to the music that escaped your speaker just a feet away. What was the song’s name again? Yuki couldn’t remember, not with the dilemma running through her head.

In times like this, Yuki felt it all began to bubble; her feelings, her thoughts about you, and much more— all ready to overfill and spill right before you. Restraint was withering with each pass of her eyes over your form, and oh— a tight breath escaped the moment she heard you softly sing along to the song.

Maybe Gojo was right, maybe she should ruin it all.

“[Name]..” The words were sudden, a soft tone hugging them; a contrast to how the woman usually spoke. Your eyes fluttered open the moment your name was spoken into the peaceful atmosphere. They widened, however, as you recognized a serious glint in her gaze.

You slowly sat up, hand pressing against the bed to steady yourself. “Is something wrong?” You asked sweetly, watching as she rose from her previous position as well. “Do you not like the song?” You urged again, fearful you had upset your best friend in some way or another.

Despite your inquiries, Yuki was silent. Completely. Another trait that you believed she wasn’t capable of. Instead she moved suddenly; hand rising and ghosting over your form before finally settling onto your cheek. You weren’t given a moment to breathe, to react, before she moved again— eliminating the distance between you in a single moment.

Your eyes widened, body stilling as the unfamiliar feeling of her lips covering your own warped your being. They were soft, yet unsteady; fear clearly treading within the blonde-haired woman before you. Her hand was clammy too, yet firm against your chubby sun-kissed cheek.

Silence passed through the room for what seemed like forever before Yuki moved away, feeling her heart fall to the pit of her stomach. She’s ruined it, finally— she has. But the rush of fear wasn’t faltering anytime soon. On the contrary it increased the moment Yuki looked at you.

Your expression was unreadable, lips agape and gaze lost completely. You continued to sit as still as a statue, clearly still surprised.

The false sense of courage was escaping her body slowly now, hand rising from your cheek carefully. But to her own surprise and happiness; you quickly took her wrist to halt her movements. Once you achieved that, your hand rose to cup the back of her own, putting it right back on its previous spot.

You moved closer, light finally shining back into your eyes as you stared at her. “Kiss me again.” You spoke on hushed breath, eyelids already lowering before she could move.

Fortunately, Yuki didn’t need to be told twice; closing the distance with more enthusiasm then before. Her lips no longer moved against yours in hesitation or uncertainty— because the answer was clear now.

You loved her, just as much as she did you. And ruining the friendship, was definitely the right thing to do.

Yuki would have to thank Gojo later.

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED <3

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paradoxlemonade · 4 months

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Mirror Mirror

Fandom: Double Life SMP

Dynamic: Etho & Joel

words: 1313

Warnings: body image issues, insecurity

Ao3: Here!

Summary: Etho doesn't like how he looks. Joel does not know this. Hurt/comfort ensues. (This is my @mcytblrholidayexchange present for @kyleknight! I hope you enjoy ^^)

— — — — —

Joel likes to think he’s a pretty funny guy in his own humble opinion, thank you very much. People laugh when he starts cracking jokes, and those that don’t are probably just peeved that they’re the subject of his mockery—after all, when there’s a punchline, someone has to be the one to get decked. It’s all in good fun!

It’s… disconcerting when someone who’s supposed to be in on the joke isn’t smiling along with it.

And it’s not like Etho’s even the one on the receiving end! The whole point of the thing is how they—as soulmates—can ruin everyone else’s thumbnails together!

It’s a bit of Etho’s that Joel has always found fun as long as he’s known about it: hiding another layer of visual data in his player code only visible upon lookup is a fantastic prank for messing with one’s friends, since it’ll only show up when they pull his image to build the thumbnail. Etho himself, who doesn’t bother with that sort of menial technicality and just whips out a camera from his back pocket when he spies a good thumbnail, is immune. And sure, sure, Joel doesn’t actually know how to replicate the effect and just went for a plain t-shirt with the face painted on in crooked lines, but it was still funny and would show up on the lookups (And Etho’s pictures, but that’s what hiding the shirt with armor is for).

Joel was grinning like mad as he showed off the creation, hands waving and detailing the concept. Etho gave an affirmation, but he hadn’t seemed particularly enthused with the concept; the mask hiding his face stretched with a smile even as his eyes skittered to the side and hid under knit brows.

So. Joel tries not to let it bother him and simply enjoy the thought of his friends being annoyed with him.

He picks at the hem of the t-shirt as he paces about the Boat Boys (not Small Etho!) base area. The day passes as usual: chaos reigns, problems are caused (all on purpose if asked, mostly on purpose in actuality), and Joel enjoys Etho’s company. Really, the man is a delight—Joel knew of him more than he knew him personally before the latest season, but every new interaction reveals something new about Etho that he didn’t know, and Joel’s actions and mannerisms in turn to him.

Everything seems fine, until. Until, until, until.

Etho removes the secret layer. Joel finds out about it in between sessions and tries (fails) not to take it personally.

It… stings.

The start of the next session and Joel’s ire do not roll in like thunder, but instead stumble in on unsure legs like a fawn. Sure, he’s irritated (and a little offended, and a little hurt), but it’s Etho. So Joel leans on the edge of The Relation Ship and drinks in the sight of the server.

A creaking floorboard from behind him and a gentle wheeze of breath belies Etho’s awaited arrival.

Without turning around, Joel begins, “I see that you’ve changed your skin?” It’s light as he can manage with a slight chuckle of incredulity, but from the tightness in his jaw, it does little to masquerade much of anything.

“I did, yes—”

“You took the face off? Was it because I—”

“Yeah.”

Joel huffs. “Wow, brilliant.” He pushes off and turns in a single motion, and—

Freezes.

…Any plans Joel has for a polite (but frigid, but pointed, but sardonic) questioning evaporate once he gets a look at Etho’s face.

He looks tired, bags like smudges of coal languishing, shifting with every blink. Every step is upheld with an air of casual nonchalance, but the slight tremble in his fingers betrays him. His pale hair is dull and falls over his scarred eye.

“...You look like a wreck.”

Etho scowls for a bare moment but beats it down to a practiced neutrality. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Joel snorts. “Considering that I hadn’t asked but you tried to deflect anyways, say that I don’t particularly believe you.” He grabs Etho by the wrist and slides past, leading him down to their chests. “Did you sleep at all between now and the last session? Because your eyebags have eyebags. Bet we could fit a whole stack of items in there.” Before Etho can respond, Joel pops the lock on a chest and picks out a loaf of bread. He drops it into Etho’s hands with a nod of finality.

