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alessiasfreckles · 8 months

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fasching (georgia stanway x reader)

you've had a crush on georgia for a few months after meeting her at a party in munich. now it's fasching, and you're determined to show her the intricacies of the german holiday - i.e. getting drunk.

warnings: alcohol, fluff

a/n: wanted to write something about georgia and fasching/karneval since, y'know, it's fasching (which is a german holiday at the start of lent where everyone wears costumes and gets drunk, basically)! short and sweet x

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“Well, can I just wear the dirndl I wore for Oktoberfest again?” Georgia asked, frowning.

“No!” you exclaimed. “You need a real costume.”

“What if my costume is an FC Bayern footballer?” she grinned.

“That’s not a real costume. Or at least, it would be if it wasn’t just basically your work uniform,” you said, rolling your eyes. You got out your phone and started swiping through pictures. “Look, one year I went as a cat. Oh, this is when I went as a clown- but, like, a sexy clown. Ugh, this one year we walked in the parade with my grandad’s political party and they were going as sewage workers for some reason? I was like, 13. I was so embarrassed.”

“So it’s basically like Halloween except with a parade,” Georgia said, an eyebrow raised.

You shrugged. “Kind of, but don’t let anyone hear you say that. Germans take Fasching very seriously. Oh, and if anyone tries to tell you it’s called Karneval, ignore them. It’s Fasching.”

“Right,” she nodded slowly, arms folded. “I still don’t really get the point.”

“Do Germans really need an excuse to get drunk and party?” you asked with a grin, and the English player laughed. “Nah, I think it’s to do with lent, but no one really cares about the origins.”

“Oh, like pancake day!” she said, brightening up.

“Oh! Yeah, I guess. I forgot about pancake day,” you shrugged.

“How could you forget about pancake day? It’s the best holiday.”

“English holidays are weird.”

She hummed. “So, what are you going to go as this year?”

You thought for a minute. “I’m not sure yet. Usually it’s something sexy, because if you can’t pick up girls at Fasching when can you, you know?” you said, not meeting Georgia’s eye. You’d had a crush on her since the two of you had met at a party a few months ago. You had hit it off instantly. Since you were half English and had lived there as a child, and she was new in Munich, meeting another English person felt like a breath of fresh air.

She laughed, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. What d’you think I should go as?”

“Hmm,” you tapped a finger to your chin, eyeing the footballer. “Well, it depends. Do you want to be hot or funny?”

Now her cheeks were bright red. “Uh, I dunno,” she said, laughing nervously.

“Well, we could do a costume together, if you want. That’s a little more fun than just by yourself,” you suggested, and she nodded eagerly.

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By the time Georgia found you at the parade, you’d already had a drink or two and were decidedly on your way to feeling tipsy.

She saw your costume before she saw you. The two of you had spent a while deliberating on what to wear, going back and forth between ideas, before finally settling on Tom and Jerry. You were going as Jerry (although you felt more like Karen from Mean Girls), wearing a grey dress and mouse ears, and Georgia was wearing a cat onesie, with a nose and whiskers painted on her face.

Seeing your mouse ears from across the busy street, she hurried over to where you were waiting with your friends.

“Gee!” you exclaimed when you saw her, pulling her into a hug. “Hi!”

“Hey!” she said, cheeks pink, and nodded to your friends, who were all eyeing her curiously.

“Aha, also sie ist die Fußballerin, in der du schon seit Monaten verknallt bist?” one of your friends said, looking Georgia up and down.

“Klappe!” you said, glaring at her.

“Was? Sie spricht doch eh kein Deutsch, oder?” the friend asked.

Georgia wasn’t sure what you and your friends were talking about. All she really picked up was ‘Fußballerin’ and ‘Deutsch’, so she figured it was about her. Feeling awkward, she tapped your arm.

“Hey, um, I can head out if you want to hang out with your friends a bit,” she suggested, making your heart drop.

“No, no!” you insisted. “They’re being rude. I’d rather hang out with you anyway. I’ve been to plenty of Faschings with them before, this is your first one! Come on, let’s go. Tschüss, Leute.”

Your friends whooped and whistled as you left, making you roll your eyes.

