#this looks so much better on desktop :( oh well

[thestoryofusstan]

I Wanna Be Yours

pairing: boss!ceo!harry styles x reader

request: Omg, can I request a boss!harry fic where he’s mean to everyone except from her??

summary: harry is the notoriously mean owner of pleasing, and he might have a slight soft spot for the new girl in the marketing department.

warnings: cursing, not edited

--

you were extremely new to pleasing, a very famous brand known for their nail polishes and perfumes. ever since you started (about three months ago), you’d hear literal horror stories about the founder and ceo.

rachel, the girl who trained you, told you that he was just plain rude. it was safe to say you feared the day he came in. thankfully, he wasn’t around much. not at your location, anyway. you were at the los angeles location, but he preferred to stay at the new york one.

tuesday morning, you got ready like every day. put on your usual outfit (a skirt, white button-up, a blazer, and heels), along with some black fleece-lined tights and a headband to push your hair back. it was getting cold out, and you couldn’t get away with just a skirt much longer.

with your iced coffee in one hand, your macbook and a few files you’d taken home in the other, you walked quickly into the building.

“good morning, miss townes,” the concierge greeted you.

“morning, nancy!” you greeted back as you ran to the elevator and pressed the button.

“late?” nancy asked.

“almost! this stupid elevator—“ said elevator dinged, and you let out a sigh of relief. “speak of the devil. see you, nance!”

—

by the time you made it up to the marketing floor (the twentieth floor out of fifty), you were exactly on time.

you moved as quickly as your heels would allow, dropping your car keys, computer, and files onto the desk.

“right on time, y/n,” rachel teased as you sat down. the two of you had cubicles right next to each other.

“long line at the coffee shop.”

“lucky you weren’t any later,” she commented as you sat down and took a generous sip of the iced coffee that had almost made you late, “mr. styles is said to be coming in today.”

you nearly choked on your drink.

“you finished those edits, right?”

“.. uh.. yeah. yeah, finished them last night,” you lied with a nod.

“y/n! he’s ruthless— he will literally fire you! that’s the new launch, and it’s overdue!”

“i know! i know, but i’ve been so busy, and fucking josh keeps making me do his shit—“

“oh shit, shut up. he’s here.”

“what?” you squeaked, quickly cleaning up your desk and opening the new launch photos on both the desktop and your personal computer.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched as what had to be mr. styles strolled through with an assistant who was talking about what you assumed was his schedule.

“you’ll have a meeting with the investors at three, and we have some papers to sign—“

you tuned her out as you tried to speed up the editing— brightening colors and adjusting the text so it fit better.

and suddenly, the footsteps of mr. styles and his assistant stopped. directly in front of your desk.

“you,” a voice spoke, and oh my god, he was british, “i don’t know you. who are you?”

your eyes snapped up to meet his, “oh. uh.. i’m y/n.. y/n townes. i’m.. um.. i’m new.”

he mouthed your name as if thinking it over.

“you’re the one doing the edits for the new launch?” he asked.

“yes, sir.”

he nodded before continuing his stroll. because, of fucking course, his office had to be on the marketing floor.

you let out a breath, sinking into your chair. rachel grabbed your arm with a comforting smile, “it’s okay, babes. he could’ve been rude.”

“he’s gonna see i’m not done and fire me!”

“it’s fine, just don’t think about it.”

—

right as you were about to head out on a quick lunch break, mr. styles’ assistant popped up at your desk.

“ms. townes, mr. styles requested your presence in his office. you, as well, ms. evans,” she said, glancing at you and rachel.

“uh— me? for.. for what?” you questioned.

“you’ll find out. i have to find a.. josh richardson. go on.”

you and rachel shared uneasy looks as the two of you stood and made your way to mr. styles’ office.

“if i get fired, i’m jumping out of a window,” you muttered as rachel pulled the door open.

“ah, ms. evans. ms. townes…. where is mr. richardson?” mr. styles spoke.

“your assistant went to grab him,” rachel answered. “what are we needed for?”

“you’ll see… ah, mr. richardson. so kind of you to join us.”

even you could tell he did not mean that.

“what is this?” josh asked, looking to you and rachel.

“you three were all put in charge of the new launch. correct?”

you all chorused variations of yes.

“and yet… nothing is done. why is that?”

you glanced to your shoes. you knew rachel was done. the whole project was all three of you were to make 300 campaigns and promo photos for the new nail polish launch. you'd devided it to be 100 each, and you all picked however many billboard designs, posters, social media posts, and so-ons that you'd do for the project. however, josh had slowly but surely pushed all of his work onto you.. until you had to do 200, and you only had around 130 done.

“i expect an answer.”

“i.. i finished all my photos and campaigns,” rachel finally said.

“i'm nearly done with.. my things. i was just helping josh before i--“

“so.. what i’m hearing so far, and correct me if i’m wrong, is that mr. richardson hasn’t been doing his job?”

josh cleared his throat, and you could feel the daggers he was glaring at you burning into your skull, “yes, mr. styles.”

mr. styles nodded, and you understood the horror stories now. he wasn’t even trying and he was terrifying. “do you like your job, mr. richardson?”

“yes, mr—“

“so why aren’t you doing it?”

“i— i’ve been.. busy.”

“busy.. right. well, i’ll make you less busy. you’re fired. get out.”

“wh— what? you can’t fire me!”

“i believe i can. and i just did. so get. out.”

“i have worked at this company for eight years! i make one mistake, and—“

“i will not ask you again!” mr. styles shouted, standing up from his chair. you flinched. “because i am not asking you, i am telling you. you are fired, and you will leave this building. and don’t even think about puttin’ this place on your resume, i won’t say a single good word about your ass.”

josh scoffed and stormed out of the room, you and rachel followed.

you turned the corner, yelping when someone grabbed your wrist and yanked it.

“what the hell, y/n? you said you’d do my—“

“i didn’t say that. you just assumed i would. i am not just apart of the valentines launch, josh, and i have fifty other things to do, and i can’t drop that just because you’re lazy.”

“you better watch what you say to me—“

a voice spoke from behind. mr. styles’ assisant, “uh.. miss townes? mr. styles requests he speak with you.. privately.”

you yanked your arm back, rubbing your wrist, “yes. of— of course. sorry.”

you walked back towards his office with your head down, glancing up at him once you entered the room.

you were surprised to see a... calm look on his face.

"miss townes, correct?" he asked.

"ye-.. uh.. yes, sir."

he smiled, which was very odd from what you'd seen of him so far, "you can relax, darling. you aren't in trouble. have a seat."

you hesitantly wandered towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

"what did you mean by.. helping mr. richardson with his work?"

"oh, well... he just.. he kept saying he was busy and asking if i could do.. certain parts of his work. and i--.. well, sometimes i'm a bit of a pushover, so i said yes."

"i see... and how much of his work, in total, did he push onto you?"

"uhm... all of it, mr. styles."

his eyes widened, "all of it? and you didn't tell a supervisor he wasn't planning on doing any of his work?"

"i.. i felt bad," you shrugged, looking down at your hands.

"yes. well... mrs. maruska, can you please bring mr. richardson back in here for a moment, please?"

you jumped when his assistant spoke behind you, not realizing she was even in the room.

"yes, mr. styles."

it was silent for a minute after the door shut, maybe two minutes, until the door re-opened and two pairs of footsteps entered.

"mr. richardson, before you leave, you are going to do something for me," mr. styles spoke. "you are going to apologize to y/n--"

you nearly choke on your own spit at his use of your first name.

"for making her do all of your work. and.. you will also apologize for whatever the hell that was i heard outside. that is no way to speak to any colleague."

josh scoffed, "i'm not apologiz--"

"i'm not asking."

mr. styles gaze switched to you as josh begrudgingly sighed, "i'm sorry, y/n."

"it's okay," you murmured, glancing at him.

"no, it isn't," mr. styles quickly interjected, keeping his eyes on you. you much preferred them on you than on josh. they were a lot kinder when they focused on you. softer. "but.. if ms. townes says it is alright... you may leave now."

you aren't quite sure what happens afterwards, because you keep your gaze away from mr. styles, because you're afraid he'll notice how nervous he makes you.

"how many did you have left?" mr. styles asked quietly. softly.

"i have 130 done. so.. seventy left. but i-- i can get them done soon, i promise. i can just stay late, or.. or--"

"no. none of that. you'll submit the ones you have.. and we'll figure out something for the rest."

"really? i mean.. are you sure?"

"i wouldn't have offered if i wasn't. you can go, now."

"thank you, mr. styles," you mumbled, standing and walking to the door.

right as you grabbed the handle, he called out.

"oh, and y/n?"

you turned around with a furrow in your brows.

"let me know if you have any other problems."

you can't even help the foolish smile on your lips as you nod and leave the room.

--

a/n: part 1!! i really love this request

#harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry fic #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry #harry styles #boss!harry styles x reader #boss!harry styles #ceorry #ceo!harry styles #ceo!harry styles x reader

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

#scarian #desert duo #desertduo #goodtimeswithscar #grian #secret life #secret life spoilers #trafficshipping #trafficblr #traffic series #mcyt #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mcyt fic #shouting speaks #my fics #THREE TIMES THE CHARM PLEASE POST PLEASE POST PLEASE POST I'LL CRY #i had to take an hour in between attempting this again RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I WILL NOT BE SILENCED LET ME LIIIIIIVE #anyway im so unwell. imm so unwell #gods. scargirls we are WINNINGGGGGGGG LFGGGGG #HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS I CANT WAIT TO POST IT TO AO3 #txt

[brainrotfm]

the sideshow spectacular: week one

☞ pairing: nurse!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

☞ word count: ~4.6k

☞ short description: yandere fertility nurse sukuna who thinks he's pulling a fast one on you except you're yan4yan and have masterminded this exact situation from the start

☞ content warnings: dark content, modern au, no curse au, yan4yan, yandere behavior, medical play kink, breeding kink, light bondage, inappropriate power dynamic, baby trapping, afab!reader, feminine descriptors + pronouns, blink and you miss it daddy kink, probably a lot more honestly i'm sorry for being a pervert

☞ notes: credit shhhhh don't look at what time this was posted i *definitely* made the cut off for week 1 also this came to me in a vision and then i feverishly wrote between today and yesterday also this is my first posted smut ever pls be nice also also also not beta'd not edited we die like men have fun xoxoxo

You have turned him into a monster.

You, with your kind smile, the way you offer it so carelessly to every person you meet. You, with your adorable gestures, fidgeting and fiddling with pens, magazines, the edges of your skirts as you sit in the waiting room. You, with those trusting eyes, lashes fluttering at every passing sensitivity. He could read your emotions clear as day, and spent too much of his time doing so, pretending to work behind an antiquated desktop as he side eyed you.

The other nurses had caught on, of course - ever watchful hens, they were quick to pinpoint his interest in you, tutting at him in the break room only for a moment about it being inappropriate to desire patients. Their admonishments turned teasing without him interfering, settling into their usual lust for office gossip without another acknowledgement. In truth, his coworkers were delighted, in fact, by the pink haired man "softening" over you.

This would have drawn his ire, even his retaliation in most instances. Until Sukuna realized he was purposely being slid your chart whenever your monthly appointment rolled around, an unexpected convenience in Sukuna's intricate plan to claim you as his own.

He had only heard of your husband in passing, the man only present at your introductory interview with the fertility team and the first few appointments before his obligation to you waned. Sukuna despised him for it on principle, but in practice, no other presence in the exam room meant having his bubble of heaven. A single half hour appointment, once a month, where he reviewed your chart, asked invasive questions about your health, took blood, gave the occasional ultrasound, offered advice on the repetitious nature of fertility treatments, and flirted his ass off as he watched you giggle and squirm under his attention. The prospect of cucking this faceless man only added to Sukuna's dark desires.

Today was finally the day. It was even circled on his desk calendar, red ink.

"You look handsome," you offered him the compliment easily, your voice obscuring the click of the door locking behind you both, back to him as you set your jacket on the extra chair. Sukuna preened for a second, smiling to himself.

Sukuna was wearing a tight, long sleeve black shirt beneath his favorite maroon red scrubs, the smallest hint of a chain beneath his collar, and comfortable black sneakers - none of his piercings, sadly, and since his interview, he had worn make up to cover his face and neck tattoos at work as well.

He knew you meant it too, as he diligently wore the exact same outfit to every one of your appointments since the first time you had complimented him all those months ago.

"Already buttering me up, you better not be trying to get out of your blood work," Sukuna teased as he opened one of the nearby cabinet drawers, retrieving his special black gloves that only he was allowed to use, quietly noting that none were missing with a smirk.

"You always remind me of a tattoo artist with those," you deflected, tossing him one of your oh-so pretty smiles.

"Y'know, I buy these with my own money, and I'm gonna let you in on a lil' secret... That's why, that's what I want you to think," Sukuna bantered back, so at ease around you that he rolled his sleeves up thoughtlessly before making a show out of snapping the nitrile against his wrists. He had never done that before.

You had caught wisps in the past, only question marks until today. Thick black bands of tattooed ink sat around his wrists, hidden now beneath his gloves that blended so well against them, it made sense why he liked them so much.

Your mouth went dry at the sight, licking your lips as you choked out to him, "I didn't know you had tattoos."

The tone of your voice had him raising a brow, lopsided smirk already in place, "Is that a deal breaker, baby?" If only you knew.

"Those can't be the only ones," you replied, and if Sukuna wasn't mistaken, there was a lilt of hope sitting between your words, causing his smirk to soften to a smile, his heart wrenching for a moment at you. You. He was going to ruin you.

That when he noticed that you were still standing awkwardly, your things deposited in the nearby chairs as you rocked on the balls of your feet, something about you seemingly overwhelming tense despite being in such good company. You were being different today too; Sukuna hoped you didn't sense something was amiss.

"Everything okay with you today, doll?"

