#and I would rather not clutter up his tags

[incorrect-kkc-theories]

Sygaldry works because (much like in the two previous posts) all objects are semi sentient.

You see, the objects believe that the universe was written into being by the God (yes capital ‘g’ in this case) Tak. Therefore if something is written, He/She/They wrote it and it must be obeyed.

Unfortunately the objects have failed to realise three things: 1) Humans and Fae figured out writing ages ago, and it is no longer exclusive to Tak. 2) Tak is the Dwarven God in Discworld, therefore completely irrelevant to  Temerant (which, for those who don’t recall, was spun out of nothing by the words of Aleph) 3) Tak is a board game, played all around the 4 corners, and therefore cannot be God.

Master Kilvin, as well as many others, has realised this, but decided to not inform the objects as it would put him out of a job. 

[dollerinna]

WOULD YOU LIKE AN ALMOND JOY .ᐣ

( black noir x gn!crime analyst reader )

summary: after a long day of work, you try to unwind by watching your comfort show, but your solitude is interrupted by yet another visit from noir, who seems to be finding more and more excuses to spend time with you… (includes a C.AI bot as part 2 below!)

wordcount: 2k

tags: brief mention of NSFW pop-up ads, nerdy n’ socially awkward reader, noir’s disdain for almond joys but he makes up for it at the end <3

It had been a long day at the crime analytics office in Vought. As the sun began to set, exhaustion crept over you after reviewing incident report after report. Your eyes strained from the blue glare of your computer screen. You knew you had promised your boss you would organize the ever-growing database, but the tiny voice of procrastination was pleading for rest before your overworked brain turned into a pile of mush.

Rather than more paperwork—you, being the slacker of all slackers in this department, decided a well-deserved break was in order. And what better way to recharge than turning off the noggin and filling it with good ol’ fashioned mindless entertainment?

With a few tired clicks of your mouse, you booted up your go-to streaming site, which was none other than 123movies. Scrolling through the options, your cursor hovered over the play button of your favorite trashy drama. The kind of cheesy, perfectly predictable melodrama spun from the worst of amateur YA plots. It was practically comfort food for your fatigued mind, just what you needed to loosen up after the mental marathon that was this long day.

As the opening credits began to roll, your computer began to whir and hiss like an overtaxed engine, emitting gusts of unusually hot air from the vents. Suddenly, its screen slowed to a sluggish crawl, cluttered with a barrage of not-so-savory pop-up ads. Barely a minute in, the pixels already scrambled to form images better to left unseen—half naked women in risqué yet tacky mermaid-like attire, claiming they were ‘just around the corner and ready for a good aquatic fuck.’

First of all, what the absolute living hell is an “aquatic fuck”??

Did you even want to know? And most importantly, what happened to the ad blocker you installed just the other day? Judging by the contents, you had a sneaking suspicion that slimy, sea-dwelling degenerate, The Deep, had tampered with your computer… yet again.

“For the love of-… what’s with all these pop-up ads?” you muttered under your breath as excessively explicit ads crowded out the episode. Your eyes darted furtively around the room to check for wandering glances, hoping against hope that none of your coworkers had noticed the unwanted filth invading your screen. Heart pounding, you squeezed your chair closer to your monitor into a makeshift barricade, shielding the display as best you could while hastily clicking away at the intrusive ads.

As you hurriedly closed the remaining windows, an ominous shadow fell across the screen. Dreading what—or who—might be behind you, you slowly swiveled your chair around to find Black Noir's stoic stare boring into your own.

You stifled a yelp as you instinctively clutched the armrests, catching yourself on the edge of your seat before an ungainly spill to the floor. Noir had a way of materializing without warning, and it never failed to unnerve.

“N-Noir!” you managed, inwardly cringing as your voice broke on his name. “Fancy seeing you in these parts. I was just taking a quick break and y’know- stretching ‘em brain cells.” You tried for a lighthearted chuckle, but it emerged as more of a strained squeak that faded into an anxious hum.

With a jerky flurry of clicks and the browser minimized from view, whatever dignity you still retained disappearing along with it. All that did remain was you praying to the heavens above that he hadn't noticed its questionable contents (even if he most definitely had and simply chose not to comment)

When Noir offered no response, you of course charmingly barreled ahead in your frazzled daze. “But anyways, s-sorry about that… how uh, can I help you today?” your words tumbled out in a breathless rush, punctuated by a shrill laugh you hoped disguised the mortification simmering beneath.

Noir cocked his head, observing you with that same silent intensity. You fidgeted, hands twisting in knotted discomfort, the heat in your ears now engulfing your entire face. Was it the invasive pop-ups that had you squirming in your seat? Or the fact he could snuff out your existence faster than you can say “workers’ comp”?

Either way, beneath the weight of his stare, you already felt as if you were some peculiar, freakish creature pinned for study, rather than some bumbling employee just trying to unwind and watch their comfort show.

And to him, you indeed were a fascinating, bizarre little human.

Mercifully, Noir chose to extend a folder toward you, putting an end to your somewhat pathetic withering. You accepted it with a wordless nod, nearly sagging in your chair as tension drained from your shoulders.

Whirling towards the familiar clutter of your desk once more, you pretended absorption in the folder’s material, hoping this signaled Noir’s leave. After all, has anyone seen the state of you? It certainly wasn’t a flattering one. Yet from the corner of your eye, you detected no movement, no receding footsteps—his shadowy form remained statuesquely in place.

Believe it or not, this has been becoming a thing, a growing habit of late—and a suspicious one at that. Lately his breaks had grown longer, minutes lengthening to quarters of an hour, all spent hovering at your desk as you worked. However, his focus was solely on watching and observing you. He never exhibited a hint of thought or motive for his reason there, only leaving you with questions that seemed to multiply by each and every visit.

Noir, on the other hand, was somehow utterly convinced that you and him were two peas in a tightly-knit pod. He swore you two were best of buds for life—even if "life" so far had only amounted to the past two weeks' worth of half-hour stretches where he silently observed your work from the corner.

Ironically, you didn’t have the slightest inkling of how he really felt. Instead, you always assumed that he, like most supes, regarded you as little more than a puny mortal—a fragile, near-useless sack of flesh and bones whose skull he was one misstep away from caving in with bare hands.

But nope, Noir was simply here to bless you, the nerdy but cute crime analyst, with his presence—his rather… unsettling presence.

The familiar hush settled as you reluctantly returned focus to the task at hand. Hocus-pocus-focus, you chanted mentally, peeling away the last shreds of stray thoughts to tap into the zone of productivity. Unfurling the dossier Noir provided, you began sifting through documents for insight on his purpose in approaching you. Meanwhile, a flick of movement in the edge of your vision revealed Noir's attention veer off course, the almond joy perched beside your keyboard capturing his notice.

You tensed, hocus-pocus-focus breaking, all too aware of past disappearances of snacks in these briefings. Sure enough, his hand drifted noiselessly toward the candy bar, no doubt spurred by ingrained impulse to dispose of it per his usual custom. But you'd grown wise to his methods by now.

Not again, you sighed inwardly, snatching the almond joy and cradling it protectively as if it were your dear, beloved child.

Noir made no move to withdraw, palm outstretched expectantly. You frowned, struggling to keep frustration at bay. "Please, come on- not this time!.. It's my last one for the day." Brows pinching, your tone threatened to rise before steadying with a slow and calm inhale. No use losing composure over candy, no matter the principle. So all you could do was peer beseechingly at Noir in silent appeal, legs jittering restlessly under your desk in building apprehension.

Unfortunately, you found no signs of leniency in his obscured face—only his hand beckoning relentlessly for the almond joy. You plea was once again met with stony resolve, as if he was internally distressed by the mere presence of it. What was he? Deathly allergic to almond joys or something?

With a resigned breath, you delivered the almond joy towards Noir's waiting glove, unable to hide the disappointment dimming your features. Your lips curled into a slight pout, gaze sinking heavy into your lap at being parted from the treat. Though Noir was never one for words, it really didn’t take a rocket scientist to see you felt bullied into submission by his demands. At the end of the day, what power did a measly analyst like yourself hold against one of the Seven? As your fingers uncurled, releasing the candy into Noir's grasp, you couldn't help but feel a bit put upon, even if that wasn’t his intention at all.

Noir was well aware of the upset feelings his request had caused, so in an attempt to remedy the situation, his arm was sent in a backwards reach for the notepad he often used to communicate. However, he found himself at a loss as words eluded him, his thoughts swirling in frustrating circles of “What should I even say?”—muddled and incoherent. For a moment he stared at you, mask betraying no emotion as he grappled to find the right words, despite the prick of guilt nibbling at his conscience. Then, lacking any better option, he simply tossed the offending candy into the trash, perhaps with more force than intended.

Clearly, socializing was not Noir’s strong suit.

With no further acknowledgment, Noir spun on his heel and marched away. You watched his retreating, rigid form with discomfort clenching your insides, eyes falling onto the lonely candy discarded in the trash, its colorful wrapper mocking your current disheartened state.

Wearily, you turned away from the almond joy, redirecting your attention toward the computer as a means to divert your now soured mood. Maximizing the browser, you hoped that your planned show may have had time to load during the interaction. But upon inspecting the screen, you found the video remained stubbornly stalled, stuck on buffering dots and refusing to roll despite the minutes passed.

Just. Peachy.

One (super)human encounter had sucked the very life source out of your dog-tired body, and now this. It was really shaping up to be one of those days.

Thoroughly worn out, you gently laid your head down onto the desk, pillowing it against the crook of your folded arms as eyelids slid shut. All you craved was to simply sleep away the remaining time until you could finally escape this wretched shift and retreat to the sanctuary of your home sweet home.

─────────────────

As your shift wound down to its end, you were finally stirring from your slumber. Rubbing the sleep from your bleary eyes, your blurred vision sharpened to show your colleagues had long since departed while you were snoozing away.

Rising and squaring your shoulders, you began to gather your belongings in preparation to leave as well. Once you had collected everything and lifted to your feet, something in the far corner of your desk caught your eye. Approaching for a closer look in the dim lighting, the fuzzy outline gradually came into focus—a cluttered collection of Hershey's Kisses, their jumbled placement grouped to form the shape of a heart.

You blinked in bewilderment, rubbing your eyes once more to ensure you weren't imagining things. Stepping closer, you spotted a sticky note nestled within the heart of chocolates, scrawled upon in a crude, blocky hand. At first, you assumed it was some silly prank from one of your coworkers, but you knew you recognized the handwriting anywhere—it was Noir's.

Gingerly, you plucked the sticky note from the desk, lifting it to your line of sight to read the message. “Kisses taste better than almond joys…Sorry.” you read softly, your voice trailing off as confusion crept in.

Designed as a very apparent flirty gesture, the intent behind the note and chocolates still managed to whoosh straight over your head. As always seemed the case, even the most painfully obvious social cues could so easily evade your understanding—this proving no exception.

You slipped the sticky note into your pocket, then selected a foil-wrapped Kiss from the pile. Gently rolling the chocolate between your fingers, you unwrapped it and popped one into your mouth. You took time to savor its light cream filling beneath a smooth outer shell, face crinkling in thought and head tilting as you considered your verdict. “Eh… I’d beg to differ.” you mused with a shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you took your leave from the office.

-------☆-------

Pssst- likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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a C.AI bot as your very own part 2 where you thank Noir the following day:

a/n: saw somewhere that kisses don’t contain nuts but then I also saw someone else say they actually do??? So let’s just pretend the kisses Noir chose are completely nut-free for the sake of the plot 😭

also, the reader is very much based off Anika if it wasn’t obvious enough haha! She’s so y/n coded 😤💗

♡ divider credits: @/ianrkives

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧸 Beary soon 🧸

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, June 2024 edition

Prompt: stuff, 483 words

Rated: G

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Recovery; Mutual pining; Tooth-rotting fuff

“Careful,” Eddie says as Steve sweeps a horde of tiny demons off the desk. “They're delicate.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve gripes. His arms are sore from carrying boxes and his head hurts. “How about you pack them yourself?”

“I’d love to,” Eddie grins obnoxiously. It tugs on the bandage covering his jaw, where the bats almost tore out his throat. “But alas, I’m under strict orders to rest.”

He settles against the headboard of his bed and winces as the movement pulls on his stitches.

“So you’d rather watch me work my ass off?”

“Exactly, big boy.” Eddie winks at him, and Steve feels himself flush for reasons he’s been refusing to examine ever since the spring break from hell. “Now go. If you can’t handle them with the appropriate care, I’ll get Henderson to do it. Carry those out to the van.”

He gestures at another pile of boxes, like a king giving orders, and returns to his comic book.

While he lugs the first box outside, Steve silently marvels at how much stuff the Munsons have in their tiny trailer. At least the new one is a little bigger, so hopefully it’ll look marginally less cluttered.

He's on the porch steps when the box tears. Books and random trinkets scatter in the grass. Steve swears and drops to his knees.

A shoebox is in the dirt, lid half open. It's labeled PRIVATE in big, black letters.

Maybe, Steve thinks later, he should've looked away. But he's tired and annoyed, and he figures one look at Eddie's stash of titty magazines won't kill either of them.

There's no titties in the box. What greets him instead is his own face, eyes closed, features limp. A polaroid of him, asleep by Eddie’s hospital bed. One of the kids must've taken it, given it to Eddie after he woke up.

There's more.

Wrappers from the candy he snuck in when Eddie wouldn't stop whining about the hospital food.

The card and little stuffed bear Dustin insisted he buy from the gift shop, because everyone was supposed to get Eddie something. The bear is wearing a tiny shirt. It says Get well beary soon. Steve frowns. Why would Eddie keep a secret box full of worthless junk he gave him, like some schoolgirl with a-

…

Oh.

“Stevie?” Eddie hollers from inside. “Are you still alive? Do you need me-?”

“No!” Steve yelps. He drops the bear as if singed, then crams everything back into the shoebox, slamming the lid shut so hard the cardboard dents. “I mean … stay where you are, you're supposed to be resting.”

“I'd rest a lot easier if you weren't smashing my stuff left and right,” Eddie grumbles. “But whatever you say.”

Steve's head feels light and tingly as he carries the shoebox over to the van.

Looks like he'll need to have a talk with Eddie soon. Beary soon, preferably.

[raven-awed]

What He Noticed First part 2

Ominis Gaunt x fem reader/MC

Angst/fluffy

Summary: Ominis finds himself dealing with a lot of complicated feelings, especially when he realizes he has a crush on the new fifth year.

