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inkytoru · 3 months ago

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FORCED CHEMISTRY ── .✦ ꒰ gojo s. ꒱

SYNOPSIS: You're exploring a foreign planet with the galaxy's-most-renowned scientist Gojo Satoru as his assistant. Or rather, was, until you were both knocked unconscious.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader WORD COUNT: 3.6k ⚠︎ CONTENT WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, omegaverse, dubcon, yandere!gojo, mating bites, breeding, knotting, sex pollen, injections

A/N: minors dni. veeery old repost of one of my more popular fics from 2021 (also crossposted to ao3 so don't be alarmed if you see it under a different alias)! we're so back

Heavy are your footfalls that meet the unyielding terrain of the mysterious planet that’s been on you and your fellow scientists’ radars for quite some time now. You exasperatedly thumb through what’s left of your notes while your lanky boss stretches a foot or so ahead of you, long arms inviting the sky into them. He throws his head back over his shoulder to flash an award-winning smile at you. It drops and forms into a pout when you don’t even dignify him with a look.

“Still mad at me?” he asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes,” you hiss through your teeth, “Gojo you ruined a significant portion of my field notes with your reckless, thoughtless piloting. Again.”

Gojo’s suddenly in front of you, face leaning into yours. You jump, taken aback at the close proximity in which you can smell the aroma of coffee off of him from the stack of unsalvageable notes you had thrown at his face.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Gojo?”

“You shouldn’t frown so much. Y’know, they say it takes twenty-six more muscles to frown than it does to smile.” he cheerily singsongs as he pulls at the corners of your lips into a mock smile. You swat his hand away, irritation etched deeply between your brows. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re gonna get wrinkles the more you keep contorting that pretty face of yours. C’mon, follow my example!” Gojo says as he beams down at you. You continue staring at him with such blatant unamusement that he practically deflates and kicks a rock away dejectedly. He mumbles under his breath, causing you to quirk an eyebrow.

“Have something you want to say?” you inquire before he mumbles again, this time facing away from you.

Whining, he turns to fix puppy-dog eyes on you. “I already said I was sorry…”

You suck in a harsh breath, the irritation rolling off of you in waves. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it you absolute idiot! You knew how important those notes were. I needed those to work off of for Yaga’s report and you just—!”

“What if I told you I already submitted a report for you using the notes you like to just leave around where any old idiot like me can pick them up?” Gojo grins seeing you sigh and rake a hand through your hair.

Before any words could leave your mouth, a bellowing boom shakes the ground somewhere in the distance, acid green liquid spewing high into the air. You both share a glance.

“Adventure awaits, dearest Y/N!” your moron of a boss exclaims before marching onwards towards the source of the booming noise. You follow in his footsteps, trying in vain to match his strides. Why’d the damned bastard have to be so tall?

As you two cautiously approach the area of concern, Gojo quickly throws a set of technologically-advanced headphones at you which you catch effortlessly and immediately wear. Beyond the planet’s flora and fauna that spreads into the horizon, a geyser comes into your line of sight. Another rumble reverberates through the ground as that same liquid from earlier shoots out of the hole. Stabilizing your feet, you continue on alongside your partner.

“Hand me a reinforced test tube,” Gojo tells you in a businesslike manner. “We need a sample of that to bring back to HQ. Stay here.”

You nod solemnly as you place the tube in the waiting palm of his hand, expecting your boss to come bounding back to you excited at the prospect of new material to research.

What you didn’t expect when you went to search for him, was the blow to the back of your head, effectively shutting the lights of your world off, submerging you into total-encompassing darkness.

Your head felt leaden as you tried to raise it with much effort; the rest of your body felt strung out much alike to that of a harp’s strings. It soon clicked that that was due to the spread eagle position you were in, suspended in mid-air, naked, wrists and ankles encircled with sturdy shackles that upon closer inspection (and by that, you mean squinting) seemed to be of extraterrestrial origin. Your senses were overwhelmed with the blinding fluorescent lights that swathed the room you were in, which appeared to be an observational room of sorts if the one-way window is anything to go by. A groan comes from your left, indicating that you were not alone.

You turn to see your superior in a similar predicament as you, his signature high-tech shades nowhere to be seen thus allowing his crystalline blue hues to be bare for all to see. He’s blearily blinking, and just as naked as you are. You couldn’t help the blush that dusts the apples of your cheeks when your eyes trail down his lean body of their own accord.

“So you two are finally awake.”

Your gaze darts around in order to locate the source of the voice until Gojo’s own voice reaches your ears. “Don’t bother. It’s communicating with us via telepathy.”

Bewilderment and puzzlement is soon replaced by anger, and you pull at your shackles fruitlessly. “Who are you and who gave you permission to probe around in my head?” you shout at the glass a few feet away from you.

“Relax, descendant of Gaia. We cannot root around your heads as much as we’d like, however we can translate our thoughts in our own mother tongue into yours within your thick-headed craniums for the convenience of all parties.” The disembodied voice responds, skipping a beat as if to allow that information to be absorbed properly. Your eye twitches at the insult. “We’ll cut to the chase. We have been watching and waiting for you foolish Gaialings to step foot onto our planet and your audacity will not go unpunished. You see, we give you puny humans a new purpose and life here.” Wait— so you and Gojo weren’t the only humans to have attempted to explore this luminous body? Your mind reels with a plethora of questions that get interrupted by mechanical whirrings grating in your ears the louder and closer it comes. You gasp when you see the clawed ends of a robotic contraption clutching two separate syringes of some sort of questionable, red, viscous serum. Gojo remains silent beside you.

“What the hell is this?” you cautiously ask, eyeing the syringe wearily.

“Well, we’re glad you asked,” the mystifying voice coolly states. “That serum will gift you a certain set of new qualities that determine which… class you fall under. You have your alphas— those with either a newfound or amplified domineering disposition and changes to their genitals which may result in a knot at the base, or a knot at the base of a penis that will grow from the vulva when the subject presents. Next are the omegas— the ones who perpetuate the growth of our dearest slaves. They have a tendency to be rare, thus being prized amongst the human population here. Heat cycles affect them greatly, and will accordingly need to be placated by an alpha whose job will be to breed and thus impregnate the omega. The knotting process will ensure a healthy litter of pups to come the next month or so.”

Gojo pipes up. “Do you know how we would present ahead of time?”