“I slept just fine. And I ate too, if that’s what you’re getting at by this.” He gestures helplessly with the bread. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Joel shrugs. “And I said I didn’t believe you. I can play this game all day, especially since your face isn’t helping your argument.”

Etho scowls again. “Stop saying that.”

“Saying what? That you look like you’ve been fighting phantoms? And losing?”

“Joel, please…” His shoulders are drawn in close and his grip on the bread grows tighter, more desperate.

Joel falters.

“Are you… okay?”

Etho makes a face and stalks back onto the ship. “You don’t need to rub it in, you know.”

Joel trails behind him, his sense of assurance drying up. “You’re gonna need to be a little more specific than that, mate. Rub what in?”

He laughs. Laughs. Something dry, something quiet, something brittle. Etho keeps his gaze trained on the bread crust he picks at aimlessly. “I know I’m nothing nice to look at. I’ve known that basically forever. So you don’t need to rub it in; I already know.”

Joel blinks. He stops following Etho’s pacing and stands in place. What does he say to that? “You’re kidding, right?”

Mm. Probably not that.

Etho gives him an unimpressed look. “Why would I be kidding about this? You’ve been saying it yourself all morning.”

Wait, he thought that… and then Joel…

Oh, goddammit.

Joel rubs a hand across his face letting it trail up to drag through his hair. “You look tired, man, not ugly. You’re not a supermodel—so what? Neither am I. And neither is anyone else that we hang out with. You’re in pretty good company.” His feet finally unstick from the floor and he manages to scoot next to Etho, their shoulders brushing. “You’ve been thinking about this the entire break, haven’t you?”

Etho shrugs, as if it hides the way his shoulders droop with the weight of his thoughts. “I don’t… I try not to think about my face too much. Not ever since”—he waves his free hand at the long, ropy line bisecting his face—“that. No mirrors in any of my builds or anything. I guess your silly t-shirt just reminded me that everyone else is looking at me when I talk to them.”

Joel kinda feels bad for taking that personally, now.

He shakes his head. “If you told me what was up, I would’ve ditched the shirt. Here, like this.” He reaches up with one hand and yanks it off by the neckline, tossing it across the ship in the same motion. It hits the wall and slides to the floor in a crumpled heap. “There, now it’s gone.”

Etho takes a minute to gather his thoughts. After a pause, his eyes trail over to meet Joel’s. “Thanks.”

Joel leans over and bumps him, never breaking eye contact. “Bothering people is fun. Hurting them isn’t.”

The moment passes, and Etho turns his attention back to the bread. He slides his mask down and takes a hesitant bite.

— — — — —

Joel leans back and kicks a foot over his leg. “Besides, I can still think of, like, at least three different people who would throw themselves at you in a heartbeat if they thought they had a chance of getting you into bed with them.”

Etho chokes on a mouthful of bread.

#double life smp #trafficblr #life smp #boat boys #ethoslab #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #double life fanfic #mcyt #idea writes #idea original post

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vctrvn-ls · 9 months

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Being Sick |Beta Squad|

yeah im sick, v sad but #not3ambutsickthoughts

nice and short

「 ✦ Chunkz✦ 」

Would pull out any and every trick his mom did in his youth when he was sick. He’d tell you all about Somalian herbs, plants and how they’re good for you. For example Pelargonium and the boost it gives to your immune system. I don’t really see Chunkz as the “I’ll get off work just to take care of you” typa guy, like don’t get me wrong he’d be worried as hell but he’s too much of a busy man to drop everything, and you’d respect that because as soon as he got home all of his attention would be on you and you only, baby. Besides he believes that the best cure is a good rest (I feel like I know that for a fact)

「 ✦AJ ✦ 」

Now AJ thinks the best cure is laughter. He knows how boring it could be, staying at home for a week and lying in bed all day, so he’d try and make your days less miserable. He wouldn’t change too much, he’d still violate you and bully you, saying stuff like “you’re the only one who got sick, loser” but at the same time he’d be bringing you your medicine, food and whatever else you needed. He’d definitely feel bad at first, but as soon as you start getting better he will not hesitate to annoy you again. Honestly AJ would be around you so much that your body would fight off the disease faster just so you could get out of the house. Lovingly tho cause AJ is the best <3

「 ✦Kenny ✦ 」

Gosh where do I start? The fuss this guy would make!! First when he finds out that you’re sick he’d lecture you like a mom. “Didn’t I tell you to dress warmer?” , “Why’d you have ice cold drinks if you already had a sore throat?” , “Why didn’t you tell me straight away that you were sick?” He’d walk up and down the room waving his hands around while you sat there with a guilty look on your face. But you know he’s mad only because he cares that much for you, and it’s not long before he apologizes for acting pissed and starts running around you, bringing every type of medicine he could think of. He’d order your favorite take out, get you a warm beverage and turn on a movie for the two of you to enjoy before you dozed off to sleep on his shoulder.

「 ✦Niko ✦ 」

Yeah he’d drop everything he’s doing for you and make sure you are well before continuing on with his life. First thing he’d do is call in a nurse, and after that buy everything the nurse suggests. He might even go a little over the top with the buying. Medicine aside, he’d make sure youre happy and aware that he’s ready to do anything you need. Like cmon Niko is the most SELFLESS man on this planet, he’d actually be ready to do anything!! He’d sleep next to you, just in case you woke up at night feeling unwell, but he wouldnt sleep too close since he wouldn’t want to get sick as well, which would result in him not being able to help you get well as much as he would want to.

「 ✦ Sharky ✦ 」

Girl he’d do the opposite of Niko and literally have you in his embrace every second (unless you feeling like you need some alone time) He’d make chicken soup and as shitty as it might actually taste, you’d still eat it because he made it with aaallll his love. When you’re napping, he’d be beside you editing his videos (in headphones of course) or he’d be replying to emails and whatever else work related. Would he care that your sick? NO! KISSES EVERY DAY AND NIGHT!

“Sharks you’re gonna get sick!” You giggle and try push him away from you. “Nahh.” He’d shake his head before sprinkling your face with kisses. With all his love and support, you’ll be getting well in no time.

