#I think it'd actually make it so much easier to look forward to if I had confirmation that we wouldn't have anything influential

[worthyking]

the way I was on my fucking knees begging for a Gansey cameo a Gansey snippet any Gansey content for greywaren and now for this aftg spinoff I'm out here like if NOTHING else. please don't have any of the foxes be there I don't want to know what's going on with them

[misskamelie]

Being back is currently all about email email send another email answer to email read email email email reality check to see what's the status of different emails

[sassypossumm]

Someone Else

Art cred: cassandre_zim

I'm a firm proponent of the fact that Miguel has a lot of pent up self loathing under the surface. I head canon that it'd be hard for him to let someone in emotionally. (18+ MDNI for some angsty mild smut)

Miguel wasn't a stupid man, he knew people found him attractive. Every time he went to the gym, it wasn't uncommon for him to leave with atleast 3 phone numbers from some horny hopefuls that wanted a piece.

And as a rule of thumb, that didn't bother him. He'd come to expect it really. After all, he knew what he was. A monster.

So, he settled for one night stands. Some really hot fucking with an equally hot stranger, the non commital promise to 'get in touch' and life moved on.

It was easier that way, he got to get his rocks off without anyone getting too close...

That was, until he met you.

Peter B. had been busting his balls about his stress levels, so Miguel had finally caved and let himself be roped into taking a boxing class.

He'd seen you when he walked in, but wasn't especially struck by your presence as he wrapped his hands and put in his mouth guard.

That was, until you K.O'd an asshole that had gotten a little handsy.

Needless to say, from then on you had Miguel's attention. And at first, he didn't think much of the one on one sparring matches after the gym closed. He didn't even find it strange when you'd started grabbing coffee after your sessions. No, all the time you were spending together didn't strike him as odd.

That was, until he caught himself thinking about you at HQ.

Then it struck him, that you two hadn't actually ever fucked. Not only that, you hadn't even acted like you wanted to... and for some reason that disappointed him. Miguel wanted to fuck you.

And not just because you were hot. He wondered what you'd be like in bed. Would you be aggressive and try to take charge? Were you vocal? Or would you bite back any sounds of pleasure.

Miguel didn't think he'd like that. He'd take you apart slowly, break down your walls and defenses until you were a twitching moaning mess.

Palming himself through his suit, he bit down a groan and closed his eyes. His cock twitched at the thought of you moaning his name softly as he slowly thrust into you, making sure you felt every inch of him.

His saving grace from being caught jerking off to that thought was Lyla appearing to inform him about some anomaly or other.

Miguel was keenly looking forward to your next boxing session...

Thinking maybe a part 2...🤔

[itsjaywalkers]

Drabble ask game!

Jegulus

65? Angst 😋

sure nonnie!! i'm always down for some angst <3

hmm let's see let's see

65. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

"Oh, don't even. I know what you're fucking doing right now and it's not gonna work."

Regulus raises both eyebrows in mock surprise, letting his lips curl into a derisive smile. He looks James up and down, eyes narrowed, and relishes in the pleasing tingle he gets under his skin at the way the other man clenches his jaw.

It didn't use to be like this. It used to be desperate hands and hungry mouths, dark eyes and panting breaths. It used to be lingering kisses pressed into his forehead, interlaced fingers, and whispered conversations in the dead of the night.

Now it's anger. Resentment. Lies and neverending arguments. Waking up in opposite sides of the bed and avoidant gazes.

James still fucks him, and it's as passionate, as needy. Maybe even more so. But now it's filled with fury, too. With something too close to hatred. Like James wants him, wants him still, wants him forever, but despises the fact that he does, that he always will.

Regulus isn't sure of what happened to them.

Well. He supposes that he did.

"And what am I doing, James?" he questions coldly, ugly grin still in place. "Since you know me so well."

"I do. I do, but in moments like this, I wish I fucking didn't," the other man retorts, chuckling without any amusement. "You're trying to push my buttons, get me angry and get me mean, so you can go and play the victim afterwards."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. You've never learnt how to be anything else. You avoid confrontation like your life fucking depends on it, and when that doesn't work, you lash out until you make me snap. That way, you only have to lie down and take it."

Regulus grits his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides. "You speak as if I actually have to make the effort. I don't get you mean, James, you are mean. You've always been. Cruelty comes so easy to you it actually scares me sometimes."

James takes a step forward, face contorted into so much rage Regulus can barely recognise him. He knows he'd never, but sometimes Regulus wishes he'd raise his hand. Walk over that damn line.

He thinks it'd make things easier. Or, if nothing else, at least a lot less painful.

"I think you're mistaking me with you."

Regulus laughs at that. Actually laughs. It sounds wrong, and weak, and like a ticking bomb about to explode.

"We both know that's not true," he sighs once he manages to calm down a little. "I bet you wish it were, though."

"I'm not the bad guy here, Reg," James hisses, towering threateningly over him. "It's you. It's always you. You're the one who keeps ruining this, ruining us."

I know, I know. I'm sorry. I've no idea what to do with good things. I ruin everything I touch. This is the only way I can love.

And yet, you won't leave me.

Please, never leave me.

"Of course, I'm the problem. How could it ever be you? Perfect James Potter. Has never done anything wrong in his goddamn life." Regulus snorts, full of scorn, and shakes his head. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

James bares his teeth. "And how do you see me, huh?"

Loving. Kind. Caring. Too fucking good for your own good.

Ruined.

"Selfish. Violent. Arrogant and cruel," he says instead, offering the other side of the coin. True, regardless, but not what Regulus really means to tell him now. It's too late to stop, though. "A poor excuse of a man who'd do anything to feel loved because he's a fucking nobody when he isn't being adored."

Regulus thinks this will be it. Hopes it will be it.

But then James is smiling down at him, nasty and downright mean, and it begins again, without having properly ended in the first place.

And that's the issue, isn't it?

There isn't an end to them. Regulus isn't sure if he feels more relieved or horrified at the notion at this point.

These days, both things feel kind of the same.

[blackjack-15]

after traveling on NYD, the work week from hell, and sleeping ~8 hours in 5 days, i am back baby let's go episode 3

"i googled fun the other day" oh we're starting from a place of complete mental wellness! also this is a hilarious delivery. the bear is a comedy etc etc

ugh carmy's instinct to backpedal when he says what he really thinks is coming up -- he mentions the restaurant opening is hard and stressful, he walks it back; he says something neutral (not even negative!) about his family, he walks it back. this is a more repressed carmy than we saw in the first two episodes, and i'm a little fascinated by it.

it's also repression, pure and simple. the absolute fear of expressing negativity -- especially about someone -- to people, so he pretends it's okay and keeps going, correcting himself when he says something to close to what he actually means

i've asked about a billion times what exactly carmy is afraid will happen if he doesn't repress himself. looking forward to that being answered, at least in part, this season

"i don't think my family meant to ruin it...sometimes they just try too hard, or make promises they couldn't keep" oof. family episode this season, calling it now. flashback or present-day or a mix of both, we're getting the Berzatto Clan in a way we haven't before

"have to remind myself to breathe. that there's not always another shoe, which is incredibly difficult, because there is always another shoe" i'm glancing back at my tags liveblogging this, most of which are asking when the other shoe drops...synergy...

the very tight shots on this confessional -- slightly different framing than his fire al-anon monologue -- might tighter, much more tense, much more foreboding. he's not venting here, he's curating himself. very different experience, much less healthy experience

"maybe if i could provide [fun] for myself, it'd be easier to provide it for others" anxiety disorder coming into play here! the feeling that any service for yourself is in the pursuit of giving it to others, that the only meaning and value to your experiences is to make things better for others. i wonder why this would come up the episode after he gave an old acquaintance a fake number...

(i don't wonder. i know.)

"i'm happy to be here, you guys. thanks for letting me share" he says with the most neutral voice and the most painfully resentful expression on his face. theme of the episode? carmy's gonna lie. a lot.

nope sydcarmy stuffs, new post, y'all know the drill by now

[loud-sound]

part 2 of part 1, because that's how numbers work-

design notes? design notes: (once again, vague spoilers up to season 3)

Ryusui:

i don't hate the pirate aesthetic at all, but i wanted to really push his bougie ass forward with a more distinctly modern sailor's captain look

the long hair and ponytail was mostly to make his hair more distinct from ginro

plus, l'oreal surfer locks on this dude just seemed like a really funny idea

leaving his arms open and the informal coat-tying felt like a good way to show his confidence; with a pop of blue on the underside to match his cap up top

just look at part 1 to know why i tanned him lol

Homura:

i bet most of y'all had no idea she was only 4'9" (145 cm), did ya? this was more of an artstyle thing on boichi's part than a strictly design-based flaw, but i wanted to correct it anyway

gave her something that would actually imply being a gymnast lmao

since cherry blossoms had gone extinct, i think it'd be cute if she made little cloth flowers to add onto her outfit to remember them by

wanted to keep the fur linings that tsukasa's people mostly share without looking like yuzuriha's chest fur, so around the neck it goes; gives a circus-esque vibe too

ballet flats with ribbons would keep her cute and make it a lot easier to do her flips and jumps in than knee high pumps

a little pop of baby blue just cuz

Ukyo:

look i love this man to death, but i cannot stand his shiny torchic lookin ass 😭😭😭😭

wanted to tone down his outfit to smth resembling traditional Japanese archer garb, since his personality's much more on the reserved side

trimmed down the amount of brim and collar to give the archer as much visual room to work with while shooting his bow lmao

added a hat strap to allude to his being in the Japanese military

i added so much to his arms to give a layer of protection against bow string recoil

as goofy as the shoes are, i kept them because they're unique to him, and just trimmed them into slippers

yippee, more silhouettes!

[spotsupstuff]

What was your favorite Slugcat to play and your favorite Iterator to draw?