A/n: Thank you everyone who read part 1! I was not expecting so much support/interest. Thank you @minichrismd for the help! This part is written from the reader’s/MC’s perspective and is fluffier with a happy ending. Enjoy! ☺️ tags: @rascal-20 @stuck-on-writing

*not my picture

Your head tilted to the side as you watched Ominis march off into the dark corridor. You considered chasing after him, but with the way he’s been avoiding you lately, you worried that your presence would only upset him further.

Ominis has never been what anyone would consider open, especially not with you, he seemed to keep all his feelings and thoughts bottled up. Very rarely he’d share what was going on in his head when the two of you would talk.

He always was the one to ask questions, constantly curious about you, but oblivious that you were just as curious about him.

You had hoped becoming closer friends with Sebastian would also bring you closer to Ominis. The way Sebastian talked about their friendship, their secrets, their bond, the more you wanted to become part of that world, their world.

When Sebastian spoke tonight of their time in The Undercroft, you imagined yourself experiencing something similar with them, even if it was just simply sneaking away to practice spells or play Gobstones.

With a long sigh, you slowly walked towards the common room.

The school year had just begun and already things were getting rather complicated, not that you were expecting anything to be easy after learning that you can see ancient magic, but boy troubles should’ve been the least of your worries.

Over the next few days, you focused on school work and completing the first task presented by Professor Rakham.

Ominis had continued to keep his distance, taking a different seat in every class. You weren’t sure how he seemed to know exactly where you were, even when you were as silent as a mouse.

One morning, you received an owl from Professor Weasley asking you to meet with her for an assignment. As you paced around in the hall, you thought about what she had in her letter.

You froze, wide eyed, when a grand door with an intricate design materialized out of nowhere.

“What’s this?” You mused.

“Already found it, I see,” Professor Weasley smiled as she joined you. “This is the room of requirement. Seldom few seem to find it.”

Another secret room, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the vast and cluttered space. Hogwarts truly was full of surprises it seemed.

Professor Weasley shared her story about how she and a house elf named Deeks discovered the room while she was in school. She had decided to share it with you, so you could use it as a place to study and catch up with your class work.

She advised you to close your eyes and that the room would become exactly what you needed.

When you opened your eyes, you gasped. The room that formed around you was incredible, the high ceilings, the beautiful details and designs, it was all absolutely stunning. It was literally something out of your very dreams.

Standing in the center, you slowly turned taking in all the details. Already you were feeling giddy about spending hours here honing your skills.

You paused as one of the paintings caught your attention. Your face began to burn as you spotted a familiar face amongst the random paintings and portraits. Hanging in the middle of the wall was a portrait of Ominis, his head resting on his hand. From the expression on his face, it seemed as though he was in deep thought.

You quickly glanced at Professor Weasley, who fortunately hadn’t noticed the portrait and instead was busy chatting Deeks.

“Why are you here?” You whispered to yourself. It was puzzling that there would be a painting of him, while the rest were of random wizards and witches.

Moving closer to it, you studied Ominis’s face. The image had captured every little freckle and beauty mark of his. You almost felt like you could reach out and touch him. He closed his eyes and a small serene smile formed on his face that made your heart flutter, but under your fingertips all you felt was canvas.

You missed him.

Perhaps that’s why, being near him again was one of the things you were longing for the most, this was likely the room’s way of making that happen.

As Professor Weasley approached you to start your lessons on Transfiguration, the Ominis in the painting wisely slipped away, saving you from any sort of embarrassment.

“Ready to begin,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

…

The following day, you found a seat in the back row behind Ominis who was all the way in the front. You stared ahead, watching him. A couple of weeks ago he would’ve saved the seat next to him. It bothered you more than you cared to admit.

“You should count your lucky stars, he's blind,” Sebastian muttered, taking the vacant seat next to you.

You gave him an irritated look, before returning your attention to Ominis.

“Honestly, it’s pathetic watching you pine for him,” he explained. “The whole school is going to know about it before he does.”

You groaned, shrinking in your seat, were you really that obvious?

“Go talk to him,” Seb urged.

“We haven’t talked since that night outside at the Undercroft,” you whispered as Professor Weasley slowly walked past you and Sebastian. “I think he’s still mad at me.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “His bark is worse than his bite, trust me. Underneath it all, he’s quite forgiving.”

You sighed, hoping Sebastian was right about that. You continued to stare at the back of Ominis’s head, trying to figure out how to mend things with him.

Suddenly, Seb started chuckling, his body shaking slightly beside you as he tried to contain himself.

“What’s gotten into you now?” You pressed.

“Just occurred to me that you probably wouldn’t mind if he did bite you,” He teased.

“Ugh,” you scoffed disgustedly, giving him a playful shove with your elbow. You must have pushed him harder than you meant to because he lost his balance and fell backwards out of his seat.

“Mr. Sallow,” Professor Weasley reprimanded. “Having trouble staying in your seat again?”

A few students giggled as Sebastian stood up and dusted himself off. “Sorry, Professor.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Ominis turned in his seat slightly, wondering what was going on in the back of the classroom with Sebastian. You really were pathetic, you thought to yourself.

Back in the Room of Requirement, you tended to your Mallowsweet plant as you worried about your predicament with Ominis.

Sebastian was right about a few things this afternoon, one being your attraction to Ominis and the other being that you needed to talk to him. However, that was easier said than done. You weren’t even sure right now if he’d be willing to hear you out.

You glanced over your shoulder at his portrait, the Ominis in the painting was resting his head on his folded arms, taking a nap. His hair was adorably disheveled as he slept. You wished you could brush back the strands hanging in his face.

You had to do something, you didn’t want things to continue down this trajectory, but the only way to fix any of this mess was to do something, anything.

Your best bet would be asking Sebastian for help. He’d be the one who could convince Ominis to at least meet with you. You’d figure out the rest.

…

You played with the sleeves of your robe as you waited for Ominis in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

A cool autumn breeze rustled the leaves of the trees as it passed. Several other students were out enjoying the mild weather, sitting around the fountain reading books and chatting.

You had stayed up all night imagining how this could go. You thought about what you would say, what he would say. You hoped for the best, but expected the worst, heartbreak.

You took in a deep breath as you saw Ominis. As usual he was hard to read, his expression remained blank as he headed towards you.

“Hello Ominis,” you said.

He hesitated with his response as a wave of vanilla carried by the wind greeted him too.

“Y/n,” he finally replied, his lips pressing together in a tight line.

“Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Sebastian was quite persistent on your behalf,” he muttered. “So what did you want to talk about?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

“I-“ you frowned, looking from side to side, there were too many people here. “I-I wanted to show you something.”

Ominis lifted a brow and gave you a questioning look. “Alright,” he agreed reluctantly. “Lead the way.”

You led him towards the direction of the Astronomy Tower. The walk was quiet, filled with tension, you still didn’t quite understand why he was being so cold to you.

Ominis furrowed his brow, wondering why you brought him to the middle of some random hall. “Why are we stopping here?”

Being blind meant that he had mesmerized Hogwarts’ entire floor plan, it took time, lots of time, but it was necessary.

“Just give it a moment,” you explained.

He perked up when he heard the wall beginning to shift and change. Reaching out, he felt wood instead of cold stone, his fingers tracing over the grain and patterns that had magically appeared down towards the handles.

Pushing the doors open, you followed Ominis inside. By the echo of yours and his footsteps, he could tell the space was large with a high ceiling.

“What is this place?” He asked, carefully moving about the room.

“The Room of Requirement,” you shared. “Not quite as secret as the Undercroft, but still relatively unknown to most.”

He nodded, taking it all in, he paused in front of your potions station, it smelled of leech juice. “Brewing Maxima potion?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’ve been using this space to catch up on class work.”

As Ominis continued his self guided tour, you tried to work up the nerve to tell him. It seemed so much easier when you thought of this plan yesterday, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“So,” Ominis started, turning towards you. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

“I- um-“ you sighed, frustrated. You want to lose this chance, but you were just sputtering like an idiot.

“Well what is-“

But before Ominis could finish his sentence, you pressed your lips to his. Your hands gripped the front of his robes and pulled him closer.

The kiss took Ominis by complete surprise. He didn’t exactly kiss back, but he didn’t stop you either. He was in such shock that his poor mind struggled to accept the fact that you were actually kissing him.

The kiss only lasted for a few seconds, before you slowly parted. Shyly, you looked at him. The expression on Ominis’s face was priceless, his eyes were wide, cheeks tinted pink, and his jaw was hanging open.

You rubbed the back of your neck, “Sorry, that’s not exactly what I had planned to do, but I was worried I’d lose my nerve.”

Ominis blinked, still processing the last few seconds. “What?”

“I like you,” you finally admitted. “A lot, and it’s been driving me crazy that you’re not-“

“You like me?” He repeated.

“I do,” you confirmed in a small voice.

Clearing his throat, Ominis smoothed out his robes and licked his lips nervously, “I like you too.”

He hated how childish and simple the words sounded, originally when he had planned to confess, he had a more eloquent speech prepared, but at least he finally confessed. And he couldn’t even begin to describe the relief he felt knowing you liked him too.

Cautiously, he reached out, fingers extended as he tried to find your face. He swallowed thickly, as the pad of his index finger brushed over your lips.

His touch was so light that it made you shiver. His hand traveled lower, palm resting on your neck. Ominis closed his eyes and tilted his head.

As he leaned forward, you met him the rest of the way. This kiss was slower, more tender. His lips were so soft and plush as they moved against yours.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” he murmured, with his eyes still closed. “I was… I was jealous of how close you and Sebastian were becoming.”

Ominis buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply, drowning in the scent of vanilla. “I just want to be close to you.”

The next afternoon, you and Ominis walked into the Great Hall hand in hand. All morning the two of you had been attached at the hip. You had explained to Ominis that you both had to make up for lost time and he was happy to oblige.

“Ah, there’s the happy couple,” Sebastian greeted as you and Ominis sat across from him. “I believe I deserve some thanks for this,” his gaze drifted over to Ominis. “One of you is terribly stubborn.”

“More stubborn than you?” Ominis questioned. His hand remained clasped with yours during lunch. Both of you idly conversed with Sebastian and each other while you ate.

“I’ve got Herbology next,” Ominis pouted. “Dreadful subject.”

“Want to meet in The Undercroft after classes?” You asked, leaning close and whispering in his ear. Ominis smiled sweetly as he felt your breath tickling his ear.

“Of course,” he replied and then kissed your cheek.

“Ugh,” Sebastian scrunched his face in disgust and pushed his plate away with part of an unfinished sandwich, “Think I liked it better when the two of you weren’t talking.”

You kicked him under the table. “Maybe we should stop talking to you, then,” you joked.

“Go ahead,” he retorted. “Might spare me from having to hear and see all this lovey dovey nonsense.”

You laughed, “Didn’t know you were so easily offended, Sallow.”

Ominis shook his head, “he’s a real prude, no better than any of the professors.”

“Hey,” Sebastian shouted.

“Come on,” Ominis started, rising from his seat and offering you his hand again. “I’ll walk with you to your next class.”

Tag list: @rascal-20

[peacefulpianist]

The Green Dress

Loki x Fem. Reader (no y/n)

Wow hi everyone, I can't say I ever thought I would be doing this, but I've written something! I've been an avid reader for a few years now and have finally convinced myself to give it a shot. Any constructive criticism is more than welcome, but please do bear in mind this is the first thing I've written since year 8 English that isn't an academic paper of sorts. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

I'm tagging a few members of the SAS who I think may like this? But if you want to be removed please do let me know - no hard feelings at all : @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @acidcasualties @muddyorbsblr @wheredafandomat @liminalpebble

Description: When Stark invites you last minute to one of his infamous parties, you've not got many options on hand to wear until Nat suggests you wear the green dress you had bought months ago. Perhaps it will be enough to inspire a certain god to finally make his move.

w/c: 4.2k whoops I didn't intend for it to be nearly this long

My Masterlist

“How many times do I need to tell you that you absolutely can not do that Stark!” You exclaimed in exasperation over the cluttered lab table once more.

“But if I just ignored that little thing-” the glare you sent from over the top of your glasses quickly shut his remark down before it could continue any further. Looking contrite, but rather worryingly still determined, Stark pushed back from the table, going slightly further than expected in his chair and trying to style it out as intentional as he almost collided into several rather important projects. 

“Well since you’ve thoroughly pooped on that party Brainiac, I’m declaring we call it a day here, and hey speaking of parties, you are coming later aren’t you?” He asked whilst trying not to fall of his chair and catching a rather dangerous looking item falling off one of the nearby tables he had knocked into. 

A wave of panic washed through you at the mention of the event later; you had been hoping that as no one had specifically invited you to it, only mentioned it in passing, that you would be able to give it a miss unnoticed. It wasn’t that you disliked Starks events or even parties in general, you just happened to be aware of who else would be there and definitely couldn’t trust yourself to keep up a front with the copious alcohol that would no doubt find its way into your system. Not that you were totally innocent in how it found its way there. You had been hoping to avoid a direct invitation like this, purely because you had a real issue saying no to people, especially those you liked and admired. It was because of this, and only this - not the fact you would get to see Loki in one of his impeccably tailored suits again as a helpful voice in your head supplied, that you found yourself blurting out the following. 

“Uh yeah sure, of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world boss!” 

You had hoped that it had come out in a convincing tone, but the slight frown emerging on Starks face said otherwise. However, as quick as it had appeared on his face it was gone, replaced by a trademark smile as he slapped his thighs and stood.

“Well then, you better be off to prepare and polish your elbows, or whatever it is you ladies manage to do to fill so much time getting ready before these events,” his face quickly faltered after realising what he had actually just said and quickly followed up with “not saying of course that it isn’t absolutely worth it, especially if Pepper asks”. 

In an effort to allow Tony to leave the interaction without digging himself an even deeper hole, you stood too, gathering your bag as you went, giving a slightly awkward wave over your shoulder as you walked out the door. 

It was only when you made it back to your room upstairs that you fully understood what you had actually agreed to. Not only were you going to have to be in the same room as Loki, desperately trying to hide your feelings towards him, whilst watching him flirt with practically everyone in attendance, but also work out what the hell you were going to wear to a party at such short notice. Unlike many of the other inhabitants of the tower, your wardrobe wasn’t exactly equipped for these kinds of events. You had always preferred to skip out on anything that required this level of formal wear, the comfort of your staple jeans and a hoody was something you had always chosen over the tighter fitting, more formal attire required at Stark’s parties. 

