#accurate spring testing

[heicodynamics]

Manufacturers of springs may place more value on a constant spring output than on quantity in general, while in other industries, spring type may be more important. While you're looking for the ideal spring testing machine, bear the following in mind:

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.  

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie. 

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly. 

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence. 

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you. 

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole. 

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own 

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand. 

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table. 

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them. 

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees. 

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.” 

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused. 

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin. 

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain. 

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck. 

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?” 

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown. 

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction. 

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire. 

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence. 

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress. 

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach. 

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body. 

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse. 

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe. 

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games. 

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you. 

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze. 

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart. 

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard. 

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs. 

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth. 

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss. 

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you. 

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place. 

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips. 

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you. 

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight. 

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face. 

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue. 

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved. 

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm. 

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy. 

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming  satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate. 

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat. 

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?” 

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged. 

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything. 

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you. 

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube. 

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him. 

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy. 

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts. 

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?” 

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?” 

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud. 

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go. 

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent. 

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint. 

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.” 

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his. 

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer. 

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him. 

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you. 

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off  of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs. 

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away. 

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?” 

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep. 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

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[wroetolando]

𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗮/𝗻: hey guys! so sorry I haven’t been posting recently. I’ve been super busy with school with finals and graduation coming up! will be a lot more stories being posted during my spring break! april 7-11!

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x chronically online! reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where the chronically online reader gets publicly exposed by lando, roasts him on stream, and swears they’d never fold

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: cloud 9 - beach bunny

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You had a reputation. Not in a bad way—at least, not to you. Some people called you “chronically online,” but that was just a fancy way of saying you were really, really good at the internet. You were the first to catch onto memes before they went mainstream, you knew every streamer’s latest drama, and your Twitter feed was a masterclass in unhinged yet somehow lovable posts.

Lando, however, did not fully understand the depths of your internet obsession. He was online, sure, but in a different way—his world was filled with F1 updates, Twitch streams, and the occasional chaotic group chat with his fellow drivers. Meanwhile, you lived in a universe where knowing whether a brand was about to get canceled was as essential as breathing.

And yet, somehow, he was absolutely in love with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It started with a joke. Or, more accurately, it started with a tweet.

@yourhandle: “if lando norris ever called me babe i would simply evaporate”

He saw it. He saw it, and you knew he saw it because his little gremlin self had the audacity to like the tweet. He didn’t reply, didn’t quote it��just a simple like that sent your notifications into a frenzy.

Your friends went feral.

BESTIE, HELLO??

Did he just acknowledge your existence???

This is basically a marriage proposal.

You tried to act normal. Failed. DMed him something casual like, “did you just publicly expose me?”

To which he responded:

“Just testing a theory. Should I call you babe and see what happens?”

And that was the beginning of the end.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in Lando’s world—whether that meant sitting on his stream, half-distracted while scrolling your phone, or joining his Discord calls just to roast his gaming skills. The internet loved your dynamic.

“Lando getting cyberbullied by his own girlfriend is my Roman Empire.”

“Y/N being a menace online and Lando just going along with it is peak relationship goals.”

“Her: ‘He’s so dumb but he’s my dumbass.’ Him: ‘I just work here, man.’”

You two were a content goldmine, even when you weren’t trying to be.

One particular night, you were both curled up on the couch, Lando setting up for a Twitch stream while you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. You weren’t paying attention until you heard your own voice.

“Guys, I have a very special guest today,” Lando said in his usual mischievous tone. “My girlfriend, who is currently ignoring me for Twitter.”

You didn’t even look up. “That’s crazy. What’s Twitter saying?”

Chat immediately erupted.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN LOOK UP LMFAO.”

“Peak chronically online behavior.”

“Lando, blink twice if you need help.”

Lando fake pouted. “See? She doesn’t love me, chat. She loves her parasocial relationships more.”

You finally glanced at the screen. “Why would I need a parasocial relationship when I already have you to annoy in real life?”

The clip went viral within minutes.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Despite all your time spent online, you did, in fact, exist in the real world. And the more time you spent with Lando, the more you realized how much you liked his world too.

There was something peaceful about watching him work on his racing sim, focused and determined, even when he was grumbling under his breath about understeer. There was something nice about walking into the McLaren garage and seeing how the team operated, how much they adored him.

And there was something absolutely dangerous about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Like right now.

You were at a race weekend, standing just outside his driver’s room, eyes glued to your phone. He was supposed to be reviewing data, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Lando,” you said without looking up, “why are you staring at me like that?”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “I think I’ve figured out how to get you off your phone.”

That made you look up. “Oh? Do tell.”

A smirk curled at his lips. “No.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No?”

Instead of answering, he took two long strides forward, gently plucking your phone from your hands and placing it on the nearest table. Before you could protest, he had you backed up against the wall, his hands resting on either side of you.

Oh.

Oh, he was serious.

“Lando,” you said, a little breathless, “are you—”

“I like your little internet world, I do,” he murmured, voice warm and teasing. “But sometimes I think you should focus on this world. On me.”

You swallowed. “That so?”

He nodded. “Yeah. And right now, I want your undivided attention.”

Mission accomplished.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You weren’t going to lie—you had expected the internet to roast you once they realized that your whole brand was being chronically online, and yet Lando had somehow turned you into a simp.

And they did roast you.

“So you’re telling me Y/N was ‘if he calls me babe I’ll evaporate’ and then Lando hit her with a real-life slow burn fanfic moment???”

“POV: You thought she was a keyboard warrior but she’s actually a simp in disguise.”

“Lando pulled a ‘look at me, I’m the main character now.’”

Lando, of course, thrived off the reactions.

You were sitting next to him on the couch when he turned his phone toward you. “Look at this one—‘Y/N has spent her entire internet existence roasting men, and yet all it took was one good wall pin for her to fold.’”

You glared at him. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No, you don’t.”

You groaned, shoving his face away playfully before burying your head in your hands. “I will never live this down.”

He pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Nope. Never.”

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to check your phone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[fillinforlater]

Pink Sheets of the Gangbang Queen

Male Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 1759 words

Tags: post-gangbang-unclarity, a fuckton of cum, the biggest creampies you can imagine, sluttiest_woman_ever!Gaeul, riding, reverse cowgirl, mating press, cumming again, surprisingly sweet

TW: nasty, a lot of cum by different people

Credit: @friskyriskywhisky had the idea and wrote most of it, I just expanded it as far as I could. Maybe there will be more Gangbang Queen stuff, but this was basically just a double BFH lol

(A/N: Have fun with this crazy, short piece!)

“I want one more…”

Gaeul lies on her nasty bed, which is not only the size of a New York apartment room but also a lot more comfortable. The fresh evidence of sin is all over the once royal pink bedsheet befitting of a princess, a queen to be more accurate. Her comically large pillow is full of wet fingerprints, there are even hints of Gaeul bending over it because she loves it when men penetrate her from behind and fuck her into the soft thing. The headboard and the walls nearby are all smeared with her own slick and the cum from the dozen of guys who unloaded a week's worth and then some for her, on her, because of her. Who knows how much genetic coding is now dripping down those walls, or the side of her bed or along her thighs.

Either way, Gaeul knows that the pungent creampie of hers only feels this good because at least ten horny men put their spunk deep into her cunt. Be it fat cocks, long ones, small, smelly, oddly shaped—Gaeul takes them all and her insides shape to each accordingly. For the horde of cocks it’s an incredible feeling with a surprising snugness, while Gaeul yearns and shouts (as long as there is no shaft testing her gag reflex) for them to finish quickly and deep. Though a marvelous feeling, she is never satisfied. She needs one more, she doesn’t even care if it’s the tiniest rest or a gigantic, creamy load—all that matters is that he cums inside her.

Gaeul’s once-animated and sex-crazed sexual partners have either left or completely passed out on the floor next to her bed—except lucky you, the only one lying naked next to her. Lucky you, who she now eyes, admiring your features while you're half asleep. She crawls over and gently flips you onto your back, stirring you awake in the process.

In your state of extreme grogginess, you aren't able to tell at first if you're being eaten alive or attacked by a savage animal. Just when your fight or flight response springs into action, a pair of lips press against yours. They instantly calm you down like a mothers embrace after a lucid nightmare. You can't help but smile unconsciously at how gentle it feels. Gaeul’s floral-scented shampoo reassures you who's currently kissing you, her touchy, wet and tender fingers reminding you of the first time she checked out your body…

It was a rainy night in one of the many underground bars in Seoul—the type of bar that makes you raise an eyebrow at first, someone with connections has recommended it, looks suspicious; then you fell into the trap of fun conversations and nice liquor that ultimately led to a selection ceremony. This was the moment you realized why this was not a commonly visited place.

Everyone went silent at her entry. Gaeul, the well-known (at least for most people that regularly visit these exclusive bars) gangbang queen was craving men tonight, many men. She was not picky, in fact, there was only one condition you had to fulfill:

“Three days worth of cum. If you had sex or jerked off during the last three days, you’re out for tonight.”

No one dared to defy her or lie to her. She diligently checked everyone’s balls and was extremely thorough, especially with you, who she gently pushed against a bar stool, hand past your waistband. Your breath hitched, hers too when her slender fingers caressed your balls.

“Tall, horny—and at least ten days of cum.

“I’d love for you to join the after party in my pink bed.”

That’s how Gaeul found you, touched you, lured you in and turned you on, like she does at this moment…

It's been minutes now, with no signs of stopping or letting go from Gaeul, her lips still fully attached to yours just to occasionally back off and peck at it again. The last remnants of a dream that could never match this disappear. They are replaced by memories that slowly creep back and your heart drops. You remember what happened not long ago, right on these pink sheets—don’t lie to yourself, you know it happens every other night.

Those soft lips of hers were satisfying other men not too long ago, fully enveloped around shafts of different shapes and sizes. That tongue of hers glided across the cockhead of multiple partners and made sure that no spot on their balls was left out. She would fill her mouth with as much manly musk and precum as she could before her throat was getting assaulted by who knows how many cocks, endlessly coating the back of it with thick cum and forcing her to gag and cry, which everyone knows is a huge turn on for the gangbang queen.

It’s those lips that form a seal around yours and it’s that mouth you attack lazily with your tongue.

Who are you to complain though? Gaeul is the greatest kisser your lips have ever met. Your obsession with her took control of your life even though you had no chance with her. You're just a nobody when Gaeul is the well-beloved queen. The gangbang queen - for those close enough to be her little circle filled with lust and desire. Yet somehow you saw a chance and took it, even if it means taking sloppy seconds (or thirds? Fifths? Wait, how many guys are here again?).

Your mind snaps back to the present when you feel your cock poking at her entrance. Hang on, did she even—fuck! You shiver in both pleasure and disgust. You're plunged into her sloppy cunt, extremely tight, even after being abused by multiple men (some girthier than the ridiculous sex toys she has in her collection). 