“We do not have a surefire way yet to predetermine what category you will fall under, so this will be as exciting a reveal as it will be for you to us. However, we’ve come to find that most females fall under the omega class while the alphas are typically the males; of course this is not true for every case but it is likely that that will be how each of you present.”

“And could you be so kind as to elaborate on the nature of this society you have cultivated for those of our kind?”

There’s a reverberating chuckle before the response that makes your stomach drops comes. “It’s quite the dog-eat-dog world, we’re afraid to say. Alphas fight to the death over the ownership of omegas, omegas try to find ways to off themselves, so on and so forth. Now enough of the chitchat. Let the procedure begin.”

“Wait—!” you start, only for the next words to die within your throat as the sharp tip of the syringe punctures your thigh. You can hear Gojo audibly grit his teeth, and you bite your tongue to curb the scream that threatened to burst forth from your mouth. The pain was immeasurable, white-hot heat that shot all throughout your body ruthlessly.

Suddenly your restraints release you unceremoniously to the floor, Gojo following as his detached as well. Upon contact with the floor, you both begin to convulse, screams of agony and strained noises escaping from two pairs of lips. You could’ve sworn you could feel your DNA rearranging itself to leave room for the serum’s properties to make themselves at home.

The torment the serum put your body under was much too excruciating; excruciating enough for your consciousness to slip away once more and for blackness to fill your vision.

Red. That was all you could see when your eyes groggily opened, and you ponder if you had made it to hell before it registers in your brain that the red was simply the paint that enveloped the ceiling of the new room you were in. You muster the energy to sit up, bouncing slightly atop of what seems to be plush bedding with a plethora of pillows brimming with down.

To your side, a familiar presence can be felt, especially when the owner of said presence shifts around into a sitting position next to you.

You open your mouth to say something as you turn your head only to be met with more nude Gojo.

“Like what you see?” he cheekily asks while wiggling his brows. Before you can answer with a retort he goes on with flapping his lips again. “Actually wait no— don’t answer that. The answer itself is already written all over that cute little face of yours.”

Your eye twitches but the heat rising to the apples of your cheeks betray any and all notion of annoyance your eye twitch showed and you huff as you look away when your bastardly boss winks at you flirtatiously.

Crossing your arms together to hide your breasts along with pulling your knees up to your chest, you speak after a beat or two of silence, suddenly nervous at the potential of the silence stretching on for far too long between you two. “Don’t suppose you have a plan to get out of here, huh?”

“Babycakes, I literally just regained consciousness.” He looks down at himself. “And so did Gojo Jr. it seems.”

You scrunch your face up, shielding your face with your hands. “Eugh, some things are better left unknown Gojo.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Care to help out your lonely boss a lit— Mmf!” The heart-shaped throw pillow you hurtle at his face comically knocks him back.

You didn’t want to announce it as proudly as Gojo did (due to his admittedly impressive length), but you felt yourself getting wet. The reality of your predicament hadn’t fully dawned on you yet until you replay what the alien explained to you both in your head. Knotting? Breeding…?

The blush returns to your face with twice the ferocity it did before. Did that mean…?

“It’s exactly what you think.” Gojo comments as if he was reading your mind. “Don’t look at me like that— the dawning realization on your face speaks volumes.” he goes on to say, yawning with his long limbs outstretched.

Unfortunately, you weren’t allowed much time to let the prospect of what was to happen sink in in its entirety as some sort of gaseous substance begins to meld with the air of the room. You frown.

“What’s all this?”

Gojo studies the gas with keen eyes for a moment, and says the words you half-expected and were half-afraid to hear. “It’s some sort of sex pollen and also a way to speed up the process of our presentation, I believe.”

“Shit, Gojo what do we do?” you ask in a rising panic.

“I think—” starts Gojo, who gets interrupted by the gas seeping deeply into his lungs, resulting in a coughing fit that wracked his whole body.

You begin having a coughing fit of your own as the gas infiltrates your hyperventilating mouth and nostrils. Your mind was overcome with a haziness that soon developed into one of a burning desire to be claimed and bred, rationale taking a backseat to libido. With a whine, you can feel slick beginning to trickle out of your opening, slowly increasing in volume; your body temperature significantly rising.

So caught up in the heat overtaking your senses and body you were, that you failed to notice the growing feral presence in the room with you until your half-lidded eyes locked with ones with pupils blown so wide that only a ring of darkened blue was left.

Panting even more, a louder attention-seeking whine escapes your lips, your lust-addled omega brain becoming more and more desperate for the touch and mark of an alpha. “Pl-Please Gojo… Make it stop…” you plead while you shakily snake a hand to your sex in a futile attempt to relieve yourself. His nostrils flare before he has you pinned against the sheets, one large hand smacking your own away from your core.

A low rumble from within his chest that sounds like a possessive growl has you bucking your hips up to meet his angry, leaky cockhead.

“I know baby, you want your cute little cunt stuffed and overflowing with my seed, don’t you?” Gojo coos as he folds your body into a mating press which effectively puts your glistening pussy on display for his hungry eyes to take in in all its beautiful entirety.

You feverishly nod. “Just— Just give it to me already! This is unbearable!”

“I’ll make it all better,” he promises before lining himself up with your desperately clenching entrance; in one swift motion, the tip of his engorged cock meets your cervix, having you howl as you tighten up instinctively.

Gojo’s mouth hangs open and you swipe a slick-coated finger against his bottom lip, to which he graciously licks clean. He moans appreciatively at your taste. “Mmm, fuck— I’m going to cum if you don’t loosen up a little—”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” you pant out, the first tendrils of annoyance slithering into you. “Move already.”

“So bossy,” he chuckles. “Your wish is my command.”

He doesn’t waste any time in finding a barbarous rhythm with his thrusts, effectively rendering you unable to do anything but cry out his name and scratch your nails down his toned back, enough so that they left red lines in their wake. Gojo didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it seemed to spur him on even more.

Sweat slid down the vast expanses of both your bodies as praise tumbled out of your alpha’s lips.

“Your scent and taste is so intoxicating—like fresh flowers and vanilla extract—I think I can get drunk off of it alone,” Gojo sighs, cherry red tongue laving up the side of your neck.

You take note of his scent as well, deeming it somewhere between sandalwood and pine. It was heady and stupefying; the type of scent you were sure that would have any omega fall to their knees before him.