In a somewhat unhelpful move, you decided that putting off the outfit dilemma was the best course of action, as a frantic full-body shower was needed, and of course there was no point choosing an outfit before you’d done your hair and makeup after the shower as well. You had told yourself that the outfit choices could be mulled over during this time as well, but realistically knew that you were just lying to yourself and would inevitably put it off until the last moment. 

A frantic search of your wardrobe, which involved many an outfit being taken out, only to be thrown into the rejection pile on the floor moments later, left you coming up short and in the middle of a ring of discarded outfits whilst still in just your towel. You sank to the floor, just staring despondently at the chaos around you, contemplating whether Tony would actually notice if you didn’t go after all. 

It was in that state exactly that Nat found you minutes later after she had knocked, not waited for an answer and entered anyway, only to stop in her tracks and abandon whatever purpose she had come with upon seeing you in such a state. 

“Well that outfit is sure to grab everyone’s attention, not what I would choose personally but good for you girl!” Nat said with a smirk, leaning on your doorframe.

“Don’t even start with that right now, I wasn’t planning on going to this until and hour ago, and I appear to have greatly underestimated my wardrobe deficiencies. Some actual help right now would be greatly appreciated.” Your reply came from the floor, all hope of being able to avoid Stark’s shindig fading with the sound of the door closing behind Natasha. 

“I’m sure your so called deficiency isn’t nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be,” her voice somewhat muffled as she rooted through what was left of your clothes in you’re wardrobe. 

“I mean look right here, what was wrong with this option, it’s even green, perfect to catch you-know-who’s attention!” The smile on her face dropped when she turned to face you, brandishing the green dress you had bought months ago on a whim when out with some friends, only to realise you would never be comfortable enough to wear it out in public when you had tried it on at home later that evening. 

“Woah, what’s so wrong with this one that it makes you pull that face? It’s a stunning dress I can’t see what you could possibly have against this one, its perfect for tonight.” Nat questioned with a confused frown, after seeing the vehement refusal on your face at the suggestion. 

“It is a beautiful dress, just not on me, I don’t-” before you could even finish the thought, Nat had pulled you up, and was pushing you quite forcefully back towards the bathroom, throwing you in there along with the dress and your raciest, laciest underwear that you hadn’t even seen her grab.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response, you should know better than to speak like that about one of my closest friends by now, by the time I’m back after getting changed myself, I want you wearing that dress so I can prove to you how wrong you are when you see everyone’s faces when we walk in later” Nate reply was somewhat muffled behind the bathroom door, but the fierceness, and her love for you, was still conveyed perfectly through the wood. 

“Besides if it truly makes you feel that bad after wearing it tonight, we’ll burn it together tomorrow, I’m not having you keeping it if its going to make you feel this way whenever you see it.” The finality in her tone and promise of being able to get rid of the thing tomorrow was enough to get you to follow her orders, that alongside the fact that you were still rather scared of her, even after having been friends with her for a few years now. 

With Natasha momentarily gone, it gave you the chance to ruminate in your thoughts, the dress was truly stunning, a deep emerald green that displayed your decolletage beautifully, with a daring slit from ankle to high up on your thigh. While you could see that the dress itself was objectively great, when it was you wearing it, it didn’t seem that way anymore. Instead of being able to focus on all of the ways it could highlight your beauty, all you could see was the way the closer fit of the dress clung to your stomach slightly, and how the slit showed off your thighs, and just seemed to emphasise how big they were. 

It was in this downward spiral that Nat found you in upon her return, a frown once again set on her face as when she saw the malice behind your eyes, directed solely at yourself. 

The way you could only ever focus on the parts of yourself that you saw as problems had always hurt Natasha, and how it impacted the way you behaved as well. It wasn’t just a matter of wearing baggier clothes that covered your insecurities, but the way you let it decide where you belonged socially. She was intimately familiar with your growing feelings towards a certain god of mischief who had taken up residence in the tower little over a year earlier, but also with your pessimistic view towards your chances of the feelings being reciprocated. Ever since you had realised that your feelings were more than that of just friendship you had immediately resigned yourself to remaining in the friend zone, refusing to believe that he would ever see you as something more because “he’s a god and I’m, well, I mean just look at me.” Nat had tried countless times to reassure you that the way you saw yourself, was not in fact the way others saw you, but had also at this point come to the understanding that your self perception wasn’t based in logic, and reasoning as such wasn’t going to make enough of an impact to change how you saw yourself. 

It was with this in mind that she approached you, an arm reaching round you and pulling you into her side for a hug, while smiling at you in the mirror, before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your room and to the party on the floor above. 

Your outfit dilemma had delayed the two of you a little, so when you arrived upstairs, the party was already in full swing; with music blaring and alcohol clearly flowing freely if the state that some of the guests were in already was any indication. As such you were easily able to slip in behind Natasha unnoticed, before heading straight over to the bar, feeling the need to indulge a little more than normal tonight. 

From your vantage point at the bar up on the mezzanine, you could see almost all of the goings on down below you, from Lang absolutely busting it up on the dance floor to Tony trailing around after Pepper, seemingly trying to make up for something that was undoubtedly his fault, but wasn’t actually remorseful for. Unfortunately it also meant that you had the perfect view of Loki and his apparent flavour of the night. Despite knowing how unproductive it was, you found yourself comparing yourself to her, noting all the ways she was traditionally attractive, only to seemingly find yourself lacking in the same places in comparison. Even though you had accepted months ago that Loki was never going to reciprocate your feelings, and having desperately tried to allocate him into the friend box in your head unsuccessfully, it still hurt deeply to see him so close with other women, knowing what he would be doing with them that night, only to move on to the next when it suited him. 

This knowledge had one advantage for you though, it had made it much easier for you to become friends with the god. As you knew nothing romantic was ever going to happen between the two of you, you had found it that much easier to relax and joke around him, even going as far to return his flirty remarks, as there was no pressure behind it for you, and the potential embarrassment behind behaving more boldly was removed. Since he flirted with everyone that way, it obviously didn’t mean anything to him, so it made it much easier for you to jokingly flirt back. It was because of this new found confidence, that you had struck up a strong friendship with the god and had come to call him one of your closest friends. It had only added to your mental torture.

After a few more self indulgent moments, agonising a little more over what could have been you turned to the bartender, and took another drink with a polite thanks and a smile before deciding that even if you did still regret coming, and especially wearing the dress, you were going to make the most of the evening. Besides how many people could say they got to drink and dance with the avengers, who they were friends with. 

It was with this new found resilience that you stood from your place and made your way down to the dance floor, having caught Nat and Wanda’s eyes before and been summoned. 

The next few hours passes in a slight blur of laughter and dancing for you, after a few, chaotic but incredibly fun dances with Nat and Wanda some of the other men began to join in, requesting a dance with you. Between the fun of teaching Steve how people actually danced in clubs now alongside Nat, and Bucky whirling you round the floor like an absolute professional - after complementing your outfit for the evening with an all too knowing look, you had almost forgotten about your preconceptions for the evening, but whenever you danced with one of the men, however gracious and smooth they were, you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were Loki instead of them; comparing the feel of their hand on your back to what you had imagined Loki’s would be like if he were there instead. 

Just when you were about to take a break from dancing, a slightly cooler hand came to rest on your back, as its owner leant down to speak into your ear over the music.

“Darling, I think its about time we show them how its really done don’t you?”

The feeling of his breath over your neck as he leant in closer sent a jolt down your spine, that you were almost certain he must have felt in his hand, still placed firmly in the middle of your back, exactly where you had imagined it being all night. 

Quickly composing yourself, you managed a somewhat natural reply, rather impressed with your own neurones for still being able to function at least somewhat normally whilst Loki was so close to you, having not moved away under the pretence of needing to be closer to be able to hear you over the music.

“Ah of course your majesty, I’m sure us mere mortals couldn’t possibly live up to the prowess of a god”

His low reply was barely heard over the thumping of the bass, in a way that made you question whether he had actually intended for your to hear it, if it wasn’t for the sly wink he sent towards you after.

“Yes I find that is the case in many areas darling, especially when it comes to moving their bodies”

The raised eyebrow you gave in reply expressed all you needed him to know, and covered for the fact that your mind had been sent in a downward spiral imagining his trademark snake hips dance move, in areas other than the dance floor. 

Whilst you were somewhat distracted in your thoughts, he moved the hand from your back to loop his arm round your waist and bring you back into the middle of the dance floor, beginning to sensually move his hips and draw you into to him to do the same. 

What you didn’t know was that Loki and been subtly watching you all evening, ever since you had walked in the door, many may not have noticed your entrance behind the Black Widow, but at this point Loki’s body was finely attuned to your presence and he hadn’t been able to draw his sight away from you for more than a few seconds at a time. You were wearing his colours. His green. But it wasn’t just your choice in attire tonight that had drawn his attention, as delightful as that dress was, you’d had it for many months before this point. Initially you had been a curiosity to Loki, kind to him when many others weren’t immediately following his return to Midgard, but after talking to you the first few times it was your intelligence that had captured Loki’s heart. He had found you to be one of the few midgardians to match his voracious appetite for knowledge, both in reading and in your chosen profession as a biologist working alongside Stark and Banner, but much less insufferable than the other two. 

When Loki had first come to terms with his interest in you, he had thought his subtle flirtations would be enough to alert you to his intentions, but when these failed to elicit any kind of response from you he had slowly become more and more bold with his innuendoes and flirtatious comments when in your presence. At first he had thought he was finally getting somewhere with you when you had began to match him in conversations, but when you made no sign of anything more, he had found himself stumped. At one point he had even stooped so low as to flirt with others in your presence in the hope that it would inspire enough jealously within you to reveal your feelings towards him, alas it did not work. No one had ever taken this long to fall victim to his seduction. He had admitted to himself that this time was different to his previous experiences as truly desired more with you than just a roll in the bed, not to say that did not also desire that with you, he had thought about that extensively, but he was not sure how to progress from here. 

When you had walked in tonight though, looking exquisite in his colours he had decided that enough was enough, tonight he was going to finally bite the bullet and just ask you outright if you would be with him. It was not a decision that he had come to lightly, but he had finally come to the realisation that if he wanted something to happen he was going to have to do something about it for himself. 

You didn’t know whether Loki had bribed the DJ before approaching you, or it was a shear unfortunate coincidence but as you continued dancing, each song seemed to get progressively dirtier and more sensual. This combined with finally dancing with him after having imagined it all night, the enticing smell of him from being in such close proximity, and the one or two drinks you’d had early were practically sending you into an early death.

Simultaneously Loki was experiencing a similar issue, when she wasn’t looking, Loki found his eyes being drawn from her face down to her chest, which with his height he had a fabulous view down, and combined with the lyrics and music he hands had seemingly began to move of his own accord and were veering dangerously further south. He decided he needed to do something soon, or he was going to have a very hard time of it.

As he leant down once again to speak into your ear, your breath hitched ever so slightly, and a faint flush bloomed across your cheeks- a fact that didn’t go entirely unnoticed by the god, and one that made his own pulse race. All hope that you felt the same way as him was not lost.

“Are you alright there darling? You’re looking awfully flushed. You’re not too warm in here are you?”

You had barely managed to stutter out what you could only imagine would have been a terrible excuse before he continued;

“Unless of course it is for the same reason as I.”

The hope that formed in your chest from the one sentence alone caused you to whip your head up, needing to search his gaze to see if he was really implying what you thought he was, surely he couldn’t be, there was no way that he could have felt the same way towards you as you did to him. Before you could continue with your self deprecation, he interrupted your thoughts once again;

“Now now darling stop that immediately, I can tell you are already overthinking this before I have even truly started. I do not know what it is that makes you doubt yourself so, but you must know that whatever it is I do not share that same belief.”

You held his breath as he said this, still not truly believing that this could be going where you wished it was, but not daring to do anything to break the spell just yet

“I was almost sure you would have known by now, but apparently I have not been clear enough in my appreciation or my advances towards you. I very much like you min elskling, you have well and truly captivated me heart and mind, body and soul. I would be honoured if you wished to court me, or as I believe you mortals say, go on a date with me” Loki finished with a release of breath, like saying all that had released a burden from upon his chest and he could finally breath deeply again now it was done.

You just stood there frozen in the middle of the dance floor, unsure if what you had heard was really happening, surely this was all some wonderful fever induced dream, and you were going to wake up face down on one of the desks in the lab any moment. 

However Loki was reading your silence as rejection, and the insecurities that he had previously pushed aside were starting to flood back.

“Of course darling, if you do not feel the same then, I would be more than happy to just remain as friends,” it was of course a lie, but one that he would guard closely if that were the case, as he would never want for you to feel guilty for making an honest decision, and would much rather keep your friendship than not have you in his life at all.

“And I can completely understand why of course if you do not return my feelings, after all with my heritage I know-” before he could finish his sentence though you had reached up and pulled his face down to your height, before promptly pushing your mouth onto his in a scorching kiss. In the time Loki had began to panic and ramble, it had finally registered what Loki had been saying, and that it was in fact real, so before he could spiral any further you had to display your feelings towards him, and this had seemed like the most direct course of action.

After a brief moment in which Loki’s brain had to catch up to what was actually going on right now, he swiftly took charge of the kiss, both of you melting into it, especially as Loki opened his mouth to let he tongue dance along your lips before slowly meeting your own. At the same time, Lokis hands began to wander more actively, finally sliding that last little distance down to your behind, which he grasped firmly before sliding one hand down to bring your leg up and round his hip, letting you feel exactly what you were doing to him. Your own hands had found their way into his silky hair, finally fulfilling the desire you had held for many months to feel what it was like between your fingers, and when you gave it a gentle tug in the passion of the moment, a low growl made its way up Lokis throat, only enticing you in further. 

It was only as a few wolf whistles broke through your bubble that you remembered exactly where you both were and that it was perhaps not the best place for what was clearly on its way to happening. It was with the same thought that Loki took your hand and began leading you out of the room, stopping only briefly first to growl lowly into your ear “we need to leave now darling, don’t you agree?” Before nipping your earlobe and pulling back to grin at you. 

With absolutely no objections, and no subtlety either, you nodded before taking the lead taking you both in the direction your room, before stopping to remember the state you had left it in before the party in your distress to find an outfit. You blushed at the memory and changed direction slightly to lead you both to his rooms instead. Loki however took no notice, or simply did not care for the slight moment of hesitation, as at this point he didn’t particularly care where you were headed as long as it was close by, you were finally his and now it was time for him to claim you as such. 