#beta squad #youtube #niko omilana #chunkz #aj shabeel #king kenny #sharky #ndl #niko #betasquadedit

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frienderbee · 1 year

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I wish April was more Kraang-ish in 2012- like if you're going to make her half Kraang mutant whatever, don't just give her cool powers. Just imagine okay:

Her hair is constantly floating slightly, initially in a sort of static way, which confuses her growing up but isn't a major sign of alarm

As she starts to develop and connect with her powers it starts floating a little more noticeably

it reacts to her powers which tend to react a lot to her emotions when she's not consciously pushing for them

because of this the turtles have found great entertainment in annoying April to watch her hair twitch and float around.

They can always tell when she's really mad cause her hair looks like she's been shocked and starts to spark

Because of her emotions effecting her powers and hair before she got a good control of her powers she spent a lot of her time desperately trying to stay calm when in school or in public

Despite how annoying Casey knows he can be he tries to help her stay calm whenever he sees her start to fuss over her hair. (The hair tie she keeps in usually keeping it at bay but not stopping it completely)

The whites of her eye have always been more of an off yellow, green at the edges if you really look. Her dad decided not to mention the way they seemed to glow unnaturally in the dark.

As her powers grew, a pinker hue started to spread in her Iris till eventually her eyes were purple with pink streaks instead of blue

Sometimes she looks in her fathers own blue eyes and wonders if she still looks human enough to pass as his daughter

Her teeth are pointy. Like really pointy. She's never tested how sharp they are (despite Donnies inquiries) but they are definitely sharp enough for her to avoid smiling naturally her whole childhood.

The turtles end up being the first people she finds herself comfortable enough around to let her real smile show (They thought they were cool and didn't question them further)

The turtles actually didn't notice how abnormal April looked and seemed until they met Casey and it clicked that humans usually don't glow slightly when they're happy- yep that one's definitely the Kraang DNA then

Donnie and Casey both briefly had moments where they wondered if they just adored April so much that she looked like she was glowing at times till they realised that sure they love April but she's definitely glowing for real

She's got a weird sort of energy around her, Donnie believes it may actually be the sheer power she holds but April feels more like everyone around her can just sense she's different.

The strange energy around her stopped her from ever really making any friends growing up, even before any of her Kraang features were too noticeable. Everyone immediately picking up that she was "alien", even if they didn't realise how literal that was.

April has no idea how Casey is seemingly immune to this "off-putting vibe"

He's not immune, he felt it but was more intrigued than scared.

The turtles felt it too but just assumed it was cause they weren't used to having a human around that it felt so "off".

Eventually everyone got so used to it that they only really notice this energy when April is using a lot of her power or is using it directly on them.

A very basic drawing I made to try and get an idea of how much about her I'd change. (I am much more a writer than an artist and really this is just for fun and as a way for me to organise my thoughts. I basically traced as much as this as I could from a screenshot)

More sketches of her

#april o'neil #2012 april #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #2012 tmnt #2012 april o’neil #kraang April

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feelbokkie · 11 months

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🧜‍♀️How he would react to you being a mermaid/siren🧜‍♀️

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

**Requested**

Can I please request a fluff of when skz find out their s/o is a siren or mermaid? I love your writing style and I really think you could make something cute with the idea. Thanks for all that you do!

genre: fluff, crack, mermaid/siren au

pov: 2nd person

description: You're either a siren (non-traditional) OR a mermaid and this is how your boyfriend reacts.

pairing: bf!skz x mermaid!reader (Mermaid line: Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin) & bf!skz x siren!reader (Siren line: Chan, Minho, Changbin, and Seungmin)

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,035

방 찬 (Bang Chan)

Siren

Fell for your siren song

Will also get you to sing and sample it for a song

"Isn't this cheating?" "But you sound so good when you sing, how can I not want to use it in a song?" "Pretty sure that's just the magic of the siren song, babe."

He loves when you get mad (sirens are more aggressive in nature)

You have a lot of self doubt about your relationship

You doubt that he actually loves you and is only in a relationship with you because of the effects of the siren song

You learn later in your relationship that your siren song has no effect on him, he's just naturally drawn to you

You tested it by letting the spell wear off and he didn't treat you any differently

"Why are you attracted to me?" "You're really beautiful and you have an amazing personality." "Hmm..." "Did you want me to be more specific? I can go into detail." "No, no, I believe you."

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho)

Siren

Didn't care

"Min, I have to tell you something." "What's wrong?" "I'm... I'm a siren." "That's all?" "What do you mean 'that's all?'" "Do you want me to faint from shock or something?"

Loves your more aggressive side

Will purposely tease you often so he can see it

Is literally playing with fire

"Minho, I swear to God if you don't stop!" "Bet you regret singing for me now" "Come here,"

Will sing karaoke with you for fun

Your song no longer works on him so you can have fun going all out

It's a full production with dancing and lights

Laughs at the people who walk by and get sucked in by your song

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin)

Siren

Is excited for some reason

I think watching horror films have finally got to him

Watches you in awe

But also tries to help you out

"I got you soap for your baths." "Bin?" "Yes my love?" "This is Dawn dish soap." "It works on ducks covered in oil." "Number one, I'm not a duck."

Will take you with him to the gym, even though you're freakishly strong

You use your powers for evil

He's not yet immune to your spell so you have fun picking songs you know he doesn't like when you have to redo the spell (which he consents to bc he's a freak)

"I'm going to sing Who's Your Mama." "Please don't, Y/N." "You can't resist my singing, Bin." "Can you sing literally anything else?" "Fine, Groove Back it is." "Anything but one of JYP PD-nim's songs." "Not fun."

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin)

Mermaid

He's drawn to beautiful things, and the beauty of a mermaid is mesmerizing

Like, he is so obsessed, it's slightly concerning

But you're concern is gone when you realize how much he messes with you

Will throw water at you when you annoy him so you can transform and not be able to follow him

"Are you going to lead me to my death eventually?" "Keep throwing water at me and we'll see." "That's a threat or a bet?" "Hyun, I am begging you to stop." "Ah, a threat."

Paints you a lot

One time he made you pose on a rock like Ariel and painted it

한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung)

Mermaid

Had no problem with it

Honestly, it caused him a bit of anxiety at first

"I drew a bath for you, but I wasn't sure if I should add salt in it or not. The giant fish tank will be here next week so I hope the tub is fine for now." "I don't even know where to start..."