"I, um... I was wondering if we could wait, actually, to do the ultra sound today," you started shyly, and he could tell you were fighting the urge to wring your hands as your fingertips jittered against your wrists. Despite your words, he continued to dig materials out of the cabinets, glancing at you over his shoulder as he spoke.

"You want to do blood first? Feeling bold today, sweet girl?" Sukuna hoped so, he had big plans for you. He turned from the cabinet to approach you to do the prep work. He didn't want to waste anymore time, but maybe having you light-headed from lack of blood wasn't such a bad idea - he stopped when he saw the look on your face.

"Is there any way I can have a physical exam today, actually? Y'know, like my annual one, but instead... now," your question was rushed as you looked toward him but not at him, and Sukuna knew this because he was staring you down, a predator honing in on his prey. He felt like he could hear your pulse from where he stood, and it made his mouth water.

"You mean your pelvic exam?" he repeated, almost dumbfounded at his luck - were you stupid or naive? Nurses didn't give pelvic exams, that was the doctor's job. Your chart only had an appointment for your usual round of bullshit, blood and ultrasound, Sukuna trying to upsell you hormones your insurance wouldn't cover, blah blah blah.

God, you were so pretty and dumb, was this on purpose? Were you trying to manipulate him? You'd been here enough times to know better, right ? When was the universe ever so giving? Sukuna figured there was really no way you'd fall for what he was about to try, sure this was your attempt at catching him red handed in his obsession over you, but he didn't care. He'd take the bait, even if it was a shot in the dark for you.

His head had cocked with his thoughts, a lopsided grin unfurling across his cheeks as he regarded you with darkening eyes, coughing to clear the husk of his arousal from his voice. "You know, the doctor has been in and out all morning. Something with her kids. I'd hate for you to get stuck waiting around for her. I could always administer the exam, if you'd like."

He very much could not, but he kept his wicked smirk in place, silently praying you wouldn't call his bluff. To Sukuna's delight, your gaze twitched between him and the exam table, knees rubbing together briefly before your hesitation subsided and you made a half step in its direction, wavering as you looked down at yourself. He understood in an instant, clicking his tongue in recognition as he went back to the drawers to dig out an exam gown for you, both your hands lingering on the package when he passed it forward.

"I'll step ou-"

"No, you can just... stay," you sounded much more confident now, cutting him off with a defiant look in your eye, the smallest curl of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "You're going to see everything anyway, right? J-just turn around, maybe?"

You were so cute, he wished he could kiss you right then. Using every ounce of his control to suppress his smirk, Sukuna turned on his heel and faced the opposing wall dutifully, the urge to peek over his shoulder at you easy to resist when he knew exactly where all this was leading. As if the wheels hadn't been in motion since before you had even arrived today.

It was sort of erotic, though, to hear the jostle of your clothes hitting the floor, knowing you were naked and so close to him, and being unable to touch or see. Not yet. A little more patience and he knew he would reap the best of rewards. You cleared your throat when you were ready and Sukuna turned, unable to hid his smirk now that he saw you in the silly canary yellow exam gown they gave people here. You were still adorable, though.

Stepping to the side, Sukuna pulled out the lowest shelf of the table to act as a foot stool and help you up, before moving to each side to unfurl the arms of the stirrups he'd be putting your feet into. He couldn't think about it too much or his cock might hear, already on thin ice until you were properly restrained. The room had grown painfully quiet, Sukuna unable to continue joking with you when he was barely keeping his hands off you.

It was taking every ounce of his self control to not start panting and drooling like a dog at the way you quietly obeyed him, without question. So trusting... So easy, it took nothing to lead you down his path of corruption. His skin was starting to get hot, but Sukuna ignored the prickling beneath his shirt, knowing he needed to retain focus now more than ever. Oh, you were speaking. Fuck.

"I read online that during ovulation, there can be blockages that, like, can contribute to the problems I'm... having, you know," you were rambling, words rushed, and Sukuna realized you were embarrassed by the information you were offering. Cute, so fucking cute. You probably should be, it sounded like snake oil garbage, but Sukuna thanked whatever AI algorithm spat that nonsense into your brain as he nodded along.

"Hmmmm, well, that's only sort of true," he hummed through the lie easily, trying not to let his fingertips linger too long against the soft skin of your calf, your ankle as Sukuna strapped your left foot into place. He was even quicker with the right one, worried you may change your mind if he idled too long.

He used his foot to kick the rolling stool closer and sat down in a smooth motion. He couldn't give you a moment to think, because if he did, you may realize your mistake. Sukuna's hands were already beneath your gown as he rubbed both palms eagerly at your inner thighs, cooing from beneath you when you jolted at the sensation, "Hey, it's okay, it's just me. You trust me, yeah? I'm not going to hurt you."

Only some of it was a lie, but you eased regardless, somehow relaxing when you shouldn't be. Sukuna would've clicked his tongue, admonished you, if he wasn't the villain in this story.

"I'm going to look at you now," it was a command more than a question, not waiting for your consent before his hands are moving to your outer thighs, pushing the gown up easily, the fabric already wanting to give from the angle of your legs in the stirrups. It just needed some encouragement.

Glancing up at you, Sukuna noted your fluttering eyelashes and shallow breaths, and realized you probably needed some encouragement too.

"So beautiful," he couldn't stop his silky whisper, barely even trying to keep up the ruse that had put you here, careless as he finally gazed at your perfect pussy, splayed out wide for him. He wanted to touch. He needed to taste.

"Y-yeah?" the quiver in your tone perfect, and Sukuna fought the urge to moan at the entire situation, wondering how someone as bad as him could have such a perfect moment unfolding like this.

"My prognosis is that you have pretty pussy syndrome," Sukuna couldn't even stop himself now, having gone mad as soon as he could smell your arousal, spit pooling on his tongue as his fingers twitched on your thighs. He wanted to touch you everywhere. He wanted to have everything. He leaned closer, his breath beginning to fan over your folds, using two fingers to spread you even further, really expose every inch of you to him. He had dreamed of it for so long, Sukuna couldn't help but linger here, just a moment.

"I d-don't think you're supposed to talk to me like t-that," you wriggled beneath him despite your words, probably beginning to realize this may have been a bad idea, but it was too late for you. You'd have to scream, and to be frank, Sukuna would shut you up before anyone could intervene. He was too close to what he wanted to be stopped now - not that you would. The wetness leaking out of your pulsing little entrance reassured him.

"Yeah? That was unprofessional of me, wasn't it?" Sukuna feigned agreement before he was licked a flat stripe from your perineum to your clit, making sure to linger and kiss at the hooded bud once, twice before giving an experimental suck, earning him a pitched keen that had him grinning.

"But then why are you so wet for me, doll?" the pet name dripped venomously off his tongue as two deft fingers pinched and rolled at your clit, crimson gaze peering up your body at your reaction. The look on your face was almost enough to make him cum right there; your tongue was poking out between your lips as you panted, eyes hazy and hooded, unable to tear your gaze from where Sukuna sat between your legs and continued his ministrations. You already looked fucked out, and he was just getting started.

He laved his tongue gently against your rapidly engorging clit, another whimper falling from your lips when a fingertip started to tease at your fluttering entrance. Already so sopping wet with the prettiest slick he'd ever tasted, he was so entranced by you that he was hardly listening.

"T-this isn't... This is different than what-" You sounded so cute like this, all high pitched and whining. Needy for something you couldn't ask for, not yet, not that you'd have to - Sukuna knew he'd give it to you, give it all to you, give you everything he had.

"We're doing a different kind of exam, doll. I'm not your gynecologist," Sukuna chided back with a sharp laugh, his words full of a condescending mirth as he sunk two fingers deep into your cunt, fighting his own moan at how easily your pulsing hole gave way to him. A moment longer of watching your cunt gobble up his fingers to the knuckle and Sukuna was going to finger bang you to death, truly.

The nitrile gloves were definitely the culprit, the addition of all your slick eradicating any friction. To be fair, your pussy was tight enough that when your walls fluttered around the sudden intrusion, Sukuna had a momentary worry that making you cum might break his hand. It'd be worth it though, so the thought passed him by.

He curled his fingers deeper, prodding and scissoring against the gummy slick of your walls, searching for the spot that would make you sing. He knew as soon as he did, a sharp inhale followed by a whimper leaving your mouth, and the man fought against his urge to grin at all the pretty sounds you were making just for him. Because of him.

He shushed you, easing the pressure against your G-spot, just swirling the pads of his fingers in a circular motion as he purred your name before admonishing you softly, "I really do need you to quiet down, we can't disturb the other patients in the waiting room. Can you be good?"

Your bottom lip was firmly beneath your teeth but wobbling precariously, the sight of you adorable but albeit, not very reassuring. Sighing, Sukuna slipped his fingers out of you, which left you whimpering and squirming, much to his pleasure. Standing between your legs, he regarded you with a cold scowl for a moment before reaching down both hands to shove your exam gown higher from your hips , up up up, not stopping until he'd bunched it beneath your arm pits and freed the jiggling fat of your breasts to the chill in the air. You didn't even wear a bra, whore. His characteristic smirk was back in place at the newfound sight of you.

He couldn't help but stare for a moment. He didn't think he could get away with taking a picture, and he needed to commit this to memory.

After a moment, he reached for the hem of your gown again, this time bunching a fistful together before pressing it against your lips, his smirk going crooked with arousal when you took it with a tentative bite, the pretty doe eyes gazing up at him starting to water.

"Shhh, don't worry, I'm prescribing the perfect fertility treatment for you today, it's even covered by your insurance," Sukuna shushed, the comfort and sympathy offered obviously fake as his fingers tips caught on your entrance again, unceremoniously shoving three forward. Maybe Sukuna was the one who needed the gag - he all but groaned when half his hand sunk into your pussy without resistance, your messy hole squelching loudly for him.

Your eyes immediately rolled as he began an unforgiving pace, hammering his knuckles against your thinly stretched entrance, his other hand having shoved into his pants to fist his cock for even the smallest ounce of relief. Despite your muffled whines to the contrary, your hands began to smack helplessly against his shoulders, the only defense you had to the onslaught of pleasure as you were otherwise pinned and tied to the exam table, by your own wishes. You had, quite literally in Sukuna's opinion, asked for this.

Sukuna squeezed the base of his cock when your flimsy pushing against his chest finally registered, because you weren't even really trying to get him away, because you were still moaning like a little bitch. He almost came at the thought.

His thumb found your clit with ease, the poor thing swollen and begging for attention as he swiped against it, and he had been right in his earlier observation; the added sensation had your pussy clenching down around him so hard, one of his fingers folded over another, practically crushing his knuckles from pressing into you any deeper. You were about to cum for him. That wicked smile of his began to curl across Sukuna's features as his other hand left his cock to take over at your clit, flicking back and forth in a quick motion while the hand buried in your cunt gave several practiced tilts forward.

"Pretty little doll," he groaned hoarsely, pressing in hard against the spongy tissue of your G-spot until your back arched from the table, tits wobbling in the air. Sukuna knew what you needed, grunting a commanding, "Now, cum for me now," before surging forward to bite one of your perfect nipples, the sudden change in angle and added sensation your ultimate undoing.

Like a bow pulled taut, you snapped at your peak, a surprised shout barely escaping your throat before your cunt flexed hard, before splitting itself open with a gush of clear liquid around Sukuna's eagerly awaiting palms, the hand inside you stilled to let you ride on while he continued to lazily flick your clit, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could.

You were going to feel heavenly around his cock.

Sukuna felt his eyes roll back as he mercilessly pummeled his hips forward, unable to slow himself down, your cunt filled to the brim with his girth. His hand was grasped so firmly over your mouth, you could only helplessly cry out against his palm, laving your tongue and teeth over the skin for some amount of grounding sensation as the man ruthlessly fucked into you.

The stirrups had kept you spread wide for him, unable to wriggle away from pleasure and pain alike, and a puddle was forming on the floor as your needy cunt drooled around his abusive thickness. So perfectly fucked out, just for him. Your walls fluttering indistinctly from the spasms of your orgasms, your euphoria evident from your slick sodden pussy, your heavily lidded gaze, your labored gasps for air beneath his hand. Grinning, he pinched two fingers together and closed your nose, and your entire cunt clenched, and Sukuna barely stifled his own groan as he ricocheted into you with renewed vigor. He let go when your eyes began to roll, and it seemed that the flood of oxygen back into your brain combined with the frenzied thrust of his hips had you shattering around him once again.

"Oh my god, look at you," Sukuna choked out lowly, "you're just sucking me in, it's like-"

He was gazing down to where your bodies connected, wonder twinkling behind heavily lidded maroon eyes as he watched your cunt take him still, after already cumming twice and probably so sensitive, still. His heart hammered in his chest, the pressure at the base of his cock getting dizzying, making his mouth run as his brow furrowed, unable to take his eyes away from your drooling slit as he chased his high.

The exam room stank with sex, filled with the wet slaps of his hips and low grunts, your cum drunk mewls broken and pitchy and barely muffled by your spit-soaked gown. It was a wonder you both hadn't been caught yet, but at this point, it just seemed to be Sukuna's lucky day.

"You want me to cum in you, don't you?" Sukuna asked breathlessly, not actually caring for the answer, because this had been the point all along. The entire plan hinged on filling you to the brim with his seed.

"You want my fucking cum, you want to be bred by me and not your stupid fucking husband. You want me to fuck a baby into you, you dirty fucking whore, so shameless," as he spoke, his thrusts began to speed up, his control finally dwindling as he hammered recklessly into your perfect sopping cunt. He was unable to stop himself from reaching down to grind his palm against your clit, adoring the way your walls gripped his shaft, milking his thickness for all he was worth.

"It doesn't matter what you want, m'gonna do it anyway," he hissed, crimson eyes wide and wild and boring down at the pussy he planned to fill with his seed, absolutely deranged with his singularly focused obsession, and the sight had you shuddering around him again, your third orgasm unexpected for the both of you.