Gaeul’s walls hug your tip first, then slowly adjust to your size, like they have become your personal sexy toy. The pleasure really kicks in when the gangbang queen puts your hands on her hips and adds your name into the mixture of huffs and moans. Her incredibly damp cavern and how slippery her whole crotch is against your own, it displays a reality you don't want to admit: You're fucking Gaeul through the creampie of other men. Using the foreign substance as a sticky wannabe lube as you slowly ramp up your pace, you're thinking with your other head only; that’s not an uncommon occurrence with the gangbang queen around. 

Sex with her has you drunk, dazed, carelessly chasing your own high. You want to be the only one to have your load inside of her cunt. Gaeul yearns for breeding, and the sperm of all the other disgusting men, still unconscious in this room is deemed not enough. At this moment you decide to fuck the creampie out of her and replace it with your own.

You're frantically thrusting in and out of her, she replicates your passion as she rides you. Heaps of old cum get forced out with the assistance of gravity but mainly due to the pump that is your cock and the endless pumping into her cunt. Gaeul switches to a reverse cowgirl position and it's only now that you notice that her ass got absolutely filled as well. 

This should not be a surprise, she is the gangbang queen after all, yet you want to look away. This is exclusively other men's cum leaking out of Gaeul and onto your abs. It feels extremely wrong, fucking filthy and somewhat gross. The eagerness of the girl on your dick makes you forget that though. For a short while, you just admire her back, her small, shapely ass and the way her moans are in perfect harmony with the sound of flesh hitting flesh and cum being squeezed out. 

With your whole cock still buried inside her, bottoming her out, you two clumsily get into a mating press position. Gaeul is the most flexible girl you know, her small frame easily capable of folding and bending into every position you want. This position quickly becomes your favorite, because you don’t have to see her leaking asshole anymore, but you know that she is gaping and the worthless spunk steadily leaves her anal cavity. 

Every time you thrust into her, you see and feel her whole ass and thighs ripple. Shock waves across the smooth, stretched, spotless skin gets sent in all kinds of directions because you dig your hands into it. There's still a disgusting amount of cum defying gravity, defying your forceful pounding into Gaeul, but you are sure that if you just keep on fucking her, and press her whole body into the mattress, the petite gangbang queen will leak out all the rest. Through the lewdest of sounds and a clear lack of stamina, the thought of Gaeul filled with nothing but you pushes you through.

You feel the knot inside you loosen, strings and little last spurts of cum hitting her cervix as your tip is right up against it. Gaeul has her feet right up against your back, her heels pulling you deeper inside her. She's still rutting against you, her clit drawing circles against your crotch enjoying the friction and satisfaction it brings. The art of the orgasm, Gaeul has mastered it. In her scream, you find an infinite sea of bliss. It draws out your orgasm a few more seconds; perfect seconds.

Post-nut clarity kicks in and you try to block out the other people who are regaining consciousness in the room. Witness how ethereal her beauty is under the ceiling light. You want to kiss her. You want to tell her how much you love her. However, the harsh reality kicks in harder than the post-nut clarity as she shifts her gaze away from you and looks at the time. You close your eyes, take a deep breath to cherish just how fucking good her cock-warming cavern is. 

You pull away, unfazed at the mess in front of you at this point. Party time is over and you’re victorious but defeated, a bit deflated even. Why is the girl you’re falling for the wrong type of queen? 

"Hey..." Gaeul reaches out and grabs your forearm and pulls you a little closer to give you one last peck on your cheek. "Drive safely, okay?” Her fingers tiptoe towards your hand until it reaches the back of your it, her thumb gently rubs circles on it. A new level of intimacy that makes your heart stutter. “Message me when you’re back home."

[curlyfriesgalore]

curly can't sing.

as the title says, it's a headcanon i randomly had when playing my mouthwashing sims 4 household (lol), where swansea and curly went karaoke-ing at 'waterside warble' in san myshuno. curly sang horrendously since he just gained the skill. though, it made me think, how funny would it be if curly genuinely couldn't sing for shit?

it's the one thing jimmy has leverage over (he's no better, really), and curly is painfully aware of his tone-deafness, so he never reveals it unless it's for a special occasion... with an extra special someone there to watch him perform (miserably).

that being said, daisuke suggested the crew do something fun to celebrate the completion of their shipment, so why not do some karaoke?

★ a sfw one-shot broken down into bullets with chat-format segments for dialogue. fair warning, there are a few suggestive moments, but the implications aren't overt. [2,817 words]

☆ gen tags: set in 2005. gn! reader who is a doctor and a great singer. none of the game's events happen, so they're just a bunch of folks doing regular space deliveries, but jimmy is still an unpleasant ass that gets on the reader's nerves. reader and curly are crushing on each other (they're on the brink of knowing it's reciprocal). manfailure curly but he's trying his best... whatever that best is (lmfao, accurate to canon 😭). curly -> grant (name switch at some point in the fic). there's one moment where curly and reader share a glass, so just letting you know in case you're not a fan of that :)

[i'm still on break, but i wanted to write something more concise and improvised in under a day! and i won't lie, i find fics including everyone to be so fun to write. i really love testing out my characterizations of the crew and have them interact in relaxed scenarios. art by kafukafukadayo on twt. —iris🌠]

while you bask in the dim hues of red lights, the instrumental of an electropop softens into silence as it tandems with your pants. when you peel your eyes open, everyone's gaping their mouths and raising their brows—even jimmy, ever the unimpressed, is surprisingly taken aback, and you're taken aback by that alone.

daisuke springs from the leather sofa. he bounds towards you, grips both your shoulders, and shakes you senselessly, his hand still somehow clutching his open flip phone.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"doc, that... was... INSANE!" he jostles your body back and forth between his pauses, swaying you with all his might as he nearly forces the microphone to drop out your hand. daisuke swishes his head, finally letting you go, "wh—buh?! how do you—are you imogen heap reincarnated?!"

anya snorts, sounding like a stuffed trumpet. "dai, imogen's alive! she's only 27." swansea follows suit, his deep chuckle rumbling through his belly, crossed arms resting atop. "pfft, that's far from dead."

daisuke rolls his eyes away from the two, "tch, you get what i mean! like, look—!" he speedily dials the buttons on his phone, opening his gallery and brandishing a pixelated clip of you singing along to the mbira melody and string bass beats, the crunchy electronic syncs with your ethereal mezzo-soprano. daisuke snaps the phone shut with his palm, raising his free hand in surrender. "if that's not the lead singer of frou frou, then i don't know who is." he takes the remote, looking through what next to sing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

amid the nurse, mechanic, and intern belting their lungs out to "hey ya!" curly sits, and you stand before him. his ocean eyes swim in awe as he cranes his neck to face you. you're glowing. your head perfectly aligns right in front of the carmine light; its luminescence filters around your shadowed outline, like you were some angel graced from above with an even more angelic voice to come with. it was sort of comical how the largest man in the room felt so small beneath your presence.

there's a dew of sweat hanging below your bottom lip, and curly can't help but bite his. that is until he slips his teeth back in when you cushion yourself onto the couch, spreading your legs wide with an arm lounging on the headrest behind him. curly huffed a laugh and leaned into the shiny sofa, letting his scalp fall onto your forearm.

even with your tongue tucked inside your parted lips, curly could practically see your papillae beg for freshness. he smiles, momentarily stretching his back away from the couch to grab your drink and hands it to you. a raspy thanks escape your parched throat.

your neck bobs with every gulp, drinking like it's the last you'll ever taste water. curly tries his hardest not to let his gaze linger longer than it should, but the way your head tilts back and your hand grips the glass, he can't help but swallow some of that imaginary water himself.

a contented sigh leaves you. you flick your eyes to him and just about see the last of his adam's apple slurp up nothing. you gesture the drink, asking if he wants it. curly is briefly hesitant until he turns to see his empty cup and shrugs, "sure, why not?"

as curly takes his sip, he notices the beaded sweat shining on your lip more notably than before. his brows raise ever so subtly, ruminating his next moves. when you still fail to realize the wetness glistening at your mouth's rim, he pulls the drink away from himself.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──��

"hey, can i...?"

your eyes widen softly as you watch his thumb inch toward your jaw. you flick your view down, puffing out your lower lip to see a dab of sweat cling onto you for dear life. you look back at him and nod. curly gently takes a hold of your chin, thumbing the sudor away while his remaining fingers brush against your neck. you take in the moment, eyes half-lidded and lips ever so parted. he wasn't glancing at you, but you could tell he wanted to, for his warm breath quiets the longer you study him—noticing the way his tongue peeks out his mouth or how his golden greying hair falls over the wrinkles etched into his temple. "you know," moments before he drops his hand, he finally manages to look you in the eye, your faces merely inches apart. "your performance really gave me chills." you smirked, "is that why you didn't speak up?" your tease brought curly to a laugh, the bass in his voice strong. "i can't help but be mesmerized when that's how you sing, doc."

you hummed a titter, nodding to yourself as you thanked him with a delicate smile. "you can drop the formalities, grant. we're at a karaoke bar, not the tulpar."

whether or not you noticed the hitch in his breath, grant softened upon hearing his first name, oftentimes forgetting that's who he actually is. his head tilts down, blithely sighing before picking himself up to show you his grin, "okay, okay..." he momentarily chuckles, now resting his elbow on the headrest, propping it up, and leaning onto his knuckles next to your arm still lying there. "well, my point still stands. you have an incredibly captivating voice, y/n." "oh, stop it...!" you both become a blushing, giggling mess. your other hand finds its way to rest on your knee, which sits right against grant's. as you speak about your singing history, grant brings his free palm to his thigh, pretending to unintentionally graze his calloused fingers against your nails. he listens intently to how you'd belt out your favorite songs on repeat, albeit the sound of daisuke and anya screaming, "HEEEY YAAA!" and the tidbits of exhaustion lingering in his mind make your words muffle into incoherent jargon.

"but enough about me, i wanna hear you." you catch his eyes snapping away from both his and your legs smushing together, hoping you don't notice the blankness in his brain. "or are you just charming me to stall your big reveal, hm?"

grant's jaw falls, and utterances of filler words filter out his mouth, but before he can respond, daisuke catches wind of their conversation as outkast's song dies down in the background.

"oh, yeah!" daisuke takes a swig of his soda. after a sigh of satisfaction and couple of lip smacks, daisuke leaps from his end of the couch and motions to the two, microphone in hand. "it's your turn to solo, captain!"