He then noses at the junction between your neck and shoulder, and next you’re keening at the scrape of his canines against your flushed flesh. ‘Claim me! Claim me! Claim me!’ screams your mind. You must have said something out loud because Gojo finally stops toying with you and seeks out the perfect spot for a mating bite, teeth piercing and unrelenting even as you whimper over the pain.

Not long after, that pain tangos with the pleasure his cock brings by filling you up again and again. It was a combination of deliciously contrasting sensations that had you seeing pure white— it had your eyes rolling back and your pink tongue lolling out of your mouth.

“God, I never knew you were capable of such a sexy facial expression,” the alpha above you comments in awe as he takes a mental snapshot of the face you were making.

You don’t give a coherent response but Gojo didn’t seem to care. Filth continues spewing from his mouth and you had half a mind to process it all.

“C’mon, I know I haven’t completely fucked you stupid yet. Tell me how much you love this alpha cock.”

“I love, love, love it! Please don’t stop! Gimme more! I want your children!” you babble, incapable of focusing on anything else other than the way your new alpha was breeding you. Your moans only serve to amplify his need to ensure you’d bear his litter the next coming month.

“And who owns this pretty omega pussy?”

“I— Mmmh…”

A slap against your cheek echoes around the four walls you were both imprisoned in, and it clears the fog in your brain just enough for you to answer him back properly when he repeats himself, this time with more of an intense edge.

“You do! You do, Gojo! I need your knot!”

His chest heaves with a growl. “Can’t wait for those teats to fill with milk and that belly of yours to be round and fat with mini-Gojos. You’re going to be such a good mama.”

The alpha before you takes a nipple into his mouth to suck on harshly as a pale hand rises up to give attention and knead at your other breast. “Those little munchkins better share mama’s milk cause daddy has an appetite too,” he makes known after he stops playing with your sensitive bud in his mouth with a ‘pop!’

He then licks his way from your breast, to his mating mark, then to your lips; your mouth was already open so the rutting alpha took the opportunity to shove his tongue into it. His lips merge with yours in a searingly passionate kiss that further stimulates the tightening sensation that rested low in your stomach and was on the verge of coming undone any second now.

And then it happens.

Slim hips stutter in their pursuit to attain their high, their owner quickly pushing the fuller part of the base of his cock into you. It was a mildly burning but not unwelcome stretch that made you definitively lose it.

Your body seizes up as immense pleasure overrides any thought you have made prior to its arrival, and your toes start to curl while your wet walls lock down on the cock that doesn’t cease in penetrating you over and over, coaxing the rest of your orgasm out of you. Stars dance across your vision, your breasts rise and fall with a regularity, and you still find it in you to emit a cry when the bulbous knot inside of you increases in its breadth.

Gojo leans down to rest his forehead against yours, sweat mingling with yours and rosy pink lips agape as he shares breaths with you.

“How do you feel?” comes his concerned voice.

Your eyes flicker down to where your bodies meet, before connecting with his gaze again.

“Satisfied. And full.” comes your answer.

He smiles and gives you a fleeting kiss with adoration for you—his new lifelong partner—shining through his eyes.

You were elated at your union with the alpha being successful, and you mewl at how copious amounts of cum are driven into your womb, making Gojo smile wider as he rocks into you back and forth slowly, making sure his seed takes.

The mating process had taken a toll on your now exhausted body and soon, your eyelids flutter closed. Scenes of domesticity in your near future begin playing in your mind as you think one last thought before a deep slumber engulfs you: ‘Maybe life as an omega here wouldn’t be so bad, as long as I have the universe’s greatest scientist turned alpha—my alpha—alongside me.’

“What’s the meaning of this? We had a deal you conniving Gaialing!”

“Your first mistake was thinking you could negotiate fairly with Gojo Satoru.” states one of the special grade soldiers currently holding the lead extraterrestrial at gunpoint.

“And your second,” another chimes in, “was finalizing a deal with Gojo Satoru.” She grinds the sole of her combat boot into one of the lifeless alien��s faces that lay in front of her.

“Right Gojo?” one more speaks with a shit-eating grin.

The man in question mirrors his grin as he stands with his hands in his lab coat pockets behind the soldiers, pleased that everything went according to plan and that his trusted team of mercenaries triumphed over the natives of the planet that underestimated humans.

He thinks about how you, his now precious omega sleeping soundly in his arms bridal-style, was his first rejection. How you refused his confession, preferring to keep the relationship between you two plainly professional. But he knew. He knew you had feelings for him, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Catching wind of what the aliens on this planet were up to had to have been the best intel he’d ever received, and he’d have to thank Mei Mei for that.

“Give us your word, sir.”

Gojo starts to walk towards the spaceship waiting outside for him and his team, speaking in a commanding tone as he does so.

“Leave no alien behind and meet me outside in five.”

He looks down at you with nothing but love. You looked so serene, and you were at the very least subconscious of your alpha’s presence because you snuggle in closer into the comfort of Gojo’s chest.

Finally, he had you where he wanted you, and the wicked smirk on his face was evidence of that.

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smutmind · 1 month ago

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Shuhua when it doesn't fit if you'd be so kind

When it Doesn't Fit ft Shuhua

Shuhua X BBC The science wing was empty after five. Most students had rushed home. But not Shuhua.

She stayed late, as usual—glasses perched on her nose, her tight white lab coat hugging a petite, curvy frame. She scrawled formulas on her clipboard with purpose. Her black skirt was regulation-short, socks pulled to her knees, and her ponytail bounced with every step.

Marcus was already at the workstation, leaning on the counter, muscles tensed under his rolled-up sleeves.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

“You love it when I make an entrance.”

She clicked her pen shut. “We’re supposed to be testing pH levels.”

He glanced at the untouched beakers. “Looks like you had something else in mind.”

Shuhua walked over, heels tapping softly, eyes sharp behind the frames. “You’re stronger than me. Taller. Maybe smarter in some subjects,” she said. “But you don’t know how to handle someone like me.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘someone’ are you?”

“The kind who experiments first,” she said, tossing her clipboard aside. “And takes notes later.”

Her fingers slipped under the hem of his T-shirt, trailing up. “I want to measure something.”

He didn’t resist. Just watched, breath slowing, as she pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Her hands trailed down the planes of his chest, brushing his waistband.

“You okay with this?” she asked.

“Shuhua,” he said quietly, “I want whatever you want.”

She smirked. “Good answer.”

With a practiced flick, she unclasped her own coat, letting it fall open. Her black bra cupped her breasts just right, and when she reached behind and unhooked it, they bounced free, soft and flushed from heat.