Part Two here:

Thank you so much for reading if you made it this far! Please do let me know what you think x

[dira333]

The way to a (wo)man's heart - Fukunaga x Reader

A/N: Don't ask me how I came up with this. Tagging @fuzztacular for reasons

If you saw the first version - no you don't.

You anxiously look over your shoulder as you push the apartment door open.

It’s not that you’re not allowed to be here, but it feels anything but okay to enter the apartment of a practical stranger when they’re not home.

The key had been under the doormat, just like Yamamoto had said. But your jacket is not in the Genkan as he had promised.

You curse silently under your breath and slip out of your shoes, racking your brain where Fukunaga could have deposited it. 

You’ve only been over once, on that godforsaken excuse of a date you went with Yamamoto over a month ago. Set up by a mutual friend you’d considered him cute and yourself lucky until his phone chimed in the middle of the two of you waiting for a table. 

“Oh!” He exclaimed, the boyish grin on his face making him look even more attractive, “Fukunaga just invited us over for Dinner! Come on, let’s go!”

He’d ushered you out of the Restaurant before you could fully grasp what was going on. By the time your brain caught on it was too late to back out again, or at least it felt that way.

-

The kitchen is cluttered with dirty dishes, a laundry basket with dirty clothes deposited on the kitchen table. Your jacket is nowhere to be seen. You don’t want to intrude any more than you have to, but you’re awfully fond of the garment and who knows when you’ll get it back.

Yamamoto’s gone for the week and while there had never been a second date, he’s become something like a friend, albeit a rather unreliable one.

You’re checking the living room when you hear it. Someone’s coughing and it’s the deep, awful sound that comes with being sick.

You freeze, hand halfway under the little Couch.

“Hello?” 

No response. You get up from the floor and tiptoe over to the only door you’ve never been through. It’s not fully closed and when you push it open, it gets stuck halfway, its path hindered by a jacket lying on the floor. You recognize the fabric immediately. It’s yours.

Another cough pulls your eyes back up. Fukunaga is curled up in bed, blanket on the floor, his face flushed from what you assume is a high fever, hair disheveled and slick with sweat. 

His sight pulls at your heart more than it should.

He’s practically a stranger after all, an unfortunate soul you only met because he didn’t think Yamamoto would bring his date over at the mere offer of Dinner and some games. 

-

“This is Fukunaga,” Yamamoto introduces you, slipping out of his shoes as he talks, passing the guy before you’re even halfway out of your jacket. “He invited us.”

Fukunaga blinks at you, clearly as confused as you. 

You haven’t forgotten your manners, moving forward to offer your hand in greeting. But your left foot catches on something and you stumble. Fukunaga barely manages to catch you by the shoulders before you go crashing into him.

His eyes are huge and there’s something about his face that makes him look like a kitten.

“We can’t have you falling for me,” he jokes and you can’t help but snort. His humor sets you at ease.

And it’s a nice evening, even if it’s not a date. 

Fukunaga’s Paella has your mouth watering, wishing for a stomach big enough to get a third helping. There’s Inuoka and Shibayama, Kenma and Kuroo, and no one seems to think it weird that you’re there too, sharing their food and demolishing them at Mario Kart. Although, to be fair, you’re only ever going second place. Kenma’s just too good. 

-

“Fukunaga?” You call out softly, unable to help yourself. “Are you okay?” 

He does not react. On his nightstand, you spot a thermometer and move to grab it. It won’t hurt to check on him. And you’re right. His fever is dangerously high.

With new determination, you return to the kitchen. The cough drops are almost empty but there’s still some ibuprofen. You fill a glass with water and return. 

It’s frightening how little Fukunaga pushes against you when you pull him into a sitting position. He blinks a little but shows no other reaction when you force him to swallow the medicine. Next, you wet a towel and place it on his burning head, your own cheeks heating up when he leans into your touch. 

You resolve to give the medicine half an hour to work its magic. If his fever doesn’t go down in that timeframe, you’ll have to get him to a doctor. You don’t have a car and you don’t want to think about having to drag him out of the apartment either, all approximately 70kg of him.

At first, you don’t dare to leave his side. He’s ghostly pale now and shivering even though you’ve tucked him back in. But sitting there with nothing else to do but letting your eyes wander does nothing good for your heart. It’s when you notice that his mouth is kinda cute, lips curled in like a kitten, that you force yourself to get up.

After all, the kitchen does not clean itself.

-

“Am I in heaven?” Fukunaga asks when you step back into his room half an hour later. His voice is raspy and he can barely keep his eyes open, but at least he’s awake now.

“Are you calling me an angel?” You ask, still a little surprised by his words. 

He blinks, eyes widening. “You’re not a dream?” He asks, confusion lacing his words. “Am I dead?”

You laugh, can’t help it. 

“No, idiot. But you’ve got a high fever. Let me check your temperature.”

Fukunaga moves, presses his temple against your hand as you move to reach for the thermometer. He’s still warm, though not burning hot. The touch, however, sends a shiver down your own back and you’re still fighting for words when he flops back down.

“What’s the verdict doctor?” He asks. He even tries to wiggle his eyebrows around, though they won’t do what he intends them to do.

“Well, my hands are a little rusty at measuring temperature. Let me check with technology instead.” You clear your throat awkwardly.

“Boo,” he makes and you can’t help but snort, immediately more at ease. He seems to have that effect on you.

“Your temperature went down but it’s still pretty high. And your medicine is almost empty. I’ll go out for a bit and bring back some things for you. Anything else that you need?”

“What’s your favorite food?” Fukunaga asks, eyes focused on the ceiling. You wonder if he’s seeing things like you did when you had high fevers as a child.

“Butter chicken, but that’s not really something you should eat right now.”

He still smacks his lips as if he’s tasting it right now. “Good choice.” And just like that, he closes his eyes and drifts off, not responding to any other question.

-

Fukunaga’s still sleeping when you get back. 

You change the wet towel before unloading your haul.

Maybe it’s the crinkling of plastic that wakes him or the smell of food, but he blinks sluggishly and his lips stretch into a smile that has your heart racing in a way it shouldn’t. 

“I smell Butter Chicken!” He teases and you look away, too flustered to be able to speak for a second.

You help him sit up in bed, two pillows for support. 

The chicken soup you got him is pushed aside when he spots the dish you got for yourself. 

Five minutes later you’re sharing the bowl, chopsticks fighting over the pieces of chicken. More than once you have mercy on him only for him to hold his chopsticks to your lips, telling you to “open wide” with a silly little grin. 

He falls back into the pillows as soon as the dish is devoured, closing his eyes with a childish pout when you put the soup back into his lap.

“Okay then,” you say with a sigh, “I’ll heat it up later.”

His eyes open again, dark pools of questions.

“You’re staying?” He asks and there’s something hiding in his words that you can’t explain.

“Sure,” you say, looking away in an effort to play it cool, “I don’t have anything to do anyway this weekend.”

-

Fukunaga sleeps through the day. You wake him up every hour or so to get him to drink some water or eat a few spoonfuls of soup, but otherwise it’s just you and the silence in his apartment. 

It would be easier if he was awake. If he was begging you to stay or giving you good reasons why you can’t leave.

But his fever is going down and his cough has turned less deep, less violent. Still, you leave your apartment after fifteen minutes with a fresh set of clothes and a toothbrush, unable to sit still when you feel like he needs you.

And he does, doesn’t he?

It’s in the way he leans into your touch when you help him up or how he smiles when you count out the drops of medicine for him. 

But when he’s fallen asleep again and there’s nothing but the Silence around you as you wipe the kitchen counter clean, you can’t help but recognise that you might be you who needs him. 

It’s in the way your fingers itch to move through his hair or how your eyes always get caught on his mouth. How your heartbeat stumbles when he smiles lazily or how your cheeks burn when he drops another silly joke.

You don’t sleep well on his pull-out Couch. Every few hours you wake up and listen for his breathing or get up to change the wet towel cooling down his still persistent, though low fever. It’s only around five that exhaustion pulls you under.

-

“So it’s really you,” Fukunaga’s voice is raspy but loud enough to pull you out of sleep.

You blink up at him, leaning against the doorway to the living room. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, sitting up quickly. His skin has gotten a bit more color over night but you wonder if he’s hunched over from lack of strength or something else.

“Why did you come over?” Fukunaga asks, ignoring your question. “I thought- Aren’t you dating Yamamoto?”

There’s something in his voice you can’t really place. You slip out of your makeshift bed and rush over, ready to catch him should he fall. The thought wakes a dormant memory.

“Can’t have you falling for me,” you joke and step under his left arm, pushing him up.

Fukunaga makes a sound halfway between a cough and a sob. He averts his eyes but you’re too close already and his body responds just like it has the day before, leaning into you like it’s meant to be.

“I’m not dating Yamamoto,” you tell him, your heart hammering in your throat, “There’s just something about ditching a date to hang out with friends that turned me off.” 

“Even if said friends make an amazing Paella?” Fukunaga asks as you help him move to the Couch to sit down. Your heart thunders on, makes you open your mouth and answer before you can take the words back, swallow them down, and bury them.

“If anything, said Paella would convince me to date said friends instead.” 

His head shoots up, almost knocking into your chin. 

“Really?” He asks, something vulnerable visible in his eyes.

“Really,” you admit before you can back out again.

Fukunaga’s lips turn into that smile you’ll probably never get tired of. 

“Well, they say that the way to a woman’s heart is through the stomach,” he points out and you snort. 

“I’m pretty sure the saying is about a man’s heart.”

“Hmm, maybe, but I could never say no to Butter Chicken anyway.”

You grin down at him. Even though nothing’s been said, everything’s been made clear.

Fukunaga’s stomach grumbles loudly and you snort again. 

“Way to ruin a moment,” you tease and watch him blush. “Breakfast?” You ask and he nods, slinging his arms around your neck as if to pull himself up. 

Instead, he pulls you down and presses his lips to yours. 

It’s only a quick peck, just the softest brush of his lips before he hides his face against the crook of your neck.

“Sorry,” he stammers, “I… I should take you out first, shouldn’t I?”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears.

You clear your throat, try your best to focus on what you want to say instead of the weight of his arms around.

“How about you get a quick shower and we go out for coffee? I hear your kitchen makes some decent snacks.”

When your eyes meet his, there’s a twinkle in them that lights a fire in you. 

You could be wrong, but you’re pretty sure you won’t get out of this house soon. Not that you mind...

- - -

“Something to drink?” You ask Lev as you put the diet coke in front of Kenma.

He reluctantly pulls away from his phone to give you an answer. You can’t fault him for that, though. You know how it is to be madly in love.

“Is Yamamoto not coming?” Kuroo asks from the Genkan, putting his shoes away. As usual he’s the last one to arrive, work keeping him busy.

“No, he’s on a date,” you answer first, dipping down to press a kiss onto Shōheis lips as you move past him to get more drinks. Your boyfriend’s focused on the Paella as usual but he breaks his focus just long enough to give you another kiss when you move past him again.

“And he’s not bringing her over? Shocker,” Kuroo jokes, winking at you when move back into the kitchen just so you can lean against Shōhei.

Yamamoto had been the most annoyed when you started dating, predicting that your “awful touchiness” would end soon because all newly formed couples fall out of their honeymoon phase eventually.

So far it’s been two years without his prediction coming true. 

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[steddieas-shegoes]

all i have

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt 'charm' rated: T wc: 548 cw: implied/referenced bad parent, referenced parental death tags: angst with a happy ending, canon-adjacent events, proposal

🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨

It was a stupid charm in the shape of an ice cream sundae, and it was all Eddie had to remind him of his mom.

His dad made sure to erase anything else.

When he went to live with Wayne at nine, the charm and his clothes were all he had to take with him.

He kept the charm in his pocket and by his bed when he slept.

He didn’t have a bracelet to put it on, and he didn’t want to risk anyone else seeing it and wanting it for themselves.

🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨

When Eddie was 20, he nearly died.

A small part of him believed in superstitions and knew it was because he’d forgotten to put the ice cream charm in his pocket before going into the Upside Down.

It was sitting on his bedside table, next to his lyric notebook and whatever other clutter he’d thrown on there when he was looking for what Chrissy needed.

But he was afraid to ask for someone to go get it.

He trusted Wayne more than any adult, but after so many years, would Wayne be hurt that he hid it from him?

The kids would ask questions, and he would feel like he owed them answers.

Robin would drop it somewhere, or maybe forget she had it and wash it in the pocket of her jeans.

That left Steve.

He'd been by his side for days now, making sure he had everything he needed, making sure Wayne got to take breaks, making sure he was being treated fairly by everyone.

Maybe Steve would do it.

He’d already done a lot of other things, no questions asked.

“Hey, Stevie?” Eddie figured the light blush that colored his cheeks when he called him that was the perfect way to butter him up for this favor.

“Hm?” Steve asked, looking up from the book he’d been trying to read for the last 20 minutes.

“Could you run to the trailer and grab something for me?”

“Do you want me to call Wayne?” Steve asked, setting the book aside.

“No, I’d rather you get it.”

Steve looked like he desperately wanted to ask more questions, but accepted the description of the charm and rough location and left

When he came back, he handed the charm to Eddie, who was doing all he could not to cry.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

“Anything, Eds. Just gotta ask.”

🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨🍨

At 24, Eddie was on one knee, looking up at his entire future, holding not a ring, but the charm he’d cherished for most of his life.

Steve looked down at him, brows furrowed, tears only held back because of his confusion.

“I have a ring too, but this is more important to me. This charm is all I have left of my mom. We used to get ice cream sundaes together anytime we managed to slip a few dollars from my dad’s wallet when he was passed out. She had this charm on her bracelet for years and when she died I made sure to take it.” Eddie sniffled. “She would have loved getting ice cream sundaes with you.”

“Eds,” Steve’s tears were falling rapidly now.

“Will you be my ice cream sundae partner for the rest of our lives?”

“Yes. Anything, Eds. I’m glad you asked.”

[carnivalteller]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘

billy loomis/reader/stu macher

summary: you’re exploring new relationships after a rough breakup with one of the more ‘popular’ boys.

tags: arguments, jealousy, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, eventually making up, protective billy and stu, small fights, toxic ex boyfriends, brooke and emma are good friends

recap: Billy digests his best friend’s words. Sidney, or the two people that provide him with shelter when his asswipe dad and deadbeat mom throw him out, the people who hold him and laugh with him… the people he’s grown to care for. “Whatever man.” Billy grumbles, getting up. “Don’t go, dude…” Stu sighs, yet Billy leaves, shutting your door behind him. He wouldn’t go far, Stu knew that. He’d probably go for a walk and clear his head then come back. Melting into your hold, Stu decides on taking a quick nap, tired after the confrontation. He can only hope that things smooth over.