“Sorry about them. I swear they’re really nice, usually. They’re just protective of me,” you explained. “And I’m sorry about the German - they do speak English, it was rude of them not to.”

“Protective of you? Do they see me as a threat?” Georgia laughed.

You shrugged, cheeks pink, not wanting to say that they knew about your huge crush on the footballer. As you headed into a big square filled with people, you quickly changed the subject.

“Okay, so, rule number 1 of Fasching: bring your own drinks,” you told her, pulling a bottle of premixed juice and vodka out of your bag. “There’s places you can buy them, but they’re always super expensive and watered down.”

Georgia nodded seriously, listening intently. “I’m not really meant to be drinking, but I think I can make an exception today,” she admitted, smiling. “At least, I know a lot of the other girls are. I didn’t bring anything with me, though.”

“That’s okay!” you said brightly. “You can share mine. Rule number 2 is don’t get lost. There’s so many people that it fucks with the phone signal, making it impossible to contact people if you get separated.”

She bit her lip, frowning, and you took her hand in yours. “Just keep holding my hand and we’ll be fine!” you said with a grin. Normally you wouldn’t just take her hand like that, but the drinks you’d had were starting to take some effect, giving you a confidence boost.

“Okay,” she laughed, blush rising to her cheeks. “Any other rules?”

“Hmm, not that I can think of,” you said, “Just let me know if it’s too much, okay? I know it’s a lot of people.”

You squeezed her hand and she nodded, taking the bottle from you and taking a swig. You cheered her on, and when she gave you the bottle back you took a drink as well, trying not to think about the fact that your lips were where hers had just been.

“Ready?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

“Ready.”

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2 hours later, you were well and truly drunk, and Georgia wasn’t far behind you. You had watched the parade for a while before getting bored and wandering around together, giggling about people’s costume choices. After an hour of trying to squeeze through the masses of people, you decided to cut through some back alleys, and had ended up staying in one of them, drinking and talking.

“Usually I don’t really like Fasching,” you admitted, hopping up to sit on a brick wall and swaying slightly, holding out your hands to steady yourself. “Woah.”

“Careful,” Georgia giggled, putting her hands on your waist to help ground you. “Why not?”

“Too many people,” you said, voice slurred, waving a hand towards the noise of the parade, which you could hear streets away. “Too loud.”

“That’s fair,” she nodded. “I don’t really like crowds either.”

“What!” you exclaimed. “Why did you come with me then? I wouldn’t have taken you if I’d known. Fasching is awful if you don’t like crowds.”

“Because you asked me to,” she said simply, smiling at you. “It’s not so bad with you.”

“No?” you asked, blushing. You realised Georgia was stood between your legs, her hands still on your waist from steadying you, making your heart flutter.

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s, I dunno, easier with you.”

You smiled widely at that, taking another drink from the nearly empty bottle to try and hide how hard you were blushing.

“Hey, what was your friend saying, before?” she asked, wondering whether you were drunk enough to tell her.

“Oh, that,” you said, rolling your eyes, any kind of filter you had gone. “She was asking if you’re the footballer I’ve had a crush on for months.”

You clapped your hands over your mouth when you realised what you’d said. Georgia’s eyebrows were raised, a look of surprise on her face that was quickly replaced by a teasing smile.

“And, am I?” she asked, hands tightening a little on your waist.

You swallowed, trying to think of something clever to say, but the alcohol was making it hard, especially when all you could really think about was the feeling of her hands on your waist and the fact that she was stood between your legs, close enough to kiss you.

“Maybe,” you said, biting your lip.

“Oh, just maybe?” she asked, all the alcohol giving her a boost of confidence. She watched your eyes flit from her eyes to her mouth and back, and leant forward slightly.

You nodded shakily, heart racing as she leant towards you. She paused just short of your face, giving you space to back away if you wanted to, but you leant in enthusiastically, your lips meeting hers.

You were a little too enthusiastic, your mouths bumping into each other, making you both giggle and pull away. Georgia was undeterred, and cupped your face with one hand, steadying you, before leaning in to kiss you.