"uhh, i don't know if i should..." grant sheepishly waves the mic away, his eyes shifting between everyone's expressions. daisuke is pouting and pleading with puppy eyes. anya just gives him a thumbs-up and a classic comforting smile. swansea is indifferent. jimmy, who's been leaning against the palm tree printed wall for the past four songs, beer in hand, grows an all-too-familiar smirk. then there's you, expectantly looking at him with overlaid eyes he wishes to see in a different setting... that of his bedroom—

"aww, why not, curl? we've done our parts. 's only fair you do yours, too." jimmy's tone was far from welcoming, sounding more like a jab than anything. you narrowed your sights at him, "didn't you only sing in the group ones?" jimmy shrugs. "look," after taking another chug of his can, raising his hands in defeat. "my karaoke quota's been filled. sorry." you simply roll your eyes. before the tension thickens, daisuke interjects, "ah, don't worry, cap. i bet your voice sounds super cool, like superhero cool! you've got that gruffness that swan's got... but y'know... less croaky n' stuff!" "'scuze me?" swansea lifts a single brow, anya stifles a laugh, and daisuke flails his hands in defense, "eh- i mean it as a compliment! you've got a sick voice, swansea." "emphasis on sick..." anya cheekily comments under her breath, and for the first time in forever, swansea's jaw drops. he coughs out a laugh that's been lodged in his throat for god knows how long and shakes his head, pointing his thumb at the giggling woman. "wowww, aren't you, the nurse, supposed to be fixing that?" anya nods to you, "only under doctor's orders." the two have a back and forth, but daisuke still stands in front of grant, intent on lending the mic to the man.

"i—okay..." grant crumbles under the pressure, caving in when you whisper a couple of encouragements. daisuke cheers, anya claps, swansea bobs his head in support, jimmy fakes a whoop, and you—genuinely—hype him up with a holler.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

grant purses his lip as he presses the buttons on the remote while daisuke guides him through the songs on the screen.

jimmy leaves his spot, his boot denting a scuff mark on the wallpaper. your nose flares, watching him carelessly toss the can into the bin as he makes his way to sandwich you between him and swansea, purposefully maximizing the width of how far he can stretch his legs.

you ignore him, opting to watch someone much cuter. grant turns to you, awkwardly smiling as you return a thumbs-up. he focuses back on daisuke, who's now raving over a song he definitely thinks grant should sing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"you know he's shit, right?" your brows contort into a furrow, still not looking at the man. "the fuck you mean?" you never had much patience for jimmy, of all people, so your courtesies never fail to fall short with him. "you know who i mean—him." jimmy gestures to grant, pointer finger flicking at the blond. "no shit, sherlock. i'm saying, what are you specifically referring to?" "obviously, his voice, sherlock." he drawls the two syllables, the stench of yeast and malt oozing out of his mouth and into your unfortunate nose. "he'll make your ears bleed, trust me." finally, you face him and stare at jimmy's smugness with an incredulous squint. seriously, how the fuck does grant put up with him? you couldn't even stand the guy's presence, let alone his incessant insults on grant himself. "do you do anything but complain?" you sneer. "nope." jimmy curtly replies, mouthing a pop after the 'p' as he claws a hand over the chips bowl, stuffing his face with grease. at this point, you weren't sure if you should stay annoyed or be slightly impressed with his sheer ability to find the worst in everything. "some fucking friend..." you say to yourself, already past the point of defeat. with his mouth still full of food, jimmy responds, "hey, as his friend, i'm actively warning you. i've known this guy long enough to be there for his first choir class." "whatever, we'll see." you huffed, relaxing on the couch, sitting much closer to swansea than the other. "it's not like you've got much credibility, anyway." you think back to moments ago, whenever it was jimmy's turn to sing his parts, his half-assed attempts barely constitutes as a grumble. jimmy snickers, "who says i'm denying that? just 'cause i don't care doesn't mean i'm wrong."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

you have never been more relieved to hear a soft pop interlude, forcing the conversation to a close.

daisuke flops onto the sofa next to anya and flips open his phone, pressing record as the tv flashes the music video to "shape of my heart." you lean behind swansea and lock eyes with daisuke, who abashedly giggles when you mouth, 'you chose this, didn't you?' to which he nods excitedly.

ah, daisuke, ever the avid backstreet boys fanatic.

your eyes fall back to grant. the man fidgets with his microphone, and his shoe frantically taps to the beat, pursing his lips into a tight smile in hopes it will clench down the shivers rising with the guitar strums. you silently cheer him on when he starts humming, following the yellow highlight filling up the white text reading ♪ yeah, yeah ♪, and—

oh!

...oh

oh, god.

jimmy... wasn't wrong, far from it, actually—as much as it pains you to admit.

the very moment grant hits that ♪ baby ♪, it's all downhill from here. it's as if his pitch took a trip to six flags. his questionably paced breaths mimic a ride with an unnecessary amount of loop-the-loops, and his tone flip-flops between a coarse rasp and an oddly airy twang, like a reverse bungee slingshotting into the air.

grant's eyes squeeze shut, facing away from the crew. either he was incredibly invested or excruciatingly embarrassed, and with how he was really getting into that chorus, nobody could tell. he only ever peeks to look at you, though, clearly awaiting your approval, to whom you always beam, your face mixed in pity and affection.

as much as he sounded like a crow was clawing its way out of his esophagus, you couldn't help but find his attempts to be really wholesome. maybe it's your pre-existing bias, and maybe it's because this feels like he's serenading every line at you, but it's hard not to fall for this vocal failure of a man—even though everyone else's expressions say otherwise.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"told you so," jimmy taunts in your ear, sickeningly chuckling at grant without hesitation. "woo! curly, you go, dude!" he cheers, voice dipped in mockery. all you do is click your tongue and face the others, choosing to listen in on anya and swansea. "you sure i'm the one that's 'sick'?" swansea jokes, albeit laced with genuine disgust. he leans to you, whispering the same revulsion, "you both need to rethink your careers."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

anya simply grimaces, trying her hardest to make it look like a grin, but her knit brows and frown give way.

daisuke's eyes say everything. they're wide, and his pupils constrict like he's a cartoon. his hand hesitantly grips onto his flip phone, unsure if he should keep the camera going. as his leg rapidly bounces and his teeth bite down on his paint-chipped nails, his gaze slowly turns away from grant's caterwauling and towards the rest of the crew.

moreover, you're just as guilty. although you're not irked by this newfound fact, a wince washes over you the moment you are out of grant's sights.

suddenly, after the first chorus, the song reveals a blue highlight painting the white text. grant falters, his voice shrinking when he sees the two primary colors play different lyrics simultaneously. everyone takes notice, their faces easing from cringe to confusion. then it clicks.

this was a duet.

daisuke palms his face with a slap—that's his bad. you skim the room, and everyone's exchanging glances, implicitly questioning who'll aid their poor captain.

without hesitation, you jump to the rescue. snatching a mic from the coffee table and quickly singing your parts, striding your way towards grant, who immediately picks up where he's left off, still shrill as ever.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

♪ i'M hEre WIDTH myYy...! confEh shion ♪, in a sheer attempt at confidence, grant belts his lyrics. his dimples dig into his smile, sending you the much-needed energy to sing your lines. ♪ got nothing to hide no more ♪. you sway your head in accordance with the melody, ball up your fist, and let your fingers spread far and wide, wiping the air as you and grant's steps magnetize toward each other. ♪ i don't kNOw whe...rE to st-art ♪; warbling his words, grant's gaze softens when you're within arms reach. he lowers his neck, brings the mic close to his lips, and grazes your forearm, wishing he could feel the flush skin of your waist and reel you in. ♪ but to show you... ♪, as both lyrics meld into one, you take his hand into yours. ♪...the shA-pe of mY hEart ♪

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

daisuke bursts into song, singing the first line of the last verse, startling everyone in the process. anya joins in, now standing with daisuke as both pull swansea to his feet. the mechanic begrudgingly croons along to his intern's baritone and his nurse's soprano.

daisuke beckons for jimmy to come with him, but in classic jimmy zare fashion, he remains stagnant. the younger man frowns. though, he quickly reminds himself that there are only five members in BSB, anyway. so daisuke hands jimmy his phone instead, telling the co-pilot to make sure that everyone's in frame.

they've turned this into a concert for a one-man audience, who's hating every second of it.

save for jimmy, currently grousing under his breath, the crew wraps their arms around each other's shoulders and chants their hearts out to the R&B melody.

as the track nears its final moments, you and grant rest your hands on each other's waists, pulling your bodies close as your head leans on his pec. neither of you realizes that you've left the other three, who are all too busy rocking side to side to notice the two of you in a side embrace, minds too carried away to feel jimmy's prickly leer.

[oh my god, i genuinely didn't even intend for this ending, but here we are 🥹! i hope you guys liked this, and if anyone has comments on how i wrote everyone's dialogue and mannerisms, like what worked, or if you have suggestions for any additions, please let me know! i still need to learn more about writing anya, since in canon, it's hard to get a read of her real personality through jimmy's lens. still, so far, i like to think she enjoys teasing people she's comfortable with. as for swansea, i'm trying to lean into his meanness more, but i'm saving most of that for a daisuke fic centered on swansea's pov, so we'll see what i do when i get there! —iris🌠]

[cosmowgyral]

"Beast in Office"- April Fool's Short AU Story

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Michel Conglomerate

We’re always pushing boundaries, delivering dreams and inspiration to the world.

This spring, I am changing jobs.