Marcus stared, reverent.

“Eyes on the subject,” she said, sliding to her knees in front of him.

She undid his jeans, dragging them down, revealing thick, dark length already pulsing against the fabric of his boxers. Her eyes widened, amused.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “You call this a control sample?”

She pulled him free—long, heavy, thick with heat. She wrapped both hands around the shaft and tilted her head. “I should log this into the system.”

Marcus groaned as her lips parted and she dragged her tongue along the underside.

“I want to see what you taste like when I do this slow,” she said, stroking the base.

She sucked the head into her mouth, teasing him with flicks of her tongue, cheeks hollowing just enough to make it messy. Her glasses slid down her nose as she bobbed deeper, taking her time, letting him throb against her tongue.

His hands stayed back—respectful. But his breathing grew heavier, hips twitching forward as she picked up pace.

“You’re holding back,” she said, breathless. “Don’t. I want the full reaction.”

He grabbed the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as she sucked harder, spit trailing down her chin. She pumped what her mouth couldn’t take, faster now, sloppier.

His body tensed.

“Shuhua—I’m gonna—”

She pulled off just in time, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a wicked smile.

“Not yet,” she said. “Lab work’s not done.”

She stood, pulling off her skirt, revealing black panties soaked through. She turned, bent over the counter, and peeled them down slow.

“You gonna help me test if this thing fits?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Marcus moved behind her, hand sliding along her bare thigh, tracing the curve of her ass. He lined himself up, tip brushing her entrance.

“You sure?” he asked.

She arched, breath hot. “You’ve got permission. Do your worst.”

He pushed in slow—too thick at first. She gasped, bracing herself against the counter as her pussy stretched, inch by inch.

“Holy shit,” she whimpered. “You’re gonna split me in half.”

“You okay?”

“More than okay. Don’t stop.”

He sank deeper, groaning at how tight she felt. Her body clenched around him, walls fluttering. She cried out, one hand flying to grip his forearm.

“You’re so big,” she gasped. “God—it’s too good—”

He rocked into her slow, then faster, hips slapping her ass, the wet sounds echoing off tile and steel.

Shuhua’s moans filled the lab, sharp and gasping. Her glasses fogged. Sweat dripped between her breasts. “Harder, Marcus—fuck—make me forget my name.”

He thrust harder, deeper, until her legs shook and she collapsed over the counter. She came hard, pulsing around him, body locking down as her orgasm slammed through her.

Marcus grunted. “Gonna cum—inside—”

She reached back, pulling him tighter. “Do it,” she cried. “Give me everything.”

He let go.

Hot spurts filled her—pulse after pulse, thick and deep. Shuhua moaned as she felt it paint her walls, dripping down her thighs, pooling inside.

They stood there, panting, skin sticky and flushed.

Best chemical reaction she’d ever seen.

#shuhua #shuhua smut #idol x bbc #male reader smut #asks

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chadobi · 2 months ago

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Hi! This is my first time requesting/asking anything in general so if I did something wrong please have mercy on me :')

I was wondering if you would write some headcanons for the rottmnt boys (separate) with a reader who is literally always singing. Doing dishes, making food, doing schoolwork, scrolling on their phone, a n y t h i n g. I really like all your tmnt works, I think I've read them all like twice by now 😭 if you don't wanna take this request (or hate my guts whispers the tiny voice in the back of my mind) you don't have to do anything with it, just ignore me lol :) I just wanted to put it out there

I’m so honored to be your first request! I hope you’ll like it 💜

Rottmnt boys with an S/O who likes to sing

RISE!LEONARDO

• At first, Leo assumes you’re doing it for dramatic effect. Obviously. Who wouldn’t sing while flipping pancakes like a Broadway star?

• But then he realizes you do it constantly. Cooking? Singing. Homework? Singing. Lost in your phone? You’re whispering the chorus to some random indie tune.

• Honestly? He’s enchanted.

• Joins in uninvited. Loudly. Wrong lyrics. Wrong song. Doesn’t matter.

• “You’re doing Taylor Swift? Cool, I’ll throw in a little Queen.”

• Eventually starts requesting songs, especially when he wants attention. “Baaabe, can you do that one from Moana again? I like the sassy crab one.”

• If you’re in a bad mood and not singing? He panics. “What happened?! Who hurt the melody of my heart?!”

• Proudly declares he’s your “backup dancer” every time you sing around the lair. He will literally moonwalk while you do the dishes.

• Secretly keeps a list of songs that remind him of you.

RISE!RAPHAEL

• The first few times he hears you singing under your breath, he’s confused. “Are you talkin’ to me or…?”

• Once he catches on, he tries to act unbothered, but is quietly amazed by how happy it makes you.

• He starts recognizing your moods by what genre you’re singing. Lo-fi pop? Chillin’. Broadway soundtrack? You’re focused. Evanescence? You’re angry.

• Will pretend he doesn’t know the lyrics but 100% starts picking them up over time. You catch him humming “your” songs during training and he denies it profusely.

• He thinks it’s especially cute when you sing during mundane stuff, like folding laundry or brushing your teeth.

• “You sing to your toothbrush?”

“And it sings back.”

“…Okay, that’s adorable.”

• One time you caught him recording you while you were baking and singing. He blushed so hard he tripped over his own sai.

• You become his de-stress tool. When he’s had a bad day, he’ll sit nearby and just say, “Sing something, please.”

RISE!DONATELLO

• At first, he found it mildly distracting, especially if you were humming while he was coding. But then…

• One day, you hit a beautiful run while scrolling TikTok and he just froze mid-keystroke. “What… was that?”

• Now he records you. Constantly.

• Has a whole playlist of “Reader Singing Snippets.mp3” on his battle shell.

• “Do it again, but this time in A minor. I have a new synth plugin I’m testing.”

• Will sample your singing and layer it into his music compositions. Doesn’t tell you at first—just lets you hear a beat, and your voice’s harmony hits in the background.

• When you sing something emotional, he goes very quiet and just watches you like he’s seeing art in motion.

• “I am completely and utterly ruined for all other human interactions.”

• Will 100% build you a karaoke room. Just because he can.

RISE!MICHAELANGELO

• LOVES it. Lives for it. Thinks your constant singing is the coolest, most beautiful thing ever.

• Immediately joins in every time, whether he knows the song or not.