"Would you be offended if I ordered us sushi?" "Why would I be offended?" "Because fish are like your friends or pets or something." "Jisung, is your only frame of reference for mermaids The Little Mermaid?" "...Maybe."

Made the mistake of letting him watch mermaid related movies

Is convinced that you two can never tell anyone that you're a mermaid

"Ji, nobody cares. They're not going to mount my body like a bear or put me in a tube to perform experiments." "Can never be too careful."

Makes you wear a tracker whenever you go to the ocean

You only wear it to ease his anxiety

You use it to draw little doodles or write messages on the map

이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok)

Mermaid

Is in love with it

Asks: "Do you want to play mermaids?" ironically

"So do I have to lock you in a room with no water during a full moon?" "H2O is not real, Lix."

Tries to race you in the water

Loses, obviously

Bought one of those rubber mermaid suits so the race would be fair

Still loses

"I wish I could see what you see underwater." "You do realize that scuba diving exists, right?" "Holy shit, you're a genius!"

Goes through scuba school so he can go on cute underwater dates with you

김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min)

Siren

Didn't mind, surprisingly

You weren't sure if that was because he fell for your song or because he genuinely didn't care

Loves singing with you, like it's his favorite thing in the whole world

Will try to sit and watch you sing

He does it in secret, you were worried that the didn't love you for you, but because of your song

You realized that he was listening to you when he absentmindedly starts humming the song you were singing a few hours before

"What did I tell you about listening to me sing?" "But you sound amazing!" "That's not the point, Min." "What is love if not the feeling of being under a spell." "What?"

He isn't under your spell, he's just a simp

양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In)

Mermaid

Thought you were joking at first when you told him

It never came up when you first started dating

You didn't tell him until you two went on a date to the aquarium

He decided to surprise you

Did not understand you were so... sad

The boys told him that girls love aquariums

You came clean then and there

"Mermaids aren't real." "Guess I have to show you." "What"

Dragged him so some restricted section where you could enter the tanks and jumped in

Resurfaced, tail and all

"That shouldn't be possible." "The world is mysterious."

Makes a lot of jokes about dating a fish

—

Buy me a coffee?

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cinebration · 1 year

Text

Sherlock Holmes Fluff Alphabet (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

Will you do a Sherlock fluff alphabet please? 🥺—Requested by anon

I hope you like it anon! This was really difficult to write, haha.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: dailyhenrycavill

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Activities!? There is only the work, else Sherlock goes mad with boredom. As such, he brings you along when working, valuing your insight but also enjoying your proximity, so long as you don’t get in the way.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Intellect and wit are by far and away the aspects Sherlock most loves about you. You are aesthetically pleasing to the eye, certainly, but Sherlock values the hidden depths beneath.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Sherlock struggles with emotional intelligence. Thus, he has one of three reactions when you are in distress: 1) He can’t understand the feeling, 2) He panics because he doesn’t know what to do, or 3) He wants to provide a fix-it solution. As your relationship progresses, he learns the ways in which to help you specifically, committing to heart and perfecting the methodologies that best aid you.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Ever a pragmatist, Sherlock has already factored you into his life for the future. He does not want or expect children, but he will (begrudgingly) admit he finds the idea of having you to speak to and grow old with over the decades a warm, not altogether unpleasant feeling.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Sherlock very much prefers things to occur along the plans and designs he conceives, but the intricacies of relationships elude him, thereby placing him on uneven ground with you. As such, when it comes to facets of the relationship outside of his experience, particularly with the emotional, he defers to your expertise—with a high level of skepticism, of course.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Despite his determination to avoid emotionalism, Sherlock is not immune to experiencing things deeply. Arguments in which he feels he is the afflicted party will turn nasty, as he does not understand how to keep the emotion in check in the heat of it. Afterwards, once the heat of the moment has passed, he is likely to apologize—mostly out of embarrassment for letting things go too far. If you are the afflicted party, however, he may not understand why the fight is happening and will either brush it off or suffer from confusion so deep you will be arguing to a wall.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Sherlock can be very grateful (inwardly)—assuming he notices. While the man is capable of noticing minute details that escape the eyes of normal men, the motive behind it is what’s crucial. As such, noticing things in his home will only matter if they pertain to a case or pique his concerns that someone is riffling through his things. Only big, flashy changes are likely to catch his eye enough to elicit a comment or two.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Sherlock is a vault of secrets—but only because it doesn’t occur to him to share. Much of what he withholds aren’t really secrets anyway, just information about plans and cases that he’d rather let sit around in his mind, unvoiced. However, a little nudging and genuine interest in his work can coax information out of him until he learns that talking things over with you is more helpful than letting it all sit in his brain.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You most definitely have changed him, allowing him access to his more emotional side and opening him to the world of true partnership.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Sherlock may experience jealousy if a strong enough, insidious seed of it works itself under his skin. In general, he is unlikely to react with jealousy if he sees you speaking to another man, as he will invariably draw up reasonable, rational explanations as to why you are doing so; additionally, he trusts you implicitly. If, however, enough aberrant behavior occurs, he may be seized with concern and jealousy, the latter of which he is little equipped to handle well. This may result in tense situations and irrational behavior.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Sherlock has little experience with the physical aspects of relationships, requiring you to take charge at the outset. However, as he grows more comfortable, you’ll find Sherlock a quick study.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

His first confession of love may fly over your head due to how clinical and rehearsed it is. How were you supposed to know that “I do not mind your presence, and I find your contributions useful” was the equivalent of him saying, “I love you”? The thing is, he doesn’t want to admit it—just as much as he does. Love is something he always proclaimed to despise, and yet…