(i haven't played Saint yet) i suppooooooose it might be actually a tie between Spearmaster, Rivulet and Artificer? the movement of the latter two was a lot of fun, but i'm too attached to Spearmaster that i don't wanna leave it out. constant supply of spears took one of my main worries away for the whole game

and favorite Iterator to draw?? oh boy, i don't think i can choose... i do draw my own designs which i did my best to cater specifically to my enjoyment from drawing. it'd be easier to say what i like drawing the most out of their singular designs, so i'll do that (AND i get to ramble about that i love doin that)

originally i talked about like. all iterators i've ever really drawn but then i fucked up n what i had written was deleted so i guess we are doin only few. the main five i think of when trying to figure out which i like drawing the best:

• Pebbles: everything about his head is a joy to me. the shape of it, his marks, antennas.. the shape of his feet is a lot of fun and something about the combination of the Gen 3 skeletal body type and hanfu just... fits for him. along with his angry expression. it's like... a certain regal beauty but there's sharp teeth hiding within it. i like to try my best to imbue certain feelings into my designs and then how i draw them (especially on my own time- when i draw for asks i feel like... this important essence, the characterization, gets muddled at least a tad). with Pebbles i'm going for something like "small flame, burning bright- a fighter, yet so soft and fragile, sharp and divinely glorious, determined yet still so damn scared. i want to hold your hands, understand what the time has done to them and say that i'm very sorry. you shouldn't have had to become so rageful. they made you to be alive and didn't let you live." • Nish: of course *he's* here. from the scarf to the general loosenes of his fit (even though he should be more of a Tube, i'm not doin the kimono inspiration justice n i am sorry) is a lot of fun. the looser the clothes are, the more i enjoy drawing them!! i really like drawing his mark and i'm very proud of my design for his headphone audial things this time around. unlike last time, they are meant to be bigger than others' and they are red instead of dark green. the three holes in them? Especially proud of those. he's specifically high up there with my favorite iterators to draw because of his attitude, though • Boreas: he's so stupid big it makes me giggle. drawing him next to Gen 3s is so??? sir please come down we need to have a chat- hello? do u hear me???- okay but seriously, i'm very happy that i've settled on a chlamys for him. the sort of like. collar that i've decided the cloth will make for him compliments his personality well and i like drawing my collars a ton. it's not visible here because it isn't colored, but his antennas go from dark dark blue to vibrant red thru a gradient and i LOVE it so much. combined with the aggressive shape of them? mwah. also the leaf-like things on his audials are so simple to draw and add so much to his vibes that i always look forward to drawin them. revisiting his design and giving him the warranted love made him so so strong and dear to me... p sure he's currently my favorite from my ocs • Notos: a perfect example of why "less is more" is a saying. i like drawing it specifically cuz it's literally just. a bitch playing on a ghost with a bedsheet except when u look under that hood there are some Feckin yaoguai teeth waiting there. Those are a bitch to draw but i did this specifically to learn to draw teeth like that better. also. special shout out to the interaction of Iterator antennas and a bedsheet over the head. shkika keeps bein weak for those "cat ears" in our dms, it's funny to see Notos out of all my kids get those kind of reactions jglkdscmlksdmlk

• Fish: FISH IS FISH. he has big dumb round glasses what more could i possibly need to enjoy drawing a man. but also those antennas... they make him a lot of fun to draw n i look forward to drawin them each time. my thanks to @/w1ngw0ng and @/medi-bee for bettering them just by being themselves

special shout outs go to Zephyr for being challenging to represent properly (physically relatively weak, fragile, yet burning blindingly bright, sharp, determined and brave- just being a leader of a revolution even though her physical form doesn't really fit it), FAM (@/medi-bee) for bein an absolute freak (i love him. i love Nips even more)

and NRD (@/splynter) for being different yet familiar and for being colored like a dead body. Very Cool Of Them 👍

[siriannatan]

Overheat - ScWhip

Man, I didn't write anything for a while, all the games I play kept on dropping updates on me lately, and my inspiration's been at all-time low :{

Here's to hoping it gets better :}

fWhip was fully aware he'd be quite a sight if anyone spotted him. A well-liked if a bit abrasive hero barely stumbling through the back streets. His face flushed so much it was easily visible from under his mask. Lips curled in an annoyed sneer. At least the place he was going to was both close and didn't have overly tight security making it easier to sneak in. He didn't need his acquaintances being bothered by the media.

Another lucky thing. No one got on the lift as he made his way to the top floor and then stumbled his way to a very specific door. And knocked. Leaning against the wall was all he could do while waiting.

Not that he waited long. "Must you come here in your hero outfit?" Scott sighed and practically dragged fWhip inside. Scott being still in his 'work clothes' was making fWhip's brain short circuit slightly. Teal and black looked too good together.

"I can go home if you're busy," fWhip offered in case Scott was leaving for work. Even if that work would get the whole city in uproar about a brutal murder.

"Shouldn't you be telling me to change my career instead?" Scott chuckled, practically carrying fWhip to his couch. 

"As long as you don't freeze anyone you're police's issue," fWhip shrugged, not like he was all that passionate about being a hero. It was just a job for him. He was no Gem to put actual passion into it. So he could not care less what Scott did as long as the mercenary was willing to help with his overheating issues.

"You're weird for a hero," Scott chuckled sitting down as fWhip freed himself of his mask and cape.

"For me, it's just a job, why put in more energy than I'm being paid to put in?" fWhip sighed. "I can go and stick myself in a fridge if I'm interrupting something," he added, just in case. Scott letting him in could mean he was not interrupting but it was more polite to ask. He might have just wanted to not have a chance of his neighbours seeing a literal hero on his doorstep.

"I was just catching up on emails, I'm barely back from one contract and I'm already getting requests," Scott complained, tablet in hand clearly ready to carry on.

fWhip had the urge to lay his head in Scott's lap but that seemed a bit forward. They were just accidental friends after all. Even if Scott was unfairly pretty with his soft floofy cyan hair and pretty dark blue eyes. Practically skin-tight black, likely bulletproof shirt he had on was just making it worse. 

He just had to try to not think about it. fWhip decided. Have a nice nap in Scott's pleasantly chilly company - literally chilly. And sneak back home. Hoping Gem doesn't ask where he goes to cool down after overusing his powers. Easy. 

Scott's hand, as if he could read fWhip's mind suddenly guided his head to the other's lap. "Just sleep," the mercenary said. "It'd be troublesome if you fall off the couch," he explained but fWhip could swear he saw a slight blush. He was smart so he didn't mention it. Just enjoyed this rare chance. "I'll wake you up when you've cooled down."

Scott's hand tangling itself into his hair as he was about to fall asleep was a nice bonus as well.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #119

…I didn't have the energy to make the thing today.

This morning, I maybe got out of bed later than I should have, given that I'm supposed to go to talk therapy on Tuesdays. I'm supposed to leave the house by 9:30, but I didn't even get out of bed until 9:20. I regret nothing that occurred, but nonetheless, I somehow had to squeeze both a shower and getting dressed and out the door in only 10 minutes. I was successful, but I have zero clues as to how. Perhaps it's best not to look gift horses in mouths…

OH. Right. You don't know that phrase because… well. Your world doesn't have horses. Uhh… So, a long time ago, when people bought horses, they used to look at the horse's teeth as an indicator of its age; longer teeth means an older horse, I guess. And back when horses were more commonplace (it's mostly only fabulously wealthy people who can afford to keep them now), I guess it was seen as rude to try to evaluate the age of a horse that was given as a gift by looking into its mouth. So now the phrase means, "it's best to just accept good things without thinking too much about it." Or it can also be taken to mean, "it's impolite to criticize a gift." This phrase has a few interpretations, actually… I imagine it'd be easier for you to understand it if you spent a while in my world. If you do that, lemme know; you can stay at my house, and no one is gonna ogle you or get weird at you or bother you if you don't wanna be bothered. We'll just make you sandwiches and tea. We are an introverted and neurodivergent house; we know how it goes.

Had a lot to say at therapy today. Suppose I'm having a bit of an existential crisis, regarding myself and my role in my home and how much I mean to the people around me. It's likely all just baseless anxiety and insecurity - growing pains as a result of the various changes in my immediate social circle. Old memories and wounds from the past that I've not yet had a compelling reason to resolve are now coming to the forefront, calling, "yo, what up, homie!" and dancing around my periphery. I suppose it's just as well; this is what happens when we pretend like our various hurts don't exist. If we don't take care of the self-effacing beliefs that we pick up during childhood, they bite us in the ass later. I just gotta remember that the fact that they're in the forefront means that I can actually observe them, and if they're observable, then they're resolvable, with enough time and effort.

Essentially, it's like this: We get knocked down. We yell, "FUCK!" really loudly. We reassemble ourselves if we break from the fall. Then we get back up. We brush ourselves off. And we move forward, stronger than before.

…I have thoughts of you that give me the strength to withstand this process over and over again. No matter how many times I get knocked down, I will get back up, because by your influence, I am unbreakable, no matter how many times I must shatter and be reassembled. It's just like the bowl I repaired some number of letters ago; remember? So don't worry. I've got this. I've done this lots of times before, with much more difficult stuff, and with less support than what I have now. All I have to do is learn to love and appreciate myself in the same way that I can love and appreciate literally anyone else who isn't me. Compared to the various horrors I've lived through, this should be a piece of cake. Easy peasy. Barely even an inconvenience. And in my mind, it sounds like this:

On the way home from therapy, I came across a very beautiful tree. I thought for sure that you'd like it, so I made it a point to stop and take pictures. Here's how they turned out:

I was surprised by how docile the bees were, and by how closely they allowed me to put my cell phone camera. Also, I laid down under the tree and looked up to get some of these. I wish you could have been next to me to see the view of the sky through the petals for yourself. Alas...

J and I were out and about, doing separate activities today. Even he saw pictures he thought you might like, so he took them for you, and then sent them to me so that I could put them here. Here's how they turned out:

While J was out and about, I hung out with my best friend B and her fiancé, N. In preparation for their wedding, we went and tried the available foods. I can't give you the tasty snacks, but I can take pictures...