• Turns everything into a musical number. Cooking together? Time for “Cooking with Chaos: The Musical!”

• His favorite is when you make up songs on the spot. “Ohhh I dropped the remote but it’s okay ‘cause I’m still cool~!”

• Encourages you to post your singing on social media (if you’re comfy)—thinks the world deserves to hear your voice.

• If you’re ever too tired to sing, he’ll hum your favorite song to you while snuggling on the couch.

• Will pull out a ukulele or bongos and just jam while you sing about brushing your hair.

• Keeps telling his brothers, “This is my muse. The Beyoncé of my heart.”

• If someone else mocks your habit? He’s immediately by your side with the fury of a thousand sunburned artists. “Don’t touch the melody, bro.”

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covid-safer-hotties · 3 months ago

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Reference saved in our archive

This is an interesting study of the reliability of air sampling in hospitals, but I wanted to highlight this:

Air samples were tested for eight respiratory pathogens by qPCR, including RNA and DNA viruses and a bacterium. Air samples had an average of four detected pathogens per sample and 97 % samples contained SARS-CoV-2.

We're so "post-covid" that 3% of our hospital air *doesn't* have covid in it! Hooray!

#mask up #public health #wear a respirator #wear a mask #still coviding #covid #pandemic #covid 19 #coronavirus #sars cov 2

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saffusthings · 4 months ago

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second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty-three: all the stars

word count: 2.1k (feels shorter tho?)

warnings: dialogue heavy, messy switching of povs

twenty-two | twenty-three | twenty-four

The library was nearly empty at this hour, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the occasional shuffling of pages from someone studying just as late as they were.

Lando leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers, watching as she… folded a tiny paper star?

He narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t look like studying.”

She sighed dramatically, pressing the crease into the paper with a little too much force. “I can’t study anymore. My brain is fried. Done. Over. That’s it. It’s rejecting all new information.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, staring at the textbook open in front of them. They’d been at this for hours—practicing logic games, running through sample arguments, dissecting the intricacies of contracts and torts. She was good, but she was tired.

And when she got tired, apparently, she made little paper... thingamajigs?

Her head lolled onto her folded arms, barely upright at this point, eyes unfocused as she stared at the open prep book in front of her.

“Okay,” he said, flipping a page. “Logical reasoning. Let’s try one more.”

She groaned, voice muffled against her sleeve. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Noooo.”

“Yes.”

“Liam,” she lifted her head, fixing him with a mildly-impressive threatening stare, “I swear to God, I could not tell you the difference between a necessary and sufficient assumption right now if my life depended on it. Like, gun to my head? Not happening.”

Lando blinked, looking at her seriously. “Your life does not depend on it.”

“Exactly,” she declared, tossing down her highlighter. “So I’m making stars instead.”

She reached for the strips of paper she’d been folding absentmindedly for the last ten or so minutes, fingers deftly creasing them into small, perfect origami stars. The table was already littered with them, tiny constellations of her boredom.

Lando leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching her work with a bemused expression.

“I didn’t know you were so easily defeated.”

She shot him a glare. “I’m not defeated. I’m… on strike.”

“Against?”

“My own brain.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Great. Can’t wait to see you argue that in court one day.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, fingers still working on another star.

Liam stared at her for a moment too long, seeming very judgmental for someone who did not have to do the actual studying part. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re serious?”

She didn’t even look up. “Liam, I cannot study anymore.”

“You said that half an hour ago, and yet, we are still here.”

“I know, and that was the last time I could study. My brain is at maximum capacity. I have reached the limit of human intellectual absorption.” She held up a tiny, folded star between her fingers, as if to prove her point.

Lando sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He should tell her to keep going. Should remind her that this test was important, that she couldn’t afford to slack off now. But she looked tired, and he wasn’t a monster.

“…At least make me one,” he said, nodding toward the paper scraps.

Her head snapped up, eyes suspicious but there was a glimmer of excitement there too if Lando looked hard enough. “You want an origami star?”

He shrugged. “Eh, might as well.”

For a second, she just stared at him, like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. But then she grinned—small, genuine, and earnest. Lando wondered what other things caused her eyes to light up like that, what simple pleasures had her glittering with this pure kind of joy.

He leaned forward, interrupting her space by plucking a finished star from the pile and examining it between his fingers. “So… is this, like, normal or whatever? Or is there a cure–”

She gasped, appalled. “Oh, shut up! I just needed to do something with my hands that wasn’t writing or highlighting or underlining—”

Lando flicked the tiny star at her forehead.

She gasped. “Liam!”

“You were talkin’ too much,” he said, leaning back in his chair, smirking. “Consider it a tactical disruption.”

She huffed, flicking one right back at him. It hit him squarely in the chest. Once a concerning number of them were sufficiently scattered about their work table, he reached over and picked one up, inspecting the delicate folds.

“Should I be worried that you can make, like, fifty of these in under five minutes?”

“It’s a completely normal coping mechanism.” She started another one, hands moving on autopilot. “Some people take smoke breaks. I make stars.”

He raised a brow. “Not sure that’s the best analogy.”

She grimaced apologetically, realizing her mistake. Liam had been extra grumpy after recently quitting, despite the fact that he claimed not to smoke in the first place. Even though it resulted in his car smelling nicer, it apparently was still a touchy subject. She shot him an apologetic look before turning back and placing another finished star in a neat little row beside the others.

Lando sighed, running a hand down his face. He should probably tell her to keep studying, but—screw it. She’d worked her ass off. If she needed a break, she needed a break.

He appeared lost in some deep thought, so he caught her off guard when he reached for another piece of scrap paper and attempted to fold his own.

“Wait, are you—”

“Shut up. I’m concentrating.”

She leaned in, curious, watching as he fumbled through the folds. By the time he finished, his “star” looked more like a crumpled piece of trash than anything else. He scowled, huffing as he flipped it over. “I changed my mind. This is stupid.”

There was a beat of silence. And then she burst out laughing.

“Wow,” she wheezed, wiping at her eyes. “That’s horrific.”

She exhaled determinedly and pushed her books away, flexing her fingers like they ached from all the writing. Then, casually, she slid a few extra strips of paper toward him. “Want another try? I can teach you.”