🎪 please do not repost, plagiarise or translate my work, even with ‘credit’. reblogs and feedback are okay/appreciated! recommendations to other people on other platforms is okay/incredibly sweet :) ty!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

── ⋆⋅ ▬ι═ﺤ ⋅⋆ ──

Billy didn’t come back that night. Stu explained to you briefly why and what had transpired. You were upset, as you had the right to be, yet Stu was nice about it. The two of you decided on going to the local coffee shop, and Stu gets to know your friend Emma a little more. She’s sweet and gives you both your coffees on a ‘friend-discount’. The two of you chat briefly before leaving before you held up a line, and Stu notices you seem a little happier. He has no shame holding your hand in public. The two of you weren’t entirely official, yet you both kind of enjoyed the PDA. Billy never indulged it, always rather standoffish in public. You never pressure him, giving him a kind smile and only sometimes gently touching his arm or back in public when he’s busy doing something.

You and Stu walk into the local DVD store- which doubled as a comic store too, deciding on picking some new horror movies for the typical movie night you all held every Friday. You’ve stepped away, letting the ‘horror movie connoisseur’ (as Stu called himself) do his work. You’re browsing new issues of comics, none of them really catching your eye as you wait for Stu to come over. “Y/n?” A familiar voice makes your blood run cold, and you tense. You don’t turn, pretending not to have heard him. “Y/n, is that you?” A hand grasps your shoulder, forcing you to face him. Chandler. Your asshole ex boyfriend who left you high and dry on prom night whilst he banged Jennie Hawkins in the locker room. You were so lucky Stu and Billy were there for you. “What do you want, Chandler?” You ask, pulling away. “Look, babe- I’m so sorry-“

“Oh my God, don’t even right now. Get away from me!” You interrupt, pushing him slightly. Chandler doesn’t move, and keeps going. “Would you just listen? It was a one time thing!” He complains, grabbing both your arms in a tight grip. “Really? Because Brooke said otherwise. Did you really forget she was friends with Jennie for a while.” You deadpan, pushing against his chest; only for Chandler to tighten his grasp. It was beginning to hurt, so much you thought he might leave bruises. “That bitch doesn’t know anything! Come on, babe- don’t you trust me?”

“Get the fuck off her man!” Another voice snaps, pulling Chandler from you, yet almost pulling you with him. Shocked, your ex lets go, stumbling into a rack of comics and tumbling everything into clutter on the floor. “What the fuck dude?!” Chandler straightens up, puffing out his chest. “What the fuck is right, you didn’t hear her? She doesn’t want anything to do with you.” Billy snaps, ready to swing. “Oh- I know you. Billy Loomis, right? Town heartthrob.” Chandler chuckles, jutting his finger into Billy’s chest. The other narrows his eyes, readying to fight, even if everyone was looking. “You definitely stole her from me.” Chandler snarks, and Billy huffs out a sour laugh. “Nah, man. Not me, but thanks for the opportunity.” Billy gives a smile, it’s teasing and mocking. Chandler grows red in the face. “Oh yeah? If you didn’t steal her from me-“

“Hey, man. She’s not an object. Quit talking about her like that!” Stu frowns, approaching behind Chandler. All focus shifts to him. “She’s my girlfriend!” Chandler snaps, and Billy huffs out a laugh. “Not anymore she’s not.” He crosses his arms. “Didn’t we make that clear on prom night?” He reminds, and Chandler lets out a sour laugh. “You’re fucking both of them aren’t you, whore?” You sink back a little, back hitting the shelf. You want the world to swallow you whole and never spit you out again. “I knew it. I fucking knew it! Whatever. You’re fucking ugly and bad at giving head anyway. Enjoy my sloppy seconds freaks.” Chandler goes to storm off, but Billy snatches his shoulder, fist connecting with your ex’s mouth with a satisfying crack. Chandler stumbles to the floor, cradling his jaw in pain as he whines. A few choked noises escape his mouth as he attempts to talk, blood spilling past his lips. Billy leans down to his level, face close to his. “Enjoy broken teeth, asshole.” He snarls, grabbing your hand tightly as he extracts you from the crowd that had gathered. Stu decides on spitting at Chandler and flipping him off before trailing after the two of you.

“What the fuck-“ you begin, yet Billy raises his hands. “Look- Stu probably told you everything but I wanna say I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you scoff out a laugh. “Okay, sure. You’re ‘sorry’, but that doesn’t excuse assaulting my ex!” You complain, and Billy laughs. “He’s a fucking prick! You know that better than anyone!” He argues, gesturing with his hand. You notice some blood seeping from his knuckles and sigh. “He is, but you can get into serious trouble if he presses charges!” You cross your arms, noticing Stu lingering by. “Look, whatever, thank you for helping me… but I have a quick question.” You state, not letting him respond. “If you didn’t come back to mine last night, where were you?” You ask, relishing the silence. You already knew the answer. “So I went to Sidney’s so what?” Billy replies, and you let out a short laugh. “You slept with her, didn’t you?” You challenge, narrowing your eyes. Billy falls silent, not openly wanting to admit the truth. You roll your eyes, pulling his collar away from his neck. “You fucking slept with her. Are you kidding?! I couldn’t give a rats ass if you wanted to truly be with her but don’t give me false hope in the meantime!” You snap, eyes watering a little as you storm off. Stu gives Billy a sad look before jogging after you. “Baby, wait up.” He calls, falling into step beside you. “Come on, let’s go back to the café. You’re upset.” He mumbles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and gently rubbing your arm.

You end up in the far end café booth, crying softly as Emma and Brooke sit across from you and Stu. “He sounds like a cunt.” Brooke deadpans, pushing her cuticles back with a wooden stirrer. “Brooke!” Emma gasps, nudging her. “What? He does.” The blonde responds, glancing at Stu who sighs a little. “He can be, but still- he’s a good person.” He defends, unsure if he even can. “Is he? Do good people cheat?” Brooke asks sarcastically, watching Emma get up. “I’m gonna get everyone a refill.” She sighs, picking up the mugs. “Oh, Ems! Get me a strawberry and cream frappe please.” Brooke smiles innocently, “and an extra hot chocolate for y/n.” She adds on, grasping your hands and laying them before her on the table before grabbing some nail polish from her purse. “It’s self care time, baby, don’t worry.” Brooke smiles, gently patting your hands. You smile a little, sniffling. “Thanks, Brooke.”

“No problem.” The popular girl chirps, carefully pressing back your cuticles and deciding on filing your nails before applying the first coat. “Don’t get that everywhere or my boss will kill me!” Emma scolds, setting the drinks down. “Yeah, yeah. We won’t.” Brooke waves her off, blowing on your wet nails. You nudge Stu’s outer thigh with your knee, meeting his gaze with your watery one. You smile, it’s weak and small. “Thanks for coming after me, Stu. You didn’t have to.” You tell him, and he smiles brightly. “Of course I would. I couldn’t just let you wander around and get lost or hurt or harassed, or something.” Stu shrugs, leg linking with yours under the table. You carefully pick up your mug, sipping your coffee. “Uh, oh… trouble at 12 o’clock.” Brooke mumbles, sipping her frappe as she looks over your shoulder. You turn, and sure enough Billy is there. “Aw he brought flowers… maybe he is sorry.” Emma mumbles as Stu untangles his leg from yours, getting up to confront his best friend. You turn away from Billy’s kicked-puppy look, paying attention to Brooke as she begins telling a story.

“What’re you doing here man?” Stu asks, voice tired. “I uh… I ran all over town looking for you guys. I wanted to say I’m sorry, to both of you.” He mumbles, averting his saddened gaze. “I was just… mad… I had no where else to go, so I went to Sid’s.” He sighs, and Stu chuckles a little. “You did have somewhere to go. You could of come back.” He challenges, and Billy flinches. “Yeah… you’re right.” He admits, plastic wrap around the flowers crinkling in his nervous grasp. “It’s alright, man… but I’m not the one you should apologise to.” Stu looks at you, watching you giggle with Emma and Brooke. “You’re lucky she’s not in meltdown mode, her friends are great.” He adds on, and Billy nods. Mulling up his courage, he approaches the table. Brooke gives him an unsure look as he stands next to the table. You dip your head a little, mood seemingly deflating a little. “I uh… I’m sorry, y/n.” He mutters, and Brooke plainly laughs at him. “That’s it? You cheated and that’s what you have to say?” She snarks, and Emma sighs. “Brooke…” she silently scolds, and she simply giggles. “Its okay, Billy.” You sigh, and he feels like the world just forgave him unanimously. “No, it isn’t.” Brooke snaps. Well, almost the whole world.

“No Brooke it’s fine. We’re not even official and I’m just a clingy mess. I’m sorry, Billy. You can see Sidney if you want to.” You sigh as Stu leans over the back of the booth, head resting atop your head. “No, don’t be sorry, you’re right. It’s stupid of me to even consider seeing Sidney… if I want to be involved with you, I’ve got to let her go.” Billy sits beside you, meeting your gaze. You give him a small smile as he hugs you tight, ignoring Emma’s soft ‘awe’. “Hey, what about me?” Stu jokes, hugging you both over the booth. “Um hello? What about my nails.” Brooke interrupts, and you pull away. “Sorry, Brooke.” You mumble, smiling at her as you give her your hands.

The day ends rather nicely, and you head home. Your mother’s car is in the driveway, and you smile. Walking inside, you let Stu close the door behind you all. “Mom..!” You call, and she peers around the border of the kitchen door. “Hey, honey! Have you brought friends?” She asks, dipping back into the kitchen. The smell of food fills your senses and so you walk into the kitchen. “Yeah. It’s Billy and Stu, remember? From prom night?” You ask, and your mother thinks for a brief moment. “Oh, of course. It’s hard to forget them.” She smiles, checking the oven. “What’re you making?” You ask, noticing how tired her eyes looked. “Your favourite, lasagna.” She smiles, and you perk up a little. “Thanks, mom.” You smile back, and she nods. “I try. This one isn’t homemade this time.” She jokes and you fondly remember the two of you crying with laughter over the mess of a lasagna. “There’s enough for your friends.” She states, glancing at the two as they awkwardly hover by the door. “Hi, mrs l/n. Been staying out of trouble.” Stu smiles, and she chuckles. “As long as you’ve been getting into plenty.” She replies teasingly, watching his smug smile rise. Her attention shifts to Billy, watching him shuffle anxiously. “Are you alright, hun?” She asks softly, and he immediately nods. “Yes, ma’am.” He responds, almost automatically. “Oh, dear. I’m way too young to be a ‘ma’am’. Sharon will do.” She smiles, and you chuckle as Billy nods.

“Stay out of trouble, and try not to make too much noise tonight! I’ve got to get up early!” Your mother calls up the stairs after dinner. “Yes, mom!” You reply, walking into your room with a large stretch. “Home sweet home.” Stu jokes, flopping onto your bed. “Throw me the movie, I’ll put it on.” Billy states as Stu rifles through his bag, throwing some new low-budget horror film his way. “This looks awful.” Billy deadpans as he examines the front cover. “Read the back, man. It seems interesting.” Stu replies as you join him on the bed. “Whatever you say.” Billy mutters, skimming over the blurb before putting it into your dvd player and turning on your tv. He joins the two of you, your body squished between them. “You staying tonight?” You ask softly, and Billy hums. “Yeah. I’m staying.” He responds, catching a glimpse of a small smile on Stu’s lips. “Great.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around his torso as you huddle into him. Billy hums, arm wrapping around your middle. Stu’s arms encase you both, as per usual, and as per usual you fall asleep about half an hour into the movie. Billy stays close to you, arms wrapped tightly around you. He feels happier with you than he has the past week talking with Sidney and he’s not planning on leaving you again.

[kentoberry]

WRECK MY IMAGE — KAMISATO AYATO.

⭒— SUMMARY · your new landlord changed the date that your rent was due, and you can't pay ! it's time to consider other methods of payment. . . [ full tags utc. ]

⭒— CONTENT · landlord ayato / modern au, slight subspace, degradation, begging, bondage, toy use, teasing, fingering, clit slapping, cream pie.

three sophisticated raps on your door told you exactly who was on the other side: it was the conceited landlord that had recently bought your building, undoubtedly a rich asshole who’d spent his life having everything handed to him by mommy and daddy.

instead of waiting for your answer, he invited himself in, simply pushing past you to enter your quaint studio apartment. you couldn’t help but notice just how out of place he looked, bespoke designer clothing giving him a rather elevated and sleek look, whereas your apartment was a little bit more untidy and cluttered with an ever-growing collection of your belongings.

“i like what you’ve done with the place,” sarcasm dripped from his elegant voice, making you roll your eyes at his condescending tone - something gave you the idea that he’d never be satisfied with your own interior design choices. you pictured what you thought his apartment looked like, the penthouse nearest the top of the building. a white, sleek interior, as clean as a staged home and with zero evidence of his own personality, but rather shelves filled with sophisticated world literature that he had no plans to ever read himself and some bespoke, untouched, and what would likely be forever unused marble countertops in the kitchen.

“to what do i owe this honor, mister kamisato?” you asked, sarcasm lacing your voice as you couldn’t help but be already irked by his sheer presence.

“no warm welcome? tsk, you could at least offer me a drink, sweetheart.” he sighed at your subsequent silence, not bothering to continue his antics if you were not going to jab back at him. you’d asked him a question and wanted as little interaction with the man as possible, thus you remain stoic and awaiting his response.

“your rent is late.”

eyes grew wide, as though he’d made the most incredulous of claims. “it’s not due until next week. i don’t have the time for you to mess with me,”

“playing so hard to get,” he looked you up and down, piercing gaze feeling invasive as he clicked his tongue. “you should lighten up a little. check your mail next time, you were notified that the date would be changing whilst under the new and, dare i say, impeccable management of yours truly.”

you scoffed, heading over to the pile of unopened letters littering the counter. upon sifting through the envelopes, you found not one, not two, but three letters from the yashiro corporation, i.e. the people who owned the building. . . aka the blue-haired, slender figure stood before you.

with an exasperated huff, you collapsed back onto the couch. opening one of the letters, you found out that the date you should have paid was indeed last week, but also that your rent had increased a little. combined with prior stresses and your unexpected visitor, this was enough to tip you over the edge.