This is a Caesar salad. It's supposed to be pronounced, "Kai-sarr", but everyone says "Seezer" for reasons I don't understand. Caesar was a leader of a place called Greece in my world, hundreds of years ago. He, like most leaders, was a giant asshole, and now he's a stinky dead guy, so I have no idea why a salad is named after him. It's made of romaine lettuce, croutons, parmesan cheese, and a creamy dressing flavored with anchovies and other spices.

Here are some long slices of eggplant rolled around melted cheese and covered in marinara sauce:

This is steak, caramelized onions, mashed potatoes, and some carrots and broccoli. I just took a picture of my plate, because the main plate was cut into before I could snap a photo:

This was some kind of chicken seasoned with rosemary and lemons, with rice and veggies:

This one was lobster ravioli with mushrooms in some kind of sherry cream sauce. It's certainly not pasta pescatore, but I wonder if you might have liked this:

Finally, this is lamb with roasted tomatoes and garlic, along with veggies and mashed taters.

...This one was probably my favorite. I especially liked the part where I got to try to gnaw the cartilage from the ends of the bones, because my body craves sources of collagen literally all the time (thanks, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome... 🙄). I'm really lucky that B and N don't seem to mind my various weird quirks; they've been friends of mine long enough to have a general understanding of how I roll, and they just let me do my thing. Today, the fact that I will generally "do my thing" in a variety of respects was pointed out as one of the reasons they like me so much, I guess; that was a nice thing to hear...

There were four available spaces for trying the foods, but it was just the three of us; it is immensely painful that the best I can do for you from here is show you these pictures and wish that you could have been in the empty seat, with us…

Sephiroth. Regardless of what your brain tries to tell you about what you're worth, you are VERY loved. You're not a monster. You were modified against your will, used like a tool and viciously abused, and you made mistakes in the throes of that, yes, but SO WHAT? You're here now, and you can do amazing things, and you NEVER have to go back to being with people who will abuse you ever again, because not everyone is like the people you were raised by. Yes, you're different from the standard definition of "normal", but you can belong anyway, because the world is absolutely BRIMMING with people who don't fit the definition of "normal"! Just take a look at me! Or if you don't wanna look at me, then take a look at anyone who lives with a genetic difference, or anyone who lives with a different number of limbs, or anyone with a non-standard life story, or any number of things that make a human being not "normal". Normal is overrated! Diversity is in! Lives that exist outside of the bell curve are still beautiful, meaningful, and worth living!

…And so I show you my life, because I am trying desperately to prove these things to you. I've spent the bulk of my life being viciously abused because the people who brought me into living didn't want me. I was brought into a physical vessel that is genetically defective in a variety of respects. My neurodivergence practically guarantees that I will NEVER fit into ordinary social circles. I struggle every single day with the weight of the memories I carry from having been used, abused, exploited, and generally mistreated. And yet here I stand, thriving and flourishing in a way that works for me, even if it does not fit the typical definition of those words. My version of "normal" is just as beautiful as the typical version. "Different" does not have to mean "less" if YOU become strong enough to decide for yourself that those two words are not the same, no matter who tries to tell you otherwise!

So please look at the beauty of my existence - the beauty of taking joy in small things, the beauty of rising up from one's knees even if it's on shaky legs, the beauty of finally using one's voice again after years of being forced to believe that silence is safer, the beauty of loving yourself and the people around you enough to refuse to let fear get the better of you when you interact with yourself and the world, the beauty of failing down, getting up, and trying again, the beauty of learning, growing, changing, and walking away from destructive ideals that serve no one, no matter for how long you might have been forced in the past to choke them down. Please look at it, and understand that you can have this for yourself - ALL of it - if you decide to take steps towards it! Your whole scenery can change if you want it to, and all you have to do is take a single step in a different direction.

There is still life after trauma. There is still life after mistakes. There is still life for those who are different. The pain doesn't have to be permanent. So come on; my hand is outstretched to you. And if you don't want to take mine, then there are countless other hands outstretched to you that maybe you'd like a little better. You don't have to do it alone.

Anyhoot. I've probably prattled on for long enough. I hope somehow you can see what I've written. I hope that if you do get a chance to see it, you might take some of my words seriously.

I love you. I'll write again tomorrow. Please be kind to yourself and keep yourself safe.

Your friend, Lumine

[dilatorywriting]

Okay since someone opened the angst wormhole I'm gonna add one tiny counterpoint to the Leona angst.

I would counter that any "Leona ignores you and acts like he doesn't care" problem would be before the start of the relationship. Because he wouldn't bother entering the relationship at all (thereby making himself vulnerable and asking them out and/or accepting them asking him out, both of which is an open admission of his feelings) if he hadn't already made up his mind that he's going to try and fight for that person.

I could see him slipping into a "i dont care, im ignoring you" mode if, for some reason, he's convinced that you're going to break up with him and/or that you're secretly crushing on someone else so it's only a matter of time before the relationship is over. But otherwise, I don't think Leona would put forward the effort and comittment needed to start a relationship with someone if he wasn't prepared to try and make it work.

In other words, I dont think he dates casually because, like you said, he has a "why I should I even try" mentality. And it takes effort to actually go on a date. Effort that Leona's not going to give, unless he's legitimately interested in persuing that person. So when he does find someone he wants to date, him deciding to actually act on his desire to do so would involve overcoming that "why should i try" instinct. Otherwise the relationship isn't gonna start in the first place, unless it's some kind of arranged marriage thing. And if he goes through the effort of starting the relationship, then I dont think he'd purposely let it fall apart by being inattentive/pushing his partner away because, why bother putting all that effort into starting it in the first place then? The whole thing would be a waste of time, and he might get his heart broken in the process. It would've been easier to just ignore his feelings and not persue the other person from the start.

His "i'm not good enough" insecurities would definitely still be a problem, sure, but I think it'd come out as more of a "I'm not going to tell you about my inner demons/insecurities. I'm going to bottle them up and bury them, and pretend that everything is fine". And then that either ends with the s/o slowly but surely peeling back the layers until Leona slowly learns to communicate healthily, or something causes the little bottle to erupt in an emotional outburst, and the s/o has to be prepared to give emotional support.

Oh definitely! And I'll give my disclaimer that this is like me intentionally digging for angsty things, and therefore looking at him at his Absolute Worst. I think he could and would fight for things he wants, particularly post overblot when he's managed to get a lil of his Built Up Issues out of his system.

From an Angst perspective, I just always think of the end of his chapter, right before he overblots. All his mechanations are called out, all his schemes and problems put right on the front line with Ruggie being thrown under the bus with him. And he just pretty much immediately goes 'whatever. I give up. I don't care.' So if a moment came up where his S/O was like "I wish you'd put more effort in," if I'm working off Peak Emotionally Incompetent Leona, I could see him immediately sliding too 'I knew I wasn't going to be good enough. Whatever. I don't care' and then the whole ignoring/silent treatment coming into play. But all of this also depends heavily on the type of person he was with. Ideally, he would be with someone who's willing to take the emotional reins, so to speak. Someone who's willing to stand up and be like 'nope. Nu uh. Nice try, Mister Asshole. But we're Dealing With This, and dealing with it now.' But again, to make as Peak Angst as possible, this would have to be with an S/O who was a lot meaker, and who isn't necessarily good at pushing forward. It's one thing to be willing to pursue a relationship, and if you're with someone who gets his vibe, I think he'd be fine! But the really, sticky, messy shit would come with someone who was also wracked with self-worth issues. Because then if there was a strong start, it's hard to build someone up and help them face their demons when you can't manage those same demons.

Either way! That's with me being as absolutely harsh on him as possible and intentionally making the situation Awful in order to make it Hurty. But I do genuinely think it wouldn't be nearly as much of a problem if the S/O had a more complimentary personality

[mastcrmarksman]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER.

REPOST DO NOT REBLOG !!

NAME : Izzy

PRONOUNS : they/them

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION : I'll hand out my discord here and there, but you can reach me by DMs.

NAME OF MUSE(s) : Clint Barton, and then I've got a handful of other blogs; but Clint will literally devour my soul and I can't write anyone else when this happens (it's happening)

BEST EXPERIENCE : Honestly, this come back to tumblr after being away for like 3 years. The friendships and dynamics I've built with Clint on my return has been amazing, and I'm also very glad people like how I write him, cause I've pretty much picked up comic Clint and said "he's mine now. i'm giving him a whole new arc/plot/story to explore and away from canon" and people are buying into that. Thank you so much everyone! I love all my friends and writing partners here so much <3

RP PET PEEVES / DEALBREAKERS : Uhhh, pet peeves? I don't quite get what's with people not liking posts anymore or using the reply/comment feature more, like if you see someone posting an hc. Take a second to read? Give it a like or comment a heart even, if you're really that pressed to control your likes..... Dealbreakers, I haven't encountered anyone, I guess it'd be just if I pushed to write or make smut centric, but no one is doing that.

MUSE PREFERENCES : I like characters that have an internal struggle (lol that could be anyone). I don't know. I try to write so many types of characters, but characters like Clint I always come back too. Honestly, whatever is the character type that's been Clint Barton and Pepper Potts.

PLOTS OR MEMES : Memes are usually good to start, but I definitely wouldn't mind doing more plotting and giving a general direction to a thread. Although, really memes are great, and I truly appreciate those who send a bunch of memes, or don't mind treating some memes as one shots ( i love one shots ; just look at the length of some of my ask responses )

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES : Both. I want more shorter threads right now, but I have a knack for getting wordy and writing long things. This is why length matching does not matter, as long as there is enough substance to continue or something to help move something forward; a shorter reply to a longer reply is good; just as I tend to take a shorter thing and get longer with. This is also why I tend to like or mention with meme responses, like you can just reblog/save this and treat this as little one shot/drabble I wrote for you. I also tend to do the same.