He frowned at the offering. “Nah, I don’t do crafts.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” She gave him a playful nudge with her foot under the table. “Don’t be lame. It’s easy, just fold here—”

She reached over, her hand grazing hers as she tried to guide the paper through the first few folds. When the instructions became too confusing, she decided that they would attempt visual learning instead. Reaching closer to the half-complete star in front of him she gently took his hand in hers as she led him through the final tucks and indentations, leaving behind with a half decent star. It was a little lopsided, but a star nonetheless.

His star.

He had turned to look at her as soon as her hand made contact with his, caught off guard by the feeling of her delicate hands resting briefly against his calloused ones. Her hair had untucked itself from behind her ear, curtaining her face away from view momentarily. It was only a split second before she fixed it, absentmindedly tucking her back as she’d likely done thousands of times before.

She continued with her explaining and rambling as she focused completely on what she was doing, Lando couldn’t bring himself to follow suit. It was strange, inexplicable – after the split second that her hair had covered her face, Lando suddenly saw her in an entirely different light. Still fixated on her, he barely breathed. It was such a simple thing, barely a touch at all, but for some reason, his body had the nerve to register it like it scalded him, but in a sort of pleasant way.

His skin burned but he didn’t seem to mind, lost in trance while she was focused elsewhere, something about ensuring they did the right number of folds so they could have adequate paper for a neat final tuck.

Makes them cuter, she’d explained.

Lando Norris didn’t know a damn thing about origami or stars. Yet he’d never been paying more attention to something so inconsequential as he did right then. Suddenly, he was struck with the idiotic idea to unravel the star they’d made, just so they could do it all over again.

When she looked at him proudly, he cleared his throat, pulling his hand back before he could think too much about it. “You seem to be quite the expert. Think I’ll leave the paper artistry t’you.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, and he ignored the way that smile did something weird to his chest. The library stayed quiet after that, save for the sound of her folding tiny stars and him watching the way the light made them glow in her hands.

A few days later, they were crammed in his car outside the testing center, and she was flipping through well-worn flashcards like her life depended on it. She chewed her bottom lip raw, flipping through them with a frantic energy he hadn’t seen in all the time he’d come to know her.

"Alright, last one," she muttered, holding up a card. "If a contract is formed under duress—"

"It's voidable at the discretion of the coerced party," he answered.

She blinked. "You got that right."

"Obviously?” he questioned, pretending to be offended. ”I do pay attention, y’know."

She stared at the card for another second, then groaned, dropping it back onto the larger stack. "Okay. I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Don't do that," he said. "S’bad for morale. Also, I happen t’like this car. Just got it clean, too–"

"Liam."

When she glared at him, she looked like she hadn’t decided yet whether to cry or throw up. Lando can’t imagine giving some stack of papers that much power.

What’s a score, anyway? Scores could be bought, extorted, bartered or bargained for–

He cut himself off before that line of thought could go any further. It was simply instinct, unfortunately. “Hey,” he reached over, plucking the papers right out of her hands. “You know this stuff.”

She didn’t even try to get them back from him, which should’ve been a sign to take this more seriously. But he noticed the way she fiddled with her fingers, pushing and pressing at her cuticles like it’d sooth her somehow. “This is the admissions test. For law school. What if I don’t?” she blurted.

“You do.” He was still laughing as he rolled his eyes.

She huffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t know that.”

Lando raised a brow. “I do, actually. I’ve been here every night watching you make flashcards and rewrite your notes and—look, if you weren’t already going to ace this, I’d just pay off the testing center.”

She blinked.

He tapped the steering wheel, as if actually considering it. “Or the admissions officer. Or the licensing board, now that I think about it—” His grin widened at her visible annoyance.

Why wasn’t he taking this seriously?

“Liam,” she groaned, shoving his shoulder.

He grinned but softened slightly, letting his voice drop. He turned to face her, and Y/N could practically feel her cheeks burning simply at the intensity of his gaze. Something about Liam always projected, confidence, strength, surety.

Sometimes she wished she could be as sure as he was.

But now, bearing the full weight of his gaze and being the sole object of his undivided attention, it felt almost like her heart was stuck in her throat. There was something about those green-gold irises that made Y/N feel like he could see all of her, like he could see right through her.

It made her pulse flutter with something foreign.

“Hey.” His voice was a near-whisper. The familiar smirk flickered, but his eyes held her captive. He gently nudged her chin, tilting her face up so she couldn't look away. "You're going to be perfect. Go out there and make me proud, yeah?"

Y/N was momentarily speechless. His touch, the way he held her in his gaze, left her breathless. She nodded, too caught in the intensity of the moment to form words. A strange mixture of fear and fascination swirled inside her as she exhaled, tension slipping from her shoulders.

“You’re the best,” she said before instinctively reaching out, squeezing his hand for half a second before quickly pulling away.

It was a fleeting gesture—a brief press of warmth—but it sent a shock up his spine, something lingering on his skin, even as she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car, heading toward the entrance.

He watched her go, his fingers curling into a loose fist.

…Right.

Time to lock that away and never open it again.

a/n: oh my clueless little babies. oh they're so cute!

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why-bless-your-heart · 14 days ago

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"Recently a statistical critique by Cornell sociologists Cristobal Young and Erin Cumberworth examined how small, invisible methodological choices, such as how categories are classified or extreme cases are handled, yielded very different results in published studies. They did this by examining the results of every possible reasonable permutation of such choices—what they called, with a nod to Spiderman, the “multiverse of analyses”—to show where on the range of possible outcomes landed the outcome reported. This procedure shone a bright light on exaggeration or bias due to hidden analytical decisions. [...]

"As a kind of stress test, the authors devoted a chapter to reexamining the “now infamous” 2012 study by University of Texas (Austin) sociologist Mark Regnerus which “found that the children of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) parents, compared to those raised in ‘intact biological families’ (IBFs), were worse off in many sociodevelopmental ways”—which they succinctly term the “LGBT effect” (though inaccurately: transgender persons (T) were not studied). The widespread critique of this highly disputed study resulted in a multiverse of more than two million alternative analyses that were statistically significant (meaning the results could not be the result of chance variation due to random sampling). Initially anticipating that “a comprehensive multiverse analysis would drive [the study’s many critics’] point home in a powerfully conclusive way,” Young and Cumberworth instead found something unexpected and remarkable: not one of the two million significant alternatives resulted in positive outcomes for LGBT-parented children. (Emphasis mine) Although often with smaller effects, every analysis confirmed the Regnerus study’s central finding that children turned out better with intact biological parents than with LGBT parents. Regnerus’s thesis, it turns out, was not only true in the analytic model in which he presented it: it was true in every analytic model possible."