But for some reason the job interview was held on the rooftop of a skyscraper—

~~~♪

Licht • Nokto: ♪ I love, love you! I’ve been falling in love with you since the day I was born ♪

Emma: ……..

Chevalier: ………

Licht: ♪ There's no need for Cupid when I'm aiming straight for your heart ♪

Nokto: ♪ 'Cause we’ve been bound together since way, way, way back in a past life ♪

Emma: …….

Chevalier: …..

Licht: ♪ My every day’s a love rollercoaster—feels like I’m about to max out my lifetime heartbeats ♪

Nokto: ♪ But it’s alright, ‘cause even in the life to come—♪

Licht • Nokto: ♪ Our fates are tightly spun  ♪

Emma: ….Wo-

Emma: Woww! I can’t believe I got to hear Midnight Prism’s new song during an interview… I'm so moved and thrilled!

(It’s a bit concerning how both of them looked incredibly displeased, though…)

Clavis: Haha, now that’s the kind of reaction I like. Don’t hold back—show even more joy. It’ll fire them up for future performances, after all.

Licht: Just how many more times do I have to sing these awful lyrics...? Our songs used to be decent.

Nokto: They were probably aiming for shock value, right? The fans will be screaming in agony, this’ll definitely blow up in the worst way.

(A twin idol unit that burst into the scene like a comet now looks like it’s about to burn out just as fast.)

Licht: Hey, why were we even made to sing that in the first place?

Clavis: Glad you asked.

Clavis : An interview is meant to assess the applicant’s skills and personality to determine if they’re a good fit for the company.

Clavis: Because of that, the atmosphere tends to get heavy. I’ve seen countless applicants sink without ever being able to properly showcase their strengths.

Clavis: That’s why this year, we decided to hold a live performance like this to help ease the nerves of our applicants first.

Clavis: A company mustn’t forget that while it does the choosing, it’s also being chosen.

Nokto: Huh... That’s surprisingly reasonable.

(I was bracing myself for a grueling pressure interview since it’s a conglomerate-backed company, but they’re surprisingly wholesome.)

Chevalier: …..

(But Mr. Chevalier, the head of the conglomerate, has been reading his book this whole time.)

(Could this be a sure sign that I’ve already failed…?)

Chevalier: Unfortunately, I don’t have the hobby of wasting time on unnecessary people.

Emma: Th-thank you so much!

(That means they’re expecting something from me, right? I’ve got to do my best.)

Clavis: It irks me that Chev stole the spotlight… but I’ll let it slide.

Clavis: Well then, let’s get down to business.

Licht: Hang on.

Licht: Hey… are you seriously planning to go through with this interview? You really want to join a company like us?

(He's basically asking me about my motivation for joining this company!)

Emma: Yes! It’s my first choice.

Emma: You’re constantly expanding into music, anime, visual media, and talent management…. spreading dreams and inspiration across the globe.

Emma: I’m drawn to the sheer dynamism of your company—constantly uncovering limitless new possibilities in entertainment.

Emma: That’s why I applied—because I want to be a part of that, and contribute to it myself.

Nokto: Even after hearing those lyrics, you still want to join us? …You might actually be a rare find.

Clavis: This year's talent hunt is guaranteed to end on a high note, it seems.

Clavis: Your passion came through loud and clear.

(Yes! Looks like I made a good impression.)

Clavis: Next up is the skill check.

(A test along with the interview!? They didn’t have this in previous years…)

(Don’t lose heart now. You’ve worked so hard just to get into this company, haven’t you?)

(No matter what kind of test it is—)

Clavis: Now then. I’d like you to perform the new Midnight Prism single you heard earlier—‘I'm Your Captive♡Just One Beat Left.’

Nokto: You just gave her a death sentence.

Licht: That’s just too cruel.

Clavis: Don't worry. Even if you haven't memorised the lyrics or the choreography, it won’t be a problem.

Clavis: I want you to show me your passion—no need for words.

Emma: ……

(No matter how absurd or unreasonable this skill test is... I'm going to pull through—no matter what...!)

Emma: Lo…

Emma: ♪ I love, love you…! ♪

That day, I traded away my dignity in exchange for a job offer—

[sillyparadiselady]

💙 “Dr. Love and Dr. McCoy”

Bones McCoy x Reader Romantic Comedy | Sci-Fi | Chaos | Fluff | Mutual Pining | Jekyll & Hyde but with love

It started, like most disasters aboard the USS Enterprise, with Spock saying something perfectly logical that turned out to be anything but.

“Theoretical projections indicate that temporary emotional dampening could assist humanoid patients in traumatic recovery,” Spock said, hands behind his back, face neutral as always. “However, the procedure requires voluntary testing to finalize its safety parameters.”

“That’s Vulcan for ‘this is probably a bad idea, but let’s try it anyway,’” McCoy grumbled from the biobed, glaring at the blinking console. His arms were crossed, shoulders tense, blue medical tunic rumpled from an hour of arguing.

“I fail to see how that conclusion is accurate,” Spock replied, unimpressed.

You stood behind the observation console with Jim, monitoring cortical wave outputs while chewing your bottom lip. “You sure about this, Bones?” you asked, your voice more nervous than you intended.

“No. Not even a little,” he muttered. “But I’d rather it be me than some poor cadet with half my brain cells.”

Jim leaned forward with a grin. “Oh, come on, Bones. What’s the worst that could happen? You become… less cranky?”

“Don’t jinx it, Jim.”

With a reluctant sigh, Bones sat back against the biobed, adjusting the neural nodes on his temples. “Let’s get this over with.”

You nodded, fingers moving over the control panel. “Starting dampener in three… two… one.”

The device activated with a soft hum. Blue energy pulsed through the air, scanning his neural pathways. For a few moments, the readings stayed stable. Perfect. Balanced.

“Vitals normal,” you said, relief creeping into your voice.

“Indeed,” Spock nodded. “Cortical regions responding predictably.”

Then the console sparked.

A low-pitched alarm howled through Sickbay. The lights flickered. Bones jolted upright as arcs of blue electricity snapped from the machine straight into the neural nodes.

“Cut the power!” Bones shouted, but before you could slap the emergency shutoff, the system blew.

Silence followed. Just the crackle of overloaded circuits and the echo of everyone’s breath.

“Leonard?” You rushed to his side, waving a scanner. “Are you—”

His eyes opened. Slowly.

And then he smiled.

Not a smirk. Not the usual exasperated curl of his lip. This was soft. Gentle. Almost… adoring. His blue eyes seemed brighter, like the stars themselves reflected in them.

He reached for your hand, fingers warm as they slid over yours. “(Y/N)...” he murmured, voice like smooth velvet, “have I ever told you how breathtaking you are?”

You blinked. “...What?”

He sat up straighter, thumb brushing the back of your hand like it was the most natural thing in the universe. “Like a sunrise over Georgia fields. Like starlight through nebula clouds. You—you’re...” He sighed. “Radiant.”

Jim’s jaw dropped. “Holy crap.”

Spock tilted his head. “Fascinating.”

Your brain fully blue-screened. “...Is he broken?”

“Oh, sugar,” Bones chuckled, “far from it. I feel... liberated.”

The next few hours were a lesson in chaos management.

Bones was… different. Still himself in body and voice, but every ounce of gruffness, sarcasm, and cynicism was wiped away. In its place stood someone devastatingly sincere, hopelessly romantic, and absolutely committed to the art of flustering you beyond recovery.

When you entered Sickbay for your next shift, you were greeted by the sight of a bouquet of roses sitting on the console.

“For you, my starshine,” Bones said, strolling out of his office with a dreamy smile. “To brighten your already dazzling presence.”

You nearly walked straight into a bio-bed. “Leonard—what—”

He stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. “Have I told you how your laugh sounds like the chiming of windbells on a spring morning?”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, but why stop when the truth flows so easily?” His grin widened. “The way your eyes light up when you focus… darlin’, I’ve seen supernovas dimmer than you.”

Nurse Chapel wheezed into her hand. Jim nearly dropped his coffee. Even Spock blinked, which for him was the equivalent of a full-body double take.

“Doctor,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow, “your neural patterns indicate a highly elevated production of oxytocin and dopamine. This level of romantic fixation is... illogical.”

Bones didn’t even flinch. “Oh, I know, Spock. But sometimes illogic is the most beautiful thing in the universe.”

And then came the breaking point.

You were scanning a crewman’s sprained wrist when the doors slid open — and you froze.

Sickbay was… different.

Candles flickered along the bio-monitor shelves (thankfully, holographic). Soft piano music played from the comm system. There were flowers — real, replicated, and holographic — draped across every flat surface. A picnic blanket was spread across one of the biobeds with what looked like a replicated cheese board and wine glasses.

And there stood Bones. Sleeves rolled up, rose tucked behind one ear, holding a glass of what was probably sparkling cider but felt like it should be champagne.

“My love,” he breathed when he saw you. “You’ve arrived.”

“Leonard,” you said flatly, “what... is this?”

“A dinner,” he said proudly. “For the most radiant soul aboard this vessel.”

“...On a bio-bed.”

“Only the finest for you.”

Before you could even process a response—

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

The doors slammed open again, and there stood another McCoy. Hair disheveled, uniform wrinkled, looking utterly done with life.

Your jaw dropped. “There are two of you.”

“Unfortunately,” Grumpy!Bones groaned. “This damn experiment split my emotional cortex in half. Him—” he gestured at his romantic twin “—and me.”

Romantic!Bones smiled lazily, sipping his drink. “He’s the caution. I’m the courage.”

“You’re an embarrassment!” Grumpy snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the hell are you doing serenading them in Sickbay?!”

“Expressing what you’ve suppressed for years,” Romantic said with a wink. “Oh, don’t look so scandalized, Leonard. You’ve been head over heels for (Y/N) since the day they walked onto this ship.”

You nearly fell over. “Wait. What.”

Grumpy Bones spluttered. “I—NO—I mean—not like—SHUT UP!!”

Romantic Bones grinned wider. “Oh come now, even a blind tribble could see it.” He turned to you, utterly sincere. “You are... extraordinary. A supernova wrapped in starlight. Every moment with you is a blessing I never had the courage to ask for.”

“STOP TALKING!!” Grumpy Bones practically threw a tricorder at him. “They don’t need to hear—this isn’t—”

You raised a hand. “Hold on. Leonard.” You turned to Grumpy Bones, pointing directly at him. “Is this… true?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. His face turned beet red. “...Yeah.”

Silence. Thick. Tangled. Electric.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” Grumpy Bones finally mumbled, avoiding your eyes. “Didn’t think I could. I figured… hell, figured you deserved better than a cranky, overworked, twice-divorced country doctor.”

“Leonard…” you stepped forward, fingers brushing his sleeve. “You absolute idiot.”

His head jerked up, startled. “...What?”

You grinned. “You think I don’t feel the same?”

For a heartbeat, both McCoys stared at you. Then Romantic Bones fist-pumped the air. “Ha! I knew it!”

Grumpy groaned. “Oh my God shut up.”

But then, as you slipped your hand into his — his real hand, warm and trembling and so very, very human — his grumpy scowl melted into something softer. Something real.

A crooked, shy, utterly adorable smile. “Yeah... well... guess I ain’t as smooth as him, but... if you’ll have me…”

“I’ll have you,” you said, smiling back. “All of you.”

Spock managed to reintegrate the split personalities the next day, to Bones’ profound relief and equal embarrassment.

But even with his brain back in one piece, something had shifted. A softness now lingered at the edges of his usual sarcasm. A hand held longer. A smile exchanged over shared coffee in the medbay.

A week later, you found a note tucked in your locker in his messy scrawl:

“You’re still the prettiest damn thing in this whole galaxy. —L”

You held it to your chest, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe he wasn’t Dr. Love anymore. But he was still your Bones.

And that was more than enough.

💫 The End... (Or the beginning of something even better.)

XO -Silly

@enchantedflameandflower It's for you! The Jekyll and Hide' Bones is out! 😜🤭🤪

[kedreeva]

What's the general consensus on peafowl inbreeding? Because you've talked a bit on it, and you seemed to imply that it's ideally avoided, but not full on harmful. How does that relate to color and patterns, because it seems like only purple and European violet are related color wise. So are most other patterns/colors a result of inbreeding? Just genuine curiosity