She tasted sweet, like fruit juice and alcohol, her soft lips perfectly melding against yours. You gasped when her tongue swiped against your bottom lip, and she took the opportunity to kiss you deeper, the hand that was still on your waist moving to your back to pull you closer. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, jumping when you felt the soft onesie.

She leant back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just forgot about the onesie,” you admitted with a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

“You mean, the cat costume isn’t doing it for you?” she asked with a wink, and you wrinkled your nose.

“I mean, the costume is cute and all, but if I’m honest, I think you’re the one doing it for me. After all, you are the footballer I have a crush on.” you said, making the brunette blush. The painted on nose and whiskers were smudged slightly from your kiss, and you giggled at the sight of her.

“What?” she asked. “Is there something on my face?”

“Nah,” you shook your head, and pulled her in for another kiss.

#georgia stanway #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway imagine #georgia stanway fanfic #hannah writes fics

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lelengerine · 6 months

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now playing... "show and tell"

pairing | basketball varsity!chenle x artist!reader

synopsis | draw a pretty boy and perhaps he'll come to you.

genre | just literal 3 am fluff thoughts, bball player chenle slight brainrot, no specific prns are used (lmk if there's anything i've missed!)

wc | 0.9k

notes | so... i'm back and it's been a long while 😄 kinda forgot about tumblr for a sec but i hope you guys still remember me TT i was pretty much in a slump + acads were crazy, however!!! i am back!!! somewhat!!! likes and feedback are always appreciated (also new post layout yayy)

m.list

the air inside the school’s gymnasium has always felt humid as it clings to your skin like a damp blanket. the place has the distinct scent of sweat — entire buckets of it actually — while the occasional skid of sneakers on the rubber floor sends involuntary shivers down your spine. it’s hardly a place one would choose for peace of mind, yet here you are, perched on the bleachers, busily drawing on your sketchpad all because of a boy.

honestly, you wouldn’t be willingly subjecting yourself to this either if he wasn’t so… pretty. he sported vibrant orange hair that matched him well, the tips sticking together from the sweat on his forehead. his cheeks were flushed from from the heat, but that didn’t bother him one bit as he energetically ran around the court. but it's his smile that captivates you the most, its brightness rivaling that of the sun, his eyes forming playful whiskers as they crinkle into crescents — a sight you've translated onto the pages of your sketchbook more times than you’d like to admit.

how were you supposed to turn down drawing someone like him as an art student? one that’s in an art slump no less.

curse all pretty men, you tell yourself as your pencil scritches over the surface of your sketchbook.

you weren’t even acquainted to him one bit. in fact, you’ve only learned of his name around a week ago? it was zhong chenle if your memory serves you right.

your friend had told you he was the famous ace of your school’s basketball team, mostly for being able to make shots from such large distances. she was shocked you weren’t even aware of the boy when he was usually the talk of the entire student body, especially during the time championship season rolls around.

hell, you don’t even care much for the sport, but he’s making you second guess that too with the way he moves so effortlessly — like he was made to play this sport. perhaps you could understand the infatuation many others harbor for him… just a tiny bit.

you continue your sketch nonetheless, stuck erasing and re-drawing a certain line that doesn’t want to bend in your favor. it seems to have taken all of your focus, as you don’t even register the sound of footsteps approaching you. a tap is placed on your shoulder, and you turn around to find the exact boy you’ve been drawing for the entirety of his varsity practice.

“is that supposed to be me?” his words are laced with intrigue, accompanied by a gentler smile than you're accustomed to, yet just as captivating in its own right — wait. why is he even here talking to you? peeking at your drawings no less?

“nope. it’s not.” you lie through your teeth without an ounce of hesitation, flipping to the cover of your sketchbook faster than he utter out another word.

“please, who else even has orange hair here?”

“who said the person i was drawing was even real? for all you know, he could be an anime character.” you counter, trying to deflect his curiosity.

“yeah, totally explains why you’ve been hanging out here more lately.” he retorts, raising his finger in mock admonishment, his playful smirk betraying his teasing tone. “don’t think i haven’t noticed you, cause i have.”