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Marriage isn’t something that immediately comes to mind for Sherlock. If it does, it merely serves as a social convenience, possibly one pressured by his brother Mycroft for the sake of propriety. Deep down, in parts of himself he may not easily acknowledge, however, Sherlock finds it nice to be officially married to you, for everyone to see that you are his.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He calls you by your name. Sometimes, after marriage, if he feels rather cheeky, he may call you Mrs. Holmes.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Love plunges Sherlock into a riot of emotions he doesn’t know how to handle. It’s a phenomenal feeling—and also the worst. He wants to revel in it and simultaneously flee from it. The most obvious clue he is in love is general agitation; the lulls between cases are worse when he’s away from you. And when he is with you, he locks up, caught in an internal battle between wanting to succumb to the feelings and berating himself for feeling them in the first place.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Public displays of affection are a huge offense in the Victorian eye. All public interactions are defined by modesty and humility, with only high praise being the closest to “bragging” anyone can ever get. Sherlock, a pragmatist, will quickly and readily admit to his relationship with you once it has been firmly established. Know that it’s likely the public already knows even before an official declaration, as gossips abound.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Sherlock’s deductive ability is a double-edged sword. He may not notice new things around the house at first, but he will always notice new or unusual things about you. You are, to some degree, a perennial obsession, a case he’ll be “solving” for the rest of your time together. While in some senses that is flattering, in other senses it’s frustrating. He isn’t jealous or suspicious, but if he catches a different type of mud on your shoes than usual, he’ll jump to conclusions or ask you questions until he’s satisfied with your answers.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

The idea of romance is something best left to the Romantics of the Romanticism era, in all senses of the movement. Sherlock’s romance includes quality time spent with you, whether that be solving cases together or reading in front of the fireplace in the evenings. Sharing his thoughts is the most intimate he can be emotionally.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Sherlock is your ardent supporter. While he is aware of your skills and limitations, he stands by your side once you reach a decision. Leading up to that decision, however, he may offer dissenting opinions or advice, but he does so out of love. He wants to ensure you see all sides of the problem before settling on a solution.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Sherlock likes routine at home because his cases are anything but. Having certain systems in place at home, such as stable meal times (when he’s present) and daily activities you share (such as reading together), allows him the mental energy he needs to solve his cases.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Sherlock knows everything there is to know about you; as mentioned above, you are a low-key obsession, a case he will be “solving” for decades. As such, he makes it a priority to understand you as best he can. That does not mean he is overly empathetic, however; he spends more time trying to intellectually understand problems than emotionally understand them. As time passes, he becomes more empathetic—but only in relation to you. If he is a tuning fork, you are the instrument to which he is attuned.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is its worth in comparison to other things in their life?

As time and the relationship progress, Sherlock comes to value the relationship highly. Would he give up his work for it? Not likely, but the devastation of losing you would certainly take its toll on him. As such, he does his best to maintain the relationship.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Because of his observational skills, Sherlock will notice what you notice. That is, he will follow your gaze to things, scrutinize your face, etc. If he catches you admiring something in a window, he will surprise you with it later.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Behind closed doors, when the mood strikes him, Sherlock can be very affectionate. He treats it, however, as a curious phenomenon, one to experience and then view from a disconnected perspective. That is, he will catch himself reaching for you, touching you, tracing your profile with his eyes in bed, and then wonder, Why? Why am I compelled to do this? And then start all over again.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

It takes much for Sherlock to miss you. That is, if he knows where you are or when you both will reunite, he is less likely to experience your absence as anything other than temporary and treat it as such. However, if you go away to the country to visit your family, he will devolve into chaos in your home, throwing himself into the most tangled of cases to preoccupy himself so as not to think about how much he misses you.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of lengths?

In most cases, “great lengths” means emotional intimacy that Sherlock never imagined he would experience—or even knew he could experience. However, if harm should come to you or you should be put in danger, he will burn the world down to save you.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Henry!Sherlock #Cavill!Holmes #Enola Holmes #Enola Holmes 2 #requests

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majimasleftasscheek · 1 year

Note

Honestly if it’s ok I would like to hear your thoughts on Kazumi? I’m having brain rot at the idea of Kiryu being a drag queen or gender-fluid and there’s like no one talking about it and I just wanted to know how you’d picture it because your goromi headcanon is just so well thought out- if this is a weird question or a hard one to answer I’m sorry it’s my first time doing this-

no worries, I LOVE talking about good shit like this 👀

SO KAZUMI

I don't particularly see her as genderfluid like I do Goromi but!! I do see her as a drag identity, just not as bold as the former.

Kazumi in a sense is very much how I interpret Goromi - that being she's pretty much the same dude but now in a wig but with a few changes.

she'd for sure have a Kiryu-esque seriousness to dressing up as in treating it like some kind of mission than a more casual thing. she'd have to be reminded like yo this ain't a substory, you can put your lipstick on without the concentration of someone fighting for their life.

in a way being Kazumi is a sort of break for Kiryu. he HAS to chill out and it's rough at first but eventually he's like okay, this is okay, I can just be

she's even more quiet and reserved than Kiryu already is, preferring to be left alone. it's a mix of not exactly knowing how to feel in drag and general internalized embarrassment so she's not up to being social about it. there's certainly an uncharacteristic lack of confidence on her part and needs a bit of encouragement to really feel like she isn't looking ridiculous.

Kiryu seems like, a by the book type of guy, due to his upbringing and general way he carries himself, so putting on drag is very alien to him. like, he can certainly see other people doing it. but himself? wild. that said, he's bold and fairly immune to what people think of him but something about being Kazumi, for a good chunk of time, is very intimate, especially if he's around people he knows.

when she's with people she trusts, that's when she starts having a good time, maybe even being a lil bombastic then immediately covering her mouth when she laughs too loud. but if her present company comforts her, she'll be happy to let slip a more excitable version of herself. it helps knowing that, for the time, she's just someone else and that someone else can do whatever the fuck they want. it's even better that few people would recognize her, let alone even think a guy like Kiryu is Kazumi at first glance.

Kazumi is a bit of a tease, a bit more sensual. not flagrantly obvious but it's there, with the way she sways her hips and looks at you with those beautiful eyes™ that say everything and anything you wanna hear. Kiryu's a very reactive type of guy, doing this and that because of something else. Kazumi however takes the initiative in little ways as a measure of testing her own waters, as to do something Kiryu probably wouldn't unless provoked. Kazumi has no goals, she lives in the moment and wants to enjoy it on her own terms.

dresses in colors very much like her usual suit (red, gray, white). will be super self conscious about her ass hanging out in short dresses and if you come at her with the 'but you don't mind if you're wearing a fundoshi?' and you can literally see the gears turning in her head.

not super great at fighting in heels (compared to Goromi) so she's not pulling crazy moves or running around. she prefers beast mode and the graceful art of blunt force trauma to play keep-away

KAZUMAJI TIME I'm unwell

so the way Kiryu interacts with Goromi is SO important to me and it's equally just as important for my thoughts on Kazumi so you'll see a lot of parallels here.