BEST TIME TO WRITE : I don't get a lot of work, I am home all the time. So i'm bored a lot. So literally anytime, although I have a tendency to write a lot more late at night. For me, why I'm not writing is usually mood, or I don't have a very good set up for writing long haul; so if my neck, back, or hands and wrist start to cramp up cause my sit down to write isn't a good position/only position. That usually defeats me; like after I post this I will probably take a break, stretch, keep on my break and write a bit in a few hours.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S) : Yes and no / I don't know. I know I'm the type of neurospicy where Clint Barton has rotten my brain for like the past 15 years or something; and I've been writing him for like 10 years; that I'm probably funny like Clint is, but who actually knows lol. I try to be normal and healthy with muse and mun separation; even if his whole recovery arc is very important and real to me; and I will live in the delusion that is what I am getting from the comics as in I will just write it myself on my roleplay blog (this is a joke; legally I have to say that I think)

tagged by; @danversiism evil boops you infinity, ily tania <3

tagging: lol im suppose to tag people; if you wanna expose yourself, do it. flash the dash. i'll probably read it and like it.

[toruvi]

Idk if anyone has asked this before but okay I was looking at some jewelry to buy online today and it got me thinking: how would paychecks!levi react to the reader actually asking him to buy them something. Like the reader would sit and think for a minute like “do I really wanna ask him for this” and then just text “leviiiiiii, can you order me this necklace and bracelet” like pls I need to know for scientific reasons sksjjsjsjsjsjs

okay wow this got a lot longer than i expected it to oops dfghsdjkgh 

wc 1.7k, mostly fluff and maybe a bit of suggestive conversation?

just a little blurb in the Paychecks With a Side of Intimacy universe uwu

It feels weird to ask for something from Levi. At least, something of monetary value. He gives you so much money already that realistically you could just buy yourself if you set aside a few bucks at a time. And while you've constantly berated him for buying you things, there are moments where maybe it'd be kinda ...nice. If he did.

He's offered countless times, but honestly? It's mere instinct to brush it off and say, "I don't need that". Levi always allows a few seconds for you to change your mind before he moves on, giving a pointed stare and appearing so still he could be mistaken for a statue occasionally.

But this time? You really want something.

Hell, it's not much. Not as much as the things he's offered to buy you already, but it's certainly not a $10 kind of thing.

There's a small bracelet you found during one of your outings with Ymir. A dainty silver piece, with the option to attach the showcased mini constellations on whatever astrology sign may be desired. Hell, she noticed how long you were staring at it too, and threw out the predicted line of "Why don't you just ask your man to get it for ya?" Yeah, she's started to call him "your man" instead of what Levi really is. She justified it by telling you it's easier to say in public, but there's always a snarky tone when the words are uttered.

You ignore it. But damn it, the bracelets are just so cute! And there can even be the option to add multiple charms!

Shit. Would Levi make fun of you if you asked him to buy it? How would he react if you wanted a pair of matching ones with him? Does he even wear bracelets?

Matching bracelets... you're not even a damn couple. Dummy.

That's the thought you have to tell yourself every time you think about asking him.

But that urge builds and builds the more you talk to him, the more you hang out with him. The subject of your birthday comes up one night during a relaxed dinner, and that's when you can no longer avoid the idea completely.

"Listen, I know you get fussy about gifts," Levi prefaces after a sip of his whiskey, leaning forward with a tilt of his head as he blinks at you. "But there has to be something you'd want for your birthday."

You hum in deliberation, chewing on the straw haphazardly stuck in the cup. The condensation bleeds out into the tablecloth underneath your palms. "I--well... I guess... I guess there's something."

"Oh?" His head tilts the opposite way, curious. There's a certain light that seeps into those gray irises. It's cute, you think. He is so unintentionally comparable to a cat sometimes. "I'm all ears."

"Mm... There's um. There's this bracelet I saw the other day."

"Yeah?" Another sip of whiskey. You stir your drink with the straw between your fingers.

"It's really cute. Like, has little stars and stuff. Y'know those constellations for your star sign? You can customize it and have your sign on it."

"Send it to me. I'll buy it," Levi says smoothly. You swear he must've scooted his chair towards you just now, easy to tell with how his hands easily reach yours. "If you need a reminder, I don't give a shit about the price. Especially for your birthday."

Instinctively you play with his hands, tracing along the gently protruding veins that lead along his forearms. "It's not that expensive, actually. But it's only sold in a store. At least the one I want is. If that's okay."

"Course it is.”

And so he takes you to the place you mentioned, inspecting the bracelet closely and staring at all of the constellations available for attachment. When you'd ask about his birthday at dinner, he refused to answer at all. Let alone give any hint towards what his sign would be.

However, he does show a vague interest in the Capricorn one, picking up the charm and staring a little bit longer at it compared to the others.

Capricorn, huh? Maybe you'll ask Historia about Capricorns on your next shift. She is pretty obsessed with astrology after all.

"This is only $40. You don't want anything else along with this?" Levi asks, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Your head shakes. “You know you can ask for much more than this.”

“It’s alright, it’s not--it doesn’t need to be a thing.”

“I’m not making it a thing,” Levi’s hand runs up and down the span of your back. You shiver. “Don’t be dramatic. Let me do something nice for you.” 

You fidget with the edge of your shirt as he takes one of the boxes for a bracelet, looking at you expectantly to pick out one of the charms. He hums in thought once he sees the charm you’ve chosen. 

“Hange would love to talk about this kind of crap. All that ‘what’s your sign’ bullshit,” he says as you two head to the register.

“Kinda surprising for someone who’s in the science field.” 

“Everything about them is surprising... They’re completely unpredictable. I don’t know how Moblit deals with it all the time. Sounds exhausting.”

"There's some fun in unpredictability too."

"Only in moderation."

When he's finished buying the bracelet, he hands the box right to you as you two exit the store and head to where he’s parked.

"You're giving it to me now?"

"Do you want me to re-wrap it and wait for your birthday?" He asks flatly.

"Well--don't you usually give the gifts on the actual birthday?"

Levi pulls his car keys from his pocket, smirking as he opens the passenger door for you. "I have other plans for your birthday."

Your eyes narrow pointedly as you stumble into the car. "Such as..?"

He shrugs before shutting the door and hopping in on the drivers side.

"I don't even get a hint, Levi?"

Levi chews on his lip in thought, his smirk melting into something more of fondness at the sound of his name. He really likes how you add it to the tail of your questions once in a while. "It's a surprise."

"You said you don't like unpredictability."

"I said in moderation. You said it could be fun, no?"

At a crossroads with the turnaround of your own words against you, your lips purse. But the curiosity of what he could possibly have planned for something eats at your brain like a parasite. Even more so at his refusal to provide any hints for it.

He merely takes his time peeling off his blazer and gently placing it in the backseat before staring at you with an expectant expression. "Are you going to put it on?"

"What, now?"

Levi nods. "Let me see how it looks on you. With your own charm on it." Alright, he's already handed you the gift anyway. Early present, you suppose. After you open the box, he's leaning over to take it out and hold it under your wrist. "Here, let me."

You murmur a thanks, nearly shuddering at the light brushes of his fingertips. Just enough to feel them, not enough to feel the satisfaction of his touch completely. His exhale through his nose huffs in the space between you two, blown away by the gentle breeze of the soothing air conditioner in the middle vents.

"Kind of a pain in the ass to clip it," he grumbles quietly after a struggle with the small clasp.

"Might need you to help me put it on every time then, huh?"

Levi looks up through his lashes and the fringe of his hair, his silver eyes shining underneath the black strands of hair. "Is that an excuse for something else?"

An excuse to get him to touch you, obviously. Guess you're as readable as ever, damn.

He finally finishes clasping it, though part of you is convinced that he might've intentionally taken longer than necessary. The gentle grasp on your wrist turns it to fully exhibit the jewelry as he inspects it. It glimmers under the sunlight shining through the tinted windshield. Levi seems satisfied.

You stare at how similarly the silver reflects his eye color. Trying to swallow the lump in your throat with how his thumb his pressing against the pulse on your wrist, and focus instead on the jingle of the charm dangling underneath. No attention needs to be paid on how the light hits the length of his nose, or how his lips somehow always look perfectly glossy right after he absentmindedly licks them.

"Looks nice."

Yeah, he does.

"Do you like it?"

It takes you a few moments to collect yourself enough to give Levi an answer. He's patient, pulling away and taking his sweet time to let the warmth of his fingertips leave your skin.

"Uh-huh. Thanks for the early present."

Levi pats your thigh, and you don't miss the subtle squeeze he gives too.

"Are you really not gonna tell me what you have planned on my actual birthday?" You try to pry again to avoid running your thoughts into other tangents over these silly little touches and glances.

"No." It's absolute in his tone. "You'll have to practice some of that patience I taught you."

You blow a raspberry. "I don't think you did a very good job at teaching me at all, honestly."

"Clearly. Maybe I should give you a couple more lessons." He chuckles, low and decorated with amusement as he shifts in his seat.

"Maybe you should." Not that you'd ever complain about these "lessons" anyway. 

The entire drive home, the habitual grip Levi has on your thigh never leaves. You wonder how aware of it he is. Or if it’s just become another one of his habits with you. There’s a small smile on his lips, too. It stays there, and you sit in silence with admiration for it, to afraid to speak and distract him from whatever seemingly peaceful thought must be running in his head.

You prop your arm on the door’s armrest, the bracelet shifting a bit downwards with the movement. Maybe you could buy him a matching one for his birthday, if he ever tells you when it is.