“what are you? some security guard keeping records of the people who come to the gym?” you muse, meeting his gaze with a hint of amusement.

he leans in a bit closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. “well, maybe I've been keeping an eye out for someone who appreciates my... what should i call it? anime character potential?”

your heart skips a beat at his proximity, but you maintain your playful demeanor. "oh, is that what you're calling it now? i just needed a little inspiration and the confines of the art room weren’t doing it for me.” technically what you said is true, he doesn’t need to know that he’s actually the main reason your artist block has subsided.

his grin widens, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “inspiration, huh? well, i can guarantee you'll be entertained with me around.”

“you don’t need to keep me entertained, i do that already on my own.”

“oh yeah? by watching me?”

“you just want to fuel your ego, don’t you.”

“maybe a little.” his eyes smile, voice taking on a teasing lilt, "what else have you been sketching lately? any other anime characters i should know about?"

you laugh, a nervous pitter patter dancing in your chest at the prospect of sharing more of your work with him. these were your prized possessions after all. "oh, you know, just the usual. random doodles here and there."

he only beams at your response, leaning back slightly as if to better admire your reaction. "well, i’d love to see more of your usual sometime. maybe you could show me what else you've got hidden in that sketchbook of yours."

the invitation catches you off guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for words. "uh, sure. yeah, maybe sometime," you stammer, mentally kicking yourself for not sounding more confident in front of him.

but before the conversation can continue, a shrill whistle cuts through the air, signaling the end of chenle’s supposed water break. he glances towards the court, a regretful expression flickering across his face. "looks like i’ve got to go," he says, pushing himself off the bleachers and standing up. "but hey, don't forget about our little art show-and-tell date, okay?”

hold on, did he just call it a date? "hey, wait a moment-" you try calling after him, yet he's already disappeared onto the court. that wasn’t anywhere close to a proper invitation, but your heart flutters at the thought nonetheless.

fine, you conclude to yourself — if it’s a date he wants, then you suppose you could spare some more time for him.

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #chenle fluff #zhong chenle fluff #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles

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flurry-of-stars · 4 months

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𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈-𝕴𝓥

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴- 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴𝕴- 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, fluff, light angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 8k 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: So sorry for the delay! Thank you all for your patience! (ಥ﹏ಥ) I would've had this out on Monday, but I just wanted to spend some extra time editing it. I hope you all enjoy ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ ) 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡

The warmth caresses the side of your face, stirring you from your slumber. Tossing and turning in the comfortable confines of the bed you’re in, you murmur sleepily. It’s so soft, so warm.

You’re almost tempted to go back to sleep, if it didn’t feel like someone was watching you right now with tiny daggers in their eyes. Suddenly, something soft slaps your cheek, causing you to gasp as your eyes snap open in surprise. "Ah-!" You turn to the other side and are astonished to find the old tabby cat sitting on the bed, his paw raised as if ready to slap you again.

"Tolstoy..! Ah… what was that for?" you ask, while touching your cheek where his furry paw made contact.

You wonder what you did to offend the feline when he huffs at you, his whiskers twitching, preparing to hit you on the cheek again. You sit up quickly, satisfying the old cat. His meow is low as he goes about grooming his paw as if he didn’t just slap you with it. You groan at him, rubbing your cheek a little, grumbling, “Geez…just when I thought we were becoming friends…” You blink a few times as realisation hits you, “Wait…Tolstoy? What are you doing at my apartment?” The cat gives you an audacious side eye, his tongue rasping over his paw as you slowly look around, eyes darting about like a hummingbird. It’s a small room. Cozy though. Old mahogany desk. Blackout curtains. Smells of old books. An actually comfortable bed that doesn’t leave you with an aching back. A grumpy old cat.

Wait a minute..is this…? ‘Fyodor’s room?’ Your mind races, trying to put together why you’re here. It takes you a few moments to remember yesterday, the excursion out to the forest and the nap Fyodor had taken on your shoulder. The way you’d watched over the beautiful pink flora before feeling quite exhausted yourself, your head drifting onto his shoulder–

Your skin burns with embarrassment.

Fyodor must’ve woken up and brought you here. That was the only conclusion you could come to. You don’t remember him doing so but you were probably too tired to realize at the time. You stretch, listening to a few of your bones pop before you rise out of bed. Now that you’re up, you watch the brown tabby saunter into your place, yawning and curling up.