Sukuna had no chance against your spasming walls this time, his hand finding your throat and dragging you up for a ruthless, harsh first kiss. More of a mashing tongues before Sukuna cried out with a growl, dropping his head to muffle himself with a bite to your shoulder. Instinct shoved his hips forward, burying his cock as close to your womb as physically possible as he came, flooding you with warmth. His cock jumped inside of you, twitching and sensitive against your fluttering walls, both of you hissing and moaning softly as your hips continued to rock slowly, riding out the overstimulation.

Your chests were pressed skin to skin, Sukuna's head was still tucked in the space between your neck and your shoulder as you both came down from your highs, silent except for the shared panting. Sukuna was the first to speak, chuckling as he lulled his tongue against the mark he had left, kissing the already blossoming redness in a surprising act of tenderness.

"I marked you up pretty bad, doll, between that and my baby, I don't think you're getting away with any of this. What're you gonna tell your man?" Sukuna didn't know if it was pride or jealously twinging his words, but whatever it was, it tasted bitter on his tongue, despite all the blessings he'd received today.

A beat passed before you tried to sit up on your elbows, the angle of the exam table not exactly helping, once hazy eyes now trained on his, absolutely twinkling as you murmured, "Probably nothing, I guess... considering I'm not married." You wriggled beneath him, still pinned beneath his chest as you danced your hips back and forth around his softening length, making cum leak out and down your puffy slit in a proud display.

"What?" His cock hadn't even come out of you yet. You were gonna make him hard again if you kept that up.

You giggled, the sound sparkling with delight as you repeated, "I'm not married. That man isn't my husband."

"He's been here... It's part of our screening process."

"He's just some actor guy I hired. I don't even know him." You didn't even have the nerve to sound embarrassed.

"What does that mean? He gives samples-"

"I give samples on my 'husband's' behalf. Why do you think our treatments haven't worked?" your smile had grown wicked, a twin lopsided grin to the one he usually wore, pupils dilated as you admitted your sins, your pussy even giving a little spasm on his now rapidly hardening cock. You were getting off on this, you little she-devil.

"Then what's even the point in coming to a fucking fertility clinic if you're not-"

"All for this. All for you," your confession both the sweetest and most deranged thing he had ever heard of in his life, and that was saying something, considering... him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Sukuna was pretty sure he was in love with you.

You thought you had finally stunned him. You had, for a moment, like a flash bang. But Sukuna recovered quickly enough, reaching an expert hand down to drag the middle shelf out from the front of the exam table. He stepped his right foot forward before hoisting a knee to plant his left foot firmly on the stool, using the advantage of his palms already under your knees to unceremoniously shove you into deep mating press, no longer constrained by stirrups.

His fat cock could bully against your cervix easily now, and considering he never skipped leg day, his stamina in this position was nothing to be trifled with. He gave an experimental roll of his hips, sinking tip to hilt without any resistance, the movement causing you to shout hoarsely at how quickly his balls pressed against your asshole.

"Oh you fucking slut," Sukuna purred in delight, his condescension sticky sweet, "Since you want my baby so bad, we'll make extra sure it sticks this time, but you gotta be quiet and we gotta be quick." You opened wide as he grabbed a handful of his special black gloves from their box and balling them into your gleefully awaiting mouth. Leaning forward so you were caged against his chest, Sukuna rolled his cock deeply into you again, content with your muffled whine of ecstasy, before setting a brutal pace into your already cum sodden cunt.

"And call me Daddy this time."

#the sideshow spectacular #sukuna x reader #kinktober 2023 #jjk kinktober #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #tss: week one #and with that! i put myself to bed! #writesfm

[reticent-writer]

heyyy PLEASE I NEEDD Vox x teen! Reader. Where she’s like the Vee’s assistant, or Vox’s assistant or something like that and she sees Vox as a father figure? Tyy

I like this alot

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

the most chaotic job in all of hell, like there is never a peaceful moment in the Vees tower. Someone is always yelling, something is always being broken, and you are in the middle of it. The peacemaker.

Your soul belongs to Vox but you assist all of the Vees. Your like 17/18. You were a hacker before you died, you hacked into the governments software and was killed for it.

You did the same thing to Vox but he didn't get mad instead he offered a secure home/job for your soul. (Seeing that everyone is dead that sounds silly but you shook his hand anyway)

If Vox isn't around to calm down Val and Velvette you're the next best thing. Valentino can talk your ears off as much as he wants and Velvette can use you as a model

In hell you can travel through electronics like Vox

Most of your time is spent with Velvette and Vox, mainly Vox. Vox has you do a lot of work that he trusts no one else with like going to the overlord meetings when no one else wants to

You are genuinely nice, like the other overlords wonder why you're working with the Vees

Your room doesn't have a door, so to get to your room you have to go through electronics to a backroom type of place. It's still in the Vees tower but no one but you or Vox and get to it.

Vox made it like this so if you wanted to be unbothered no one could even knock on your door.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚-Vox-˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"Y/n are you awake."

You heard Vox from inside your room. You zapped you phone knowing that Vox you feel it. Basically saying you were getting up.

It took you 15 minutes to get ready before you teleported to the monitor room to find Vox watching random sinners on his big screen.

"I'm up, sir."

He dramatically spun his chair to face you.

"I hope it's been a hellish morning so far, what's on today's schedule."

You pulled out your phone and started to read off it, "the day doesn't start until 1 which is when the early talk show starts ot lasts until 3, at 5-7 is a game show, Velvette s show starts at 7, Valentino's live streaming a BDSM thing at 8, late night talk show at 10."

You looked at the time it was 8 am.

"Well since I'm free why don't we work on your mega computer." He offered. He likes how your face lit up and without wasting a second you dragged him to one of the quietest rooms in the building. In it was a desktop with a few wires connected to it.

Your mega computer was a project you started after you sold your soul. You hope it can connect to heaven one day and who is Vox to stop you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚-Velvette-˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You were in Fox's monitor room untangling cords.

"Y/N COME HERE." Velvette yelled at you through her phone.

You sighed as you stopped what you were doing and turn went through one of the many TVs.

"Yes, Vel." You smiled, clearly Vox was rubbing off on you.

"Something is missing with this outfit, tell me what it is." She pointed you in the direction of a mannequin with a outfit in your preferred style.

"(￣ヘ￣）ᵁᴹᴹ a (whatever you want)."

She hummed and with a snap of her fingers it appeared.

"Better right?"

"Yes."

"Good it's yours, take it" she snapped again and the outfit was in your hands, "no go put it on, I wanna see it."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, put it on."

-It looked amazing-

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚-Valentino-˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"Vox said your not aloud in the studio so the least your could do is read the script." He said as he handed you a think packed.

"Jailbird gets hard time" you read loud in disgust, "do you really think I should be reading this?"

He scoffed, "oh please it's not like I can't see your browser history. A03, wattpad, Quotev, fanfiction.net the list goes on."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"What... Aww is someone embarrassed." He squished your cheeks. Your face was beat red.

"Aw, Chiquita, I don't judge. You should see the more kinky scrips."

"Oh no thanks. I think I hear Vox calling me. Bye." You reached his pocket for his phone and with a poor you were gone.

After that you made it so no one could see any of your activity.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

A/n: I don't like Valentino. I love his voice tho

#hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #female reader #teen reader #the vees x reader #platonic #reticent writes #reticent writer

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Lux; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! I, uh, was only supposed to write nine sentences for this, buuuuut I didn't only write nine sentences for this. 😅 LOOK, I HIT A GROOVE, I'M NOT SORRY. Enjoy your read-more, y'all.

“Do you want some ideas for names?” Billy offers. Most kids don’t get to “legally” name themselves quite this way, so he feels like helping Superboy pick a good name is important. He wants him to have one he really likes. “I know a lot of them. Or we could look some up online? Batman got us a desktop and got you a laptop and a tablet, in case you need one for anything. Oh, and there’s phones, so we can keep in contact! I should grab you yours, actually, it’s . . . somewhere in the kitchen, I think.” 

“‘Ideas’?” Superboy repeats, looking a little uncomfortable. “Like . . . what?” 

“I just mean suggestions,” Billy promises, immediately distracted from the phone by Superboy’s apparent discomfort. The phone can wait. “You can pick any name you want, it’s up to you. I’m not gonna, like, veto you or anything.” 

“. . . sure,” Superboy says. He still looks uncomfortable and Billy still can’t be sure he really means it, but . . . well, he just has to do his best, he guesses.

“You don’t have to decide right away, you can think it over for a bit,” he says. “But we at least need something to put on the paperwork. You can always change it later if you decide you don’t like it.” 

“Whatever,” Superboy says, his mouth thinning. Billy thinks Cadmus was sort of terrible for not giving him a name. Actually, no, Cadmus was really terrible for that.

“How about I just list some, and if you like any of them, you can just say?” he suggests. 

“Whatever,” Superboy repeats, looking away. Well . . . it’s not a “no”, at least, so Billy figures they can try, and if Superboy gets annoyed, they’ll just stop and try again later. 

“Okay,” he says. “Um . . . let’s see, what are some good ones . . . David, Asher, Zachary, Parker, Otto, Levi . . . um . . .” 

Superboy’s jaw tightens. Billy stops listing names and bites his tongue. Okay. The name thing is a sore spot, maybe. Or maybe Superboy just doesn’t like any of his suggestions and thinks he’s lame, he guesses. That might also be, like . . . a thing. 

“I’ll try to think of some more later,” Billy says, repressing a guilty wince and grasping desperately for a new topic. “Do you, uh . . . have any questions? Or anything like that?” 

Probably he should’ve asked that sooner, come to think. 

"How often are you gonna be here?" Superboy asks, still looking away. Billy can’t really read what he can see of his face very well, but hopefully once they know each other better he'll get better at that kind of thing. Like, he’ll have to, right? 

"Oh, like–pretty much whenever I'm not doing hero stuff or on any League missions," he says. "I'll make sure and tell you if I'm ever gonna be gone overnight or anything like that, okay?" 

Superboy . . . blinks. Looks back at him. 

"You're going to live here?" he asks in confusion. Billy blinks too, tilting his head.

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, it wouldn't be very nice of me to just ditch you here all by yourself, would it?" 

"I can take care of myself," Superboy says, his expression shuttering. Billy frowns. 

"Well, sure, but that doesn't mean anybody's gonna make you," he says. Just because Superboy’s physically old enough to take care of himself doesn’t mean he’s not technically still a baby. He deserves to get taken care of and have somebody help him figure out, like . . . everything, pretty much. Civilian life and superhero stuff both. 

That’s why Billy’s doing this, so . . . yeah. 

“Why?” Superboy says. 

“Because that’d be really mean,” Billy says. “And we’re the good guys, so we have to be the good guys.” 

Superboy’s jaw tightens again, and then he folds his arms and looks away again too. He looks upset. Billy wishes he knew how to fix it. Like–even just a little bit. He knows sometimes that stuff just doesn’t “fix”, but . . . still. He’s trying to be a good dad here, so he feels like he should fix things like Superboy being upset. 

Well–he guesses just letting him work through being upset is okay too, if it comes to it. For when things aren’t that easy to get distracted from. Billy would also have a lot to be upset about if he’d been made in a lab and told he was supposed to be somebody he’s not and gotten mind-controlled the first time he’d ever woken up for real. Like, that’s a really shit first day. 

Superboy must feel really weird, too. Cadmus probably didn’t really teach him how to be a kid or a teenager, since they were trying to make an adult Superman, so it’s no wonder he thinks they’re gonna make him take care of himself. Billy’s gonna have to help him learn how being a kid works, he’s pretty sure. 

Well, he can do that. And, well, Superboy’s friends can cover the “teenager” stuff, he guesses. Like, probably. 

. . . maybe he could find a couple parenting books or something. A parenting book might be a good idea. 

"I just don't get it," Superboy says after a long moment staring at the wall, tensing his folded arms. "What about when you have to get back to your real life? Like your . . . your job and your house and your . . . family. This is keeping you away from all that." 

"Oh," Billy realizes, blinking at him in surprise. He guesses Superboy probably would expect him to have that kinda stuff, huh. "No, I don't really . . . have any of those, technically? I mean, I am human, I wasn't lying or anything, I just don't have a job or another house or anything like that. Actually the Justice League is paying for all of this, 'cause we were all talking about the best place for you to live and Superman asked if maybe I could take care of you, and I had to tell him I couldn't 'cause I didn't actually have anything to take care of you with, but Batman said the League could set up a stipend to pay for stuff and help me get a place and all that if I wanted to do it, sooooo . . ." 

". . . Superman asked you to take care of me?" Superboy asks hesitantly, shifting in his bean bag and finally glancing back to him again. 

"Yeah," Billy confirms with a nod, a little relieved that Superboy’s looking at him again. Well–close to him, anyway. He’s not quite making eye contact, but that’s fine. "Well, him and Batman. Because my powers are kinda close to yours so I can help you train and stuff, but also Kryptonians are vulnerable to magic so if you've got any mind control triggers in your head that we missed I should be able to stop you without having to hurt you. Like I could restrain you until we could help you or until you could snap out of it on your own, I mean." 

"Oh," Superboy says, blinking slowly. "I just figured somebody had some kryptonite somewhere in case something like that happened." 

"No," Billy says, frowning at the thought. Geez, what kind of an awful dad would he be if he did that? He's seen what kryptonite does to Superman and it totally sucks. "Kryptonite hurts. I'm not gonna let anybody use kryptonite on you. Er–well, probably eventually a bad guy will when you're on a mission, that's kind of how those go, but we're definitely not gonna keep any here.” 

"Why not?" Superboy asks, frowning back at him. "It's more efficient than actually fighting me. And I might injure you if I'm like that." 

"Yeah," Billy says. "But also somebody bad could use it against you if they ever broke in and found it. And this is, um–well. This is your home now, so I don't think there should be things that could hurt you in it anyway." 

Superboy stares blankly at him again. Billy tries not to fidget. 

"There were lots of things that could hurt me in Cadmus," Superboy says, his face staying very, very blank in a way that Billy immediately hates. 