“why the fuck are you charging me almost double what this place is worth? i’m not paying this, ayato, fuck off. you can’t just expect me to pull dollar bills out of my ass!”

it was true, you were working yourself to the bone to make a living. you had taken on two jobs since moving to the city, accepted overtime wherever possible, as well as doing the odd things here and there just to make an extra dime. and at this rate, you’d be adding finding a new place to live to your already overfilled plate.

ayato was simply admiring the trinkets you had displayed on your shelves, his back to you whilst you raged at him. he let you finish your outburst, seemingly amused by your spunk.

“this area’s developing - new developments, new jobs, a new demand for the place. it’s just how the world works, sweetheart. if you don’t like it, i’m sure your lease is up soon enough. unless you’d like to pay the early termination fees, that is.”

his suave facade got under your skin. you wanted to call him a good for nothing leech who only thrived because of blood money, sucking dry the pockets of everyone who had actually worked for their living. tell him everything that he got was handed to him on a silver platter, whereas you had to try for what you wanted and that you earnt what you got. to demolish his ivory tower and enlighten him that no, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows down here.

although, would arguing with your landlord really help you out here? you wanted to use him as a punching bag, to spit out your anger on this prick who milked your bank account dry once a month. realistically, it would be impossible to find an apartment close to your workplaces, especially at the rates nowadays. in all honesty, the previous landlord had given you a pretty sweet deal with the place when you first moved in, so the current price gauges were roughly on par with the other apartments in the surrounding neighborhood.

“look,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. ayato turned to face you, his in depth inspections of your displays seemingly halted. “could you give me a week? i can ask my boss for my paycheck a week early, that should be enough to cover half at least. i’m sure someone will be willing to lend me the rest, just to tie me over this once-”

“or,” ayato cut you off, staring you down as though evaluating his food. “we can come up with another arrangement.”

curiosity got the better of you, listening intently to each word that passed the man’s lips. he was the one that had provided the initial amendments to your arrangement, and the fact that he was so willing to compromise rendered you dumbfounded, especially when he could kick you out oh so easily and find a better tenant who would willingly fall victim to his extortionate prices.

“i’ve seen how you look at me, sweetheart. all that anger is simply a ruse to hide your true feelings, hmm? there’s something about you that i can’t quite put my finger on. . .” ayato paused, taking few paces until he was standing in front of you. his index finger lifting your chin to force your gaze to meet his sharper one sent a chill down your spine.

“. . . you’re rather alluring, aren’t you? surely if you’re okay with it, i’m sure we can come up with another method of payment, princess.”

surely he wasn’t implying what you thought he was. . . no way would you sleep with your landlord just to waive rent for the month! it was utterly demeaning to whore yourself out in such way.

ayato’s eyes remained trained on you, indigo irises boring into you with such an intent focus that you worried that he was tuned in to hear your every thought. he leaned a little closer to you, enough that you could feel his faint breath ghost over the shell of your ear.

“you’re considering it, aren’t you, darling? why don’t we take this to your room, hmm?”

the man was attractive, that much was undeniable. you debated if you’d accept his proposition without the promise of free rent, to which you settled on a yes. hell, he was offering a quick fuck and you wouldn’t have to pay one bill this month? you’d be an idiot to deny it.

“down the hall, second door-” you began.

“to the left. you forget, i own this building, sweetheart.” he smirked, before adding under his breath, barely audible: “and everything in it, so it seems.”

tongues and teeth clashed against one another; you could feel his smug expression, mocking you for your neediness. ayato’s large hands reached around to fondle the fat of your ass, pressing you closer to him.

the move to your room was filled with a volatile concoction of haste and lust, as though a switch had been flipped and the only thing that each of you could think of was devouring the other.

ayato guided you to your mattress, barely giving you room to breathe. you began to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, impetuously working to remove the unnecessary clothing. that shit-eating grin remained ghosting his defined features, amused by how desperate he’d made you.

“no need to hurry, princess.” he started.

“‘s just get it over with,” you slurred slightly, only for ayato to take a step back. you propped yourself up on your elbows, lips already a little bit swollen and an incredulous look on your face.

“stop it with all that.” his tone grew more commanding, expecting you to listen to his orders without questioning them. “i’m the one doing you a favor. perhaps you need reminding of that, hmm?”

he moved closer towards you, anticipating you to pull him back in, though impressed when you remained still. a cool, nimble finger traced down the side of your face, as though inspecting your beauty. “what a pretty thing you are. . . i can’t help but think about how much sweeter you’ll look begging for my cock.”

your mouth fell agape, surprised at such lewd words rendering you speechless - something that, compared to your prior, tough-talking demeanor, shocked ayato. he took the opportunity to unbuckle his belt before collecting your wrists and positioning you to lie against your pillows.

“i’ll be nice, unless you give me a reason not to be. do you plan on being a good girl for me, darling? after all, i’m not sure if i can clear the debts of a nasty brat.”

you mumbled in agreement, squeaky promises that you wouldn’t be bad. something about having your landlord towering above you cast a spell over you, his soft blue locks framing his face and fabricating the image of a perverse angel. you let him take control, fully submitting yourself to the man as he carefully slipped your shirt over your head. ayato proceeded to utilize his belt to craft makeshift restraints, fastening your hands to the headboard.

“perfect,” he muttered, eyes focused on your chest. he placed an uncharacteristically sloppy kiss to your sweet lips before heading south, groping your tits over the lace of your bra as he sucked a pretty mark onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder; subtle enough that you could hide it, though satisfactory enough to brand your body as another property that he owned.

though you tried to reach out, wishing to bury your hands in those untidy blue locks, yet were halted by your binds. the only noises leaving your mouth were tiny pleas for more, combined with frequent whines as you pulled your wrists forwards. ayato could only tut, leaning in to your ear to whisper that “only good girls get to cum.”

you failed to hold back whimpers as ayato removed your bra, taking one nipple into his mouth as slender fingers glided over the other. embarrassment crept over you, both from feeling so very exposed and helpless, and from feeling like a common slut whose sleeping with somebody for her own benefit.

ayato’s tongue swirled over the hardening bud, nibbling at the sensitive skin every now and again just to admire the way that your back arched ever so slightly in response. his cock stiffened with each sweet sound that slipped past your lips, suddenly becoming aware that he would struggle to do anything but bury himself inside your wet cunt soon enough.

all you managed were strangled, wanton moans as ayato pulled away from your chest, once again tugging at your restraints subconsciously.

“patience, princess,” he muttered, which was fairly hypocritical given his intentions. he peeled himself off of your helpless form, leaning over to your bedside drawer. you could hear him mumble something about condoms, using the last part of your sanity to yelp a “stop!” as he opened the drawer.

your face flushed deep red with embarrassment, praying to any gods above that your landlord, your fucking landlord, had missed the hot pink vibrator that your kept stored in that drawer. you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the worst, however the snicker that your heard told you that he’d located the object. the faint buzzing only confirmed your fears.

“well, well, well. it seems that my princess is nothing more than a dirty whore, hmm?”

ayato situated himself between your legs, peeling away any remaining clothing until you were in nothing but your panties. “open your eyes,” he commanded. one little kiss to your inner thigh was all it took to coax you out of the sheepish state that had overcome you.

he fired up your toy once again, the head of the silicone ghosting over your slit. ayato used it as an experiment, teasing and toying to best discover how to elicit the most salacious noises from you. he wanted you to beg for him, to beg for his cock, to reach such a point of neediness that you relinquished every last shred of control to him.

“please,” you begged between pants, trying your absolute best to keep your head above water. “more, need more,”

trademark smugness painted his cheeks, egos continuing to grow at the sight of you in such a vulnerable position. ayato would have been more than happy to spend the remainder of the afternoon teasing you, watching that already-visible wet patch on your panties grow even larger, but the bulge constricted in his pants was becoming impossible to ignore.

“what do you need? use your words, princess,”

you didn’t want to give in, you really didn’t. internally you were degrading yourself for being such a cheap slut, for letting yourself be used in exchange for a bill to be waived. yet ayato had a grip over you, turning you into putty in his hands.

“cock. . .” you began, mind already hazy, “need you to fuck me, please, please, please,” you even made your best puppy dog eyes to the man, batting doe-like eyelashes to better plead your case.

you whined as ayato turned off the vibrator, pulling away to remove his own clothes. you knew the man was attractive, but without clothes, you saw a grecian muse, unable to resist your jaw slackening ever so slightly. the bed shifted as you tugged on your restraints once again, desperate for some sort of friction.

“so needy, aren’t you? what a sweet thing. . .”

ayato crept forward, dipping the mattress. he placed a kiss to your lower stomach, gaze hungry as he looked up to you, so vulnerable, so very delectable. at a painfully slow pace, he peeled away your panties, watching your reactions to the cool air hitting your exposed cunt.

the man pushed your thighs further apart, ego inflating as you squirmed weakly for him. he dragged two fingers through your folds, smirking at the string of slick connecting his digits to you. “all of this just for me, hmm?”

you’d given up on articulating any adequate verbal responses, simply reduced to moans as ayato’s thumb caught your puffy clit. he had you exactly where he wanted you: desperate, needy, begging for his touch. he wanted to further the teasing, though something in him told him that in the future there would be apt opportunity to turn you into his pliant little whore.

instead, ayato settled for positioning you in just the way he desired, lining his cock up with your weeping hole. he was long, prompting babbles from you that expressed concerns that it wouldn’t fit.

“shh, princess,” ayato cooed, reaching out to cup your cheek. the gesture was tender, as though he’d dropped this hardass facade that he typically displayed, only for it to reappear a moment later in the form of a harsh “i’ll make it fit.”

whilst you were left to internally debate whether or not that was a promise or a threat, ayato plunged two fingers inside of you, digits gliding with ease and filling the room with lewd wet noises. he had to hold back his own groans, mind wandering to how fucking sweet your walls were going to feel gripping his cock if they already felt so damn divine clamping down on his fingers. after a few additional flicks of his wrist, ayato once again left you to whine over being denied release.

however, you couldn’t exactly complain. the speed at which ayato’s fingers were replaced with his cock was surprising. he eased his already leaking tip into you, hand resting on your stomach for leverage as the other held your thigh, keeping you spread out for him.

your slippery cunt sucked him in, hips bucking ever so slightly to meet ayato’s own as he pushed deeper inside of you. you could feel the knot in your stomach already forming and growing painfully tight after such a short period, mentally preparing yourself for ayato to leave you on the edge once again.

the room became flooded with a melody of whines and pants, an orchestra of skin slapping against each other. ayato’s cock filled you up and stretched you out, his thrusts precise and possessing what appeared to your borderline delirious state as an inhumane speed.

if his belt wrapping your wrists was any looser, you were convinced that the binds would have been broken. you wanted to pull yourself closer to ayato, to chase your own high rather than be subjected to whatever he chose to lay upon you. to think that the blue-haired man didn’t notice this wouldn’t be short of idiocy, for you could hear the clicks of his tongue as his movements slowed.

“princess,” his tone threatening, “i thought that you promised to be good, hmm? does someone need to be taught a lesson?”

you whined, words feeling foreign yet the way your cunt clamped down on him at such a lewd threat (or rather, promise) seemed to provide the answer that he wanted.

ayato drew his hand back to land a harsh slap to your clit, chuckling to himself as you clenched your eyes tight shut at the stinging sensation. amused enough to repeat the action, he smacked your sloppy pussy a few times before your pretty little lips began spilling apologies for him.

“good fucking girl,” he spat, chest further swelling with pride as it appeared that he was worn you down enough for now.

ayato pushed your knees up to your chest before thrusting back into you, drooling pussy even more exposed for him and ready to be filled. you could feel the head of his cock kiss your cervix periodically, your back arching at the sensation.

“‘m g’na cum,” you slurred, “‘lease, can i, please, ‘ll be so good,”

he could tell how far gone you were, fucked dumb on his cock for his eyes only. you looked absolutely angelic to him, such a pretty thing all messy underneath him. his mind ticked over. . . surely you deserved a reward, right?

ayato reached for your vibrator once again, flicking the toy on and pressing it against your pulsing clit. screams of euphoria fell upon his ears, your velvety walls gripping ayato’s cock as you came undone with a cry of his name. he praised you as you came down from your high, triggering his own orgasm as he twitched inside of you.

sticky ropes of ayato’s cum spilled from your cunt, a sickeningly sweet concoction of your releases dirtying your bodies and the sheets below you. he made quick work of freeing your wrists, gently caressing the red marks on your skin with an uncharacteristic amount of care before slumping down next to you, bubblegum locks splaying all over your pillows.

“next month,” his voice remained ragged and raspy as he regained his breath, “my place. i have some of my own toys that i’d like to introduce to you.”

well, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about paying your rent anymore.

[thesunhatesme]

Day 1 - Cuteness aggression

Wc: 560 Mushy may day one! Tagging @forlorn-crows for their amazing prompt list.

Copia had been working all day long, the pile of paperwork never seeming to end, but his eyes had started mixing words together, so he decided he needed a break. He stood up and stretched his body with a sigh. He decided to tidy up a bit and started cleaning up his desk, the mess was starting to get out of hand. He started by putting all the pens in their designated places and moved on to all the clutter. Throwing away all the rubbish and emptying the trash can.

He started sorting all the finished paperworks in piles and put them in the correct folders and drawers. Then only one pile was left. The one for all the papers he had to put in the paper shredder. He sighed deep, it was so boring shredding paper and he would much rather do something else, anything else.

He found himself walking towards the ghouls' den to see what they were up to. Probably not much, they usually finished their chores quite quickly and then just spent the day doing what they wanted. Mountain usually preferred to stay in the greenhouse, Rain, Dew and Phantom usually played video games, Swiss could be doing anything. Aurora was usually painting or drawing, Cumulus liked to crochet and Cirrus liked reading books.

He pushed the doors open and walked into the living room. On one of the couches Swiss and Dew were sleeping. Copia couldn't see where one ghoul ended and the other starten. They were laying so close together, arms, legs and tails a tangled mess. Their purrs could be heard from where he was standing in the doorway.

He couldn't help but take a picture, two of his wildest and mischievous ghouls cuddling on the couch not causing a single problem. He loved them of course, but it was just so unusual to see them so calm and still.

He decided to resist the urge to grab their faces and squeeze them left them alone and walked into the kitchen. Phantom was sitting on a barstool by the counter, staring at his phone, resting his cheek in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Copia asked him while pulling out a barstool for himself.