[starrabbitmedia]

Anon who recently asked about OCs here. Hear me out: tiny robotic assistants/companions (Actual companions not. "Companions" wink wink) for the main three. Someone similar to them to keep them company who's also pocket sized! I think it'd be a neat dynamic (especially for Zavy with his constant need to have company)

Those are the OCs I'm making! They have names but not designs. Fairy's is called Cotton, Zavy's is (subject to change because I couldn't think of a theme he has besides clown) Peach, and Mirage's is Phantasma (like Phantasmagoria!)

This is incredibly cute! And it works very well, because tiny bots like that are actually canon in the Star Palace universe. When it comes to the bots that are personal companions, and the world in general, I actually take a LOT of inspiration from an old Anime/Manga called Chobits. In that anime, all of the bots are called Persocoms, and they are walking, talking computers. So none of the main characters have anything like a laptop or PC, The Persocoms themselves are the computers. There are large ones that are people-sized, and then there are smaller ones that are considered Laptops.

Like these two:

They're pocket-sized, and easily transportable.

The tiny bots in the Star Palace Universe are usually a little bit bigger than these guys. They're about a foot tall, at the smallest. Anything tinier would just be a toy that wouldn't have AI capabilities.

The bots that are 1-2 feet tall are usually a sort of a replacement for a service dog. They're little guys who follow their owners around and make sure they're doing okay. They can help with both mental and physical disabilities. The more help the person needs, the bigger the bot will be in order to meet all of their accommodations. If someone needs a full live-in nurse, the bot will usually be around 4-5 feet tall. Meanwhile, a medical bot in a hospital will often be far bigger because of how how much work they have to do there. Zavy, as an example, has to be big and strong enough to lift emergency patients from one stretcher to another. While a smaller bot could push the stretchers, they have to be able to move quickly and stop on a dime, which is easier for a bigger bot.

3-4 foot tall bots are also used in food-service jobs. (Like Taki!) They're small so that they can move around the kitchen easily, but also not take up a lot of space. They also usually have stretching limbs so that they can reach around from one place and now have to move much.

Performance robots will usually be bigger than usual (like how Fairy is 8 feet tall). This makes it easier to see them on stage. Though as a result, the humans next to them usually look quite small in comparison. This was something the production companies didn't really think through, and therefore they're working on slowly bringing them down in size to not be QUITE so big.

As for your OCs, they sounds SUPER cute. If I may make a suggestion for Zavy's, you could go with Jelly, which represents the weird little Jellyfish lamp in his room. Or you could go with a star-related name, because the rest of his room is nebula-themed. No matter what, it's your OC. I look forward to seeing what you create.

Not gonna lie, as soon as I saw the name Peach, I just thought of--

[always-andromeda]

(Walter white voice) JESSE we must peg Joby Taylor

La Belle Fluer Sauvage

Please and thank you!

Author’s Note | okay. anon. real talk. this request has been intimidating me for so long now. because the thought of pegging my man...intimidates me. like this was a fucking boss battle of a scenario for me to take on because I wanted to do it justice. so enjoy over three thousand words of complete filth. <3

Warnings | smut (MDNI), pegging, dirty talk, reader is an anxious mess, joby is an asshole but he is soft <3, nothing else I can think of!

You guess that it's a good night. He hasn't touched his cigarettes for hours. Normally when you catch him standing outside of whatever motel he and the band choose to haunt when they're stopped on the road, he's smoking, trying to blow away the memory of a bad show.

Lit cigarette between his gloved fingers. Eyes trained on you when he takes a puff. Curled lips as he blows smoke in your face playfully. His chuckle when you lightly punch his shoulder and say, "You're such a dick."

And your eyes practically roll into the back of your head when he replies smugly, "Only for you."  

As much as you pretend to hate the way he prods at you, you love how this has become normal. Very few things with Joby are actually normal. But somehow you find comfort in the certainty of his teasing and needling. At least he isn't bored. Because something tells you that Joby Taylor doesn't like when things get too boring for him.

In theory, it should be a good night. Joby played perfectly. He was actually awake enough to remember his own lyrics and the crowd was so pleased with the band's offerings that they delivered a few encore songs. But you play the words he said to you before going on stage over and over again.

"I need to talk to you tonight. After the show, okay?"

You hadn't been able to keep still for the whole concert. You played with the sleeves of his jacket that he gave you to wear in the cold. You'd chewed the inside of your cheek so badly that you'd began to taste copper and hadn't even noticed. You were too preoccupied with wondering what he could possibly want to say.

And the fact that he played well that night...Joby Taylor is dumping you. On the drive back to the motel, you sit, silent and stoic as his band members joke and laugh. And you practically accepted it as fact when the van pulled up to the motel. You'd told yourself that by the time morning came, you'd be single again. Then you splashed cold water on your face when the thought made you burst out in tears.

He’s been quietly standing outside for at least half an hour. He's pensive; staring out at lights on the highway in the distance.

With nothing he needs to numb, Joby Taylor is stone cold sober when you stick your head out the motel room door, trying to gauge his mood. But with his back facing you, you can't really get a reading based on his relaxed shoulders.

"Are you gonna come back inside? It's getting cold." You try.

"Yeah...I was just thinking about something." he mumbles.

He's bored. That's why he wanted to talk. It's over.

You step out a bit, leaning around the doorframe, arms wrapped around your chest when you ask tentatively, "Didn't you say you wanted to talk tonight?"

Joby chuckles but you find no comfort in the sound. "Oh, yeah." He turns towards you finally. "I was thinking about our future...and...how we're doing now..."

You already feel your eyes welling up. Here it comes.

"I think I'm ready to take our relationship further."

Wait. What?

Your brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

At this, Joby tenses. He takes one of the hands buried in his jacket pocket and rubs his chin, looking thoughtful before he moves forward and brushes past you, entering the room. You barely hear him when he mutters, "It'd be easier if I just showed you."

You watch him go to his suitcase, unzipping it and rifling through one of the mesh pouches on the inside. He pulls out a plastic bag and you can make out some sort of box inside.

Setting it on the bed, Joby nods towards the package. "I got you a present."

Nervously, you creep towards it until you're sitting on the edge of the bed. You stare up at him with big eyes. His pursed lips and small nod encourages you slightly. You reach inside the bag and pull out the box and nearly jump when you see the so-called present.

A dildo and a harness. Both colored hot pink. The smiling blonde woman pictured on the box models it with a lacy bra in a matching color. Thumb running over the picture of the strap-on, your hand begins to shake.

Joby notices and sits beside you, taking the box from you.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about it if it makes you uncomfortable. I just wanted to try something and--"

You interrupt, "You haven't...done that?"

He smiles slightly, "Oh, you could say I have some...experience. Why? You've used one before, right?" His expectant stare fades as you stay silent, staring at the brown carpet below your feet.

“Shit…” he trails off. He’d thought about bringing up the idea for a solid month. Because as much as he wanted it, some deep part of him worried. In all his years living the way he does now, he’d had his fair share of partners. Lots of them. And there was certainly a spectrum of reactions to the idea. Sometimes it was easy and expected; one quick fuck and then he’d be back on the road again. Then there was the other end of the spectrum. Which often featured a partner with the same sort of distant look that you had, contemplating how to let him down gently.

If he’d had even an inkling of doubt over how you’d respond, he never would’ve asked in the first place. But something about how you treated him had told him that you’d be open. You seemed to annoy his sarcasm and his attitude. You also had the uncanny ability to make him feel guilty when he stepped over a line. In a strange way…you softened him. 

That’s when it clicks into place for him. In all his years, he thought he’d seen every reaction. But this is an entirely new one: apprehension.

Oddly enough, he isn’t upset. For some reason, he doesn’t feel that burning disappointment in his belly at the thought of that channel closing off. If anything, he only wants to open it further.

So he gives a little more, “We don’t have to.” He struggles to articulate himself for a few seconds before stuttering, “I-it’s not a present if it won’t be fun for you too.”

As soon as the initial shock wears off, you turn the idea over in your head a few times. One insecurity is replaced with another as you latch onto one word. Experience. Something you don't have.

Suddenly, you're reminded that he's had people before you. People who all probably showed him a better time than you ever could. You could only imagine that wistful smile of his forming at the memory of encounters from long ago. But if it was really that good, wouldn't those people still be around?

As Joby's hand settles on your thigh and gives you a gentle squeeze, it grounds you. He's here. He's got you. And he's bought you a hot pink fucking dick and he wants you to fuck him with it.

Your voice is laced with a shaky whine, "You really trust me, don't you?"

Joby looks at you blankly. "Uh...yeah..." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you hadn't nearly had a breakdown fifteen minutes earlier thinking that he was building up the nerve to say it was over.

You could cry out in relief. Your boyfriend doesn't want to stop fucking you. He wants you to fuck him. And suddenly...it's on the way to becoming a very good day, both for him and you.

Joby helps you put on the harness, making sure to adjust the straps so they're not too tight or too loose. But you throb when he squeezes some lube on his hand and wraps it around the length of the plastic cock.

As he coats you with the liquid, he ducks down, whispering in your ear with a raspy tone, "There you go, princess. You're all wet now."

And you are. But you have a feeling he's talking about the dildo. Or he could be talking about the heat between your thighs. Though you can feel his smirk on your skin as he kisses your neck, you can't be sure if he has any clue how dizzy you feel. Your hand only has a few seconds to weave through the hair at the nape of his neck, grounding you, before he gives you a small kiss.

"You can do it. I know you can. I do it to you all the time." he teases.

You sound like you're in another universe entirely when you say, "You're such a dick."

But you see his snarky reply coming from miles away. "Only for you." It has you melting in an instant.

Joby takes his place, kneeled on the bed and slightly leaned forward. With his hands braced on the headboard, you're face to face with his back once more. Usually you're more acquainted with the snake tattoo that coils on his chest. But now you get to see every edge of the word Trouble etched across his shoulder blades in ink. You trail your fingers down his spine, watching the way his breath catches slightly when you reach the curve of his ass.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him being in this kind of position before. You never would've believed that he'd actually want it too. Nevertheless, you're grateful to have him when he shudders as you slowly slide a finger inside of him, testing the waters.