"Well, this isn't Cadmus," Billy says firmly, trying to look as sincere and trustworthy and dad-ly as he knows how to. He had a really, really great dad. He can pay that forward. Superboy deserves a great dad too. "I'm taking care of you now, and I don't want kryptonite or anything like it around you. Ever." 

Superboy stares at him. His expression is really complicated-looking and Billy doesn't understand it, so he just keeps trying to look as dad-ly as possible. Hopefully that'll help, or at least won't hurt. 

". . . what about your family, though?" Superboy asks after a long moment, flicking his eyes away uncomfortably. Billy really hopes he's doing this right. "Or do you, uh, not have one of those either?" 

"Um," Billy says. "Well, I have the worst uncle in the world who I really hope is rotting in prison somewhere by now, but otherwise it's just you."

"What?" Superboy frowns again, looking confused. "What's just me?" 

"Uh . . . my family?" Billy replies, a little embarrassed. He hasn't actually had any family that he could still want to be around in . . . well, a really long time now, so it feels sort of weird to say it, but it is true. Dubiously-legally true, given all the fake paperwork Batman’s been putting together, but still true. 

Superboy gives him the blank stare yet again. Billy feels like a moron, but–well, he's not gonna take it back. Even if Superboy thinks he's presuming too much too quick or something, which admittedly he kinda is, Billy also can't imagine how awful it'd be hearing someone call you their family and then say they weren't really or hadn't actually meant it or just . . . whatever. 

Superboy might not even care if he did, but . . . 

Well. Billy would care. So he's not gonna.

Ever.

#rinfic #lux #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good!

[wntrs0ldier]

AN OFFER II · 05

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,3k warnings: mafia, language, violence (graphic descriptions), minor character death, mature themes, dark themes, angst, smut, toxic behavior, blood and injury, abuse and sexual abuse, hurt/comfort,

Taking his eyes off you, Bucky turned to Sam. “Go get Clint,” he ordered, his voice — just like his stare — lacking a particular tone; it was emotionless, perhaps with a hint of cooling anger, the seed of which got there completely naturally. Then he looked at Steve, his jaw clenched again. “Get her out of here.”

series masterlist

The exhibition, crowning the last few months of your work, was going surprisingly well for something you had initially occupied yourself with just to pass the time.

It all started with Bucky’s absence and now he was there — keeping his hand on your lower back, stroking it in a comforting manner, he made you forget about all the things that could go wrong. You watched some people admiring the artwork you’ve collected, exchanged some words, shook some hands, and Bucky didn't leave your side for a second. 

At some point, Tracy appeared right next to you, touching your shoulder to get your attention. “There’s a call from Connie. She couldn’t reach your phone, so she called the gallery. I put her through to your office.”

Your friend, whom you had fortunately dissuaded from the idea of using her leave to attend the exhibition, was currently enjoying her free time on a real vacation. It certainly would have been nice to have her around, but it wasn't worth it; besides, you had solid support coming from not only your husband, but also Steve, Sam and Clint.

“Thanks,” you said, and when Tracy left, you turned to Bucky to hand him your glass with the wine you haven’t had the chance to finish. “I'll be back in a few minutes. An hour tops,” you informed, smirking. 

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked up. “Sure. Got any knives I could juggle?” He raised his eyebrows. “You know, to entertain your guests.”

You sized him up, your eyes narrowed. “Do you really know how to juggle..?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged casually. “I can show you somewhere a little more private.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, smacking his shoulder. 

Bucky’s mouth stretched into a much wider smile as your laugh reached his ears. “I’ll be waiting here,” he promised. Still grinning, you cupped his face and kissed him, then went to the stairs. 

Having hurried into your office, you got to the phone. “Connie?” you spoke with undisguised excitement. 

“Hi, babe,” Connie giggled. “How’s the exhibition? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, the exhibition is fine…” you sighed, resting your free hand on the desktop. “I have a lot of buyers, actually. It's better than I thought.” 

“Is one of those buyers your filthy rich husband?” she asked, and if she was here, right beside you, she would probably pinch you teasingly. 

A bright smile came to your lips. “He’s banned from doing that, and is here only for support.”

“That’s really great,” when you heard that, you also heard her smile fade away. “I'm sorry I can't be there for you.”

“Oh, come on, Connie. We talked about this. You deserve a rest, especially from those uptight bankers.” 

Connie said something else, but you got distracted by the sound of the door opening. You looked over your shoulder, and to your surprise, saw Adrian. 

“Y/N? Can you hear me?”

“Uh, Connie? I’ll call you back, okay?” Without waiting for your friend's answer, you hung up the phone. “Can I help you..?” you asked flatly, turning to Adrian. 

“Have you made a decision? About Paris?”

Your eyebrows rose; you secretly hoped that Adrian would eventually use his common sense, and as a result, realize how ridiculous the idea was. “I told you already. I can’t come to Paris with you.”

In a moment of weakness it crossed your mind that, perhaps, you should agree for the sake of the gallery. But Bucky was right — you couldn't sell Adrian your time; not when he was pushing the limits that way, treating you like an object he could do whatever he liked with.

“You are making a mistake. Big mistake,” he stated slowly, and just as slowly covered the space between the door and the desk.

You understood that you were just a woman — a fragile, weak woman, left alone with an offended man; the only thing in that room more fragile than you was only Adrian's pride. And yet, when he approached you, you didn't even flinch, didn’t take your stern gaze off him. 

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he questioned, giving you the last chance to change your mind. “Are you sure what you are doing? You are rejecting the opportunity of a lifetime. And it will cost you a lot. Can you afford it?”

He grabbed your forearm rapidly. Twisting it, turning your body, stiff and paralyzed with sudden panic, he pushed you, then pressed against the desk. The moment you collided with the hard surface, the air abruptly spilled out of your lungs, leaving you breathless, and the hit your chin took from crashing onto the desktop cut your bottom lip open; the rusty taste of blood settled on your tongue. 

One of Adrian's hands, which had wrapped around your forearm earlier, moved to the nape of your neck and pressed your torso down to the glass surface; his legs pinned your thighs to the edge, at the same time opening them for easier access. His other hand struggled with the fabric of your dress until it finally gave in and chose to betray you with a deep rip on the side.

“Adrian,” you grated, your breath heavy as you unsuccessfully tried to fight back, “get the fuck off me.” 

“Stand still, bitch,” he hissed, pressing your body even harder. You were losing your breath again, since your chest didn't have enough room. “And shut up.”

Struck by the sudden return of panic spreading at an alarming speed, you became numb when Adrian lifted your dress. His sickeningly cold and wet hands, touching your skin directly, without any additional layers protecting your body, turned your stomach sick. 

Until that moment, you were clinging to the hope that you could get out of it, or that Adrian would come to his senses. But now, it didn't appear that either of those things were going to happen; Adrian was going to get his way, he was going to take something from you, to break you.

Despite the shock of realizing what your fate would be, you swept your hand over the desktop to scan the area. In the process, you knocked down the phone, which Adrian considered to be continued attempts to fight, and eventually found something that, judging by its shape, was a stapler — an useless tool. A moment later, your hand felt something thin and oblong. A pen. Without much thought, you clenched it tightly in your palm and, pushed by adrenaline, blindly slammed your weapon into whatever happened to be behind you. All you knew was that it went in deep.

Adrian let out a loud, inhuman noise. The pressure of his hold loosened enough that you were able to break free. You darted to the door, and when you opened it, you ran into Bucky standing on the other side, clashing with his body. With your heart beating painfully fast, you lifted your gaze to him — your eyes still carried terror and distress, but there was a little room for relief as well.

In Bucky's case, it was different. With his forehead creased and his lips parted in devastation at what he had in front of him, he examined you closely — the ripped dress, the broken shoulder strap, the cut lip. His mouth snapped shut in a hard line, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could easily see that familiar twitch below his cheekbone, his nostrils flared. And although just a moment ago his eyes expressed so much — helplessness, fear, disbelief, disappointment — in a split second they became cold, dead. They passed you, as if you weren’t there anymore, and switched to Adrian.

Adrian looked around in a frantic search for an escape route, but the only exit from the office was blocked by you and Bucky. 

Having placed his hands on your arms, Bucky moved you carefully to the side, then made his way to Adrian. You immediately looked over your shoulder, and the rest of your body followed. 

“Hey, man, let’s talk-”

Bucky rammed into Adrian, and the kick that reached his stomach was charged with force so powerful that the man crashed into the cabinet standing against the wall. There was glass splattered everywhere — it came from the cabinet door, and from broken bottles; a few pieces cut Adrian's skin harmlessly, although it would have been better for him if one had killed him instantly. Bucky didn't wait for his target's reaction; he got on top of him, and, heedless of protests, pleas or pathetic screams, punched him in his face. Again, and again, and again.

“Stop. Please, don’t-” Adrian managed to choke out. He tried to defend himself, but was unable to block Bucky's blows, driven by tremendous power and speed. “I can pay you! I can pay you a-” 

To Bucky, his words meant nothing, his money worth nothing. What really mattered to him — what kept replaying in his head, boiling the blood in his veins, steering him to the only possible ending — was the fact that some man, no matter who he was or how much he had to offer, hurt his wife. He touched her. He touched in a way that made her too terrified to even cry. 

With each repeated punch, a little blood sprinkled out — Lancy spit and choked with it, coughing and screaming, but Bucky still didn't pay the slightest attention to it; he stopped feeling his own hand — the pain spread through his metacarpus at first, but that soon went numb — instead, he felt Adrian's bones break and crumble under his fist; he felt his nose snapping, his jaw cracking, his cheekbones collapsing. He felt only that; no shame, no regret, no remorse. Why should he, when none of these things were shown to you?

Bucky did what he had to do — he beat the life out of Adrian Lancy with his bare hands. But to Bucky, he was no Adrian, no young investor with a bright future. He was a scumbag that attacked his wife and before that, put her on a short leash. 

Breathing hard and slowly, Bucky stood up. For another brief moment he stared at the lifeless body, feeling a little less disgust. Despite the fact that instead of his face, Adrian now had a bloody, still steaming hole, he no longer evoked such disgust in Bucky.

He turned around. Blood covered his hands, especially the right one; crimson specks now decorated his face and his white shirt. You didn't feel the slightest need to run away, and if any shiver ran through your body, it was a shiver of admiration, of delight. 

You didn't know when exactly, but at some point Steve and Sam showed up; Steve stood right next to you, Sam stayed somewhere behind your back. 

Taking his eyes off you, Bucky turned to Sam. “Go get Clint,” he ordered, his voice — just like his stare — lacking a particular tone; it was emotionless, perhaps with a hint of cooling anger, the seed of which got there completely naturally. Then he looked at Steve, his jaw clenched again. “Get her out of here.”

You've lost track of time; you haven't checked it once since you and Bucky separated. Staring stubbornly, and without any purpose, at the darkness outside the bedroom window, you stood frozen, numb, wearing his t-shirt, that wrapped around you like a safe embrace.

Your skin was still aching from the almost burning water and excessive rubbing — you tried to deeply wash off Adrian’s scent and touch, but you could’ve sworn you still felt him. His smell — unpleasantly strong, hitting your nostrils aggressively — lingered in the air, and his hands, cold, sweaty, driven by evil intentions, remained on your body. A repulsive tingling plagued the places where he touched you, making you sick.

The door opened carefully, letting in some warm light from the corridor. You turned away from the window; Bucky entered the room, and then, keeping his eyes on you, came closer with a cautious step. And this time he scrutinized your figure intently.

In contrast to his shirt, there was no trace of blood on his face or hands. He washed it away along with the memory of that man, so it wouldn't clutter his mind. Instead, he knew that he would never forget that he had failed you; that he should have protected you better.

Without any words, you started unbuttoning his shirt; your fingers worked quickly and smoothly — you, too, wanted as soon as possible to get away from everything that reminded you of the events of a few hours earlier. When you were done, and the shirt tails opened, showing Bucky's tensed stomach muscles, you cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. By instinct, he placed his hands on your hips and pressed his body against yours, his tongue slid into your mouth, and despite your lip stinging, you eagerly accepted it, meeting it with yours. You already knew the way you could wash Adrian off you.

Bucky bent his knees to lower himself a bit; he moved his hands under your ass to lift you, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He walked to the bed and sat down; Bucky, as well, was fully aware of what you needed. 

He laid down, pulling you with him — without breaking away from his lips, relishing the taste of the man who had done something so thrilling for you, to the point of intoxication, you began rubbing against his crotch. Both of you breathed heavily into each other's mouths as your core, now wet and throbbing with desire, grinded on Bucky's bulge. But it wasn't enough — you needed him inside you, immediately.

You backed away just enough to be able to unzip his pants. He raised his hips, lifting you along with them, in order to slip his pants lower. At that moment, neither of you thought about taking the time to remove all your clothes; it was only about gratification, about forgetting, about pleasure.

You rose, wrapped your hand around his engorged cock and guided it to your entrance, then sank down on it slowly, a quiet, breathy moan leaving your lips. At first, Bucky looked at you with concentration, as if making sure you could handle it without his help, and when he got the proof, he relaxed slightly. Feeling your pussy swallow more and more of his cock, he groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, but soon returned his gaze to you. He had to — there was nothing that could draw him away from the pleasure of watching you. 

You grabbed the ends of the t-shirt you were wearing and stripped it off. Seeing your body almost in all its glory, feeling it on his own, Bucky pressed his lips together, the devotion and worship visible in his stare only deepened.

Now, it was you who had the control you so badly needed to regain; you needed to regain yourself, and that's what seemed to be the best way to do it. Bucky's dick was plunging into you with your every move, penetrating you, hitting that sweet spot just right, but it was you who was fucking him. The bliss overpowered you enough that, forgetting the previous damage, you sank your teeth into your bottom lip. Bucky kept looking at you — your face overtaken by delight, your body moving up and down, the way you were riding him flawlessly — and the view alone would have been enough to make him cum.