“Old man. You just wanted the bed,” you grumble, fixing your clothes from the previous day. You watch the feline settle into the warm spot you left on the bed before turning your attention to the mahogany desk.

You know you shouldn’t snoop around. This is Fyodor’s private space. He trusted you enough to let you sleep in here. You shouldn’t go through his things.

But there’s no harm in looking at his desk, right?

Your eyes roam the desk, noting just how messy it is. There’s a few books scattered about, creating messy piles on his desk, some thicker than others. Some whose covers catch your eye quicker. You’re tempted to reach out and grab one to inspect it closer, but you stop yourself, hand pausing midway across the desk.

‘Let’s just look,” you remind yourself to not betray the trust Fyodor has shown you by allowing you into his room as your gaze continues it’s search. There’s a melted candle on one side of the desk. Looks like he forgot to place it on a holder. But as your gaze drifts beyond the candle, you notice a vintage photo frame hidden under some books.

You frown as you attempt to get a better look at it, hidden in the darkness provided by the book covering it from above. Humming in thought, your hand slides into your pocket, grabbing your phone.

It was almost dead and you had a few missed calls and texts from Trixie but you ignore them for now.

Turning on the flash, you guide the light towards the frame, uncovering the old photo. The frame is corroded and the glass is shattered, splintering outwards from one corner like a glass spiderweb. And yet despite having some minor sun damage, the photo inside is almost in perfect condition.

It seems to be a group photo taken at a restaurant of some kind. You recognize Fyodor almost immediately. Though it’s surprising to see him without those heavy black lines under his eyes. His expression is one you know well; calm, reserved. Mysterious. But the presence of his smile indicates that he isn’t uncomfortable with his current situation.

To his left is a man with hair as white as fresh snow, a grey and white scarf around his neck and a white overcoat over his shoulders. His smile is wide with an arm wrapped around Fyodor’s shoulders, tugging him in close, his free hand putting up a peace sign over his scarred left eye.

Next to the white-haired man sat a calmer man. Under his hands was a book, the title reading as ‘The Precipice’ when you translated it. His eyes were closed, despite the pleased look that was on his face. On Fyodor’s right was a slightly bulkier man with messy blonde hair and a cigarette in his mouth. He was smirking at the camera like a cat who’d gotten the cream, holding up a glass of some kind of alcohol as if giving cheers to the camera. The final man was the one who seemed to be trying to fit into the frame, despite being the cameraman. You couldn’t get a good look at him, but you could see his big glasses and dishevelled light brown hair. Judging from his face- or what you could see of it- you assumed he was the youngest of the group. You look over each man in the photo, smiling softly. These had to be the acquaintances Fyodor mentioned yesterday. It was rather nice to see Fyodor surrounded by people who appeared to be enjoying his company and him, theirs.

As you tuck your phone away, you wonder how long ago the photo was taken. They seemed to be celebrating something, but it didn’t strike you as being for a birthday or marriage announcement or anything like that. Were they celebrating something related to their careers maybe?

You hum, gently resting your elbow on your wrist to softly press your knuckles against your lips. Maybe one of them had signed a contract? Perhaps finished a manuscript they’d been working on for years? Maybe it was for– “Ah, you are awake.” You almost squeal in surprise as you hear Fyodor’s voice, your thoughts shattering instantly.

You spin around, staring in absolute surprise at an amused Fyodor as he chuckles softly at your expression, “My apologies Огонёк. I thought Tolstoy had allowed you to sleep in.” His eyes wander towards his bed where the old cat is curled up, nuzzling into the warm sheets. “Good morning, Mr. Dostoyevsky,” you reply, feeling a faint warmth forming in your cheeks, your skin tingling with embarrassment for a second time this morning. You run a hand through your hair as you look towards Tolstoy, mumbling, “Yeah, you didn’t tell me your cat was pushy like that. He almost managed to get two slaps in.” Soft chuckles further escape Fyodor as he approaches you. His hand cups your cheek, a small sound escaping you as his slender finger touches your cheek.