“Nothing, I'm so bored” Phantom dramatically sighed as he put his phone down. “What are you doing?”

“I was just taking a break from all the paperwork”

“You need any help?” 

Copia was just about to say no, but then he remembered the pile of shredded paper. That was actually something Phantom could do. “Yes, actually there is, if you want”

Phantom had only been joking when he asked, but he could help if i twas needed, it's not like he had anything better to do. “Oh, okay, sure”

Copia showed him how the machine worked and gave Phantom a pair of ear defenders and all the paper. Phantom found it very interesting. He could just put a paper in it and it got shred to pieces, how could someone ever find that boring. 

Copia, again, resisted the urge to squeeze the cuteness out of him and resorted to take a picture. Phantom was sitting on one of his legs folded under himself and the other up by his head for his chin to rest on. He looked so cute with the big ear defenders on his head and big eyes on the paper shredder.

His ghouls could be a handful, but they were so cute and adorable sometimes that he sometimes didn’t know what to do.

[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel’s Long Day

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 5, and for the WIP game @thescrapwitch tagged me in]

[why is this a wip? I have a list of other things that he needs to do still but it so long and dull (as it's supposed to be) that I doubt I'll finished. This has a nice conclusion as it is now]

“I’m not sure how that rumor started, but I’ll look into it,” Glorfindel said shortly. A frown pulled at his lips. “And correct the appropriate parties.” 

“Thank you,” Elrond sifted through the disorganized piles of loose papers on his desk. The Lord of Imladris was not habitually so messy, but Galadriel’s impending visit appeared to be putting just as much strain on him as his guard captain. 

“Was there anything else, my Lord?” The golden-haired elf asked, mind already well departed from the cluttered office.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Elrond looked up, several limp strands of hair escaping their precarious housing atop his head. “I could use—no, no,” He interrupted himself with a quick shake of his head, causing more brown hair to tumble free. “Lindir can do that. I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you, Glorfindel.”

Finally dismissed, his body followed his thoughts back through the winding stairs of the sanctuary carved into the gorge all the way back to the guard house where several elves waited for a tongue-lashing the likes of which they’d never experienced. The problem, he thought as he walked through the stone passages, with building a serviceable guard from those primarily beget in the latter years of the second age, was that they did not have the requisite experience to understand why they should never leave a post unattended for even a minute—no matter how tempting the colorful skylights were last night.

No sooner had Glorfindel finished with the flighty, would-be guards, then a young elleth (were they not all young to him?) came with a written message from the head baker. She gave him the tightly rolled paper and, apron shedding flour onto the rug before his desk, informed him the baker directed her to not return until she had a written response.

With a mighty sigh that could no longer be called long-suffering, he opened the letter and read. 

After only a few lines, it grew quite clear that the problem of which the baker wrote should not be addressed to him but rather to Erestor or more probably Lindir as it was nothing but complaints about the new system for ordering irregularly used spices. He said as much to the apprentice baker, offering the page back to her.

She raised her hands and shook her head, saying that the baker ‘insisted she wanted an answer from Glorfindel’.

He reiterated that he had no say in anything that had to do with managing and running the House. She swore she wasn’t leaving until she had something in writing to prove she’d done exactly as directed. 

Glorfindel was many thousand years old—yes he spent a good chunk of that time as a bodiless spirit in the halls of the dead but it still counted—so he had the self control to not roll his eyes at whatever low stakes power struggle was being waged among the house staff. Taking up a small note page and his inkwell, he scrawled out a quick response, reminding the baker to use appropriate communication chains; they were, after all, set up for a reason (mostly to keep half of the staff from stepping on the toes of the other half, as elves were rather prone to do when no greater threat was around to distract them from small grievances). He ended the letter with the most serviceable of unembellished tengwar.

After a quick blotting, the elleth departed with the note, too happy to report that she completed the task set before her and exactly nothing else. 

If Glorfindel ground his teeth slightly at the preposterous nature of that entire interaction, well, it was merely an accident caused when he jerked his head up from where he rested it against the desk, suddenly realizing that it was past time for him to go up to the plateau that formed the highest border on the the secluded valley and see how the field exercise was going.  

Down to the floor of the gorge he went, then up another meandering staircase and tunnel until he reached the hidden exit onto the grasslands above.

Gwendyon met him just behind the next hill.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” the guardsman chirped brightly, popping up from the brush he'd been hidden in, telescope in one hand and notebook in the other. “How are things in the valley today?”

Glorfindel liked Gwendyon. Born late in the first age, the Sinda had enough experience and focus to keep newer guards in order, while keeping a cheery good nature—a combination that saw him regularly managing field training exercise, as Glorfindel's duties generally did not permit his leaving for extended periods except when the lord or lady of the valley, or their children, wished to travel.

“Better once I have your report,” Glorfindel said. Today, the blazing cheer was rather too bright.

Gwendyon nodded out toward the west, where the long grasses faded into rocky hills and trees, and jumped into a review of how well the teams were working together.

The taller elf nodded and asked a few clarifying questions, then directed changes for tomorrow's schedule based on how things were going so far. 

“Keep up the good work,” He said at last, ready to depart.

“One more thing,” The dark elf said quickly. He opened the leather bound notebook and withdrew a folded sheet. “It sounds rather silly,” He laughed at himself, “but I’ve written a poem for Mileidh and I was hoping I might convince you to take it to them. They should be bringing the goats back to the barns any time now.”

Glorfindel pushed a smile across his face. “Of course I can,” He said. 

He'd need to do it as soon as he returned to the valley. There were several reports waiting for him to review and sign off on in his office, as well as that tracking down the origin of those rumors for Elrond, but if he dealt with those first, he wouldn't have time to go back down to the barns before Mileidh went home.

“Thank you!” Gwendyon enthused, clasping his shoulder briefly in gratitude. 

Glorfindel left after that with a terse farewell that may have made the young ellon wonder if he'd offended him or overstepped propriety with the personal request, but the golden elf didn’t care at the moment, he just wanted to be done up here and get on to the many other things he had left to do.

[wing-ed-thing]

Magpie (Kakuzu x Reader)

Synopsis: Originally sent to assassinate you for hunting down low-level Akatsuki sympathizers, Kakuzu finds that you and him have much more in common than he would have thought.

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags/Warnings: LoanShark!Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, No Reader Pronouns, Laughably Fake Finance Talk

Notes: These two panels are really funny out of context.

Just because Kakuzu liked money doesn’t mean he liked to be showy about it.

But you…

You sat among your riches, draped in expensive silks. The room almost made Kakuzu scoff, with the surrounding clutter of treasures almost matching the ornaments that littered your body. Intricately embroidered patterns were adorned with precious jewels that swooped from shiny chains. You decorated yourself like a shrine to a famed deity and sat among your wealth like the royalty of old.

It was a waste, Kakuzu thought. The artifacts weren’t even sold for ryō, not to mention you kept everything in one place. He stood on a mountain of gold coins, one booted foot propped up onto the incline. 

“I’ve been sent to kill you,” he said curtly. You frowned, studying him up and down, your cheek resting elegantly against your knuckles. 

“So I’ve been told.” You leaned forward, plucking a large, bound book from next to your ornate chair. Kakuzu watched silently as you flipped through the wide pages of handwritten lines. “Thirteen-thousand, forty-one-thousand, sixty-eight-thousand, ninety-five-thousand, your men owe me over one-hundred-ten-thousand ryō, and your leader sends an assassin rather than payment for my gracious loan?”

You let the heavy book slap closed, the sound sharper than it should have been for a book. 

“You’re pitiful magpie, aren’t you?” Kakuzu stepped up the amassment of treasure, sliding as the precious metals shuffled downward. “If you had allowed time for repayment rather than slaughtering mere ants and thrusting an accumulated debt onto the organization, perhaps I wouldn’t be standing here.” He took another step with a dangerous dip of his head. “The organization hadn’t been pleased that a loan shark has been snatching our boots on the ground. When I’m finished, I will be taking your collection and the price on your head to make up for it.”

Kakuzu lunged at you, launching his thread-like tendrils from his hand. You stood instantly, intercepting and spooling the dark threads around an encrusted scepter. You held it under your arm, one hand on the far end to leverage it. 

“My money, huh?” you spat with a crinkled nose. “A bounty hunter. Of course, they would send a bottom feeder like you.” 

“Says the loan shark.”

“But you know what, bounty hunter?” You released the scepter, allowing the broken tension to send Kakuzu sliding a meter down the mountain of gold, his boot sinking up to his calf into the coins. You were on him faster than he could blink. Kakuzu recoiled as a long slit opened on his cheek right under his eye. Your gaze darkened with raging fury. “You’re not going to touch a single ryō of my money!”

You charged at him with a qiang spear, twirling the weapon's length over your wrist to counter Kakuzu’s attack. And then you struck with a strength disproportionate to your physique. Over and over, you lunged at him with your spear, and Kakuzu suddenly found himself on the offense.

He slipped again on the pile, and you took advantage of his vulnerability. You moved to strike him directly in the chest, but he dropped to his knees to slide to the bottom of the treasure, raking his fingers through your riches as he went.

You scowled down at him, legs bent to steady yourself from where you stood on the high ground. Kakuzu rose, a few coins cascading from his fingers. He huffed with a noticeable rise and lowering of his shoulders.

“What a waste,” he muttered as they clattered to the ground. “You don’t even deserve what you have.” Kakuzu barely had time to speak. You kicked over a nearby mirror, using it to skate down the amalgamation of gold with increasing velocity.

You were engaged again, slashing at him only to be blocked. You maneuvered around each other, exchanging blows and looking for an opening. Kakuzu drew a kunai, tendrils weaving around your spear to land a shallow slash across your stomach. You recoiled, stumbling back to land against the riches behind you.

Kakuzu observed you as you stood, using your spear to bring yourself to your feet. 

“You shouldn’t be so careless when it comes to a resource as precious as money,” he lectured, looking on in disdain as a few drops of blood trickled down onto the gold. “You’re lucky that you haven’t been robbed blind before. But don’t worry—” Kakuzu’s skin broke apart to reveal the raving sea of black threads that wriggled within his limbs. —“I will take very good care of your fortune, pitiful magpie.” 

Kakuzu rushed you, and you quickly assumed the defensive, straining against the force laid on your spear as you fought him off with unceasing fury.

“You think this is all I have? Don’t make me laugh!” Your voice strained as you fought to push forward. “As if the real good stuff wouldn’t be in a 108-Keikaku!” You slashed forward but only met air. Kakuzu had recoiled with a conflicted glint in his eye.

“You have a 108-Keikaku?” His brows knitted together, confused. You shrugged almost sheepishly, spear still in hand, and pointed toward the ceiling.

“I thought I’d be in trouble if I didn’t have one. I can’t say it’s my finest investment, but it’s far more practical than the—”

— “Tsurugi Plan,” you said in unison. Kakuzu nodded, almost adamantly. His limbs had reverted to their normal appearance. You matched his furrowed brow as your head jerked skeptically to the side.  

“You invest?” 

Kakuzu scoffed as if you should’ve known better than to ask. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Of course I do,” he said as if it were obvious. “I wouldn’t have expected a lowly loan shark to have a 108-Keikaku.” You rolled your eyes, now holding your spear away as you leaned on your back leg. 

“I prefer to invest in small businesses.”

“Small businesses, please.” Kakuzu shifted where he stood in disbelief, and another shake of his head. “Hardly practical for someone in your line of work.” At this point, Kakuzu had sat down, and you had nearly set down your weapon altogether. 

“Side hobby, I guess. To sate the restlessness,” you said with a semblance of a laugh, almost in thought. “We used to have a different culture before the Five Nation Treaty and shinobi work—”

“It’s truly a dying art form, isn’t it?” 

You plopped down on the floor with crossed legs, flinching as the movement irritated your wound. Your spear clattered down in front of you as you hummed to yourself. Kakuzu kicked his boots up on a small chest, intertwined fingers resting on his lap. 

“What’s a bounty hunter doing with a terrorist organization?” 

“The Akatsuki allow for quite the moneymaking opportunities.” 

“Is that so?” You glanced around the room, taking a moment to ponder to yourself before you stood, settling your gaze back on Kakuzu. “Whatever you’re being paid, I’ll double it.” Kakuzu barked out a laugh. His boots kicked over the chest in front of him and his soles settled into the coins on the ground below.

“Oh really?” He leaned forward with eyes narrowed in intrigue. 

“You can go on any collection that you’d like and take a cut. I won’t interfere or collect on any bounties you pursue in your spare time.” You moved forward, meeting his stare as you dared to approach him. Kakuzu cocked his head.

“What cut?”

“Eighty-twenty.”

“Ha!” He barked again, the laugh making his chest jump. “I hope you’re the one taking the twenty percent.” You stopped in front of him with a scowl.

“I hope you’re not expecting fifty-fifty on my collections?” Kakuzu admired the dip of your lip. Yes, you were serious about money. “I’ll pay you double. Outside of collections, you may do as you please. You’ll get twenty-five. It’s more than generous.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Thirty.”

“Deal.”

Kakuzu stood with a start and your two palms came together with a firm clap. 

“You have a firm shake,” Kakuzu commented.

“Anything less is an insult to my partners,” you said, and Kakuzu fell in love instantly.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: There's a reason I rebloged the "just according to Keikaku" meme earlier this week. I was thinking to myself, "what's a fake finance plan" and I knew immediately what needed to be done.

For any fans of Mob Wife, while not "canon" haha I'd like to think that this is how Kakuzu and Mob Wife met. I think it's funny to consider how easily recruited so many of the Akatsuki members were haha

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

hi liddy! i saw the post you rbed about blocking liberally, which i’m very much on board with, and it reminded me of something i’ve been thinking about a lot lately and i’m curious about your thoughts.

i’ve noticed that the culture in fandom, maybe specifically the drarry fandom maybe not, is to not engage with things that make you upset, which i think comes from this same root of it feels like crap for everyone and is a self protective choice. that arguing on the internet is pointless and hurtful and it’s better to just look away and move on. but it seems like that turns into folks feeling like they can’t or shouldn’t call out real problems. whether it’s racism or ableism (etc) in fic, issues with modding or beta-ing, interpersonal drama, etc - if the culture is to block and move on, how do we address what does come up in order to keep each other safe? what has been your experience with this, if you’re down to share?

this is such a good question! When I reblogged the post I was thinking mainly about blocking people who post stuff I don’t like so that I don’t have to see it in the tags, essentially because it’s clutter to me. That’s not a particularly serious thing, more just personal preference. This got long so prepare yourself for loosely organized rambling.