Lifting his torso off the mattress, Bucky sat up. Your back arched as you propped your hands somewhere behind, your hips rolling in circles. Bucky slid his tongue between your breasts up to your neck, leaving a wet trail on your skin. With his hand supporting the back of your head, his mouth traveled all over your face and jaw, dropping sloppy kisses. 

Sensing some weakness creeping into the dynamic you had set up, Bucky returned on the mattress, taking you with him. And you let him, knowing it would be worth it. 

“Take my hand,” he whispered between heavy gasps. You followed his request without a second thought; the hand that only a few hours before had brought death was now holding yours. His fingers, intertwined with yours, reminded you that he was here for you; fully consciously, voluntarily, not just to satisfy some animal needs.

Bucky's spare arm embraced your back, pressing you as tightly as possible to his body. His hips began to move fast but not violently, he was moaning softly, pumping his cock into your cunt. It was hard for you to concentrate on anything other than that delicious sensation of being filled like that — your brain was melting, making you nothing more than a body to fuck, but the same brain told you to look at Bucky. So you looked at his lips, parted, swollen, in that familiar deep shade of pink they had turned from biting, and finally decided to occupy them with yours, devouring his warm, plush mouth.

The space between you, if such a thing had any right to exist, was filled with Bucky's loud breaths and grunts, your soft whines and his name — the sweet promise that you belonged to him only.

Bucky went still, letting out an interrupted whimper. A single, strong shiver ran through his body, his seed filled you up. When his mind regained a small percentage of sobriety, he continued thrusting into you. You straightened up to the sitting position, but still held tightly to Bucky’s hand. The tension building in your stomach released — orgasm shook your body, sending it into strong spasms, throwing your head back, squeezing only a heavy exhale out of your lungs. 

Bucky looked up at you; he admired your jawline, your arched neck, the blue gemstone of the chain he gave you hanging in the middle of your collarbones, the single drop of sweat running down between your breasts. You were the most beautiful creation he had a chance to experience.

You gazed at him too, tears shimmered in your eyes, one of them dropped unexpectedly on Bucky's chest. 

He furrowed, and, gripped by a burning panic and worry looming over, sat up; one of his hands was instantly on your cheek, the other brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. “It’s okay,” Bucky said softly. Sniffling, you nodded, the tears still streaming down your cheeks. “It’s okay…” he repeated more to himself, his eyes studying your face nervously, helplessly. With his thumb, he quickly wiped off another teardrop that escaped from your eye, then leaned closer and kissed away a new one, the salty taste smeared on his lips.

“Nothing-” you sobbed, then took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me,” you choke out. Bucky's jaw clenched, his eyes filled with sadness. Nothing like this has ever happened to you, and now that you were his wife, it did. On his watch. He was convinced that the blame lay with him, but he didn't admit it out loud — he wasn't going to make a victim of himself, all that mattered was you. “I shouldn't have let him-”

“No,” Bucky interrupted you strongly. He looked you in the eye. “It's not your fault, Y/N. You hear me?”

In response, you only sniffled again, dropping your gaze. “You told me something like this could happen. And I didn't listen.”

“Hey,” he said to get your attention, his voice gentle, but you didn't have the courage to bring your eyes back to his. Yet, with his hands on your cheeks, he made you look up at him. “Don’t do that. That fucker had no right to touch you even with his finger. That’s not on you.” 

You weren't sure about that — your mind wasn't in a place that would allow you to believe Bucky's assurances. The wounds were still too fresh, the memories too vivid. However, one thing you were sure of; you had washed Adrian off of you. Bucky's scent clung to your skin, but your body was also marked with his sweat, his spit, his cum.

You started crying all over again — you needed this kind of purification. Bucky got that, so he wrapped his arms around you and pressed to his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, stroking your hair.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz @loustan90 @kandis-mom @abaker74 @gabshouse @casa-boiardi @globetrotter28 @fand0mskullfa1ry @iateall-yourcookies @swordofawriter @theroyalmanatee @midnightvitality @thebuckybarnesvault @milanaasblog @itsmytimetoodream @talesofadragon @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @bbiaa420 @funkybarnes @sebastians-love @walkingwithoutreason @hereticdance @abitofblues @purple-vegan @queenashen @oqueano @yourdryadwife @lethallyprotected @abbyyourlocalmilf @sapphirebarnes @matchat3a

#mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky x y/n #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia bucky #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky x you #mafia bucky barnes #mob bucky #mob bucky au #mob!au #mafia au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic

[jojo-oliver]

my terf+transphobe blocklist

Every terf I've found. For your blocking pleasure! Under the cut

Oh fuck there's a terf in my notes! What can I do? 1. Flag on shinigami eyes browser extension. You've probably heard of this, but it's free, available on desktop. Also available on firefox mobile I think. Has been used to improperly flag people before. Trust but verify. 2. Look through "Blogs like this one" to break the reblog chains and effectively block a whole circle of them. You could also just look through who they're reblogging from. 3. Have a quick scroll for any posts that are reportable. This takes a lot more time than the other steps, but if enough people report them, and if you're reporting something that breaks tumblr's guidelines, then their account could get taken down. Win. 4. Lastly, block. OR Block first and save yourself the psychic damage. If you're on mobile, you could block first and go back later on desktop, finding them in your blocked tumblrs list, to do the rest. Do not interact! Do not send anons! Don't even give them that. Just flag, report, block, move on. Movements don't go anywhere in silence.

Please know that there aren't actually that many of them. I've noticed from going through so many, and from how they interact in my notes... I don't want to say too much because I'm starting to feel like someone's going to read this eventually. But it can be pretty clear that they have multiple accounts. Some of them are making this their full-time jobs. Just sitting on the computer and finding trans people to bully. It's pathetic and sad. If you block all of them, they just... stop existing. Because it's a small group of people. But they do make new accounts once too many people have blocked them, every... 3-9 months? Or, I imagine, once they start to notice that the site feels empty to them and they've been blocked by too many people? It's easy to block enough of them, but I do recommend setting aside some time to do this. I also recommend taking care of your mental health afterwards. When I encounter a block list from someone else, I always check out the blog before blocking, because tools like these can be used against us as well. Shinigami eyes has been used to incorrectly mark trans people before. Trust but verify. No tool is perfect. So I'm assuming you're going to check some of these blogs out too, because that's what I would do. Set some time aside to take care of yourself afterwards please. Love you.

How to put these in your blocklist quickly

The way I do it uses desktop and your phone at the same time. Or 2 tabs on desktop. The second part is to reference the usernames or look them up. Click on your own profile picture icon and on the right hand side of the screen should be this:

Click on "blog settings" at the bottom. You'll be brought to a new screen, where you'll scroll all the way to the bottom, and see this:

Click on the writing thing there and then you'll finally see your block list:

I'll find this post and reblog with more of them whenever I find them. I've never made a block list before, if I could do something better let me know <;3 If someone's changed their username DM me and I'll edit it Accurate as of 2023-10-04 ----------------------------------- -Row 1- prettyrad-ical thefemalejoker42069 sirona-ryan hard--headed--woman modernamericanbreakfast meowfem uter-us mala-santa-radfem nightdepthss radfemtiktok radfem-rage glitter-soda cordycepsfem burningtheroots meanevilandcruel floradfem radsplain terf-hands gougarfem freckled-radfem radrevoltz a-toast-to-womanhood radmista -Row 2- gentlyriseandfall acidbathcat chubbyraccoonman julzlex28 kweerphobique female-prince antiyourwokehomophobia2 quinntheestallion antiporn-activist blueipa angela-anaconda-was-a-lesbian ellaacadia opabiniawillreturn coochiequeens raccoonjesus redheddebeauty nonenosome2 gendiebrainrotreceipts cornedbeef101 kaleiddie bolshefem -Row 3- irresponsiblebirdowner 1-888-narcolepsy terfytingz strozzaprete raidenfem capricorn-season cloud-enigma-blog rad-fem-r-us butch-reidentified terf-tea antigender1 the-rad-menace paperlunamoth femailment patronsaintofvulvas goyangii femmessias2 chadradfem filianongrata -Row 4- i-eat-boiled-eggs-for-breakfast conmigonoeh daughterf radishpanda adult-human-gc-female nansheonearth ilistened2transwomen magnetictapedatastorage demonlizard noncompliantbi transmisogynyiscool goblinous radbutches radicalfembabey frankenawus femmesandhoney lavendertruffles etesienne lavendeerlesbian latina-and-rad punishthegods -Row 5- shes-unforgettable blackswallowtailbutterfly iceyrukia womantichrist faxroux femgoddess-hecate radicalitch radicalblunt chocobbunnii finnishrogue cheesyradfem the-land-of-women transwomenarestillmen catsthemewsical butchlesbianz sowhatnotcreative womens-suffrage-revival-squad -Row 6- back-not-broken friendlymathematician vulva-lacking-losers lilleisak misandristdiarist lookupmedicalmisogyny irisintel womenshallrise creatorisawoman mint-fem large-gamete-maker wordsfromthewick feministfairy libertarian-princess rad-claid-plaid cisthoughtcrime powerfem feral-radfem -Row 7- lizaganderson gynoids-over-androids localbisaster tubularfem there-are-4-lights realisticflyinglesbian femjerma earwigeater destroyerofgender scumbhag clytemnestra-was-right kronkk eternal-echoes kafkaesqueneet xrgl maleswillbemale aspiringfalseidol old-school-butch radafayscage -Row 8- makeyourownopinion gcdk ex-schizo zombierightsadvocate buildingmode2fromthesims1 sofuma feministclassicist radfemlands scumlafeccia son-of-hemera terra-feminarum natures-imperfection atmospherings belastrenchcoat sublimeobjectperson wawaenjoyer feministhetic sparklypinktutu1 -Row 9- kittens2000 spacemonkeyg78 princessterf hidetothink nobleelfwarrior ancientdriftwood 10reallybigants radfemsilv elfyprincess meetmebythe1ake genderatheist religion-is-a-mental-illness s34b4ss kurwaii zlatan-dreams radradmarivy impawsterette if-you-see-gay-me lethalyellowallele dyke-chytilova molagrunda gruncheon victoriassecretagent

-Yippee you made it to the bottom! Check to see if I've added more since, if you'd like. Practice some self care. Love you.-

#transphobia #transphobia cw #pinned #talky tag

[stressed-and-fluff-obsessed]

Lee!Vox Ler!Alastor perhaps???

Of course!

Short Circuiting

Summary: After Vox suffered another defeat from the infamous Radio Demon, said demon decides to pay him a little visit

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox stared at the screen in front of him that displayed a large “No Signal” on it, a defeated and angry expression on his face before his face changed and red strings ran from his mouth to the edge of his screen and black rings emitted from his pupil in his left eye.

Just then he called Velvette and Valentino and they picked up almost immediately, “What is it Vox?” They asked him, noticing the fact that he was angry but didn’t seem to care.