His hands are surprisingly soft but quite cold. The tips of his fingers, however, are a tad rough. It also feels like there are a few small abrasions on his fingertips, closer to his nails. He hums, his fingertip caressing both of your cheeks before he nods, a teasing edge to his voice, “No scratches or bites. I think you’ll survive.” A soft huff escapes you as he pulls his hands back, a small chuckle on his lips as he turns away, motioning for you to come with him, “Come. Breakfast is waiting for you. You have a lot of work to do today, so you best not waste any time.” Lifting a hand, you touch your cheek slightly. His touch felt oddly nice. You don’t dwell on it for too long before you hurry after Fyodor, the scent of a freshly made meal hitting you the moment you step out of his bedroom.

Eyes wandering towards the table, you’re surprised to see a full spread for breakfast. A variety of smells flood your senses. The pleasant aroma of camomile tea. The rich smell of eggs, fried in butter. The whispering, sweet smell of blini... For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’re still in the land of dreams. Just for a moment, until you see the mountain of white paper, with more sprawled across half the dining table. Your eyes widen; Fyodor has never handed you off that many pages before. You stand there, frozen in disbelief, “M-Mr. Dostoyevsky…what is that?” Your voice falters slightly, betraying your utter astonishment at the sight before you. Taking his place at the table, a calm smirk lifts onto Fyodor’s face as he fills his cup, “That, my dear Огонёк, is the next six chapters for you to translate.”

You turn your shocked gaze to him, his teacup lifting to his lips as he takes a sip before adding, “I decided to make up for lost time yesterday. I was quite inspired after our little walk.” Six chapters. That was double what Fyodor usually gave you. Not to mention, because of your little forest walk yesterday, you still had two and a half chapters to translate meaning–

“Eight whole chapters…” you mumble quietly, shaking your head slowly as you approach the stack with caution. It was as though the pile of new chapters was like a taunting monster, teasing you of all the long hours ahead. Your wrist already ached just touching the first page for chapter ten. It looks like you were going to have to break out the old brace sooner than you expected.

Taking your seat at the table, you decide to focus on breakfast for the moment before you would inevitably be stuck sitting at this table working for the next ten hours with only a break for lunch. Just as you begin to reach over to grasp at the teapot’s handle, Fyodor speaks up. His voice is soft, though you can hear the tiredness in his voice, “Thank you for your company yesterday, Огонёк. I was…” He pauses, seeming to be thinking over his next words carefully, “In desperate need of that small moment of respite.” “You let me sleep over last night,” you reply, filling your cup with chamomile tea. You smile warmly at Fyodor, shrugging a little, “You sacrificed your bed for me. You can consider us even, Mr. Dostoyevsky. Oh and thank you for that by the way.”

Placing the teapot down with a gentle thud, you move on to filling your plate with eggs, some cold cuts and some blini, which you promptly smother with honey. “It is quite alright,” he replies, his eyes watching you carefully while you serve yourself breakfast. Once you’ve settled in and begun eating, he looks away, raising his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

A pleasant silence falls over you both as you work your way through breakfast and Fyodor seems to alternate between savouring each sip and jotting down more notes. It was nice. You wouldn’t mind sharing more mornings like this with the novelist. Something about it just feels right.

As you swallow the last bite of egg, you speak up, “I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow.” His violet eyes turn up, one of his brows raising in mild surprise. You return it with a smile, “It’s the least I can do after you spent all morning on this spread for us.” “Hmm..” He hums softly, tapping his pen against the table for a few seconds. As his pen stills, he nods, “If that is what you wish to do, then go ahead. But I will still watch over you while you cook. I do not need my assistant to lose a finger chopping up fruits for breakfast.” “Hey, I’m more careful now!” “That’s debatable.” “Wha–!” You scoff at Fyodor, glaring at him. He flashes you an amused smirk, tapping your half-full plate. “Come now, Огонёк. You shouldn’t let Olya’s cooking go to waste.” You pause. Then– “You didn’t even make breakfast?” “Did I ever insinuate otherwise?” “I was going to cook tomorrow because you cooked today!” “And I said if you wanted to cook, you could. I never once confirmed that I made this meal.” You pause again, thinking back over your conversation. You watch as Fyodor’s smirk grows, becoming more playful to your eye. You huff again, picking up your fork to stab at a blini, “Fine. Then you’re cooking with me tomorrow.” He gives you one last smirk as he raises his teacup to his lips, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Tenderly, you rub your aching wrist, eyes scanning over the translations you’ve done so far, assuring everything is correct and concise. You feel like your pen is practically dropping out of your hand as you reread one paragraph multiple times over. Your eyes droop a few times, causing you to shake your head, trying to regain your focus. You felt like you made next to no progress this week and the chapters keep piling up. After giving you those extra six chapters to translate, Fyodor added an additional four chapters throughout the week alone. You’d been confident when finishing translations for the second half of chapter seven, along with finishing chapters eight and nine, but once you moved on to the new chapters, Fyodor’s writing became more intense, more intricate, challenging you and pushing you to your limits. Even a more skilled translator would struggle. So far, through chapters one to nine, his longest chapter was forty-two pages long before you began translating.