With very, very little exception, EVERY recessive mutation in EVERY animal involves some form of inbreed. Usually a specific kind of inbreeding called backcrossing - where you breed a het offspring back to one of its parents, to create homozygous offspring - or line breeding, sometimes sibling to sibling. Dominant genes don't require it, because they'll show regardless. The only exception to recessive genes acting like this is if you had the same genetic mutation happen the same way twice in completely unrelated animals. Which DOES happen, especially on very simple mutations like dilutes, but not always the same way, and after the mutation is away from the origin, without exceptionally accurate tracking of ALL offspring EVER as descended from the OG het, and without scientific testing there's really no way to differentiate between "this individual mutated this gene FRESH" vs "this individual traces lineage back to the OG bird."

Purple and EV are actually unrelated (are not the same mutation and one did not spring forth from the other as far as we know) but they are alleles (take up the same spot on the same chromosome) and do relatively the same thing (make bird purple and brown colored instead of green and grey).

But all the other colors/patterns in peafowl have been the result of backcrossing offspring to parent birds to get homozygous birds, or pairing siblings together get multiple mutations into one bird. As long as you aren't seeing this produce health issues, it is really not a big deal.

[sl-vega]

0.1; retired theater kids-(y/n's squad)

project: love liason! - a scaramouche smau

y/n:

hopelessly in love with childe (has been since freshman year) you are on fairly good terms with him, (even if half of your interactions play out in your head rather than reality)

(ridiculously) hopeful romantic

you were the one who started your friend group after you met everyone else in a drama camp during eighth grade (hence the name retired theater kids)

the "responsible" friend (even though the general consensus is that lynette and navia are the actual responsible ones)

mona:

your best friend and scara's academic "rival". having been forced to have tons of classes together in the past two years, mona and him have been pretty cut throat when it comes to them competing with each other

mona finds him insufferable, and has vented to you about him on numerous occasions, even though you've never even met the guy

super into astrology and zodiacs

she's well known around campus for having scary accurate predictions

"that wasn't on your 2024 bingo card? well it was on MINE."

furina:

president of the drama club at your school, and is often put in charge of directing all of the drama club's shows

she used to be a semi-popular child actress that frequently appeared in famous kids shows, but she took a break recently to focus more on her directing career

was essentially a guarantee for any lead in school productions when she was younger

absolute drama queen

navia frequently keeps her up to date with all the latest gossip so she's a real treat to talk to

lyney:

lynette's older twin brother, and a part time magician for kids birthday parties

one of the girls

also a member of the drama club

both an actor and member of the stage crew as he helps with special effects for productions as well

wants to continue working in the film industry after high school

bounces around as a freelance worker instead of being tied down to a specific gig despite having many offers from several places

says that if he waits the salary offers will get higher

lynette:

lyney's younger twin sister and part time magic assistant

her brother often jokes that she ditched him, but she just preferred to explore her own interests outside of lyney's career

member of both the drama club and science club

unlike lyney she only helps with behind the scenes work

most notably special effects, but she's more interested in the scientific aspect of making it work

navia:

DEFINITION of an fbi friend

knows everything about everyone, does loyalty tests on people's boyfriend's sometimes if they pay her

picks up crazy amounts of info, and has a shit ton of connections to tons of people and places

doesn't disclose how she finds out all of this

the type of friend that can find someone only by their first initial

give her a single piece of info and BOOM

she has their full legal name, all their social media accounts, the location of the grocery store they frequent, and their parent's Facebook pages

currently in a situation ship with chlorinde

additional notes:

profiles are out!

not much I wanna say but yeah :D

i'll try my best to do frequent updates

if you wanna be tagged just send me an ask/comment!

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS: you're head over heels in love with childe, and scaramouche is (begrudingly) smitten with his "rival" mona. and, by sheer divine coincidence, you both happen to be the best friends of each other's objects of affection, so you strike a deal with each other. if scaramouche helps you ask out childe, you'll set him up with mona. so with the annual spring formal right around the corner, the two of you vow to be each other's wingmans so you can end your junior year on a high note (and maybe even kick off your senior year with a new relationship!). between, scheming, planning, and researching, you and scaramouche find yourselves developing a new relationship via helping each other out. now the real question is whether this friendship will remain as a pure platonic bond, or blossom into something more?

< PREV ll MASTERLIST ll NEXT >

🎀 - taglist!;

@agaygothicmushroom, @035814, @freyao7, @sketcheeee, @tsukimara, @shyentsmissingink, @justpeachyteastea, @aries-afk, @lxkeeeee, @sakiimeo, @sugxryratz, @shutingstar, @lalaloveallmydays, @bellflower1257, @haruumei, @kichiyosh1, @littlemisssatanist, @dee-zbignuts, @candyescapism, @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully

[hangels]

oh, and happy birthday.

summary : happy birthday, who knew those words could cause such chaos? Definitely not art. A birthday gift from Patrick would truly change everything.

note : hii! this is my first fic. I wanted it to be something deep and so I hope you guys enjoy this! always looking for mutuals to add to my taglist. :), also this is not 100% accurate to the timeline..I just wanted to write something like this. 🥹🥹

Art Donaldson stared at the ceiling of his dark room, the steady hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears. It was his birthday. The quiet wasn’t exactly comforting. it was heavy, thick with memories he thought he’d buried. Tashi, his girlfriend, was asleep beside him, her soft breaths steady and calm. But Art couldn’t sleep. Not tonight.

Months ago, things had spiraled out of control. He never meant to hurt Patrick, never meant to take his girlfriend away. But it had happened, and it had shattered something between them, something that even time couldn’t fully mend. Patrick hadn’t spoken to him since, had kept his distance like a wound too raw to touch.

Until tonight.

The phone vibrated softly against the bedside table. Art’s heart stuttered when he saw a new message received on the screen. A message: Happy birthday. Meet me at The Lantern? Tomorrow night? Celebrate? From Patrick.

Art hesitated, fingers trembling. For months, he’d convinced himself Patrick was gone from his life for good. But a flicker of something — hope, guilt, longing — made him type back a simple.. “Yeah.”

The next night, Art told Tashi he was going out with a few of his boys. He kissed her gently, the apology in his eyes. Outside, the air was crisp with spring’s first chill. The streets hummed with distant laughter and neon light. He walked towards The Lantern, heart pounding like a war drum.

Patrick was there, standing near the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes wary but unmistakably alive. When their eyes met, the years of silence collapsed between them like a fragile bridge finally touched by footsteps.

“Happy birthday,” Patrick said quietly, voice rough with emotion.

“Thanks,” Art replied, voice breaking slightly.

They talked. awkward at first, words stumbling over old wounds and unspoken apologies. But beneath it all, the spark was undeniable. The flickering flame of what had once been something raw, real, and fierce.

As the night deepened, the city around them blurred. The past didn’t vanish, but for those stolen hours, it didn’t matter. They found each other again in the cracks between hurt and forgiveness.

When Patrick finally pulled Art close, whispering, “I missed you, kinda.” He awkwardly laughed, the weight of everything lifted for a moment. The flickering romance, the friendship between them wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Art’s breath hitched as Patrick’s hand found his, rough fingers curling gently around his wrist. The noise of the city faded completely, swallowed by the pulse between them — quiet but insistent. Patrick’s eyes, dark and searching, held a question Art didn’t want to say out loud but felt deep in his bones: “Is there still a place for me?”

Art stared him right in the eye, almost as if he knew what was being asked. “oh stop, you already know the answer to that, fucking asshole.” He laughed, earning one from Patrick..

Patrick chuckled, “I know, you just can’t ever seem to get rid of me. Huh? I bet it bothers you.” He murmured, art lightly shaking his head with a small grin. “Like gum on my damn shoe.” And after that, the atmosphere around them went quiet.

The space between them dissolved with a shaky laugh and a desperate, aching kiss. soft at first, testing, like both afraid to break what fragile thing they were rebuilding. Then, slow and sure, like coming home after being lost in the dark.

patrick then pulling away, a small grin as he was preparing to leave. Art softly furrowing his eyebrows.

“oh, and happy birthday.” He murmured before leaving.

leaving art to just sit there, eventually going home. He just couldn’t get that out of his head. A new message received now flashing on his screen once again.

From Patrick: it was nice to see you again.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Frozen Over

Fandom: Love & Deepspace

Genre: Yandere, Angst

Main Characters: Sylus, GN Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Reader is anxious

A/N: I really don't know what to put for the warnings that isn't already stated elsewhere.

Peace is found in the dull pain in your chest that's reflected in the dimmed horizon. A gentle cruelty lays in the silence and stillness of the world around you that offers nothing to soothe your fear or pain, but the promise that nothing in nature is happening. A tombstone in the bare branches of the occasional tree as both you and it wait for spring to come and grant you a chance to blossom again.

But you are not a tree, nor are you an animal left to hibernate in the desert of white. No, you are instead trapped in a heated car heading to your new prison, dressed as a winter getaway. What's there to getaway from in a house tucked into the trees far from any whisper of civilization? What difference does he think the scenery will make other than to more accurately reflect your existence? Perhaps he hopes to bury himself in the snow, to drown out your tears and distance and shield his eyes in white and muffle his ears in quiet.

"How's the scenery?" Your throat tightens as if it were about to gag. You hated speaking and you hated when he spoke to you in particular. "Is it nice?" How long can you go without responding today before he loses his patience?

You force your limbs and breath to freeze and your ears strain to hear even the slightest disturbance, the most subtle inkling that you shouldn't test his patience any further, but all you see in his reflection is a mix of disappointment and aching.

You watch his chest heave in a sigh as he thankfully turned his attention back on the road. If you're lucky, that will be the last time and nothing but the dull rumble of the engine, muffled crunches of snow beneath tires, and the rush of hot air through the AC system will be your company.

You don't why he keeps trying to talk to you when you've ignored him for the past four hours. Ever since he woke you up with a gentle rattle of your arm, all you've done is look at him before immediately heading to your "assigned task".

It's unbearably boring, but you'd rather not risk moving to find a book or your headphones for him to inevitably see that as his time to move, to try and goad you into giving him your attention until he inevitably gets tired of your indifference and rips away whatever you've taken solace in.

It's not worth the trouble.

So, ever since you've seated yourself in the car, you've resigned yourself to remain by the window, only ever staring out the blurred landscape and occasionally watching him through the reflection. He said he had the ability to see peoples truest desires, but if that were true, why are you here?

He must have either been lying to you, or he's lying to himself. How long would it take before you found the truth to that? How much longer will your heart beat with a dull ache until he figures it out?

The momentum beneath your feet begins to slow into a gentle stop and your heart rate rockets, fingers curling into the heavy woolen fabric of your sweater as your spine tenses and straightens, jawbones clenching into place.

You hear him lean against your seat, feel his weight shift around you, leather squealing softly against fabric and he sighed, a heavy, mourned, sigh.

He's hurting, you can feel the ache in his chest reverberate through his being into the atoms around you. You work to still yourself into a broken statue, cracks and fallen chips uncomfortably exposed at all times, and do not move an inch from the window.

You didn't care if he was hurting now, he had hurt you so many times before. He hurt you so badly and so deeply that it hurt to feel any emotions at all. If he was mourning, he could mourn alone like you had until he too becomes a husk of a living thing and then one day you two can sit across each other in a room and not say a word, but still think the same thing.