“Meet me in the meeting room in ten minutes.” Vox began, voice laced with venom as he stood up, “We have a lot to discuss.” He growled that last part before slamming his fist onto his desktop, ending the call and the faint hum of television static entered the air as Vox stormed out the door, not bothering to close it on his way out.

~~~

“So what is it you wanted us here so urgently for Vox?” Velvette asked him, scrolling on her phone beside Valentino as Vox paced angrily. “Alastor needs to be stopped. That prick is getting more and more powerful and it’s not good for our business.” Vox informed them.

“Well how exactly do you plan to stop him? It’s not like he’s just a simple sinner, he’s one of the most powerful overlords!” Valentino pondered aloud, swirling his drink before taking a sip

“Oh I think I have just the idea. Alastor is helping little Princess Morningstar with her silly little hotel, luring him here with that information will be the way to do it.” Vox grinned evilly, “And what do you plan to do if he doesn’t accept?” Velvette interjected, “Oh trust me.” Vox began, turning around so he was facing away from the other Vees and began walking out the doors, “He will.”

~*~

“What is it you wanted me here for Vox?” Alastor asked the TV demon, grin visibly more strained as if he didn’t want to be there as he stood in Vox’s observatory.

“I have a proposition for you Alastor, you are a powerful overlord capable of so much more than being a simple hotelier for Princess Morningstar’s little hotel, how about you join the Vees? You’ll be able to do so much more~” Vox proposed watching as Alastor’s face morphed into one of his regular nonchalance.

“Thank you but no thank you old pal! I’m quite happy at the hotel!” Alastor grinned, “Well that’s unfortunate, looks like I’ll have to do THIS then!” Vox exclaimed before dropping into a crouch, sinking his claws into the floor and releasing a large sum of electricity through the floor.

Luckily Alastor realized and jumped out of the way before the electric shocks got to him but in turn, with a flick of his hand four shadowy tendrils burst out from the floor and slammed Vox against the wall, each tendril holding a limb in place.

Vox began to panic as the hum of TV static filled the air again as Alastor meandered closer, Vox began to struggle, pulling at his restrained limbs and sending bolts of electricity through the tendrils in an attempt to get away but it was no use so when Alastor finally reached Vox he had given up struggling.

“You of all demons should know better than to attack a superior demon.” Alastor lectured

“Yeah yeah just kill me and get it over with you old timer.” Vox muttered, looking up in confusion at Alastor’s snickers, “Kihill you? Now why would I do that?” Alastor asking him, voice laced with pure curiosity

“Well that is why you have me pinned here against my own wall is it not?” Vox grumbled in annoyance at Alastor’s oblivion, “Oh heheavens no my friend! I simply just have you like this to teach you a lesson on respect~” Alastor stated

Before Vox could question what that meant he felt one clawed finger start to prod harshly at his upper ribs and exposed underarm making the TV demon inhale sharply with a poorly concealed twitch of his mouth.

“My my looks like someone is a little ticklish~” Alastor teased, adding another finger to walk down along the length of Vox’s sides and occasionally slip to scratch at his stomach making Vox double over in his restraints as the smile he’d been fighting off threatened to make its way onto his face.

“Come on old pal don’t fight it, it’s only going to get worse from here~” Alastor taunted making a subtle shudder go through Vox’s body.

When Alastor finally moved around to skitter his fingers over the fabric of Vox’s suit on his back is when the TV demon finally broke and soft laughter filtered out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“There now isn’t that better?” Alastor grinned, “Screhehehehew yohohohou!” Vox snickered, “Well that’s not good, this lesson is on respect remember?” Alastor spoke again, “Ihihim nohohot a kihihihid!!” Vox growled through his laughter but hated the near whine to his voice.

Alastor then shifted back to his front and rested his hands on Vox’s stomach, vibrating his fingers into the sides that made the TV demon arch with a yelp, “Ahahahahalahastohor!” Vox howled, “Yes my friend?” Alastor snickered, “STAHAHAhahahahaHAHAP!!” Vox resorted to the one thing he thought he would never do, pleading with the Radio Demon.

“Mmmm no I don’t think so~” Alastor grinned once more, raising his hands to drill into Vox’s lower ribs making Vox’s laughter jump an octave. “DOHOHohohohohoHOHON’T!!” Vox snarled through his desperate laughter, “Don’t? Don’t what?” Alastor teased, ever present grin widened slightly.

Vox shook his head in defiance, no way in the seven rings was he falling for that! He just had to stay here and endure this, surely Alastor would get bored soon right?

“Ooohh what’s this?” Alastor’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts as the deer demon’s ears flicked before his nimble fingers began lightly tracing and scratching the edges of Vox’s screen that had just started glowing a luminescent blue.

The sound of television static refilled the air and Vox’s face flushed that same luminous blue and soft giggles poured out of him, “Dohohohon’t!” Vox practically whined as one of his melt spots was targeted by his rival, he would never let Vox live this down…

“No need to be embarrassed old friend! I find this rather endearing~” Alastor taunted making Vox growl, “Still not learned your lesson? No matter we can fix that!” Alastor chirped and Vox noticed Alastor’s hand drifting up towards his antennae and immediately started protesting.

“Wait! Wahahahait I swehehear if yohohohou gohoho ahahahany higher yohohou are going to rehehegret ihiHIHIT!!” Vox suddenly uncharacteristically yelped loudly and dissolved into hysterical cackles as Alastor’s hands shot down to rapidly squeeze at his ribs but he still felt something fiddling with his antenna.

Through his hysterics Vox looked up and cracked one eyes open to see a shadowy tendril playing with his antenna and noticed Alastor’s teasing grin as he kept up the playful torment, “Y-YOHOHOHOU’RE GOHOHOING TO REHEHEGRET THIHIHIS!!” Vox snarled through his hysterics and just managed to make out the sound of Alastor tsking.

“Now that just won’t do! Still have an attitude, let’s fix that!” Alastor chirped before moving his tickling hands around to claw at Vox’s back. “FUHUHUHUCK OKAY YOHOHOHOU WIHIHIN I GIHIHIHIVE!!” Vox laughed, desperation present in his voice

“Do you now?” Alastor crooned, “YEHEHES DAHAHAMNIHIT ALAHAHASTOHOHOR I GIHIHIHIVE!!” Vox cackled, fans kicking on to cool his heating body, with a jolly laugh Alastor released Vox from his tickling fingers and the tendrils holding his disappeared leaving Vox to slump against the wall, letting out any residual giggles

“Dahahahamn yohohou Ahalahastohohor!” Vox growled, staring the Radio Demon in the eyes with a defiant grin on his face. “Haha this was fun old pal but I really must be going! Till next time!” Alastor grinned before merging with the shadows and leaving Vox to himself and only one thought was on his mind that night.

He was totally doing that again.

(Sorry if it was bad this was my first fic I tried but I hope you like it! :) )

#lee!vox #ler!alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel tickle #answered

[leezlelatch]

Kiss Prompt - "I really, really want to kiss you right now" - Copia

Copia x GN!Reader - kiss prompt, insecurities, misunderstandings, Copia's surgery, smooching, worship of the white suit.

One and only prompt given to me and for my beloved @writingjourney.

“So we’re definitely keeping all the crotch shots, right?” You ask, flipping the photograph in your hand around so the antipope sitting across the room from you can see it. 

Copia cuts you a look before turning back to the document on his desk. You smirk to yourself, letting out a small huff of a laugh as you look back down to the stacks of photos on the small table you’re using as a workspace in his office. There are a lot of photographs that the immensely talented photographer for the Ghost Project takes for each Ritual, but they tend to…pile up. And you have been given the - frankly blessed - task of looking through photo after photo of Copia during the Prequelle era. From the Pale Tour Named Death to his ascendency as Papa Emeritus IV. 

Your primary task is to separate them into two organized piles. Ditch and keep. From the very vague instructions Sister Imperator gave you, it has something to do with the next tour and a mini museum. As tedious as your task is, you’ve really tried to separate each photo by suit. Black, red, and white, as well as two piles for the black and red cassock. It is so…fascinating to see Copia during a time when you didn’t know him. A time when becoming Papa was a dream he thought would never be realized. A time of facial hair and very attractive sideburns. 

“What happened to your suits, by the way?” You ask Copia, placing another picture in the keep pile which is significantly bigger than the ditch. Copia makes a small noise in the back of his throat, an indication that he’s thinking and that he needs to finish the paragraph he’s reading lest he lose his place. 

He places his finger down and looks in your direction, “In my closet. Toward the back. Getting acquainted with the dust bunnies.” 

“Even the white one?” You say, distraught as you bring your hands to your cheeks. 

Copia raises a brow at your theatrics, leaning forward on his elbow across the expanse of his desk as he regards you with an amused smile. “What has you so concerned, topolino?” His head tilts to the side in that natural curious way of his. 

“I just think that they…,” you pause as you choose your words carefully, eyes pointedly looking away from him. The blush painting your cheeks broadens his smile. “Have a little more wear to them.”

“Eh, well…they were good for, you know, my Cardinal days, but as Papa I have a much better wardrobe, don’t you think?” He pulls at his brocaded vest before adjusting the frilled sleeves at his wrists. 

“Oh, yeah! I’m just saying I really love the Prequelle era! You know it’s my favorite album, and your stage outfits were just so…I mean look at you…Copia?” You pause in your exuberance, one of the photographs in your hand, observing the frown crossing his lips that deepens with every word, made sharper by his face paint. 

His eyes fall to the picture in your hand, brow furrowing. His hand comes up to brush against his bare top lip, fingertips then finding the tip of his nose. His eyes seem to go hazy, pupils falling to pinpricks creating an expanse of green and white that looks through you and not quite at you. “Do you think I made a mistake?” He asks, his voice quiet, reaching you like a pot of scalding water against your skin. You place the photograph down on the desk, your own gaze wide as you look back at him. “Should I not have gotten this…,” he waves his hand around in front of his face. “Eh, facial?” 

“What?” You sound flabbergasted, confused. Concern etched across your features as you try and figure out what may have prompted him to ask such a question. 

“I can regrow the mustache! The sideburns may take a little work…,” Copia trails off as he touches his face again, deep in thought, his eyes dropping to the desktop. 

You close your eyes, cursing yourself for…you’re smarter than this. You know how Copia feels about the surgery. And here you are, gushing over Cardinal Copia when Papa Emeritus IV is in front of you, needing your support when he cannot get it elsewhere. He smiled, big and toothy, the day he returned from his ascension and you called him “Papa” for the first time. He looked grateful, however bruised and swollen, bandages across his nose when you expressed how glad you were that he wouldn’t have to suffer such severe nasal issues anymore. He once called you his strength. It wouldn’t do to fail him now.

“Copia. Just because you got a nose job and shaved doesn’t make you any less beautiful than you are in these photos. It’s still you. You still look like yourself. You’re still the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.” 

Your words seem to echo across his quiet office, and leave a silence in its wake. He’s looking at you again, lips parted, boring a hole into you with passionate and relieved eyes that make your cheeks flush. Copia stands from his desk and smooths his hands down his thighs, moving around the chair to carefully push it in before walking toward your small workspace. You stare up at him, unsure, and he flounders like a fish for a moment, mouth opening and closing.

“I really, really want to kiss you right now,” he finally says. 

You suck in a breath and look down, blinking before meeting his gaze once more. “Please.” 

Copia looks down at the little table piled with photos and promptly tips it over. The photographs go scattering, his former image fluttering to the floor like a cleansing rain, and then he’s on you. Pulling you up from the chair with steady, gloved hands, he draws you into his body, pressing flush against you as he claims your lips like he’s claiming a prize he has waited far too long for. Copia kisses you like a man who found an oasis in the desert, thoroughly licking into your mouth with abandon, capturing every noise you make with lips that nip and suck your bottom lip until it's swollen. He lets you take in a much needed breath only to continue across your jaw and down your neck, growling softly as he sucks a spot into your sensitive skin which he kitten licks before pulling away. 

You stare at each other, chests heaving. His paint is a mess, a slash of gray around his mouth, and you can only imagine what your mouth and neck looks like. Copia smiles, softly chuckling as his eyes rove over your kiss swollen lips. 

“Amore?” He questions softly, taking your hand in his. 

You smile. “I really, really want you to kiss me again.”

#the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #ghost #ghost bc #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa iv x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x gn reader #cardinal copia x reader #copia fanfiction #copia x gn reader #kiss prompts

[angellayercake]

The Diary of Cardinal Terzo

When the Cardinal had asked for your help to tidy up his office, you had thought it was maybe just an excuse to get you alone. He had plenty of reasons to ask for assistance, with his notoriously packed schedule. He took confessions, taught classes, met regularly with other senior clergy members, and had an almost constant pile of paperwork to be completed. It was a wonder he had time for anything else and yet he did. Because if he wasn’t to be found doing any of his endless tasks he was otherwise occupied with an equally endless list of lovers. In his rooms, in the dorms, in the chapel, in the gardens, in dark alcoves and not so dark alcoves, even once in the kitchen. So you couldn’t be blamed for thinking perhaps it was your turn to get better acquainted with the Abbey’s favourite Cardinal. You had only been right about one thing however, you were alone, entirely alone with cupboards and boxes and piles to sort through. He hadn’t even been here when you arrived, all that had greeted you was a note. 

You had done as he had asked. You had tidied the desktop first, sorting through the completed and as yet unfinished paperwork, the stationary tray had been emptied, cleaned and restocked and you had moved on to the drawers. There was, a lot, you found as you pulled it open the overstuffed contents came spilling out, hundreds of receipts and notes and assorted things. You did not envy whoever would be reconciling his expenses this year but scooped them all into a folder so at least they would be together even if they were in disarray. The second drawer is much the same as you sort through the contents setting aside the more personal items. A dog-eared photo of him and his brothers is pushed right to the back but rather than neglect the soft creases make you think it has been handled regularly so you lean it up against the base of his desk lamp while you work. When you get to the bottom drawer you slam it shut almost immediately, not wanting to take the time to discern if the pants inside were used or not. He could think again if he thought you would sort through his trophy collection but with that side done you moved on to the other. The top drawer is surprisingly already tidy, filled with neatly sorted writing supplies, a pile of his monogrammed paper and envelopes, and a collection of sealing wax and stamps. The second drawer down is tidier still containing only a beautifully embossed black and gold diary.

You shouldn't look really, probably, but he had trusted you with his panty collection so a little snoop at his schedule wouldn't hurt would it? Maybe you would even find out when he would be returning so you could greet him with a little surprise. With that in mind you open the cover turning through the first gilded pages until you get to 1st of January. But instead of a list of meetings and engagements you found what appeared to be his journal. You hesitate for a moment but then the subject of his writing catches your attention and your curiosity gets the better of you.