But now the pages were multiplying like rabbits, his tenth chapter leaving you to translate almost one hundred pages. It was currently early into the night on the weekend. You’d finally finished translating it now. You had to admit, his story was becoming more interesting. You were losing yourself in the evolving narrative that had slowly grown from the story of young man, a lonely, solitary wanderer, into a budding romance. With every turn of the page, Fyodor's writing captures your imagination and intrigue.

You were hooked. As the story progresses, you've noticed the male lead's unusual ways of dealing with his feelings of friendship and now, love. Rather than expressing those feelings, he was finding odd ways to win her companionship and affection. It was peculiar, but that was what made it so fascinating to read. It was strange. Especially when the male lead had spent the past five chapters believing that the female lead understood his habit of always making her a cup of tea when she visited came from a deeper place than just accommodating a guest. But the leads have such wonderful chemistry. Great, One down. Another nine to go. ‘I have to get all these done before the writer’s convention.’ You sigh heavily, gripping your pen as your wrist throbs in pain, making your finger flinch faintly. You curse under your breath as you hold your wrist, frustration bubbling up inside of you.

You'd been unable to locate your wrist brace yet, and with another paycheck spent on ensuring both you and Fyodor had enough for meals for the fortnight, you had no money to spare on ibuprofen or a new brace, the remainder being tied up in bus fares and rent.

Settling your black and gold pen to the side, your tired, weary fingers massage your aching wrist. The pain pulses, pounding like a heartbeat.

A bitter hiss escapes your lips, "Damn it." Even from a distance, the shadow of your past still clings to you, your pounding wrist a vivid reminder of memories you've long tried to forget. A shiver runs down your spine as you reflect on the reason for your current condition. A part of you can't help but wonder if your condition is something that isn't just physical. A knock at your apartment door rouses you from your thoughts. You jolt, looking up from your spot in the darkened apartment, the only light source coming from the small television in the small open-plan dining area, propped up on a buffet table.

You groan as you stand, stretching as you call out, “One second!” You listen to your bones pop before you leave the table, moving towards your apartment door. Your apartment is a small, run down space that bears heavy traces of the previous tenants. The walls are yellowing, the air heavy with the thick scent of old cigarette smoke that was caked into the peeling wallpaper. The unmistakable musty scent of mould hangs in the air, along with the suffocating acidic tang of the vinegar you'd used to try and treat it. You were surprised mushrooms hadn't started sprouting through the floorboards. The apartment door opens into the cramped open-plan kitchen and dining room, one single lightbulb hanging over the dining room table. To your right, a small narrow hallway leads to your room and the bathroom, both hidden away in this secret, dark corner of the apartment.

Living in this apartment caused you so many struggles on the daily. Sometimes you didn’t even have enough hot water for a full shower, which was agonizing during harsh Winters.

And only one of your stove burners worked. And you couldn't use your wardrobe due to the fact it was overrun with mould. It was far from ideal. But beggars can't be choosers. This apartment had it's list of problems, but it's all you could afford. And besides, you'd lived in apartments in worse conditions that this one. Lifting your non-dominant hand, you prepare to move the small chain out of the way before twisting the door lock to the unlocked position. After all, you already had an inkling about who would be visiting you. Sure enough– “Hey! We were supposed to have a movie night tonight, remember?” Trixie stands before you, a warm smile lighting up her face. Chestnut curls cascade over her shoulders, framing her gentle face.