Why did we let it get to this?

And then, maybe, he would let you go. Maybe then, he would give an apology too late to be anything but a string of sounds from a windpipe. But you knew better than to hope when you saw how he looked at you sometimes, like you were the one thing in the world of any value, like he would let himself get torn apart if it meant he could have a taste of your love. It hurt to hope.

You lean further into the window, daydreaming of running out into the snow fields and disappearing from the world altogether, any and every trace of you unfurling into snowflakes to melt with the spring. If only fairy-tales were real, not sweet ones with happy endings, but the more ancient ones. The ones meant to teach the importance of not taking something that doesn't belong to you.

"Sweetie," You can feel your face crinkle into disgust on instinct, you hate the word, you hate the way he says it, you hate what it means— "Please, look at me." A cold finger timidly brushes your cheek and it freezes your skin, spreading throughout your body and pinching your nerves.

You flinch and he inhales a shuddering breath that almost sounds like fear.

The weight that always lurks closely to his figure relinquished you from it's oppressiveness and a few strings of muscle relax, but not enough to fully rest. You wait for the inevitable tug of the vehicle moving forward and the subtle rustles of a leather jacket, but neither come.

Sylus is framed by the white landscape shining through the car window, matching his hair as his head rests on his arms, hands hanging over the edges of the wheel. Streaks of bluish white reflect off the creases of his jacket, the red and white thorns embroidered into the sleeves arch and point at his head.

Silence settles between you, piling on your shoulders and weighing you down. The freeze has now retreated further into you, crystallizing your lungs and throat as you sat and wait. Wait for the sound of an aggravated sigh and straining leather, wait for the ice to crack and shatter, wait to retreat into the false sanctuary hidden in your conscious.

Instead there's a sniffle. Just one, before he sits up and you look out the window again, and the car jerks forward, and the snow keeps falling.

[kivaember]

date night date night - AC6 Flatwell/O'Keeffe drabble

@drenched-in-sunlight "Sth for O’Keeffe/Flatwell from regretter’s friend verse ??? 🥹"

alright friend this one's for you ;) ough i miss these two...

-

It was little past eleven in the evening when Flatwell flopped face down onto his bed, utterly exhausted from yet another mentally draining day.

He was actually doing the job he was hired to do - that being, test piloting Nachtreiher for the upcoming weapons expo - but with such a time crunch on their schedule he was being spedrun through every single test scenario they could think of, and well-experienced in AC piloting or not...

...it was exhausting! Diabolically so! Not because they were making him do anything truly complicated or strenuous, but because everything was so tedious! Boost jump exactly one hundred metres, oh hmm, the left leg didn't compensate the landing adequetely, pause for adjustments, okay, do the jump again, alright, do it again a hundred more times for more accurate data-

Flatwell groaned at the mind-numblingly boring memories and rolled onto his side. It was back to the grind tomorrow, but for now... for now he can close his eyes and simply forget about piloting... just close his eyes and sleep...

RING! RING!

...he was going to blow up this planet.

Peeling himself off the bed, Flatwell grumpily snatched up his phone from where he'd tossed it onto his bedside table. There was only one person who called him, so he didn't bother looking at the caller ID as he answered and snarled: "what."

"Hello to you too, dove," O'Keeffe's bland tone replied, utterly unruffled by Flatwell's murderous vibes being telepathically sent down the phone line. "Guess you're not ready yet."

Flatwell closed his eyes, resigned.

"Ready for what?" he asked dully.

"The Arquebus dinner party shindig whatever. Got a plus one so I sent a taxi to your place. Should be outside soon."

Flatwell briefly entertained a very detailed daydream where he dropkicked O'Keeffe in the face and down a flight of stairs. He thought he'd be immune to O'Keeffe springing these random and inconvenient events on him out of nowhere by now, but no. It was as soul-destroying as the last, with Flatwell needing to grit his teeth and remind himself its for Rubicon to prevent himself from publicly strangling Arquesbus's head of intelligence in broad daylight and getting himself thrown into a gulag somewhere.

"O'Keeffe," Flatwell said, "it's almost midnight."

"Yeah, it's only for a few hours. You should be back before work starts, I think."

"I'm going to poison you."

"Wouldn't be the first time. Oh right, it's black-tie fancy, but wear whatever. I'll say you're a paid escort or something."

"Arsenic maybe," Flatwell mused, as he got off the bed properly and went to his closet. "Rat poison in that sludge you call coffee could only improve the flavour."

"I'm always open to trying new things."

"Actually, I've decided on laxatives," Flatwell said. He flung open his closet and picked out the first fancy looking thing he owned - a very simple suit that had been worn exactly twice in its lifetime. "I think you deserve to shit yourself in front of everyone."

"Eh, worst things have happened to me. Oh, the taxi's ETA is two minutes. They know where to go. See you soon."

"Die," Flatwell said sweetly and hung up.

-

The Arquebus dinner party shindig whatever was at an extremely fancy hotel that Flatwell, as a low-ranking Schneider employee, could only dream of attending. He despised every inch of its opulant decor, and he let his displeasure be known with his fearsome frown when he approached O'Keeffe waiting for him inside the hotel's entrance hall.

As always, Arquebus's infamous head of intelligence was dressed like a slob: rumpled suit that was buttoned unevenly, a collar folded upwards, his tie askew, and a faint dusting of ash on his lapels from his cigarette. His jaw was thick with dark stubble, and his heavy-lidded eyes conveyed nothing as he nodded at Flatwell's stormy approach.

"Looking gorgeous as always," O'Keeffe said with no emotion. "You wouldn't know you only had two minutes to get ready."

Flatwell smiled at him - all teeth. He wanted to bite him. "Thanks. It's a talent of mine."

O'Keeffe pulled a long drag of his cigarette, eyeing him up and down. His expression didn't change, his eyes maintained that heavy-lidded, apathetic stare - but he still looked. That was more than he did with anyone else, who he barely paid attention to unless he absolutely had to against his will.

Flatwell had no idea if he should be flattered or not that O'Keeffe liked him. It made his work so much easier in Schneider, as O'Keeffe covered for him (bewilderingly, and for reasons Flatwell didn't know or trust), but it also meant Flatwell got dragged into this kind of shit all the time. Kept him on his toes, sure, but he just couldn't catch a break with this guy.

"...right. Let's go meet the vultures," O'Keeffe said, tossing his cigarette down and grinding it into the plush, expensive carpet. "C'mon, dove."

O'Keeffe held out his arm expectantly, and Flatwell took it without protest. They walked arm-in-arm into the dining hall where the party was taking, and Flatwell expertly played the part of paid, professional escort the entire time: all smiles, all manners, and keeping an eye out for tasty, delicious intel and rumours that people let flow carelessly in these kind of settings.

Oh, it was a long night, don't get him wrong. He drank a little too much, ate too little, spoke to too many people he wanted to kill with his own hands, but it was, in its own way useful... and he had O'Keeffe to thank for it, damn him. As always, that man was helping Flatwell out while also being an absolute intriguing menace about it.

He really wouldn't have it any other way. Flatwell despite boredom, and boring dates? They were by far the worst. O'Keeffe was anything but.

(He still spiked his coffee later with laxative. This was considered a charm point from O'Keeffe's perspective. He hated boring dates too.)

[missamyrisa2]

The clink and clack of machinery joins the scratching of writing utensils on paper, which almost distracts from the nails tapping on tablets and keyboards. It takes a village to run this treatment and the whole of them have all their focus, their eyes, and their comments directed at your naked wigglyness on this padded exam table. Another test of your muscles indicates the restraints on your wrists will not be giving up the job any time soon, nor will the flexible cords attached to your stylish shiny anklets which affords only the slightest of protesting kicks to be made - at least, until a surge of energy starts and your legs are pulled into position so that the humming apparatuses can emerge from their chambers in the ceiling. The panels fold and buzz, moving aside. From your periphery you can see the deep purple of their surface. The elongated padded tool rumbles as it hovers slowly towards your body. Scanners flare to life sending tingly beams up your backside, the energy spilling into your knee pits and along every curve of your thigh backs up to your bouncing tush and along the sides to your ribs and underarms and neck. A crackle of power and force begins when the data is fed back to the machinery. The long pipe shaped tool shifts and contorts, becoming perfectly shaped to attach itself to your body. The first set descends to your legs, filling your knee pits with a molded copy. The outer arms attach around your legs to secure the deposit, and with a tap of a key from a smirking tech the vibrational therapy starts.

A hundred thousand evil wiggling fingers with feather tips and somehow blunt tip nails at the same time have a rager of a party in the sensitive crevice behind your knees. The machine gleefully extracts data from you as the scanners run and your every motion in the restraints sets off clicking analysis. The vibrating apparatuses are almost pumping you for information, and there are more arrivals on their way. The next crackle signals the sheath forming to attach onto your thigh backs, a purpley attachment which hurriedly begins trembling and feeling as though a swarm of buzzing lips were lingering on every sensitive little spot. Beeps and chimes happily approve of your desperate gasping giggling screams. The team works efficiently, calmly, irrespective of your frantic sounds. A long shifting sound joins the melee of aural torment - the tush attachment always takes the longest to form. A piece of art in itself, that intricate casting of your rear curves plus an extra extension (currently being massaged with a coating of shiny lubricant), this one moves extra slow to ensure a 100% accurate drop zone. You feel it first in the underside of your cheeks, the line of vibration as a coil of singing feathers. The taunting teasing spreads up like a spiderweb, not fully buzzing your cute ticklish booty but instead performing a vibing fireworks show as it lights up in intricate set of patterns. The technique milks plenty of data from you and doubles to coax your honeyspot into agreeable conditions. The extension gently yet relentlessly finds its way to the target and attaches with a snug deep shock to your system. The vibrations are hugely inconsistent there, seemingly only to appear when you least expect it in order to extract a maximum reaction. A purply ribcage joins late, for it must adhere to extensive designs by ensuring it covers every detected line of sensitivity on your upper body. Moving and securing itself like a claw machine, the last of the machine's components wastes no time in stimulating your ribs to your shoulders and down your spine, with extra nubby attachments springing out to merrily rotate and brush at your squishy sides and soft neck.

Your giggles are both pleasing and addictive to machine and tech. The overload of information fills the banks and satisfies the crowd of mechanical and organic eyes. They adore your body, and revel in every reaction. This love and adoration fuels the passion to tease, taunt, tickle, and torment. Your beautiful body keeps giving and they will keep taking. How many treatments has this been? You've lost track. The only certainty is that when you awake tingling and gasping, the clock has started to spin down once more before that humming purply vehicle finds you once more and milks out all of the pent up data & reactions since your last capture.

[blank-house]

so my spring mc (going for jamie) is an older oc of mine, her 5th anniversary is this december, and like. needless to say, shes EXTREMELY well established. she's been a constant across several VNs, and sometimes i have to suspend my disbelief with regard to how the mcs act.

This has never been the feeling for keyframes. in fact, sometimes the canon text is so accurate to her it PHYSICALLY PAINS ME.

youve created a living, breathing cast of 2d characters and an mc i can really identify with. my partner got misassigned spring originally, but redoing it they got autumn which suits them TO A T. youre onto something with the seasonal personality thing, even if the test isnt 100% right--it's like 80% right, which is CRAAAAAZY.

anyway, i just wanted to say jamie has bewitched me body and soul but im going to be so unwell about percy. hes so similiar to my spring mc, theyre gonna be twin flames and thus ping-pong between loving and hating each other. cheers and have a good break from kf with ur game jam project! dont burn urself out on kf! much love!!