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thehaberdasheress · 4 months ago

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Last year I met with a local embroidery expert to ask her opinion on making a line of stick-and-stitch patterns that would make it easier to adapt folk embroidery patterns to modern garments like hoodies and t-shirts, and maybe even teach rare folk embroidery stitches that have fallen out of popularity with the proliferation of cross-stitch.

She... looked at my 8 stitch per inch product samples, and samples stitched by beginners and my niblings, and advised me to stick to embroidery patterns I was actually competent at before purporting to teach anyone else. Before trying to market anything as connected to a specific folk tradition, I should, how should she say... learn to be actually good at embroidery.

(I can mostly take criticism on the chin, but I did cry a bit when she talked about limiting myself to "techniques you're physically capable of" because if I go too hard on handsewing the nerves in my arms go on strike for a couple weeks, so that would limit me indeed, but like, she did mean well. In a strict high-standards way.)

Soooo when I got home I picked up a test copy of my Jane Seymour pattern I'd put aside because it printed out at a masochistically small gauge, and started stitching it out of pure spite. I've been working on it in slow inches for half a year now.

Anyway, that's a pattern that will finally go up on the shop this month! At a slightly bigger and more reasonable size, and printed more cleanly.

#blackwork embroidery #historical costuming #jane seymour

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peakyrain · 2 months ago

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activities to do w/ your s/o!

˚➶┊｡˚ poisonous candy!

lay out a handful of candies—it could be skittles, m&m or whatever candy you prefer—and secretly choose one candy each to "poison" w/o the other person seeing. don’t forget which one you picked.

once you've both picked, take turns eating one candy at a time trying not to eat the poisonous one! after each candy, the other person says "safe" if it wasn't the poisoned one.

you continue back and forth until one of you eats the "poisoned" candy and loses the game.

˚➶┊｡˚ wedding cake taste test!

buy samples of different wedding cakes and rate them together from 1-10, because why not! it's a fun way to learn about your partner's likes and dislikes when it comes to sweets.

and if you're not having a big wedding, like me, you can still have fun and instead spend your (very unlimited) money on cute experiences like this!

˚➶┊｡˚ customized t-shirts!

get two plain t-shirts and fabric paint. paint each other's arms and carefully hug each other while pressing your painted arms onto the shirts to leave a print. then gently remove your arms and let the paint dry.

you can leave it at that, or add cute finishing touches—like writing each other's names or initials on the shirts :P

˚➶┊｡˚ workout competition!

compete to see which one of you are able to complete certain activities while carrying the other person. if you manage to do it—you get one point for each completed move! the challenge includes:

a hip thrust with your partner sitting sideways on your lap.

a squat, with your s/o climbing on your back and wrapping their arms around your neck and legs around your waist.

a deadlift, with your s/o lying down sideways while forming "handles" with one arm and leg for you to lift from

and a push up, basically just a normal push-up with your lover balanced on your back.

then you switch roles and see who gets the most points! maybe even choose a prize for the winner before starting to raise the stakes :)

˚➶┊｡˚ pros and cons list!

grab notebooks and pens. start writing everything you love and appreciate about each other—this would be the pros list. include things you admire, little habits you adore, and what you wouldn't want them to change for the world.

then, move on to the cons list. this part is for constructive criticism or feedback—things the other person does that might bug you or you'd like them to be more mindful of. the point is to be kind and thoughtful, not mean.

once you're done writing, take turns sharing you lists. promise to listen and be understanding. don't get defensive, and use it as a way to grow closer and improving your relationship!

that's it for now, maybe i'll make a part two :D

#yes these are all inspired by those tiktok couple trends #and i of course saved them all in a folder to remember #shifting realities #reality shifting #shifting motivation #shifting tips #shifting #shiftingrealities #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting s/o #shifting script #shifting activities #shiftblr

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photiniainsummer · 4 months ago

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Sneaking a Taste - F!Reader/Terzo

a little scene that has been bouncing around in my head in various forms for a hot minute. subtle mention of a past Amorous ™ meeting with Terzo, some romance near the end, so give it a T for Teens for light romantic implications!

thank u for pre-reading @grlquartz, @ashleystillons, and @enjoy-my-swearing (who also contributed the cutest header and divider <33)

read on ao3 You're up late working. Terzo has a terrible sweet tooth, but is terribly sweet, himself.

Your back is truly starting to ache, now, and the smell of sugar and rising dough so fills your senses as to be suffocating. Even as you long for a break, a drink of cold water to wash the taste of cocoa powder from your mouth, a breath of fresh air to clear your sinuses of flour - you can’t help but smile slightly to yourself as you examine the rows of tiny cake tins covering the old wooden work table before you. Coffin-shaped and dark as night, the mini delights were now cooled enough to begin turning out onto racks to fully cure before the next phase of decoration. You check the time - and sigh. Already so late, a quarter past ten, and you need to be up by six at the latest to help with breakfast prep. Why did you wait so late to get started, again, you berate yourself. “Sorellina, darling, still laboring away?” Ah. Now you remember. You turn, picking up your preferred rubber spatula, and bring the tool down quickly with practiced control.

Whap! “Ay!” “Hello, Papa.”

“Sorella!”

“There’s only enough for tomorrow, and I’ve already taste-tested them,” you chide, firmly, watching as your esteemed Papa Emeritus Terzo nurses his ‘injured’ bare hand. Despite the hour, he is still frustratingly handsome. Dark and debonair, his hair falls in a perfect curtain around his painted face, which is currently screwed up in a profound pout-scowl combo aimed squarely at you. “It is like you enjoy bullying me. Do you like to deny your Papa so? To beat him?” “Oh, don’t act so innocent, now, you sneak. I am not having a repeat of last time.” Mismatched eyes roll, and now you’re scowling right back. “It was perfectly-” “There were barely enough to fill a platter! Do you know how mad-” Thick, warm hands find your arms, and your sugar-coated world becomes his cologne, his shampoo, the soft metallic scent of his face paint - his bright eyes. “Sorella, darling, my little bat, most talented of our kitchen mice” - your world is drippingly saccharine once more - “surely one wouldn’t be missed…”

He is so intent on you, thumbs soothingly stroking at your arms, like you’re a spooked horse. Your frown had faltered, your resolve crumbling a bit in the face of him. How the crisp, spicy smell of night blooms in his scent so quickly draws you back to the last time he found you like this, alone in the kitchen, preparing last things for the next day’s feasting… But then you remember the shine of the almost-empty serving trays. The way the kitchen’s senior sibling had chewed you out, how you hadn’t been able to give more of an explanation than that Papa had come by, and, well. One thing led to another… You shake yourself from the memory and promptly wriggle from his gentle hold. “Absolutely not, that’s exactly what you said last time, and look where it got us.” “Ah, yes, but you see, I’ve learned my lesson, now. It was only after number ten that my stomach began to ache.” You look at him hard for a moment. “Tsk, come, that was meant to be a little joke. Just one?”