Majima is MAD horny for Kazumi it's unreal. impressively brainrotted even by goblin standards. partly because it's very exciting to see Kiryu prettied up and partly because he can just see the ✨ gender ✨ radiating off of Kazumi even if it's not as much of a gender thing for her as it is for Majima. he gets that chest tight sort of happy seeing Kiryu try something so important to him.

definitely shows his love via gift giving and physical affection. Kazumi's not big on gifts in general because it's embarrassing so she has to often convince him to just take her out for a good time and that's fine enough. for her, the affection is more important than anything and she'll admit, she likes to be wooed

I have to include Haruka cuz how can I not 🥺 she definitely helps out with makeup and hair. it's not perfect but she's the only person Kazumi will not squirm around for. Kazumi will sit still a little for Majima/Goromi to help out but she's gonna complain about it the whole time.

every minute Majima's not hanging onto Kazumi like she's his trophy wife is another minute he dies inside. he makes it an event to let everyone know he's got the hottest girl in town and it makes Kazumi feel pretty damn good.

Kiryu knows he's hot as hell so that extends to Kazumi as well—small crowds preferably though. despite enjoying a bit of attention, she still prefers plenty of alone time. there is significant anxiety for her to be the center of attention either because someone might recognize her or because things going to shit is just how Kiryu's life tends to go.

she lovesss getting a rise out of Majima, especially if they're in a place he has to behave. since he's her biggest fan, she does like a good bit of ordering him around, often to the point he's actually irritated but that's just part of the game for them, being smug heathens @ each other. I'm a goblin for possessiveness and jealously so throw in a bit of that for flavor 😏

I have a Kazumi x Majima fic where she's very dommy mommy and he's a meek lil worm and I think that's a sign of nature healing.

BIG fluffy Goromi interactions, they're very affectionate together and Goromi's just so giddy to have Kazumi go out with her. she will however bite people's fingers if they so much as wave in Kazumi's direction. the excitement from Goromi does help stave off Kazumi's own insecurities.

being with Goromi does give Kazumi a bit of perspective she otherwise wouldn't really understand as Kiryu. I can see her having one of her typical "wow, people sure do live differently than I do and I've gained more respect for such things" sorta deal lol. basic stuff but significant to those around her.

#kazumi #goromi #kazumaji #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kazuma #majima goro #my art #my hcs

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rats-and-robots · 2 months

Text

Hi. This is gore for gore's sake. Dead dove. Do not eat. I am not kidding. Please trust me. Read the tags.

With that said;

Tervantias the Archmachinator, for all his pride, knows he isn't perfect. For all he boasts, there is always more to learn. New instruments begging to be tuned to his songs, his ever-changing collection of pitches and tunes. And yet his claws always ache to primal urges when something refuses to fall into place.

Bones crack and crunch.

Blood bubbles out of the poor thing's nose as the beast above it buries into its gut, coating its snout with gore.

Claws press at yet-unbroken flesh to give leverage as it pulls at muscle. It twists its head and yanks. Once. Twice. A third time and the meat comes free.

The body of the prey lay motionless, save for the motions of its predator. A sharp snort through reptilian nostrils and the beast lifts its snout to throw the meat back into its gullet.

The arena is filled with chatter and meaningless laughter about the show that has just finished. A few souls glance anxiously his way as he leans forward, towards the display. His head still, but his ever twitching, ever moving body continues its motions.

So that creation needed... Just a touch of tweaking. A metal hand taps rapidly on a flesh one, like the dancing legs of a spider. Interesting.

His mind is already spinning, never stopping, but it churns just a touch faster. A third hand raises to his face, metal claws slipping in and around the wet musculature. The sting is but a strum of a string to the symphony of sensation that plays in his whole self. A background song of pain and ache and burn and pleasure to every movement he makes.

Someone speaks to him. He mutters some words to appease them and urge them to leave him alone, his pitch eyes never leaving the beast and his imperfect creature's corpse.

He steps back, his gaze finally ripping away. The same gaze turns into a flurry of movement, twitching this way and that as he considers, contemplates... Not really looking where he is going but moving with a grace unusual even to those around him. His own... 'kin', would he even deign to call them that. He pushes a finger through his cheek-flesh-muscle and groans softly as the fresh puncture sharpens his thoughts.

He has an idea for how to improve his design. He'll need certain parts, though. And they are no cheap thing to get. His servants will scavenge what they can, but...

He slides back into his sanctum, his home, his orchestra hall. A sigh pushes out from his chest, the red muscles of his torso glistening as it relaxes ever so faintly. Frantic movements become more organized. His claw retreats from the wound in his face, a mere bead of blood expressing itself from the muscle. The sounds around him, the ever so faint hiss of mechanics, the groans of pain, the mad laughter, the... Everything. It's too much to put to words. It's not perfect. Perfection is such a boring state, anyways.

Claws slide through his hair, smearing the faintest of red through the silver, and three other arms make silent but strict orders to those around him. He has work to do and he will lose himself in it for a few hours more. First, however, is the poor soul who happens to be closest to his claws. He does like to think himself immune to the frustration of failure; a savage, beastly emotion so beneath one as he. Unfortunately, 'likes to think' does not make something a fact.

He moves without seeing, lips pressed into a thin line. A sharp jab silences the flesh-thing, a single tool cutting through armor, skin, flesh, fat, muscle, tendon, and cord. The screaming becomes hollow gasping. Viscera of veins bulging like blue and red spiderwebs, yet not quite bursting as he peels back layers. Cuts that look jagged, yet expertly avoid any major vessels to curb excessive bloodshed.

Yes, the scene is gory... But too much blood spilled would make this far too messy. What's the point in art if you can't see it? In music muffled under cloth so thick to drown it out? It's a song he has played many times before, one that may not carry the same joy as the first listen, but still instills him with some level of calm. So many layers of excess in these beasts, yet it was Aeldari who birthed Sai'lanthresh?

Epidermis peeled from dermis peeled from fat peeled from muscle. Tendons quietly clipped to free spasming and contracting musculature from bone. The creature wheezes and thrashes, but his cuts remain precise. This is no experiment, no delicate procedure. This is but a collection and dissection. No need to restrain or subdue the thing, much less waste any of his toxins to still them.