A challenge has been set! As the time ticked over from the old year to the new I found myself most pleasurably occupied. Sister Elouise was below me and Bishop Necropolitus, well he was exactly where I like him.The combination of her tight wet cunt and his thick cock had even my considerable carnal stamina at its limits when she uttered something that almost sent me over the edge then and there. 'Fill me up Cardinale,' she moaned as I thrust into her. 'Oh he liked that Sister.' Necropolis responded having felt the way I involuntarily responded to her words. I tried to pause, to delay the inevitable but he took control of the situation, fucking into me hard and in turn forcing me deeper into Elouise. It was exquisite. 'Would you like to be filled as well Emeritus?' He panted into my nape.'Begin the year as you mean to go on. Creampies to honour our Lord, maybe you will even make it to 666 Cardinale?' I was too far gone to comprehend if he was only joking but as we three came together in perfect grinding friction the idea took root. What better way to lead our congregation in the favoured Sin of Lust? And of course I should record my efforts for posterity. May all future Cardinales follow in my footsteps!

Somehow you had stumbled upon the Cardinal's sex diary and what a read it was and only the first day. This did at least shed some light on his packed social schedule. If he was going to meet his target of 666 he would need to, you paused doing some slow mental maths, 1.8 cream pies a day! And now you were more than intrigued, was he on target to hit his goal? The only way to find out was to read on. Looking around you decide you have been productive enough to earn a break so you get comfortable in his leather desk chair and turn to the next page. 

So ever since reading this the idea of Cardinal Terzo and his 666 cream pies has been circulating in my brain and I knew I had to use it for something. To celebrate the follower milestone I've just hit and to thank you all for being here I thought maybe we could have a look into Cardinal Terzo's 2014 diary, the year before he became Papa and have a read about some of his cream pie related escapades. I would love for people to request a date (and drop any details you want included e.g pronouns, names, kinks, positions etc etc as long as he is coming in something or having something coming in him I'm counting it as a cream pie.) Send it in an ask or send me a DM and let's see if Cardinal Terzo managed to hit his target!! (One last quick disclaimer I know this is the farthest thing from safe sex but let's pretend in this universe there is a special secret satanic sti and pregnancy protection just for fun) 

#the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #cardinal terzo #terzo #papa emeritus iii #the diary of cardinal terzo #my writing #thought i might try something different as a little thank you to you all

[ohnococo]

Right Start | Ijichi x Reader

After working himself to exhaustion, you provide Ijichi with some much needed stress relief.

❧ WC: 2.2k

❧ Warnings: fem bodied reader, no pronouns used for reader, established relationship, whiny sensitive Ijichi, kissing, pussy job/intercrural sex, vaginal sex, creampie

Ijichi’s work stresses him out, well, all of the time. That’s why when he’s forced to bring it home you can’t help but be left with your heart aching for him. He never says no, because he feels like he can’t - it’s his job to give it his all. And in turn it makes you feel like it’s your job to support him, especially when he’s within your reach at his home office, brows tense, adjusting his glasses and tucking the same strands of hair behind his ear again and again as he tries to keep every bit of his tired mind on point for his work.

So you do what you can, checking in to make sure he takes breaks every few hours, and when he won’t even do that much, bringing him food and drink to at least keep him going.

It’s become a ritual for you, watching the clock to make sure you aren’t bothering him too often, but knowing if you leave him too long he’ll sit there for hours and hours until his stomach is grumbling and he’s nearly dehydrated.

This time, as you walk down the hall and give his door a little knock before opening it, it seems even your diligent efforts haven’t kept your sweet Kiyotaka from succumbing to his stress. His head is down on his desk, face down in fact. He hasn’t even been able to remove his glasses, leaving the arms askew with how his face is pressed to his desktop. One arm hangs limp off the arm of his chair, while the other is draped across his keyboard, leaving a string of semicolons being typed on page god-knows-what of his research.

“Kiyo?” Your voice is gentle, not wanting to startle him, and when that doesn’t rouse him you approach him quietly. This time when you say his name it’s accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, squeezing until he’s taking in a sharp breath and blinking himself back to consciousness.

“Oh no…” he looks at his desk, the drool in front of him, the nonsense starting mid-sentence in his document, then he finds his bearings and realises you’re the one who roused him and turns to you with worried eyes. “Was I asleep long?”

You shake your head, “No more than half an hour.”

“Good.” he sighs, relieved, as he rubs at his eyes, straightens his glasses, and starts trying to get back to where he left off.

“You’re wearing yourself out. Why don’t you take a break? A proper one, not just a bathroom break.”

He puts his hand over where yours is still resting on his shoulder, trying his best to reassure you before he settles his fingertips back onto his keyboard. “I think it should only take a few more hours.”

“Hours?”

“I just need to finish this, I’m sorry.” He looks up at you with pleading eyes, knowing how concerned you are. It might work if you weren’t so worried for him, but you’re undeterred as you softly tug on his shoulder until his chair is swivelling and he’s forced to face you.

“Kiyo… you can’t be productive like this. Just give me an hour and I’ll get you back in here fresher than before. I promise you’ll feel better afterwards.”

He looks to his laptop screen, then back to you a few times, toying with the hem of his shirt with unsure hands, before sighing and nodding with his eyes closed. “You’re right.”

You have every intention of keeping your word as you settle him down onto the couch, opening the windows to let fresh air in, setting the quickest food and drink you can gather in front of him - making him relax and take care of himself for a moment before dealing with everyone and everything else on his plate. You even turn the little clock on the shelf above his television around, assuring him that you’ll let him know when it’s time to get back to work.

Twenty minutes later and a difference has already been made, as Ijichi is fed and calm and looking at you with his usual loving gaze as you two talk about something other than work for what felt like the first time in ages.

“Thank you for coming over, even if I can’t be a better host.”

You shrug, “Work is work. Besides, if I didn’t come over you would have been passed out at your desk and starving. You need to worry about yourself too, okay?”

He looks down and bites at his lower lip, knowing it isn’t the first time he’s needed the reminder. “I know… I don’t want you to worry about me.”

When his eyes come back up to meet yours he has the sweetest shade of pink tinting his cheeks. His lashes flutter and he seems a little embarrassed at what he’s about to say, but pushes himself to say it nonetheless. “But I do like it when you take care of me.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, making its way up to the tips of your ears as you chuckle at your boyfriend’s earnestness. “Then it’s a good thing I love taking care of you.”

You pull his glasses off, setting them to the side before holding his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs across his sunken cheeks and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He melts into it, resting himself against your lips, and when you lean back he lets his head slide right down to rest in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, rubbing at his back, feeling his long lashes brushing at your neck, and think for a moment that he just might be dozing off until he brings his lips to your skin.

It’s a light kiss, soft lips against your pulse as the breaths from his nose tickle at your skin, then as the second kiss is slightly firmer you can feel him tense as he’s lost in thought. The third kiss is deeper still, slightly wet as he lets just the tip of his tongue brush against your neck before you’re laughing softly at the wavering hesitation of his actions.

“We have time. You can get back to work afterwards, okay?”

It’s all the rationale he needs, finally sucking at your neck lightly, licking before his lips part just to move to another spot to kiss.

You pull him further into your embrace, leaning back and lying down across the couch with him on top of you. He nestles into you, happy hum accompanying his kisses along your neck when you squeeze his hips between your thighs. The kisses take a path downward as he tugs the neckline of your shirt just a little bit lower, lips gentle against what he can reach of your chest like this, until you’ve had enough and pull your shirt up yourself.

He helps you take it off, then sits up, arms raised as he lets you pull his shirt off in turn before he’s coming back down to press your bodies together, slotting himself slightly lower so he can press kisses against your breasts. His long fingers curl into the waistband of your pants, but he can’t make much progress with removing them thanks to how the two of you are lying, so you raise your hips and help him along. With them out of the way, you lie back and let him make the choice of how to proceed.

A choice is made with slow and deliberate movements, as Ijichi sits up and pulls your underwear to the side, keeping them hooked in place with his thumb as he slides the fingers of his other hand through your wetness. His brows knit further, as he looks nearly pained with the intensity of how you feel just with fingertips.

“So soft…”

He knows you are, but has to reiterate it every chance he gets, always lost in the thought of it when it’s presented to him like this. It always feels like it’s not quite real for a moment until you’re speaking to him, encouraging and warm.

“Go on, Kiyo.”

He nods, pulling his fingers from you just long enough to start shoving his own pants down, barely low enough to give him the access he needs. As his cock springs free, standing and aching and twitching as you angle your hips upwards, he shakes his head instead. His glassy eyes meet your confused gaze as he seems to change his mind last minute, “I want to- let me just-“

Ijichi stops, biting at his lower lip, trying to make sense of his thoughts and wants even as his head is crying out for the comforts right in front of him. Then, he lets out a desperate little whine, grasping himself at the base. He presses it against you, gliding through your wetness in a path that has his silky tip stopping for a moment to slide just that bit more firmly against your clit as he pushes his hips forward to thrust back up.

His eyes meet yours again, hoping his actions can help explain, “Just like this, for a second.”

You nod, reaching down to hold your underwear in place as he thrusts in the tight wetness formed between your folds and his own fingers. He looks into your eyes, letting out shaky breaths as he tries to pull his thoughts together.

“Feels good, Kiyo?” The addition of your voice to his slow movements has him whining. He nods enthusiastically as he pulls his hips back enough to really focus the head of his cock against your clit as he slides over it.

“Y-you too?”

“Yes.”

He smiles, wide and happy, like a cat basking in the sun as he continues his soft thrusts. You settle a leg on his shoulders, the other dangling off the couch, and he rests his head against your calf, letting out sweet little coos at the feel of you against his cock. He’s content with his slow, but firm, movements - getting you close but not quite pushing you over that edge as he leaves you clenching around nothing. You grip at his thighs, feeling the wiry muscle jump as he indulges himself in you for this much needed break.

He isn’t worried, he isn’t watching the time, he isn’t thinking about anything but how good this feels. You do the same, letting him partake in your body how he sees fit even as you lie there growing more and more needy for him to push his way inside of you.

Eventually, that time comes for him. He locks eyes with you, brows raised in a silent request, until you nod and he refocuses on finally working his way into where he’s needed most. He pulls back, letting you wrap your legs around his hips as he lines himself up at your entrance, and lets out a shaky breath as he slides in.

He’s too far gone to take it any slower than he already has, burying himself inside of you fully in one quick push. He nestles his face in the crook of your neck, thrusts already sloppy as he whines against your skin between wet, distracted kisses. When even that isn’t enough he brings his lips to yours, trying his best to kiss you, though his focus is pulled in too many directions to do more than slide his tongue messily at your mouth.

The slow and steady pace of before is long gone, and Ijichi is lost in the need to shove the momentum he’d built further and further as he brings both of you closer. His hips rock against yours, barely pulling out before he’s pushing in and pressing himself flush to you. It’s friction enough to have him moaning into your mouth, more focused on the feel of you gripping his cock as he slides against your sweet spot just right than he is on the kiss that has now turned to his wet lips brushing yours. Every signal your body gives him has his body responding in kind as he begins to throb inside of you, whining out your name through gritted teeth as his end fast approaches.

He grips at the cushions beneath you, stomach clenching, trying his hardest to hold out as he feels you just catching up to him. You look up at his desperate face, lips swollen, eyes glassy, and it’s the last thing you need alongside his rutting into you deep as he can to have you cumming on his cock. With just that first tight clench around him, he’s crying out, shaky, rocking into you sloppily as he unloads inside of you with eyes rolled back and muscles tensing so hard you think he may just pass out.

The thrusts continue even after he’s collapsed on top of you, whining steadily at the intensity as he sees you through your own orgasm until you’re satisfied and rubbing at his back, letting him stop before it’s too much. He rubs his face against your chest, panting and sighing, eventually twitching as your touch begins to tickle, and he looks up at you with happy eyes.

“Do you feel better now?”

He laughs, pressing his flushed face against your skin and indulging in your warmth a little longer. His breath tickles at you as he confirms, “Yes.”

“I told you you would.”

#reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #my writing #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #ijichi x y/n #ijichi x you #ijichi x reader #kiyotaka ijichi x reader #Kiyotaka Ijichi x y/n #ijichi kiyotaka x reader

[chocoperrito]

giving you many many pats,,,, wishing your partner well!!! i hope you feel better as well

have come to the conclusion that i am perhaps a puppybat digital pet! any advice for this? :3

- 🦇🎪

ps. snacks for you <3 🍡🍫🥛🍵🧃🍼

thank you so much , I genuinely appreciate the wishes lots <:] !! wrote a lot so its under the cut !! xP

a puppybat digipet sounds SO FUN !! my advice , more just suggestions of things to do - making a pupbat sona !! ( tells or shows what players / other pets are interacting with ! ) something else you can do is write about your own game or series you come from !! and like I did earlier , u could write about / draw the device(s) / website / app / etc used to care for you ! ( like how it looks or how it functions , neat features , other virtual pets included , etc ! )

orrr !! if a preexisting one like nintendogs or tamagotchi strikes you as where you feel you come from , that's good too !! ( also just being a stray desktop pet / virus / etc is okay ! ) THERES SO MANY THINNGGSS !! /POS

whether or not its a hobby , an integral part of your identity , or something else is up to you ! x) have fun with it , and don't feel pressured to stick to one thing or another ! the world wide web is much too big to have to stay in one home or form , getting recoded , updated , redesigned or moved to a whole 'nother game is a-okay ~

OH AND , snackies for you too , woof !! 🥞🍰🫔🧃 i hope whatever you do with your digipet-ness makes you happy !

#🦇🎪 #i am very passionate about this #if you could not tell #/silly #say puppybat digipet 5 times fast GO #｡truly beloved

[aehyei]

THE INCIDENT FROM LAST YEAR THAT WE SHOULD NOT NAME…day nine in 30 days and nights with na jaemin.

📌 MENTIONS OF JAEMIN MASTURBATING AND GETTING CAUGHT BY THE DREAMIES !!

pairing: boyfriend!njm x reader, genre: fluff, established relationship!au, smut

TAG LIST FOR THE SERIES: @bubblegumjeon @dayandnighthyuck @airpodbaekuwu @sunshine-skz @jaeymark @luvrboyjeno @sunshinedhyuck @thiccfullsun @baehaechannie @champagne-n-yachts @bitchenderyy @frickyratz @haebragi + if you want to be included, please reply on the original post!

“IT’S ALMSOT JAEMIN’S BIRTHDAY.”

“I know that.”

“Jeno, you’re his best friend!”

“And you’re the girlfriend!” Jeno argued back. You huffed, thinking of a new comeback but no other words came out of your mouth. Mark sighed and situated himself to sit between you and Jeno to make sure no bloodshed would be made. “Alright, we’ve established that it is, in fact, Jaemin’s birthday. And we’ve also established that Y/n, you’re his girlfriend and you, Jeno, is his best friend. Any ideas?”

“We could throw a surprise party.” Jisung suggested with a shrug, continuing to solve his rubik's cube.

“Didn’t we do that last year and remember how awkward it was?” Chenle reminded everyone, making you let out a fake cough as you uncomfortably looked away when you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

Last year’s birthday was supposed to be fine—well, at first it was. You and the Dreamies were already hidden across Jaemin’s apartment, ready to surprise him, but your boyfriend came home all bothered and horny.