i can't believe you pride and prejudiced me. haha, i'm happy the personality results are panning out more or less! it's been really funny to see how people have chosen to interpret theirs or to (eventually) find the one that suits them best! we modeled it as closely as we could to your typical personality quiz and a bit to the one at the start of the pokemon mystery dungeon games.

[sailtomarina]

A Mother Always Knows

🌟 Fred/Hermione | Rated T | Fluff and humor | WC 1956

The owl arrived that morning while they took their breakfast. Fred watched as delight stole over his mum’s entire body–face lifting and stretching into a grin, back visibly straightening, and hands trembling with excitement.

“What is it, Mum?”

There was nobody else in the kitchen to witness the scene, another boon in his favour. George still hadn’t returned from Angie’s, both of them taking their time enjoying time off from the joke shop. Fred would have been with Hermione, too, were she not called off on one of her work emergencies. Dad was outside in the garden.

“Andromeda and the girls want to try on the new spring selection at Madam Maulkins! There’s also apparently a beauty demonstration at Perfectly Pansy. They’re even offering in-person makeovers.”

This was it. The chance he’d been waiting for.

“You should probably get ready. I’ll let Dad know where you’ve gone. When do you think you’ll be back?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“I dare say I’ll be out for most of the day. The girls always want to grab a bite at the end.”

He had to suppress a giggle at the observation that, while accurate, was especially true given that Fred had requested they take as much of his mother’s time as possible.

“Give them my love, would you?”

“You are such a darling! Of course.” Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, she rushed off.

Fred waited for the woosh of the Floo–nursing the last bit of tea, then washing up–before heading outside to find his dad.

He’d never met anyone more passionate, aside from Neville, about the Burrow’s gardens and orchards. Together with Mum, they ensured that the family never went hungry, no matter how tight the purse strings became. That was in the past, though. Ever since the change within the Ministry, his dad had received one promotion after another, all of his diligence finally recognised.

“Dad!” he called.

Silence.

The garden shed came into sight as he walked around the corner. Not the workshop, which was once a garden shed and had long ago been converted into his dad’s personal space for tinkering on his many projects, but the actual garden shed that housed supplies, tools, and seedlings. 

Based on the wheel barrow parked just outside the door, from which a warning sign hung, Fred made sure to snag a set of earmuffs sitting on the window sill before entering.

His dad stood at the centre table surrounded by pots of all sizes, elbow deep in one as he transferred a juvenile Mandrake that was clearly screaming at the top of its lungs.

Ugly buggers. Fred grinned, remembering how he and George had tested Bubotuber paste on the pimpled plants. They’d been assigned detention with Hagrid for a month when Sprout had found out.

Reformed in his adulthood, he jumped in to help his dad transfer the rest of the Mandrakes into larger containers.

“Thanks, son.”

“Welcome, Dad.”

But, Arthur Weasley knew better than to expect assistance from his most mischievous son for nothing. “Did you need something?”

Feeling sheepish, Fred nonetheless set his plan into motion. “Mum’s out for the day to shop with her girlfriends, and I was hoping you’d have time to take a trip to Gringotts.”

His dad’s eyebrows jumped, his curiosity obviously peaked. Fred hurried on to explain.

“You know how Mum is about secrets; she can’t keep one if it has anything to do with...” He paused, struggling to word things better so he didn’t sound like such an ungrateful son.

“Go on.” Humor twinkled in Dad’s eyes, and Fred remembered that this was a man who’d known Molly Weasley for more years than any of had and his siblings had been alive.

“I’m ready to take the next step with Hermione.”

There. He’d said it.

It felt like there was something stuck in his throat, and he swallowed in an attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation. When that didn’t help, he tugged at his collar, wishing he’d chosen to have this conversation outside where it was a bit cooler.

He needn’t have worried.

His entire body jolted forward at the force of his father’s slap to his back. The man wore a smile wide enough to nearly split his face in half.

“Congratulations, son. Let me get changed, and we’ll head out.”

The entire affair was more straightforward than Fred could have hoped for.

He wasn’t a stranger to the wizarding bank, dealing with the goblins regularly enough both for his personal account and Wizard Wheezes, but somehow Fred was still surprised at how quickly they arrived at the Weasley vault.

His father knew exactly where to go, leading them over to a wooden cabinet along the back wall.

“Take your time. Let me know if you have any questions.” He squeezed Fred’s shoulder, then wandered off towards a filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room.

Holding his breath, he hooked his thumbs beneath the lid to pull it open. This wasn’t Fred’s first time to look in at their family heirlooms, but now that he did so with intention, he saw everything in a new light.

A decent selection of jewelry met his eyes, the cumulation of generations of Weasleys. A snort escaped him as he noted the prominence of rubies over any other gem. Their family name went hand-in-hand with red, but it felt too obvious, and that was even before considering Hermione’s own inescapable association with her Hogwarts house years after graduation.

No rubies. No diamonds, either. She’d made clear her distaste for the gemstone, and he’d noted it along with every other detail about her.

Then, his eyes snagged on a stone the colour of a clear summer sky. Fred was drawn to it like a Seeker to a Snitch, or, in his case, a lovesick wizard to the woman who filled his every dream and thought day in and day out. 

“Is that the one, then?”

He jumped at his dad’s voice, hand hanging mid-air above the delicate silver bracelet upon which were strung five small stones.

“It is.”

The other man waited until Fred had plucked up the piece before continuing.

“That belonged to my great, great, grandmother. It’s part of a set.”

“A set?” he repeated.

“Here, allow me–” Fred stepped aside to give his dad room to open the lower drawers. “–ah, yes. Here we are.”

Just as described, a matching necklace, drop earrings, and, most importantly, ring, lay in a row, waiting for their time. For Hermione.

It wasn’t until the following day that Fred saw his mother. He hadn’t planned on visiting home again so soon, but her owl made it clear in no uncertain terms that she needed his help. For what, exactly, she didn’t say.

He’d no sooner taken two steps from the Floo before she pounced.

“Frederic Gideon Weasley!” she squealed, surrounding him in a painfully tight hug.

“Mum! I can’t breathe!”

“Oh, tosh. You complained just now, didn’t you?” Nevertheless, she pulled back, eyes crinkled at the corners and smiling in a way that had him terrified.

“What’s going on? I thought you needed help with something.”

“I do, I do!” 

She ushered him towards the stairs, giving no hints as to what the fuss was about. He wasn’t sure what he could do that Dad couldn’t. Maybe it was a surprise for the old man, or something else along those lines.

It wasn’t until they drew up to a familiar door that he noticed the change.

There was the door bathroom across his childhood bedroom, one he’d shared with George for as long as he could remember. And, there was Ginny’s room next to the bathroom. His parents claimed the room closest to the stairs, Bill and Charlie on the opposite end, while Ron’s sat directly below the ghoul’s attic.

There was an extra door.

“Mum, what’s this?” He stared at the two doors facing the bathroom where there used to only be one.

“This, my dear, is a change that’s been long-overdue.”

Having said that, she entered the closer door ahead of him, Fred close behind.

For years, they’d begged her for another room–not because they wanted to sleep separately, but because of the amount of space their projects took up on the floor, every table surface, and even the window sill! She’d finally done just that, the reason for doing so immediately clear.

A double bed sat where there used to be two twins, and the walls that had once been a cheery yellow had been repainted a calming sage green.

“Wh-What in the–”

“I’ll have to check with Hermione, of course, to see if she likes the colour or would prefer something else, but now you lovebirds have a room of your own whenever you visit! I’ve set up the other similarly for George and Angie, once they’re properly courting, of course, so–”

He didn’t hear much after that, the first phrase ringing in his ears.

She knew.

Wholly unapologetic and a tad indignant, he interrupted her mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, but how did you know?”

“Oh, darling,” she warbled, hand fluttering at her bosom and not even attempting to suppress her amusement, “if you had wanted to keep this a secret, you wouldn’t have enlisted your father. Plus, your little prank to get me out of the house was not as well planned as you might have thought.”

Fred’s mind reeled at that–Dad, he could forgive, being as the man buckled at the slightest pressure from his wife like Fang at the sight of a harmless Faerie–but Fred’s own planning being anything less than genius was a reality he could not fathom.

“What do you mean ‘not well planned’?” he squawked, thankful that Hermione wasn’t there to hear him just then.

“Please.” This woman, his mum, rolled her eyes at him as if he were some Firstie. “Andromeda isn’t the sort of witch to chase fashion trends, preferring more timeless pieces. That was my first hint that someone had convinced her into leaving her grandson for the day.”

He could feel heat prickling along his neck. A slightly uncomfortable perspiration began to build at his pits.

“The second hint was how long Miss Parkinson spent on our makeovers. Everyone else was in and out in no time at all. I would have thought she’d want to usher us out of there as soon as possible given her ‘secret’ relationship with Ronald–” How does she know about Ron and Pansy? “–but she took every possible opportunity to prolong our time there. She even went so far as to help get us reservations at that popular new restaurant–”

“Zabini’s?” he asked incredulously. He’d been trying to get in there for months!

“Yes, that’s the one. Lovely establishment. The young man himself came out to chat with us during dinner.” Her gaze turned calculating, then. “Do you think he might be Ginvera’s type?”

“Mum!”

“What? He’s fit!” She pulled her head back, surprised at his outburst.

“So, you had a perfect day that somehow convinced you that I’m courting Hermione for marriage.” He said it more as a statement, certain of her answer and choosing to ignore her question about Ginny. The last thing he needed were two Weasley women on his case.

“Well, I’m sure you aren’t quite yet, but that young woman loves you too much to say no.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Now I know where Gin gets it from.”

His mother beamed at him, drawing close to wrap him up in the sort of hug that suffocated as much as it nourished. Then, she relaxed enough to catch his eye with a smile of encouragement.

“Now, tell me everything.”

So, he did.

Written for Lauren’s Kitchen’s Wheel of Chaos with the following prompts: prank gone right, Gringotts Wizarding bank, Arthur Weasley, and Mandrake

I like to think I can work with random prompts from the chaos wheel as well as anyone, but this definitely put me back on my heels. 

Cross-posted on Tumblr, IG, & AO3 (eventually)

[lovelickyshen]

Sworn Nemesis

Akashi Seijurou x F!Reader

Part 1

Not proofread! May have grammar error since English is not my first language.

Academic rivals, fake dating, forced proximity troupe Akashi Seijurou. Slight slow burn!

The story may not be accurate to the manga/anime. Reader has her own story!

────────────────────────────

You know you were one of a kind. You know you were gifted. Blessed by excellence. Always on the top. Growing up you were always first. In every single aspect. But why is it different now?

Ever since you moved to Rakuzan High, you've been stuck in second place. First assessment exam in spring? Second place. Mid-term examination? Second place. Summer exam? Second place. Mock exam before finals? Second place. Every test, always second place.

You don't understand. Why is this a reoccurring situation? Is this just a mere coincidence? You didn't pay any attention to this until your friend— Shiori pointed it out.

"You're always in second place." Your friend said when she was looking at your report card.

You titled your head. Confused so you snatched your report card from your friend and took a look into it. You compared it with your previous report cards. You didn't even bother to look at your position. You were just looking at your grades and sigh in relief.

"I'm pretty sure it's just a coincidence." You said. Then, you got curious. "Who's first?"

Shiori took a look around the classroom. She smiled, "Akashi Seijurou."

You nodded. Your eyes drifted to the certain red head. He was vigilantly taking down notes for his flashcards. The textbook and notes given by the teacher was displayed on his desk. It's study block and he's revising. Talk about being diligent.