“You can have one-” His eyes glitter, full of hope, “-tomorrow, just like everyone else.” Dreams, dashed. Hope, abandoned. Terzo’s shoulders slump dramatically. “What is the good of being Papa if I cannot even sample them a little early?” he mopes, looking for all the world like a kicked dog. “Surely there is some… some bylaw that you must let me check their quality. It is only to ensure they are up to, eh, sniff, for the feasting tomorrow.” “It’s ‘snuff,’ Papa.” His eyes narrow into tiny slits, and you can’t suppress your smile fully. “Besides, they aren’t iced or decorated yet. You’d only be checking the sponge.” Terzo casts his eyes over the rows of little cakes, and you follow his gaze. The industrial-size table is almost entirely covered, save for a small space for your notebook and recipe card. Just turning out the cakes would take at least thirty minutes on its own, much less icing them and decorating with your miniature, hand-made sugar grucifixes… you could feel thoughts of a good night’s rest slipping through your fingers like so much sand on a windy beach. In its place, the reality of the next day’s work - a day spent in the kitchens roasting, sauteing, steaming, arranging platters with food and the tables with serving ware - settles heavily upon your shoulders. The warmth of a wide, slightly rough palm brings you back to the moment. Your eyes fall to blunt, manicured, square nails painted a midnight black, as dark as the cakes before you, topping an olive-toned, tanned hand. The back dusted with dark, wiry hair.

Underneath, a small red mark blooms. Your stomach twists a little, and you look up into much softer eyes than before. “I can help?” His smooth, dulcet voice carries none of the plying tone it did just a few moments ago. This is what always takes you by surprise, with him. What makes you wonder if this is a side of your Papa that everyone sees, in their own time, or if this is just for you. It makes you a little dizzy - perhaps a bit in the smitten sort of way, but more predominantly in the disorienting way. How quickly he shifts from his playful, teasing ways to something so honest and real. Your heart squeezes in your chest. “Oh. I don’t know, I…” “You let me?” he insists, and your hesitation blows away, off down the beach of your mind.

“...oh. All right, I.” Terzo watches you, eagerness beginning to twinkle in his bright eyes, so barely restrained. “All right,” you relent, and his face breaks into a grin. “You’re going to need an apron, though.” “Ah, easy. Especially if you tie for me.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and you’re pretty sure neither of you fully know exactly what sort of dirty thing he’s implying. You snort, softly, shaking your head. “Of course, Papa.”

—

You yawn, jaw-achingly, and hear something pop. Thankfully, it isn’t you - Papa arches his back in a backward bend and groans at the almost melodic crunching of his spine. “Diavolo all’inferno, I do not know how you do this, all the bending and turning…” “Oh, our great Papa, the rockstar, struck down by a little commercial-scale baking,” you tease, tucking the last of the spare icing into an industrial fridge.

“Maybe I should be warming up for tour down here. Then I would not be so sore after the first shows.”

“Mm, I’d love to see what Sister would have to say about that.” You smile, turning back to catch him yawning. Such a human motion, making his paint crack just that little bit - you can see skin poking out underneath, the barest hint of beard shadow. Flour smeared in the black of his paints, across his casual papa robes. You hadn’t even been using flour at this point, how had he gotten it on himself?

Regardless, the table before you laid filled with (mostly) neatly iced little coffins, ready to be arranged on silver trays and devoured by the congregation tomorrow during after-mass tea. Only a few stood out for their wobbly application of icing, their slightly askew sugar grucifixes, but Papa had gotten the hang of the icing bag and gotten rid of his shaky decorating fingers after a few tries. A quick glance to the clock - just before midnight. You’d finished in less than half the time it would have taken you by yourself. You breathe a solid sigh of relief, smiling over your hard work. “Well, I am sure everyone will be telling which is Papa’s, but we put them in the back, eh?” he chuckles. You come a little closer, shifting cakes this way and that to examine them more closely. “You know they all taste the same. Nobody will care a bit.” Satisfied with your inspection, you turn and take two forks and a plate from the clean dishes to the side. “But, you know. Maybe we should check one. Just to make sure they actually taste right.” If you could bottle the look on his face as a new flavor extract, you would. You’ve never seen such hope, such joy. “Oh, sorellina! Mio cara pipistrella,” he chirps, grasping your arms once more and peppering your face in floury, sweet kisses. You knew he’d been eating the icing. “We eat the ugliest one. If any are to be tasting terrible, it will be this one.” Quickly, he gets the wonkiest looking treat on the plate, and you’re digging in. He took a heavy hand with the icing, but the final product was delightful. The little bit of blackberry jam had done well in the center of the sponge, making for a gooey, rich little confection that had Terzo groaning in delight. You hummed happily, yourself. “Doesn’t it taste better when you’ve worked for it?” you teased gently, letting him go for the bite with the most jam on it. He eyes you, you can feel it, as he dips his fork through the soft buttercream and cake. “It certainly does.” There it is again - that rich tone. You feel the dizziness once more, spun around by his quick shift. His fork is at your lips. “You have really taught me my lesson, cara, how can I thank you…” Your mouth runs dry, but you part your lips regardless, closing them around the decadent bite. His eyes never leave your mouth, even as he draws his fork back through your lips. You really wish you had taken a water break. “You helped so much, Papa, I ought to be thanking you.” Terzo’s eyes flash. “Oh? Then perhaps we can thank each other…” You taste the soft waxiness of paint mixed with the dark berry jam. He’s so warm, inviting, your hand finds his thigh to stabilize yourself as you press closer. His fork clinks on the plate, and that warm palm finds the joint of your jaw, wide fingers in the small hairs of your nape. His tongue presses, and you open without hesitation. He groans. A man, satisfied. You have no doubt you will be, too.

#the ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus iii #terzo #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #reader fic

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