I’ve found that fandom’s attitude toward conflict is extremely avoidant. This isn’t specific to drarry or HP, it’s something I have seen in basically every fandom I’ve participated in. Some folks are really uncomfortable with conflict, and it seems to be considered polite not to say anything negative about fanworks and tropes you have a problem with and especially not to publicly take issue with other fans, even ones who are managing the fan experience for lots of people, such as mods.

to some extent, it can be a good thing not to be public about disagreements. The entire fandom doesn’t need to weigh in and take sides on every personal disagreement. That would be a really unpleasant atmosphere and people would leave or be driven out and all that would be left is people who like to fight.

BUT on the other hand, I think there does need to be significantly more tolerance for like. Friction? This anti-conflict attitude favors the status quo, and like. The status quo is kind of steeped in the ableism, transphobia, racism, fat phobia, and even homophobia and misogyny of our larger culture because like. It takes focus and research and constant effort to shed those bigotries, and we are all at different stages in those journeys.

Personally I would feel way more welcome and accepted in fandom if it weren’t seen as like. Impolite to discuss how fandom can do better around things like race in particular. Fandom has turned drarry into an interracial relationship which I love, but sometimes the fannish handling of Harry’s character as a man of color is kind of racist and it would be great to be able to talk about it. once I saw someone say they specifically depict Harry as white because it’s too much trouble to sort out the details of his identity as a person of color and I thought that was SO hurtful and insulting to fans of color. The veneration of Aurors in fandom makes me kind of uncomfortable as a Black fan (acab??) and the treatment of house elves is a fucking mess (your SLAVE character is comic relief?? Really??)

In our particular fandom, canon is SO messy that fanworks seem like a good opportunity to address its messiness. On the other hand, some people don’t care about addressing all the problematic isms in canon and would rather just read and write and draw for sexy reasons or fluffy reasons and aren’t especially interested in taking the source material seriously enough to pull it apart and fix it. Or maybe some people don’t feel like. Informed enough to fix it. Putting yourself out there and sharing your work or even your taste in other people’s work can be really scary. Maybe people feel strongly that more barriers to entry are inherently a bad thing.

Maybe that sense of vulnerability, like we’re all doing something that’s on the edges of socially acceptable that makes everyone so afraid to hear criticism. I don’t see things like callout posts (I recently learned that calling someone out used to mean challenging them to a duel like swords and pistols style!) (Hogwarts era snarry? Pistols at dawn, you villain!) and blocklists anymore but they are not very far in the past. I was going to say we might be overcorrecting but did callout posts and blocklists actually make fandom safer or more moral?

I think a big part of the issue is that fandom is a fucking enormous group of people, united by the fact that we read some book series and we want to make and enjoy fanworks about it, and that is not a lot to have in common. We are going to differ significantly about what constitutes harmonious cohabitation. And of course most people find a little corner of fandom they like the look of and only engage with a few dozen people at a time. That’s much more manageable but like. You still have to be able to talk honestly to people about How We Want To Be (and then sometimes you find out someone doesn’t consider themselves part of your We at all and don’t care how you want to be as long as you leave them out of it).

To me, participating in fandom is about creating relationships and connecting with people, even more than it is about engaging with the source work or enjoying fanworks. It feels very strange to me to be trying to build relationships in an environment where I’m supposed to be unnaturally agreeable. How are they going to know who I even am, if I can only talk about things I like?

But even that is a matter of personal taste! Not everyone enters these spaces wanting to make friends, and there’s nothing wrong with just quietly enjoying the art and keeping to yourself. In which case, maybe conflict in fannish spaces feels more like shouting in the library than healthy relationship maintenance.

All this to say that building relationships and sharing space with other people is always messy and contentious and acting like you can avoid the mess by only saying positive things is self deception. Imposing that standard on the whole group is just. So unhealthy!!! We need a basement for how we treat each other so that people can feel safe that they won’t be damaged by other fans for either making a mistake or drawing attention to an issue.

But how do we establish rules like that so that everyone knows about them and agrees to them? How do we enforce rules? If we successfully establish community standards, how do we share them with new people as they enter? Being a group of humans who want to share things with each other is very fucking messy. These aren’t the kinds of questions you can answer once and be done with it. You have to keep answering them over and over again.

I don’t have a conclusion to this rambling and I have errands to run, so I will leave it here. I appreciate the question!

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Pleaseeeee,i love how you write Viktor so much!!Also,i am ecstatic to still see people writing for our favorie pale victorian child-esque man!How do you feel about a request about tenderness?Maybe someone finding him to be their own little safe haven,even if that means just being in his company?

ask and you shall receive! we love a good dose of fluff <3

cw: viktor x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, dialogues — because i fucking love writing them. i couldn’t help but fill this with my stupid ass questionable humour — but i hope you darlings don’t mind me being a little silly. didn’t proofread this + i wrote it at 2 am with only one eye open, so don’t hesitate to slap me if i made some stupid mistakes.

wc: 600~

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

Viktor’s workshop is a sanctuary of some sort, desk a cramped little shrine cluttered with his precious tools, and you wince, absorbing the rhythmic sounds of his scribbling — soothing and steady, mingling so smoothly with the thuds of hail. The absolute misery of the weather has treacherously decided to lock you up in his bizarre chambers — though it didn’t feel like being held hostage: you were a voluntary victim, wholeheartedly willing to spend hours simply watching him tinker. You wouldn’t dare to sneak out even if it did eventually brighten up — who needs sun in a world where Viktor’s eyes exist, warm and museful, orbs the prettiest shade of amber?

He sighs, living up to the proud position of being the most observant man you know, and a sinuous hand nimbly scratches the screwdriver against the nape of his neck — as if he somewhat felt your enamored eyes on the wild knot of shorter hairs sticking out from under the mess of longer ones. Has you worrying that your glances had just accidentally gained the power of giving him itches.

The gesture is charming in its frivolity, though Viktor seems rather unaware of it as he quizzically turns around, thick eyebrows forming a curious arch at your resonant chuckle.

“What?” he mumbles, dragging the last letter with that heavy accented voice — utterly dashing even in his confusion. “Is there something particularly entertaining?”

It takes you a moment to catch your breath — this man might just become the reason for your passing. You can already picture the epitaph — ‘blame my death on Viktor, who’d been cruel enough to overhumor me to the point of undoing.’ You should definitely demand he makes a joke at your funeral — that way mourning won’t overwhelm everyone present too much.

The thought makes you notice that you must inherited your lover’s view on mortality. That’s a little food of thought for another, less cheerful day.

“Your choice of a… scratching tool is rather unusual, that’s all,” the soft response earns you a wry smile on his behalf — no teeth, just a handsome stretch of slightly chapped lips into a thin line. “You could’ve just asked me to do it for you, you know?”

“I would hate to become a distraction for the foolish purpose of using you as a screwdriver,” he remarks with a hum, nodding in your direction. Though his concern about disturbing you vanishes the second you step closer, brushing his hair with a gentle stroke of a touch-starved hand, fingers getting stuck in tangled locks, reminding you to use an actual brush on him later.

“Ah, but I wasn’t busy,” you assure him, savouring the barely audible keen when you part the woven together hairs with the softest of tugs. “And I don’t mind becoming your tool for a minute or two. As long as I can be of service.”

“That’s very, eh… thoughtful of you,” he purrs a careful response, visibly savouring the tender gesture — the man is basking in your gentleness, and you’ll gladly offer him every last bit of it — if only he proceeds with being yours in return. “May I hope for your indulgence in case my tools accidentally become useless?”

He gives you another pretty grin — it’s a toothy one this time, and you stiffen, endlessly proud of bringing such a wide smile to his mostly demure face.

“Of course,” you respond with a sweet peck, placed precisely on the mole above his chuckling mouth.

Perhaps you should change the epitaph to ‘died of overwhelming love for a certain scientist’. Though now that you’re thinking about it — the quote is definitely a little bit too cheesy for your liking.

[specksizedgoddess]

Once upon a time there was a tiny speck of a girl. She'd scamper about the floor, living off crumbs and lint. While she cobbled together a meager existence she dreamt of being noticed by the owner of the apartment. She learned her schedule, when she showered (almost never), when she'd have floor time, when she'd eat raw ramen in bed or at her computer, even how long it'd take for her to burp after drinking an energy drink. Eventually the mote built up enough courage to approach the slobbish girl. She hiked all day to reach the spot where they'd typically lay down, waited, then once she was in place, began climbing her thigh, each oily hair like a handle for the tiny buggirl to ascend. Though the little thing picked quite a day because she was greeted by a twitching girldick and hand after finally summiting her thighs. After admiring for a while---a real girl, satisfying her real needs---, the giant stopped without finishing, and the bug continued to make her trek. Across the crumb-covered belly, the greasy bra, the sticky chest, finally she made it up to the girl's face. Nervous but eager, the tiny thing tried to speak up, "...h... uh... h-Hi!"

Her advance was immediately met with a yelp and jolt from the girl, the tiny bug cast to the floor, bones broken. After searching briefly, she found you amidst the clutter. She stared at you, her giant eyes consuming your bloody vision. You spoke up again, trying to introduce yourself and how much you loved her. Still bewildered, she got a loose candy wrapper and picked you up and placed you into an empty shot glass at her desk. That little cup became your home while you recovered. You'd watch her watch streams, she'd put crumbs in there--giant ones, her fingers unable to create crumbs small enough for your--as well as the occasional drop of water. Even after you had recovered, you didn't leave. She was noticing you, caring for you, even if only as a curious pet-like-thing.

As time went on, however, more cans built up around your glass enclosure. She got lost in her shows and games for longer and longer, your novelty having worn off and your insignificance forestalling her ability to even remember you were there in the first place. You waited, desperate to be seen again, until you were too emaciated to escape that tiny cup. The last thing you remembered before you dried out into a speck of dust, was touching yourself as you watched her jerk off to some porn--the cans and junk around you blocking your view of the screen. Though you did receive a proper sendoff--one befitting a horny speck of worthless dust. Long after you were gone, after she got another energy drink and was finally able to satisfy her needs as a real girl, she needed something to catch her mess... and how convenient, an empty shot glass was right within arm's reach.

And so would have ended the tale of the little horny speck, buried 6 mm under, though in cum rather than dirt, and with a eulogy that the speck could have predicted given the timing of her most recent energy drink: a fat, wet burp. "Would have ended", only that the cum dried and more was layered on as time marched on. Until the thing was a fossil under layers of sediment. A potentially precious specimen---had the girl not then thrown out the ruined shotglass rather than clean it.

~Love you 🐍💜

HSCJDBJDJVJCJDJCJDJCDJD OH MY GOD

FAVE FAVE VERY QUICKLY ADDING THIS TO MY FAVES TAG <33333333

I DONT EVEN HAVE ANY WORDS THIS IS JUST. MMMMPH <3

Oh to be an obsessive little bug of a girl, absolutely obsessed with someone... staring up at them every day, moaning with every action, they dont even know I exist... memorizing everything, touching myself, desperately fantasizing about them- finally working up the courage to talk to her...

Oh my GOSH I ffucking. moaned out loud at the "real girl" comment 😵‍💫

Happily waving, introducing myself, holding back my exitement... pretty soon, I'm spending every second in that glass, eagerly whimpering and staring at her- I never imagined I would get so close, let alone eat crumbs given by HER... I'm a moaning mess, exitedly watching everything she does...

And of COURSE I'm still happy when I'm weak from hunger~ just the honor of being hers, of being so close........ my last moments spent happy and horny~ she even gave me a proper sendoff, how thoughtful.... hchshchxhchds NEED OH MY GOD

[queen-mabs-revenge]

Anyway just sent a support ticket to staff about the new lightbox. Feel free to crib some/all of it if you want to send your own

Hi there,

First of all, I do want to say that there have been some amazing updates to this site of late -- polls stands out as something that has absolutely enhanced the Tumblr experience, and they've been implemented in a really thoughtful and clear way. These have made me happy to be a paying ad-free user.

However, I have to give feedback about the new lightbox feature that has been rolled out on mobile. I find it so hostile to the user experience that I've actually deleted the mobile app and am now accessing tumblr through my mobile browser.

When I click on an image, it's with the intention of removing all other distracting app features so I can focus on the image. With the new feature, the permanent post detail overlay covers part of the image/video and creates a cluttered and distracting experience. Also, if the image is of text, the text overlay makes it impossible to read the text in the image.

Also, I often click on an image with the intention to zoom in to either read small text or look at image details. The new lightbox feature destroys the capability to do either of those things without going through the circuitous process of clicking 'more' and then accessing the post through the person's blog rather than the dash. This makes the experience of viewing images actively difficult and circuitous instead of easy as it was with the previous lightbox experience. It deeply reduces accessibility.

Clicking on a video used to bring the video into focused view with sound automatically unmuted and gave the ability to scroll through the video by pulling left or right and pause with a tap. The new lightbox forces mute when opening a video, and the inability to easily track back and forth means that one is unable to rewind to hear the missed sound. Also, the ability to scrub back and forth through a video is essential for people who need more time to process sound and language. Again, the new lightbox removes accessibility.

With the new lightbox feature, the standard motion of flicking up to exit an image/video has been hijacked to introduce algorithmically-served content. The reason I am here on tumblr is because I can very carefully curate the content that I see. I choose not to use any other social media site because I find unavoidable algorithmically-served content hostile to the experience I would like to have online. I have chosen to pay for Tumblr services because I so strongly support the idea of a social media site where algorithmically-served content is not pushed onto you as a user. Not only has this lightbox feature removed a standard one-handed motion now requiring two-handed browsing, but it's actively antithetical to why I chose to financially support this site.

All of this added to the fact that on mobile images are still being served tiny and not being scaled up to full-width as they were previously, and the alt text indicator is still so dark and in a position where it's likely to cover text, means that the lightbox view is more important than ever. I was unhappy with the small images and obscuring alt text tag, but was able to push past that with the old lightbox view. Now the mobile app is unusable to me, hence deleting it.

If this is something that remains permanent, I can't see going back to using the mobile app and subsequently would drop my ad-free subscription.

I really hope that you consider going back to the previous iteration of the lightbox - it was simple, intuitive, accessible and didn't push algorithmically-chosen content. That's what people come to Tumblr for.

Thanks for your time and all the work you do,

queen-mabs-revenge