"Does that feel okay?" you ask.

Joby nods slightly, keeping his breathing steady. For some reason, like aching bones before a storm, he gets the feeling that he's in for something bigger than he can even fathom. He feels it in the small pit that's already forming in his stomach. His cock stands on end and, fuck, it's begging to be touched. But he abstains from easing it and keeps his fingers curled around the headboard, jagged fingernail close to digging into the wood.

You add another finger and give him slow strokes. And as much as you're preparing him, you're also preparing yourself for the inevitable point where you'd have to actually fuck him. The dildo is a little smaller than he is--you'd guess around five inches--and a bit thicker than him.

You wonder how he came around to choosing this one. Because even though he said it was yours, you assume he chose what he was comfortable with; something he's used before. As you slide your fingers out of him and hesitantly grab onto the strap, you try not to think about how many times he's done this exact routine. You try to push away the pressure of expectations and the idea of being boring. Because this most certainly isn't boring for you.

The thought emboldens you ever so slightly. So you rub the tip up and down between his cheeks and watch the back of his thighs go tight with anticipation.

Through gritted teeth, Joby says, "Are you gonna...are you gonna do it or not?"

His obvious impatience and the way his pale skin flushes with the most beautiful, delicate pink hue you've ever seen makes you giggle. "Give me a second, baby." You taunt, "You'll get it soon."

You go a little further, nudging at his hole before pushing forward. You guide the length along inch by inch and hold onto his hip, keeping him in place as he starts to shake.

Joby lets out a symphony of soft, croaking moans as he adapts to the stretch and holds on all the more onto the headboard. His brain seems to be suffocating under the weight of the moment.

Just to let some of the steam out, he blurts out, "Say something...fuckin'...fuckin' talk to me..."

You cycle through every bit of dirty talk you can remember him using. Sputtered words, spoken in the heat of the moment through clenched teeth all flood your head and you manage to gasp out, "You're such a good boy, taking all of me like this."

You swear you've heard him say it before. But your mind is so jumbled that you can barely think of the specifics. You can only think about the sensations as you begin to move. Your hips snapping back and forth as you manage to fuck him so deep with a stroke that his ass slaps against the faux leather. The strangled groan he lets out at your words. And then one little word that he repeats like a chorus.

Harder.

Something about that gets you more than anything else. It gives you the gall to take more control. One arm wrapping around him, you pull him flush to you. With your other hand, you wrap it around his throat and apply light pressure, just until you hear him begin to choke.

You can practically hear his smile as he chuckles as he says through a sharp gasp, "There you go...good girl..." The simple praise makes your heart swell happily. 

Joby's head falls back on you slightly. His ear within proximity to your mouth and your head finally starting to screw on just right, you take the chance to wind him up more.

"I bet you haven't been fucked like this before, huh?"

Joby struggles to speak. He simply shakes his head and lets out little groans through his agape mouth.

"Can you use your words for me, baby?"

You decide that you love prodding at him just as much as he does when he sputters hoarsely, "No..."

"That's right." You're breathless pounding into him and trying to keep him steady. "I'm the only one who can get you like this."

He repeats your words dumbly, "You're the only one...only-- Only one..."

You feel his lower half start to convulse and get an idea. Now that he's let you in this far, you don't want to be leaving anytime soon. You release his hip from your grip and form a tight fist around his twitching cock. Joby reacts immediately with a sharp inhale and a loud moan.

Pumping him slowly, you hiss, "Who do you belong to? Tell me who you belong to and then you can cum, baby."

You never imagined you'd get to see him this flustered. And you can't even begin to imagine what must be swirling through his head with the almost overwhelming stimulation. But you need to hear it. You need it like you need his teasing; need it like you need to breathe in his clouds of putrid cigarette smoke. He can become your oxygen, you decide. 

Joby hesitates, only able to manage some incoherent babble that makes you so proud that you nearly let him off the hook. But you cease tugging at his cock anyways, meeting his defiance with swift consequences.

You don't feed into how he desperately bucks his hips, searching for friction to ease his aching cock, "C'mon, Joby, I know you can say it. Who do you belong to?"

His eyes are creased and close to weepy when he finally answers, "You...fuck-- I b-belong to...to you..."

Your grip tightens and you continue your ministrations, faster now than ever. Your voice softens, "Good job! You're all mine. Let me take care of you now"

Already beginning to turn to jelly, Joby's eyes close as he whimpers, "Please...please...just let me-- fuck..." his brows knit together, concentrating on the electric pleasure coursing in his belly.

The fullness inside him and the ache of his leaking cock laces together, all tasting the same to him: bitter in the back of his throat and brewing into a crescendo that he doesn't think he's ever felt before, not all at once like this. He thinks he might be fine with being on his knees for the rest of his life if this was what was coming to him.

Keeping your tone sickly sweet, you coo against his ear, "I know. You can finish now, honey. Just let it go, it's okay."

Just like that, he's there, hips spasming into your hand as he fucks himself through the high. And Joby swears that he's never seen himself spill so much as his load paints the comforter. You stay sheathed inside him, holding him close and jerking the last few drops of seed from his already softening cock.

Joby's never looked this pretty, so wrecked and limp all because of you. He whines when you pull out of him and take off the harness, letting it fall to the floor. Though you know that you'll be eagerly awaiting the next time you get to put it on.

You tap Joby's thigh, signaling him to get off the bed and his legs shake as he tries to support himself when he stands. Removing the ruined comfort from the mattress, you hope that whatever washers the motel uses will be able to wash out the cum that's already starting to stain the blanket.

When you peel back the white sheets, you get in bed and pat the spot beside you. Joby follows the order but the surprise barely registers when you curl into his side. He doesn't even have the mind to say something snarky. If he did, he thinks he'd remark something like, "You're gonna fuck me like that and then want to cuddle?"

But really, all he can fully conceptualize is his gratefulness for your sensitivity. He was no stranger whatsoever to the rough treatment; to choking, biting, hair pulling, spanking, and almost any other kind of physical touch. Any other touch aside from this. His eyes droop as he realizes that it's been so long since he's had someone stay. So long that he can't even remember the last time.

Or maybe he's so fucked out that he can't make himself remember. He figures it doesn't matter either way. Because at least you're there. That's good enough of a thought to consume his swirling head. That and how proud he is that he got up the courage to suggest this in the first place.

You look up at him from your spot on his bare chest. "Today was a good day, right?"

Joby isn't thinking about the show or the encore or the fans who screamed his name hours before when he answers. His eyes are focused entirely on your fingers, tracing over the snake head on his chest softly. God, is he ever so glad he got you that present.

He replies faintly, "Yeah...a fuckin' great day."

[stagethreekoma]

moronic oxymorons

CW: Minor Character Death, Guns

Relationships: Izuru Kamukura/Reader, Implied Nagito Komaeda & Reader

Tags: GN!Reader, Reader Has An Ultimate (Ult!Survivor), Self-Indulgent, Character Study, Discussions of Lobotomy, Boredom, Set during The Tragedy, Pre-Relationship, Stalking (Sort Of), Custom Text

Word Count: 1k

"you're a real piece of work, you know?"

"I don't find any reason as to why I should make your job any easier as it is, it'd be–"

"boring, mhm, heard you the first time, buddy– that's not what i meant though."

aka you have a stalker. he's not bad, he's just too bored to even try making an effort.

they gave you a gun, some ammo, a bulletproof vest and nothing else.

of course they don't, they couldn't afford to give up more supplies to a flight risk like you.

besides, you've survived with worse, it's fine. it has to be.

you just have to make it. make it through whatever encounter until you reach the drop point with whatever info you have.

you don't go for him, as much as you want to, his luck wouldn't let you even near his vicinity. so you head for the opposite direction, you'd live but his chaos would be tedious to get through.

you've got the bare bones of a plan rattling in your head, find a despair, get their location and whatever they're doing, find their next agenda and get that shit to the drop point for more supplies.

you don't account for a despair finding you.

he doesn't even hide from you, looking down from where he stood on the broken building, red eyes holding nothing when gazing at your frame.

you huff but ignore him, if you die at this point, you die. which you won't, because then your talent would be laughable then, but considering the creeping feeling on who that guy was, there wouldn't be anything to laugh at, really.

you don't die, of course. but you get trailed after.

you don't know what would be worse so you simply continue your trek for any signs of a remnant, which is mostly following the trail of dead bodies, these looked to be crushed and mauled by too large of blades that form claw marks on the corpses, so—

"How boring." the hot topic l'oreal identity crisis utters out, almost drowned out by the sirens in the distance, unlikely to be cops- unless they were cops using the chaos to be as sickening as they actually can be—

"You're not going to find them like this." you sigh and turn to look at the man who decided to follow you with a raised brow.

"so? i'm not here for entertainment, emo boy." the insult washes over him like, not even a duck with water, more of a dead fish unable to be revived.

"You're not here for conversation either and yet, you're talking to me." oh, ohh, that's his game. you grumble and continue forward, fiddling with the safety of your glock, ignoring the way you know the other was following despite the lack of footsteps stepping on the asphalt.

"They'll be doing a circuit." he offers, a bait, you'd think it'd be a lie but really, there's not much else you can go off of.

funny how at the end of the world, you have all the time to wait for something like this now.

he still follows you to the basement you've found as your temporary base, you let him be, there's not much else you can do, really.

"you're a real piece of work, you know?" you roll your eyes as you struggle to disassemble your pistol, you've been told the way to a gun is to know how to make and break one but—

you blink and it's in pieces, actual intact and arranged meticulously and look up to glare at the only culprit in this decrepit abandoned bunker you call a basement.

"I don't find any reason as to why I should make your job any easier as it is, it'd be–"

"boring, mhm, heard you the first time, buddy– that's not what i meant though."

he stares, you stare back. the silence is awfully loud as you don't look away from bleeding crimson.

he blinks and sighs, huh, so he can show emotion, it really was odd.