It twists and falls off his table. He merely blinks and turns to place the extracted muscles into a secondary pan. His claws click quietly and he glides around the table to pluck their spasming form off the ground, setting them back on the table. Some organ has burst so fluid and mucus leave a slime trail from the ground to the table. The stench is but a rise in the chorus and he clicks his tongue. Blood has begun to spill more readily, ripped from its veins by the thing's thrashing. All the more reason to finish quickly and--

The door beyond his curtain is opened, then closed. His lips peel back from his teeth in a grimace, but he chooses to feign ignorance of the visitor. He moves to instead begin extracting bone, the creature letting out a whistle-like noise as it arches... Then falls still. Shock, likely. Normally, he would reawaken them with a jolt or an injection, but his attention is more on the light footsteps drawing near to him as he recognizes them.

Ah...

This could be interesting.

"Aezyrraesh." He clicks his teeth with the name.

"Frustrated, Tervantias? At least this time your new experiment made it to the finale, ah?" The Dracon's words carry amusement and taunt, but it bothers him none. His eyes stay on his little project, only a slow blink to even acknowledge the man had even said anything.

"What do you want?"

"..." That isn't the response Marazhai had wanted, this he knows. The pause and the faintest sound of grinding teeth only confirm that, "I need a favor. A control worm--"

It's such a pathetic request that the haemonculus laughs. His head tilts up and finally twists towards the Dracon, "Is it truly so hard for one pathetic worm to find another?"

Marazhai seethes, lips curled back in a snarl, but catches himself, "I need one of custom make." His eyes flick over the haemonculus as the conductor straightens his back, "One for the mon-keigh who continues to predict our movements."

Tervantias tilts his head, contemplating this. Beneath him, without assistance, the creature under his claws expels its life and its previous meal. Boredly, he looks down at it, then carelessly hooks a finger under it and flips it off of the table, back to the place it had previously occupied on the ground. The smears left behind reek of bile and pus. He waves to an assistant to clean it and the body up, "Why should I waste my talents making something for some mon-keigh creature?"

Marazhai's jaw clenches, "The Reaving Tempest is falling out of favor and respect--" Tervantias turns towards him slowly, head tilting, mechanics twitching, muscle glistening, "--w-with the other Kabals because of its meddling, and if that happens then--" the haemonculus draws closer to him, one hand spinning a syringe of some kind, another cutting a fresh laceration into his own skin, the final two sliding behind his back, "--then... You do as well..." Marazhai doesn't realize he's been shrinking away, slowly stepping back until his heel hit the metal of the other table.

Marazhai has always been such an entertaining plaything. Had another been chosen as Dracon, he might not be so bold to approach the second of his patron's command. But that faint glimmer in the back of his eyes as the haemonculus towers over him. He was not one to own, but to be owned. He just has yet to realize it.

"Reason for you, yes... But I can find another patron. This bothers me little. So I will ask again." He leans over the shorter drukhari, his half-lips sliding into a smirk, "Why should I make this... For you?" The bloodied hand that left a deep cut in his pale skin comes forward and presses up under his jaw, the blooded finger swiping across the pale skin of his cheek and leaving a broken smear of red.

Marazhai squirms like the very wriggling grub he desires to commission from the Archmachinator. But his tongue swipes across his sharp teeth, "I could bring you more parts for your beasts," the hand tightens and Tervantias's expression doesn't budge, "gift you the others of the mon-keigh's crew," white hair falls in a cascade onto Marazhai's shoulder as Tervantias tilts his head one way, "...what else would you have from me for such a simple little request??" Marazhai hisses up at him, hands bracing on the table behind him.

"I will have both of these things... And I will have a revisit to your anatomy, Dracon. You ask me to lower myself to such a task and so you, yourself, shall also be lowered."

With a twist of his wrist and a swift strike, the haemonculus stabs the syringe into Marazhai's throat. He revels, for a second, in the shocked gag before his thumb presses the plunger down. He leans in, watching the green liquid color veins and open them up, spreading faster as Marazhai's heart quickens. He slides the tool out and sets it aside, watching the puncture hold the fluid well.

"Let us begin. Don't act as though you will not take pleasure in this." He loosens his grip, but his other hands abandon their post behind his back to come forward and begin to carelessly remove his armor, "You requested these depths before." He motions with the hand previously holding the syringe to a servant of his.

Marazhai hisses and curses him, his hands clawing at the haemonculus's arm, but... Tervantias knows he isn't really giving it his all. His blade is easily in reach, after all. Another table is brought forth, this one angled upwards. The Dracon's back hits the metal and hands swiftly secure him down.

The Archmachinator hums, pleased, and moves away to collect his tools, taking his sweet time as Marazhai fights the inevitable flow of the toxin. It's somewhat impressive that he hasn't screamed yet--

...Ahhh...

There it is. A smile twists the exposed muscles of his face into a grimace as the toxin finds Marazhai's heart and the man's scream rips through and echoes in the air of his Opera. His eyes slip shut for a moment, contemplating his options as his newest specimen thrashed and cursed him. He could check on his previous addition to the young man. See how well the new tissue was settled in.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at his subject--no longer Marazhai to him, but another project, another song to compose. He is on his back, it will be no small task to cut through his body to get to his spine. All the more fun. His claws wrap around three tools; A saw of some make, two clamps, and a gun-like machine.

His claws are his scalpels. He sets upon the man with practiced ease. Without fanfare, a Y-incision is cut. Skin peeled back. The gun-thing is put to use firing pins through the skin and into the table, holding him open like the wings of a beetle on a collector's wall.

Just as with the pitiful creature before, Tervantias ignores his subject's thrashing. This one is restrained, though, and it makes for easier cutting of muscle. Not for extraction, of course. No, this one will have to be put back together.

Sheets of muscle are pinned as well, the rippling striations and folded groups reminiscent of bird wings. A glance upwards as Marazhai stills. His eyes are distant, his jaw clenched tight. Drool trickling down in a steady stream from one corner of his mouth. Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes. He must be desperate not to let them fall. It isn't the cutting doing this to him. No, he has been wounded so before, gutted thoroughly before. He would not shed tears, even in pain, for something so simple as a wound.

No, it is the toxin. Causing certain glands to release more than they should. We, as humans, would call similarities to these releases as adrenaline, dopamine, endorphins. Tears simply follow suit and his drool is but a by-product. Marazhai is feeling everything... Tenfold. No, twenty. A hundred, if not ever more.