"You know, he's always has been first place. It's impossible for him to drop. Perfect scores here and there... Blah blah blah." Your friend was babbling and your head drifted off elsewhere.

Your mind is thinking about how to defeat this Akashi guy. You felt sour, uneasy. Like your ego is crushed. You wanted first place now. There is no way you can accept second place in Rakuzan High— a prestigious high school where the best attends. How are you going to apply for a scholarship then? They're definitely seeing the 'second place' repeatly on your records.

You felt challenged. You were determined to win this game. After all, first place is amazing. You've always has been first. You wanted to take back your glory. That's your goal. To beat this Akashi guy. Well there's an upcoming biology test the next day. Who will win first place?

Your fingers fidget while your teacher returned your test paper. You flipped it over with your eyes closed.

Please... First place please...! These words repeated in your mind all day.

You opened your eyes. You saw the 59/60 on your paper. A 98%! Isn't that great? That's good enough to beat him! You smiled in satisfaction.

"100%!?" You heard a soft exclaim behind you.

You took a peek behind. A classmate was amazed by looking at the test paper. Akashi was beside him. He was slightly smiling, proud of his work.

You scoffed quietly and went back to look at your own paper. You sighed in dissatisfaction. Your friend who witnessed it asked, "You all right?"

"I can't believe it! He got a perfect score while I got a mark off. This is not fair!" You placed your paper down and put your hands on your cheeks.

"At least you got a 98%. I got a 75% and that's just a B!" Your friend said, showing you her paper. Her voice shows desperation.

"That's because you decided to not study." You chuckled.

"C'mon I thought it would be easy." Shiori pouted, looking down as she was not impressed by her score.

The day followed by a few more lessons until it was time for extracurriculars. The school was quiet— no more squeaks or the sound of the chalk rubbing against the black board.

During this time, you usually hold a daily study group with students who were struggling in the study room. It was a small group that consists of 4 or 5 people exclusively. However, today everyone could not make it and you were not informed until the last minute.

"Are you coming to the study group later?" You asked a classmate. She was already putting her books into her locker.

"Sorry, I couldn't make it. I have a family emergency." She apologizes and quickly ran off of the classroom.

You blinked and that was the last person that was supposed to attend the study group. You booked the rook for nothing. That was a waste of time.

You sighed and pulled out your phone to notify your chauffeur about the last minute changes. While waiting, you decided to take a short stroll around the school.

Initially, you wanted to visit Shiori at the student council office but you figured that she could be busy locking in on the paperwork and planning with the committee members. This is what happens when you're friends with the vice president.

In a distance, a tumult of shouting and screaming broke out. The sound of something repeatedly hitting the ground, swishes, whistles blowing, and boys shouting. You slowly approached the open doors, observing the clamor in the gymnasium.

Coach Shirogane was blowing the whistle, his voice rising while giving out his evaluation on the boys' performances. They all looked so focused, nodding at every word that Coach Shirogane stated.

"Interhigh is soon boys! I need all of you to work hard, you never know what would happen to the other teams."

As expected from Rakuzan's basketball team. Five years consistently winning Interhigh and Winter Cup proves that the school's basketball team strength.

At the bright atmosphere by the gym's door, you took a quick look at each of the players. You recognized one of them, the red headed boy across the room. He was unaware of your gaze locking at him until Coach Shirogane finishes his speech. He hesitated when he felt eyes in him. A mix of curiosity coursing in his veins, he caught your eyes.

Their eyes met, and for a second the world paused. His fierce crimson eyes mirrored a storm of unspoken words, while your eyes sparked with interest. As the moment lingered, a silent familiarity passed between them. Your breath quickened as your phone buzzes. You ended the eye contact, answering the phone.

You walked away from the gymnasium, speed walking to your classroom to grab your bag before returning home.

On a random Friday, your friend wanted you to deliver this set of documents to the student council room. Apparently Shiori to go somewhere but had a set of documents to submit to the president today. The 'going somewhere' is definitely attending another last minute company party. Knowing your friend, she could not remember her schedule that well (only the things she's not interested in). Well, she's a member of the student council why can't she just submitted it early you may ask? Well, she just finished it and printed it out before her chauffeur messaged her that he arrived to pick her up for the company party soon.

You can't really say no since you had no choice. You sighed and agreed. She beamed and passed you the set of documents. She quickly rushed to the main entrance to not keep her chauffeur waiting.

"I'll pay you back!" She shouted before sprinting off.

Here's the thing, the president of the student council is Akashi. He has been on your nerves lately, even though it was indirectly. You don't even know why. He didn't even do anything to you other than being the top every time, right?

You knocked the wooden door before entering. In the room, you see Akashi reading up some papers. You clear your throat before speaking up.

"Shiori wanted to give this to you. Don't worry. I did not take a peek." You said, trying to sound polite. You know the rules about the student council confidentiality.

He nodded as he receives the paper. "Thank you." He says.

You nodded and turned back to get out of this room. This is your first interaction with him since you attended this school. You never talk to him, not even a greeting.

As you were about to leave, you heard his annoying voice. Your back facing him while you were holding onto the doorknob. Slowly turning to face him.

"You're (Y/N) right?" He asked, while signing the documents.

"Yeah."

"Oh, okay." He nodded.

After that, you left the room.

Ever since that day, you keep seeing him around at school. You're entirely sure that he is stalking you since he asked for your name. It was like unlocking a new game character.

One time during recess, you were going to the bathroom and he was right behind you on the hallway. Another day was when you were going to the library. Boom, there he was studying. Today, you see him in the cafeteria with his friends.

You averted your eyes away from him. His presence annoys you! You hate him! His voice. His presence. Everything. You hated how he is everywhere and literally better than you in terms of academics. You could not find a way to beat him.

You also tried to find a way to avoid him but no avail.

Scratch that! Just focus on your grades. You don't need to dwell too much on this guy.

You saw your friend group. You smiled widely. Your friends lifted your mood instantly. Shiori immediately wrapped her arm around your waist, she wanted to yap her way to you about her day.

Across the cafeteria, his crimson eyes were on you. You were always surrounded by your friends. Smiling, laughing, playfully hitting each other as you were laughing at the jokes. Eyes filled with laughter.

He had always admire you. Your determination. Your nobleness. Your kindness. Your selflessness. Your integrity. You were humble. You're always there to help others. You never flaunt about your grades nor your privileges. You offered to tutor your classmates whenever they're struggling on a topic. You were a woman with dignity. An angel fallen from heaven.

Recently, he had a move. Asking your name. Then remembering your routine at school so he can see you anytime of the day. He made sure it's not all the time or else it would be suspicious.

He has a strange way to approach but it works. Now you noticed him.

For the next few weeks, you've been on next to neck with Akashi. On every tests given. Every closed book exercises. Even on the monthly quiz! You two were competing who would be the best of all. The finals is the decision maker.

You studied all day and night. Working your ass off every hour, minute, and second. You wanted to prove that you are indeed the champion. The winner. The conqueror of academics. That was your goal.

You were ready. The moment you sat down in your chair in the exam hall. You remembered every single formula, working, words, structures of the questions. You'd definitely aced the exam.

Wasting no time, you were writing non stop. One look at the question, you recognized the clues and connected the dots.

You exited the hall with a proud grin. You glanced at Shiori who was cheering that the finals are over.

"Let's go to Tokyo to celebrate. It's been a while since we went out together." Shiori mischievously grinned, wrapping her arms around yours.

On the weekends, you've been cafe hopping with Shiori. Shopping for clothes, cosmetics, skin care products, collectables, and your favourite celebrity's merchandise. Shiori was looking at her favourite K-pop group pop up sale, stacking her cart with the jacket, dolls, and photo cards.

A week after the finals, your homeroom teacher had passed out the report card. Feeling uneasy, you were hopeful that you win this game. Your chest tightening, the sound of your heart quickening.

You shut your eyes, hands gripping onto the report card. Slowly flipping it while opening one eye.

Eyes open wide. You felt blood rushing through your veins. Dopamine rushing in. You dropped the report card and excitedly turned to Shiori smiling.

"First!" You exclaimed.

Shiori clapped. This news has spread through your class. Your classmates heard the both of you and cornered you to ask questions.

"You got first place?"

"Congratulations!"

"This must be a miracle!"

After hearing the positive comments from your classmates, you never felt happier. This was just the first step to victory!

The next two years in Rakuzan was one of a hell drive for you. You spent 2 years being on another neck on neck with Akashi. Everyday at school was same. Seeing Akashi everywhere you go. Excelling on your academics. Placing first or second on every exams.

It doesn't matter, since you're graduating from Rakuzan with valedictorian. With Akashi, again. You don't give a shit anymore, because this will be the last time you will see him. You couldn't wait to not see his face!

You got a scholarship to study engineering in Cambridge University. You were excited but sad that you couldn't see Shiori anymore because she's studying law at Harvard University.

A few years has passed, you returned back to Japan. Breathing in nostalgia, lingering on your nostrils. The scent of sanitizers. Cool breezes from the AC. You graduated as the valedictorian again at Cambridge. One of your proudest moments in life. Years of putting in effort, new experiences, meeting people from all over the world.

Back in Cambridge, you actually got a paid internship, giving the opportunity to other talented students. You rejected because you planned to join your family business at home. Your family owns one of the best engineering services in the world. Whether it's buildings, roads, ships, cars, machineries, any sort of vehicles, even the planes used in the military.

When you joined your company, your family decided to make you start your career from scratch so that it would be fair for the other interns. It's a relief that you as a member of this family business is not public.

In the morning of your penthouse, the heat wave hit. Temperatures went soaring. The early morning sunlight gives away the rays of the day bringing warmth.

You put on your name tag. Slowly adjusting to look presentable. You gave yourself a twirl for an outfit check. A soft grinned on your lips. Amazed by how professional you look.

Closing the door of your penthouse as you walked towards the exit. The elevator brings you to the basement where you hopped on your car, driving off to the company.

Entering the large cooperation, a sense of unfamiliarity. The large room bustling with foot steps, the bell from the automatic sliding doors echoed. A pool of working adults passing through the revolving doors. A subtle, floral aroma wafted in the open space, calming and refreshing.

Walking pompously by the corridor, the noise from your heels reverberated, the radiant small smile on your head brightens the mood. Your co-workers greeted as you passed by each other.

You came to your office, sat on your soft chair. Laying back while closing your eyes. You took a breather before starting your work.

Let's just say that you are the Head Chief for the manufacturing company. You are in charge of the production, creation, assembling, testings, distribution, and so on. You insisted on handling them because you wanted to be the best.

Your secretary came with a tablet into the work shop where you were assembling the parts of an upcoming project. She called out your name and handed you the device.

"A representative from a client wants to talk to you in your office."

You arrived at your office. You vaguely saw a figure sitting in the sofa. You quickly grabbed a towel to wipe your hands dry. You turned to look at the client that was already waiting.

When your eyes met with the client, you froze.

"Akashi?"