"Explain." he talks and you blurt out the first thing on your mind.

"you got a lobotomy." how he hasn't straight up just killed you was either because of your talent, his restraint or perhaps the boredom keeping him from finding the point or actually wishing to know where the fuck you were going.

"Yes, by the healing scars on my head, it is quite obvious."

"alright, humor me, explain to me what a lobotomy does to a person." you shrug, getting to work on assembling your pistol, it looked clean enough, getting to work in putting the barrel into the slide.

"Ah. You think I didn't get one." where's the spring? which part went into the notch again?

"mmm, you could've, couldn't've. i wasn't your doctor." he looms over you now, you don't know when he got closer but he takes your hands in his and directs the thicker end of the spring to the cut out on the slide.

"You think one of them didn't do it correctly, otherwise I wouldn't be on the search for any sort of stimulation." he helps you put the spring on the notch, hands surprisingly warm despite how cold you feel in his presence.

"i didn't say anything, it's just awfully weird, isn't it? how you're a living contradiction." you pick up the rest of the gun, turning the slide over to push it into place.

"Any reason for them botching it?" the locks click and your gun is back to what it used to be, or maybe not, cocking it back feels smoother somehow.

"i think you already know."

"In your words."

"one last fuck you to Hope's Peak." he blinks, it's slow and you look and see from how close he was that his lashes were long and pretty.

"I cried, before." he whispers and you get it, you're coming to the slow realization that you're getting it.

"why need a second opinion then?"

"To see if I'd be wrong, for once." you tilt your head at that, looking up at eyes that hold nothing but an empty soul.

it's still a soul.

"are you?"

"You were exactly what I thought you'd be."

you push him away gently to get up, your spine tingling with something about to go wrong.

like clockwork, the ground rumbles and you hear the cackles from outside.

looks like it really was a circuit.

"well, i don't really care about that, you'll be seeing me then."

"You're rather confident."

"if i've lived this long, you've got plans for me. or not, whichever case, that's not really going to stop me so—" you salute lazily, heading on up to leave him behind.

Izuru watches you go, humming in tune with the vibrations of the earth.

"...I'll be seeing you."

[arlecchno]

mission accomplished [ scaramouche x reader ]

six | the frat party

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you and scaramouche arrived at viktor’s party. like any other normal parties, students were partying left and right drunk out of their minds. both you and scaramouche took this opportunity to look for clues and evidence that might lead your case forward, whilst going through some problems along the way.

warnings: alcohol consumption, sexual mentions, swearing, intoxicated people, parties, yeah you know the drill

a/n: i’m not really that fond of this chapter to be honest. i’ve been having writer’s block for the whole week now and this is all i could squeeze out of my brain 😔 and i’m really sorry for the late update! i’ll try to post more regularly once my writer’s block is over but other than that plz be patient with me 💔 happy reading!

grammatical errors may occur so please let me know if i’ve made any mistakes!

“luna, you actually came!” viktor shouted through the blasting music. you turned around, flashing a smile at the tall man.

“yeah, i'm here alright.” you said while observing the surroundings.

the party gets crowded quick, you thought.

“and you must be...?” viktor trailed off, pointing out towards scaramouche.

“ivan.” the fake name rolls off scaramouche’s tongue easily.

“ah, yes! ivan... we have a psychology class together right? i think i've seen you there a couple times.” viktor asked, holding out a hand for scaramouche to shake.

“yeah.” scaramouche said, reluctantly shaking his hand.

viktor retracted his hand, opting to bid you two goodbye. “i actually can't hang out much since i have to greet everyone so please, make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the party!” viktor yelled through the loud music, heading to the living room to greet everyone that came.

you snorted. “well, that was pretty easy to get him off our feet. i thought it'd be a bit difficult to make him leave our sight.”

“where should we check out first?” you asked, glancing up at scaramouche.

“you've got that earpiece with you, no?”

“right here!” you pointed out to the earpiece that scaramouche gave you, hidden from your hair.

30 minutes ago

“here.”

“huh?” you looked up from your phone, staring at the earpiece that scaramouche's holding. “why do we need that for? it's just a frat party.” you furrowed your brows.

“who knows. i was planning that we'd go off on our ways and investigate, so that we can end things quicker and get out of that place.” scaramouche shrugged.

you rolled your eyes. “i think it's better that we stick together, it's easier that way.”

“no, we stick to my plan. do you realise how awful parties are? i don't want to spend a long time there.” scaramouche retorted, frowning at you.

“why is it always your way? you do know that it's a party, right? no one's gonna look at what we're doing, hell, people make out in parties yet no one bats an eye! who cares if we're sneaking around rooms. archon knows whatever are in those rooms, or whoever.” you fought back.

scaramouche groaned, bringing a hand up to his face to ease up the wrinkles on his forehead. “fine. we'll wear these earpieces, but still stick together. if anything happens that needed us to be separated, then these will be used to communicate. good?”

“i suppose that could work...” you mumbled lowly. taking the earpiece from his hand, you continued speaking. “but if we get caught and this mission fails, i'm blaming this all on you. i really don't want to handle the 2-hour-lecture from the tsaritsa.”

“we've been at this job for years! goodness, just make up an excuse. we're not gonna waste this case just because your stupid brain can't find an excuse.” scaramouche hissed, even more annoyed by your rather endless complaints.

“okay, okay, fine! whatever, i'll do what you say. can't have anything nice for once...” you muttered, heading over to your room to get ready for the party.

scaramouche hummed, looking at the earpiece place on your ear. “good, we'll get started with the kitchen. though i doubt that it's gonna be empty, most likely gonna be filled with stupid drunkards making out or something.”

“yeah keep whining dude, that's definitely gonna make this case go forward.” you said nonchalantly, already heading to the kitchen and leaving scaramouche behind.

well, scaramouche wasn't exactly lying.

the kitchen's littered with red plastic cups everywhere, and campus students hanging around drunk out of their minds, except there’s no sexual innuendos. thank the archons.

“i wasn't that wrong.” scaramouche joined after you, a dissatisfied look on his face witnessing the scene in front of him.

you pulled out a drawer to start looking out for clues and evidence to support the case. “enough chit chat, more investigating.”

and that's what you did with scaramouche the whole party.

you've been searching the current floor for around 30 minutes now, but you've found absolutely nothing. not even in the living room, the laundry room, the bathroom, the kitchen, and basically every single room there is on the first floor.

this house is humongous for a frat house, you don't even have any idea why or how viktor has it.

for the past week you've known viktor, you don't ever recall him being in any sororities of some sort. the case files even shows that viktor isn't in any fraternities and clubs either.

everything makes you go back to square one.

damn viktor and his amazingly good skills in hiding evidence.

“why can't we find anything here? this is insane. i thought we'd at least get a single hint, not a speck of dust!” you exclaimed, slouching in defeat.

scaramouche flicked your forehead. “we still have upstairs. i'd like to think that viktor shoves all the evidence upstairs before the party starts, in case people stumble upon them.”

you brought a hand up to your forehead to soothe out the spot that the short male flicked. “stop it man... let's just hope we'll actually find something there.”

yeah, you absolutely didn't.

“what the actual hell, we can't even find anything! does he really hide them in his dorm? there's got to be at least something here!” you cursed, rummaging through the drawers.

scaramouche was frustrated too, given how he's been groaning and grumbling every time he doesn't manage to find something at a certain spot.

“there aren’t even any safes or secret compartments either. i've got to say, this guy really knows his stuff.” said scaramouche, tracing his hands on the wall to look for any hidden objects.

footsteps can be heard from the outside of the room you two were currently in.

you and scaramouche both shot your heads up at the sound and darted your eyes to the shadow that can be seen from under the closed door.

someone's heading to this room.

the two of you quickly panicked, scrambling to find a hiding spot.

“what the hell! where do we hide?!” scaramouche whisper-shouted, peering through the room.

you saw the empty closet you checked a few minutes ago. without a second thought, you pulled scaramouche by the hand and shoved him and yourself inside the small closet, right before the mysterious person opened the door.

“huh, thought me heard somebody...”a male voice said, words clearly slurred.

“it's 'cause of yer drunk head, ya ass! hah, yer really wasted.” another voice popped up.

“d'ya think viktor wou’mind if we crash here t'night?”

“don't be such a fool! now get yer butt goin', viktor's gon’ kick us when he finds our asses 'ere.”

the sound of a door closing can be heard and slowly, the voices faded.

you finally exhaled—not realising that you've been holding your breath the whole time.

“good, they're gone now–” you said while turning around, stopping your sentence abruptly when you found yourself being face to face with the ravenette. your breaths fanning in each other's, and face mere centimetres from one another.

scaramouche had his eyes widened out ever since you've shoved him in the small closet, seemingly still shocked with your bold and sudden movement.

now your eyes are widened too.

“oh! um... sorry for pushing you here–”

“get the hell out!” scaramouche yelled lowly, quickly shoving you outside, the opposite of what you did to him a moment ago.

you stumbled out from the small closet, letting out yet another exhale.

curse that gremlin for shoving you with no remorse.

scaramouche stepped out a second later, brushing off the invisible dust on his shoulder.

“phew, that was a close call. glad we didn't get caught.” you sighed, turning to scaramouche.

“we didn't find anything though. we're gonna hit rock bottom if we don't get anywhere with this stupid case.”scaramouche mumbled, closing the closet door. turning back to you, he grumbled.

you shrugged. “well, to be fair, it's only been a week. we're gonna be undercover for what, two to three months? more if we're not getting anywhere, but that's highly impossible.”

“we're the greatest detectives in the precint, surely we can solve this case like any other cases we've solved. this one is just a tough one to crack i guess.” scaramouche hummed at your words.