A whimper spills from the proud Dracon and Tervantias laughs, "So soon? A proud beast turned to mewling. And I've not yet touched your guts."

"Wh-what did you... What did you do to me...?" The tone was meant to be that of anger, or even fury... But desperation comes instead. He does not admit his sick delight in the haemonculus's claws.

The Archmachinator does not respond. Instead, the saw comes to its duty. It slices away the bone of the man's ribcage, eventually allowing their release on the subject's cavity. Marazhai gags on his screams. They bleed, in spades, they bleed. It spurts in wet fountains, painting the tool and the metal and gore of Marazhai's flayed hide.

"You make a fine distraction, Marazhai." His voice, calm and even, still cuts through the buzz of the saw. He stops only when he can remove the sternum as if a simple lid on a specimen jar. He sets it aside. His claws gently move through the man's organs, testing the connective tissue that holds them in place, his flesh hand soiled by the blood of his ribcage.

"A pathetic Dracon, but a deliriously fine specimen." He expertly carves one organ from the others, without disrupting its function. He twists it delicately to set aside, then moves to another. Again. And again.

And he speaks as he does it, "Truly, I have considered bartering with your sister for you. Every new request she has..." He slips metal fingers around Marazhai's heart, feeling its rapid pulse, unable to beat any faster. He leans over, "Your name dances on my tongue."

He pulls on the organ, watching the thick veins and arteries pull like a wet rope out of his body, blood drooling from any little nick in the membranes. He tilts his head, eyes flicking up to Marazhai's face. His turquoise eyes have paled with pain. Nearly a silver-blue. His pupils are mere pinpricks as he just stares back at Tervantias.

"You are no leading figure. You are but a toy." He presses the organ to his lips, teeth taunting the ever-moving muscle. His tongue slides over it. He could easily bite. Simply resurrect Marazhai after he bleeds out... But the expression on his face... He cannot help but revel in it. Blank. Obedient. Malleable. He chuckles, the sound reverberating in the opera house, before setting the heart aside.

He considers Marazhai's form for a moment. Almost mechanical, how his organs' connections--veins, nerves, tissue, and arteries, all--bend like cords back into his body. He can see the shimmer of his modification in the pool of blood that is the man's chest cavity, all but emptied of viscera. He turns to a small device, a pump of sorts, and begins to drain that pool, letting him have a closer look.

For all his fun, he does have a goal. His claws gently run along his spine. Tilts his head one way... Then another. The augment has bonded quite nicely. Though there is a bit of misalignment here... He clicks his metal claws and picks up a pair of forceps, cutting open the thin membrane protecting the shimmering white nervous augment and holding it open with the forceps. Delicately, he pulls four inches of tiny wires like worms out from the soil of Marazhai's tissues. They squirm in his grasp like them, too, searching to grasp onto something, anything. He moves them slightly upwards, and they shoot back in, spreading out and settling again.

Marazhai's right arm will function just slightly better. Not that the man would notice, nor appreciate it. Not that Tervantias does it for his benefit. He does it to see it put in its proper place. He releases the forceps and continues his slow examination of the spine through the chest. One nerve-set at a time.

His long hair falls into the cavity one strand at a time, a trickle of white stained with blood.

Marazhai groans above him. A claw flicks and stabs into the man's thigh, drawing that groan into a raspy moan. A thin tongue slips out and licks fresh moisture onto exposed fangs, but he says nothing. He continues his observations, but slowly drags that claw, carving the shape of the muscle beneath into the flesh. Marazhai's voice pitches slightly higher, cracking.

"I knew you would find yourself enjoying this." Metal clicks and chemicals hiss. He injects more of that concoction into the man's shoulder, causing him to spasm. His wrists strain at metal and his flesh tears at the pins--though they hold. His knees draw upwards, stopped only by two of the haemonculus's hands to keep them out of the way. He acknowledges it no further, but leans back a bit. One by one, he pulls the organs back to their places. Slides a fluid along them to repair connective tissues he had expertly severed. Pain slowly ebbs away from the man and he whines his protest.

"Be silent. This is for my enjoyment." He looms his face close to Marazhai's, "Not yours." A taunting smile, and he returns to his task. Diaphragm folded back into place. Bone seamlessly mended back to bone. Muscle tissue reattached. Marazhai began to snap insults at him, just now feeling the height of the second wave of the injections, but they have no sting. Flesh returns to its place, and no scar is left behind. He trails a finger down the man's chest, then flicks it away, snapping for a servant to release the man's binds.

He hears rather than sees Marazhai's body crumple off of the table as he turns his back.

"You will have your control worm, Dracon Aezyrraesh." He waves a hand, "Put your armor back on and crawl back to your Kabal. I will send you word when it is done."

"You fucking bastard, you can't--"

"I took my payment, Aezyrraesh. Be grateful I did not take more. I would happily risk your sister's wrath for more."

Silence. Well, as silent as the Anatomical Opera would allow in its gullet. He tilts his head as he plucks an egg from a jar, pulling various syringes and tools from different shelves to begin modifying the embryo within.

Silence is interrupted. The attempts that Marazhai makes to move under the influence of his toxins are amusing to listen to. He silently adds finding an extension to the toxin's effects to his eternal list of projects.

He doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he hears Marazhai finally move to attempt putting his armor back on. He knows the man desires attention, even a look of disgust or annoyance, and he will deny him even that. He will bask in the man's suffering for it. He does tilt his head a bit as he hears a heave and a splatter. A groan. He chuckles despite himself.

Marazhai hisses a final insult before stumbling towards the curtains, towards the exit. What a shame. He had somewhat hoped for some begging. He can only laugh to himself at the thought of Marazhai goring himself later to try and chase what he had given him. To satiate himself. His eyes finally turn, easily finding a hole in the curtain to watch Marazhai's back as he shoves himself through the door out.

His backplates are crooked.

Tervantias clicks his fingers in a snap, "Someone clean up that mess."

#cw gore #cw fictional self harm #cw vomit #cw surgery #cw body horror #cw sadism #cw masochism #cw noncon #as... consensual gore is definitely a thing in this universe to this species #tervantias the archmachinator #marazhai aezyrraesh #tervantias/marazhai #sub!marazhai #man *I* need a cigarette after this #lmk if i need to add more tags #i think i covered it all

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