You could not believe your eyes and ears when you watched him open pornhub on his desktop and tug himself out of his pants, moaning your name quite loudly.

It was only when Chenle and Jisung screamed that Jaemin was finally able to realize that all his friends, including his girlfriend, were in his home.

“Never. Again.” Haechan emphasized, shivering at the memory.

“Alright, well…any other ideas?”

“How about a surprise vacation? August 13 is on Saturday, and we can be absent for two days until Sunday. There’s nothing to do anyways.” Renjun frowned and grabbed the rubik’s cube from Jisung, solving it with pure ease.

Mark nodded, smiling, “That’s actually a good idea. Also, we’ve all been stressed out the past few months, we all need this vacation. Chenle, your family owns a private island, right?”

“Yeah. I could contact my brother. He owes me a favor.”

You smiled, clapping your hands excitedly, “Great! I’ll surprise Jaem later so we can all pack and get ready tomorrow.”

“Oh, and Y/n? Can you do all of us a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Please fuck with him as much as you can later or even tomorrow. I swear, if any of you guys try to do any shit on this vacation I will—“

“Okay!” Mark cuts Renjun off and claps his hands. “That’s settled. But on a serious note, please Y/n?”

You groan and hide your face out of embarrassment. You just could not believe you’re having this kind of conversation with them. “I-I’ll uh, try my best.”

“And can you tell me the details? Better yet show me clips—“

“Donghyuck!” Everyone screeched.

#nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #nct #nct angst #nct fluff #hyej4e fics #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #nct u #nct u smut #nct u scenarios #nct u imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin smut #na jaemin smut #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x reader #jaemin x y/n #jaemin x you #nct dream angst

[freesidexjunkie]

Trouble

Small piece of durgetash drivel i wrote while a lil tipsy and feeling some kind of way about the Baldur's Mouth Gazette mission. Will upload to AO3 when i get better signal.

Gortash x f!Durge oc - AO3

Fluff, playing chicken with each other, manipulation, small threats. Pls enjoy 🥺

"Miss... Miss! You can't go–" That was all the guard got out before he found a dagger against his throat, silencing him to a whimper.

Gortash could, of course, hear this exchange going on outside of his office. He was debating how far he was going to let her go, to see how badly she wanted in. This was enough for now, he decided; he'd spare the poor guard. Flaming Fists weren't as replaceable with Orin prowling the streets.

"Let her in," he said, a hint of bemusement in his voice. After a moment, the door swung open violently. Maevris strolled leisurely to his desk, a measured smile on her face. Without the bloodstains and the shaking guard, one could almost mistake her for a person paying a pleasant social visit.

"Ah, my most efficient assassin! A pleasure. To what do I owe–" She dropped a stack of papers on his desk wordlessly, smiling at him with her blade still at her side.

A test print of the Baldur's Mouth Gazette lay on his desk, along with a letter in his hand. Not signed, of course, but recognizable to anyone who would care to notice. Warning! Dangerous Band of Adventurers Bring Absolutist Chaos to Our City! The paper cried out, with an unmistakably portrait of Mae and her band of misfits.

"I'm beginning to question the integrity of this alliance," she said coolly. "I wonder how this article could impact our... joint endeavor."

Gortash glanced over the newspaper and letter. "Tsk. Someone's been snooping. I didn't think the printing press was open to the public," he said with a half cocked smile.

"I'm remarkably tenacious," she said, "especially when threatened by men with feathered hats bigger than their sense. But, I suppose he's more useful to your plans than I am, if you're so ready to throw me to the wolves."

Her words dripped sweetly like honey, coating the malicious undertones as she twisted her dagger between her fingers. A subconscious habit that survived Orin's attack. He found the familiarity comforting, for a moment. "An insurance policy, my dear," he said, looking up at her, "until you were more certain where your allegiances lay."

"What an interesting way to win over my allegiance, then," she said as she perched herself on the corner of his desk.

Slander her name publicly, invent a reason for the Steel Watch to detain her. She would resist, of course, but they would be ordered to bring her in with non-lethal methods. Once she was declawed and separated from her traveling companions, Mae would certainly be much easier to talk to. She could be reasoned with, surely, without those do-gooders clinging to her. It wasn't a bad plan, if Ettvard had been more cautious.

"You know, you would have one advantage in this partnership, if you weren't so keen to throw it away," she said, looking down at him.

"Oh?" He said back with a lazy smile. He had missed their little sparring matches. "And what is that, dearest?"

"I don't have an opinion on you yet, one way or the other," she said, twirling her knife on its tip against the wooden desktop. "We might work well together, or we might not. I'm decidedly undecided, I suppose. But you do things like this, and it... tips the needle in the wrong direction." She lifted her blade up and brought it back down swiftly, stabbing the tip into the grain of the desk, all while keeping her face completely calm and measured.

He couldn't help but grin fully back up at her. A lovely display. "A thousand apologies, then," he said as he stood up and walked around the desk. "However, I do think I have at least one more advantage."

"And what's that?" She asked, feigning disinterest as she pulled her dagger from the desk and sheathed it at her side.

He came up behind her, barely a whisper away from her back. "I remember you better than you remember yourself," he whispered just above the skin of her neck before planting slow, delicate kisses trailing down the space just behind her ear.

She melted into the touch in spite of herself as an arm came to rest on her waist. Just as quickly as it came, the moment was over, as Gortash withdrew his touch and walked to a bookshelf. That momentary lapse of self control was all it took; the split second, involuntary movement of her body to his, and they both know where the balance of power was shifting in this battle. The smirk he had when he turned to face her, leaning against a shelf so cockily, said that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Two could play at that game. She hopped off of the desk corner and strolled over to him, stopping almost flush against his chest with her arms behind her back. Tilting her face up to his, with the most saccharine smile she could muster, she said, "so what is it that you want, then? Am I a partner, or a plaything?"

He grinned back down at her, eyes hooded, as he put a hand under her chin and brought her face inches from his. "I suppose that's up to you, dear," he said.

Mae stood on her tip toes and leaned in to whisper in his ear, hands on his shoulder for balance. "And how would I go about convincing you I'm more useful as your equal?" She purred.

He chuckled, and she felt it rumble through his chest under her hands. He put one arm lazily around her middle and leaned in to press a small kiss to the side of her head. "Not with such an obvious show of manipulation, pet." He teased before releasing his hold on her waist and walking back to his desk.

"As opposed to your very subtle manipulation?" She quipped back, disappointed but evidently not deterred. "You say you want to work together. Rule together. You string together all these pretty words to my face. I can't help but wonder if it's to distract me from the dagger you're planning to plunge into my back."

"Aren't daggers more your thing, Mae?" He replied as he sat at his desk again. She was already halfway across the room now.

"Give me one thing to trust. Anything. That's all I'm asking," she said as she approached his desk. "One reason to believe you're sincere."

He looked at her for a moment, amusement and admiration dancing across his face as she sat back on his desk, this time right in front of his seat. "Alright," he said, "give me your hand."

She looked at him quizzically as he reached towards her right arm, but acquiesced all the same. He took it in both hands and turned it over, holding her forearm with one hand while tracing a scar across her wrist with the other. "I was there when you got this scar. It was in Mephistopheles' vault. You were trying to disarm a trap, and it triggered on you instead," he said, looking her deeply in the eyes. "I was the one who cleaned and bandaged it for you out." He took her arm and pressed his lips to the scar, not looking away from her eyes, silently relishing in the fact that she didn't pull away from the contact.

"Anyone could make up a story about a scar," she said quietly, still looking down at him.

Her words said she wasn't convinced, but he knew her tells and mannerisms. He had her right where he wanted, if he could keep going. "I know you prefer to sleep on your left side," he said, curling an arm around her waist. "You preferred to sleep facing me. So you could listen to my heart beat under my chest, you said."

"That doesn't..." He could hear her breath hitch just the slightest bit. "That didn't stop you from betraying me last time though, did it?" She asked quietly. It wasn't a challenge; her eyes were wide and sincere. Almost hurt. That small, veiled vulnerability. Only ever reserved for him, even still.

He stood to meet her gaze, wrapping one arm around her middle fully and cupping her face with the other as he brought it to his. "It didn't stop me from losing you," he said, his breath ghosting over her lips, "a fate I'm very keen to avoid you facing again."

"Unless it's at your hand, apparently," she replied, leaning into the embrace all the same. Just as touchstarved as always, it seemed. Just as eager as he felt.

"My hands can be much more gentle, love," he said, leaning against her forehead, "if you'd let them."

She kept her eyes locked on his, barely a hair's breadth from his face, searching his demeanor. She gave him a small smirk, and his own heart was the one doing little flips this time. "We'll see," she said playfully, before extricating herself from his grip in one fluid movement and walking towards the door. "Do tell your other friends to play nicer, in the mean time," she called over her shoulder as she left.

He smiled after her, long after she had left the room. She might not remember him, no. But that was certainly still his same Mae.

#gortash x durge #dark urge x gortash #lord gortash #enver gortash #gortash x dark urge #lord enver gortash #bg3 gortash #durgetash #bg3 durge #durge #dark urge #fanfic #bg3 #maevris

[dduane]

In the digital art dep't...

Doing some work comparing renders in Daz Studio's (newer) version 4.21 to the older 4.15, which is where most of my rendering work has happened for the last couple/few years.

But also something else: starting to experiment with skin tone work on the main Middle Kingdoms characters... which I've been putting off because it's been incredibly complex and fiddly (and easy to screw up.). Then I ran across a new Daz-based tool which speeds this business up considerably.

(Adding a cut here because this goes on a little about subjects most people won't need cluttering up their dashes. Warning: contains volumetric- and non-volumetric-handling versions of Daz, character skin color work, complex (and complexion) lighting issues, image comparisons, and the local iteration of the These Two Idiots trope seen up close.

My attention right now is on the main characters, who come in a wide range of shades only casually referred to in the main-sequence books and the interstitial works. And among the core group—the human-born ones, anyway—there's significant variation. Herewiss, being northeast Darthene, is palest. Freelorn, being midlands Arlene with some Steldene ancestry, is darker. Segnbora, coming of people from the southeastern Darthene region along the Steldene border, is darkest of the human three of the Five.

All thee were details that had to go incorrectly depicted until now... because though I had the characters' faces and bodies pretty much sorted out, the skins were all, well, too damn unrelievedly white. And attempting to tweak that without sufficiently sophisticated tools (or enough understanding...) can cause real problems and a lot of lost time.

Now, though, with better tools I can start putting that situation right. Early attempts are inevitably going to be a bit spotty (I only got this tool over the weekend...). But the first few renders have been promising.

Compare this initial render of the Pride Month package "cover..."

to this one (after initial skinwork), which more closely mirrors the reality I see in my head:

(Over on the left, Tom's a bit pale in that run... but never mind. I'll sort him out shortly with the rest of the Young Wizards characters. Sunspark's human skin tone, meanwhile, can be expected to change without notice... especially when they've just seen a look they liked and want to try on.)

The difficulty with the above image is that for various reasons (like hiding the incomplete nature of the city behind them...) the lighting's from either a spring or autumn sunset, and therefore too warm for good clear comparisons. So as another early-stages test I took the version of Freelorn from the above image and repositioned him in one where the lighting was a lot better... at least when rendering in DSv4.15. Here's the "Short King" image from a year or two ago, before the skinchange...

...for comparison to the one I did this afternoon. (Since I was importing it from the laptop to the desktop machine running 4.21, there are some slight changes in camera position and lighting. Oh, and a different set of clothes for Herewiss.)

If the difference looks really subtle at the moment, that's okay. Lorn should be darker than this: Dusty's correctly a bit paler than last time. But it's a start. Further passes will get closer to what I'm after.

...So re-rendered versions of images on the MK website and elsewhere will start turning up with skin tones properly represented. (All this being secondary to cleaning out some of the 30K+ render files that have built up in the machine over the last ten years, and building a new tagging and indexing system for the ones that get kept. Whoopee. But it's gotta be done.)

Meanwhile, back to work on actual writing...

ETA: Meanwhile, no point in getting so caught up in image quality that you forget to move the camera around. Just look at these two idiots. :)

#Middle Kingdoms meta #skin colors #with extra added #These Two Idiots #drooling over each other as usual

[celamoon]

every day without you, baby, yeah

Pairing: Saiki x reader

Office AU

WC: 513

Event Masterlist : Main Masterlist

Beep.

Saiki stares at the machine on the wall, and he sighs. Right on time, as always. The office job is boring, but it really turns him into the average salaryman, and it makes him painfully boring. Perfect. Just because he saved earth from that comedically giant meteor doesn't mean that he wants people to remember. He wonders if making Nendou everyone's savior was really a smart decision, though.

Well, not that it mattered to him. Nendou was now the rich man. Saiki doesn't need money when he has all this psychic magic. What would money even buy him? Unwanted fame, that's what. He still refuses to stick out. The fact that he's recoded half of the human genetics is more than enough proof for that.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—" A new voice cuts Saiki off of his internal monologue. The male feels something hot burn into the back of his suit and the prompt sound of a familiar beep.

"One second tardy." The machine beeps.

"FUCK!" The voice yells exceedingly loud behind Saiki, and his eye twitches in annoyance. Who was swearing first thing in the morning?

He stares at the ring on his finger and sighs. Why did he wear his ring today of all days? He's usually better at avoiding this like this. Why did the universe hate him so much? This is because he has psychic powers, isn't it? He should've just done something like being a freelance businessman or something—

"Sorry," The voice cuts him out of his thought process, and a cup is shoved into his chest, a spew of apologies flies after the person, and he feels the back of his shirt dry comedically fast. He lifts his head to stare at the figure, but they're kind of blurry. "I'll make it up to you later!"

Saiki watches the retreating figure rush over to the boss's room, he catches a whiff of the coffee from the stain on your shirt. Were you... a new recruit? He stares at the cup before brightening at the sight. Coffee jelly. Oh, you're the universe's apology, aren't you? He supposes he can forgive you just once.

He scoops the treat into his mouth and heads off to his cubicle.

His eyes focus on the papers, and they all sort themselves. He pretends to look through them while on his desktop, and he savors the taste of the coffee jelly on his tongue. The papers are less grueling with the treat. Maybe he won't feel miserable at his corporate job for once.

He stares out the window, and he pauses.

Right. Who was that anyway?

The memory of your perfume causes his heart to race, and he pauses at the alarming realization. Did he... fall in love with you because you gave him coffee jelly? No way. He wasn't that easy. You literally spilled coffee into his back and ruined his suit. Why would he have a crush on you? Insane behavior. That was definitely not him. Yet, red spreads on his cheeks anyway, and he huffs.

Dammit.

#saiki x reader #saiki k #saiki k x reader #kusuo x reader #☾.events #god I hate the banner for this one #tdlosk