“ugh, whatever. let's just... head downstairs before other people see us. it's bad enough we almost got caught.” he drawled out, heading towards the door.

you huffed, about to leave the room too before you caught a glimpse of something odd at the corner of the room, just right behind the door. you called over scaramouche who's already in the hallway now, in which he definitely didn't hear.

him and his stupid deaf ears, you thought. oh wait, the earpiece.

you called for scaramouche again, this time applying pressure to the earpiece in your ear so that your voice can be transferred to his earpiece.

“what?” scaramouche came back in a just second.

you pointed out to the odd thing you saw earlier. “look, it seems like something worth nothing.”

the both of you crouched down to take a closer look. you finally saw what it was.

dried blood.

“huh. and here i thought he's as clean as ever with his schemes.” you remarked, taking out your phone to take a pic.

you'll need to send it to childe later.

“i thought you checked here.” scaramouche said flatly, still looking at the dried blood on the carpeted floor.

“no i didn't, you did.” you looked at him.

“did i? or was it you?” he fought back, not wanting to lose to another banter with you.

“stop it dude. i'm not gonna argue with you in the middle of this, i'm the one who found it anyways.”

scaramouche once again grumbled in defeat.

going back downstairs was as easy as it was when you headed to the second floor. people don’t seem to care at your whereabouts at all.

students were filled to the brim in the living room, music still blasting as loud as ever at the quiet neighborhood.

“yikes, this place reeks of alcohol.” you pinched your nose with your fingers to lessen up the smell.

viktor is nowhere in sight, so that's good.

scaramouche winced at the loud music. “we should head out soon.”

you both walked over near the laundry room to get away from the mess.

“b-but! it's still so early, we should at least get a drink or two to not raise suspicions. viktor's gonna get furious of us!” you stammered.

“furious for what?” the said man suddenly appeared behind you out of nowhere, resulting in both of you and scaramouche jolting with widened eyes.

“o-oh! viktor, it's nice to see you!” you stuttered. “now how d'ya do?” you patted viktor’s shoulder, scaramouche internally cursing you for your bad acting.

“um... we've already met at the door an hour ago. but uh, i'm fine?”the brunette said questionably, confused with your sudden awkwardness.

“oh– yeah! sorry, it's the alcohol speaking. ah, this place is really blowing me up.” you fanned yourself with your hand to add on the lie, hoping that viktor buys it.

scaramouche scoffed. “yeah, sorry viktor. seems like this woman is too intoxicated. we'll be leaving soon.”

“sure, sure. i'll leave you two be. just enjoy this party while it lasts! it is your first party after all, wouldn’t want it to be disappointing now.”the tall man winked, heading to the kitchen to leave you guys alone.

“hah, intoxicated, my ass.” scaramouche chuckled, crossing his arms and looking at your clearly sober form.

“shut up! let’s just get a drink or two and head back to update this on childe.” you rolled your eyes, grabbing a clean red plastic cup and heading to where the drinks were served.

you groaned.

“archons, what time is it...” you rubbed your eyes, whilst finding your phone that's nowhere to be found.

not being able to find it with your hand, you opened your eyes.

where were you?

the unfamiliar room greets you, it's dull white walls and ceiling staring right back at your confused expression. you sat up, groaning from the pain on your back. archons, what were you even doing last night? and again, where the hell were you?

you took a moment to observe your surroundings. “where in the world am i– HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?!” you screamed, looking at the person sleeping on the bed beside you.

the person grumbled at your loud voice and sat up from their sleeping position. “why the hell is it so loud for- WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

you both looked at each other with widened eyes, staring right at each other's souls.

it was filled with hate, confusion, or anger, you don't even know yourself.

“what are you doing here?!” you both asked, well, yelled, at the same time. you don't understand why you both ended up on the same bed and in an unknown room.

“stop copying me!” you both yelled at the same time again, dissatisfied with each other.

“what the hell, woman. why are you in bed with me?!” scaramouche screeched, seemingly as shocked as you are right now.

“excuse me, why are you asking me?! i should be the one asking! you're the man here!” you exclaimed.

you shot your eyes to each other's clothes, in fear that you did something not very appropriate with the man beside you.

thank the archons that the both of you are fully clothed.

well, scaramouche had his windbreaker thrown somewhere in the room, but other than that, you two didn't do anything. you sighed out of relief.

scaramouche groaned, pinching his forehead with his fingers. “shit. my head's killing me.”

“same here...” you mumbled, looking out to the window. it looks like it's still morning, you thought.

trying to prove that you're right, you looked for your phone once again.

“what?” asked scaramouche.

“i'm trying to find my phone but i can't find it.”

“it's over here, at this nightstand.” scaramouche said, taking your phone from his side of the nightstand and handing it over to you.

you held out a hand to take it from him. “thanks.”

checking the time, you blinked, before widening your eyes. not believing at what you’re seeing, you closed your eyes and opened them once again. it’s still the same.

1:49 pm.

“it's already afternoon?! what the hell!” you yelled, scrambling to get out of the twisted sheets. you stopped yourself when you felt the pain on your back again.

you rubbed your back, hoping that it'd ease out the sores a little. “archons, what did i even do for my back to hurt like hell...”

you tried to rack out your brain in order to find the images of last night, but you can't seem to remember a single bit.

“i think we're still at viktor's frat house.” scaramouche concluded. he was observing the room and when you look at it, it does look like one of the rooms of the ginormous house.

“huh, i thought we went home.”

“well, we clearly didn't.”

“i know that, jackass. i'm not that stupid.”

scaramouche groaned once again. “there's no use in arguing. we need to get home.”

you checked your notifications on your phone.

huh, viktor messaged me, i wonder what that’s about, you ponder.

opening the notification, you read the messages viktor sent you.

viktor

you and ivan got too drunk and crashed in the middle of the party LMAO 2:18 am

i let you guys crash at the frat house

you two looked too drunk to drive home

no worries, everyone left. it’s just the two of you

i headed back to my dorm to leave you guys be

there’s a spare key i left on the counter in the kitchen

you can give it back to me on our next class

hope you guys had fun today!

you grumbled. great, now everyone’s gonna think were crazy drunkards.

you got out of bed, body and back still aching. you tried to stand up and walk bit struggled miserably, placing your hands on the nightstand as a support.

“you okay?” scaramouche asked, looking over at your form.

“ye- yeah, i'm fine. this is nothing.” you lied, wincing at your limping body.

“you're clearly not.” he said coldly.

you heard rustling from the bed sheets and a couple of seconds later, scaramouche appeared beside you.

circling his arm over your hips and taking your arm to wrap it around his neck, scaramouche helped you walk.

“wait.” said the ravenette, walking you two over at the empty desk a few steps away to retrieve his discarded windbreaker.

he released his arm to throw the windbreaker on you, and circled his arm back around your frame.

“thanks.” you mumbled.

“anything to get us out of here.”

“you stayed the night there... together? on the same bed?” childe almost spit out his coffee from the news, both amused and shocked.

“that's really not the point here, dude.” you crossed your arms, frowning at childe through the screen.

“i don't even remember what happened last night, probably 'cause i was too drunk. you don't remember anything too, right?” you asked scaramouche, turning your head over to him.

you both were sitting on the couch in the living room and on a call with childe once again to update on what you've got yesterday.

scaramouche was hesitant to answer, only ended up shaking his head instead of straight up answering you.

you wonder what that's about.

“sure you two don't remember, i totally buy that.” childe snickered, drinking up his coffee.

you glared at childe through the screen. after a moment, you realised he's not at the precint, given how he's currently at his house office instead of the usual busy precint.

“are you not at work?” you changed the subject, raising a brow.

“ah, no, i'm taking the day off. my parents dropped off teucer, tonia and anthon at my apartment because they needed to go on a short vacation, archons knows where they're going to now.” childe paused, seeming like he was looking at the door of his office in case his younger siblings come in.

“my older siblings are too busy with their own families so the responsibility falls on me, not that i don't mind. i get to spend more time with them! which is really good since i've been really busy these days.” childe added, putting up a small smile.

“say hi to them for me.” you said softly, remembering childe’s cute younger siblings. you haven’t seen them in quite awhile.

as if on sync, the three kids barged in childe's office and ran up to him. they all climbed up onhim and looked at you over the screen, making childe suffer at the back.

“look! it's y/n! hellooo!!” teucer greeted you first, grinning up at you through the screen.

“y/n!! hi!!!” it was anthon's turn to greet you, waving his hand happily at you.

“is that sir scaramouche? he doesn't look that good...” tonia said last, peering at scaramouche's scowling face at the screen.

you stifled a laugh. sir scaramouche? he definitely made those kids call him that.

“sir scaramouche is doing so good, right, sir scaramouche?” you teased, amusement lacing your voice at the form of address the children called him. it just doesn't sound right on him at all.

scaramouche frowned, staring daggers at you. “shut up. we're supposed to be talking about the case, not talking to children.”

you pouted. “you're a party pooper. they're great kids, you just don't see it.” you whispered at him, not wanting the kids to hear your conversation with scaramouche.

“okay, okay, off you go now. i need to talk to y/n and scaramouche about work. go and play at the living room, i'll order food for you three later.” childe said, picking the three up from his lap and putting them down on the floor.

after shooing them away, childe sat back on his chair. “where were we again?”

you pulled out your phone to show the picture you took last night at the party. “this pic. you've already got it from me yesterday right?” you asked.

“i did... but it's not enough evidence. for all we know it could be viktor's own blood. we'll need the sample to get the dna, do you mind heading back there and retrieve it?”

“are you out of your mind? that man's gonna notice a small patch of his carpet is gone, you idiot!” scaramouche cursed, crossing his arms.

you ignored scaramouche’s tantrum. “can it even still be tested? that blood could've been there for over a month, it might not be able to be identified if it's been that long.”

“it's worth a try. you two could find an alternative carpet or something to cover it up, or maybe just trim the blooded carpet and sample it. i'll have it sent to the lab once it gets here.” said childe, writing some notes on his book.

well, it won't hurt to try, you guessed.

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