Dressed in a ruffled blouse and a teal-colored skirt, she manages to combine fashionable and casual, exuding a cute, chic charm with a matching ribbon tied delicately around her neck. In her left hand, she holds two boxes of pizzas, the smell of melted cheese and tantalizing toppings causing your mouth to water instantly. In her other, she carries a small plastic bag containing a bottle of your favorite wine and likely dessert to complete the meal. Her smile falters the moment she takes in your appearance, “Are you okay, bookworm? You aren’t looking too good…” You smile tiredly, stepping aside to let Trixie in. She walks in, heading to the dining room to place everything down. That’s when she comes face to face with your workspace. “Dear goodness. Is this–” “Mr. Dostoyevsky’s latest chapters,” you answer as you follow her, yawning softly. You move past her, heading to grab the only two wine glasses you own, “I’ve been up since…maybe three working on them?” “In the afternoon? Well, I’m glad you took the morning to rest.” “Ah…no…three in the morning…” The wine glasses clink gently as you slide them out of the cabinet you keep them stored in. Trixie sighs heavily, concern laced in her voice, “Darling–” “It’s not a big deal,” you insist, moving back into the dining room. You place the two glasses down before you go about packing away the accumulated pages covering the entire dining table, “I have to get all these chapters done in two weeks. Well…I guess one and a half weeks now. Mr Dostoyevsky’s agent wants us to go to the writer’s convention together.” You can hear the sadness in Trixie’s voice as she replies, “You mean the one that…? Oh, darling…” “No, no, no! I’m thrilled!” Excitement bubbles inside you as you scoop up the large stack of papers, grunting a little before flashing her a beaming smile. Her light blue eyes gaze back at you, reflecting sympathy and grief. You slip the papers onto the counter, pushing aside her melancholy, her eyes trained solely on your dream, "You know it’s always been a dream of mine to go.” “But are you sure you’re ready?” Your smile widens at the mere thought of the convention, “I’ve been ready to go since I was a child. Though do you think it would be weird if I asked Mr. Dostoyevsky if I could show off one of my dad’s books to the other authors? I could even just show it off to his friends- though he called them acquaintances, I saw the photo on his–” “Bookworm.” Trixie’s slightly stern voice catches you off guard. You snap out of your excited ramblings as she sighs. She moves closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, flashing you a sympathetic smile, “Dear…I think you may be jumping the gun a little. You're accompanying Dostoyevsky to the convention for work, yes?” You nod but before you can speak, she gently shushes you, “Bookworm, you’re going there for work. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to mix something personal with something work-related.” She tries to offer a kind smile, noticing as you bow your head a little, “You…could always still ask but remember, you’re going to this convention for your boss. Not for yourself.”

You frown deeply. You suppose you did lose sight of the real reason why you were attending this convention. But even still– You look up, your frown quirking back up into a confident smile, “I know, I know. But I want to at least ask. If he says no, I swear I’ll accept it.” Trixie’s eyes scan yours for a few more seconds before she relents. With a sigh, her smile becomes a little more genuine, her hand moving off your shoulder, “Alright…if you say so.”

Pulling back, she takes a deep breath before she speaks once more, “Now how about we enjoy our evening? I didn’t bring all this food for you to sit around and translate the night away. What movie are we watching?” Feeling a bit lighter, you sit down at the dining table, grabbing your remote and switching off the classical cello music you'd had playing on mute for the past hour. Trixie joins you, her presence adding warmth to the room as she cracks open the bottle of wine and fills the two glasses, “Well I thought we could watch–” “Twin Peaks? Again? You know that movie weirds me out!” Trixie groans, passing you a glass of wine. You giggle, sipping your wine as you flick through the other movies you had in mind. “Then how about–” “Jacob’s Ladder?? You know what?” She playfully snatches the remote from you, causing you to giggle playfully. She mischievously grins at you, flicking through the movies until she finds one to settle on. You whine playfully, making a half-hearted attempt to snatch the remote back. Though in truth, you were more than content to let her choose the movie. You were happy just enjoying your best friend's company. The movie plays as you and Trixie share your dinner, dessert and plenty of wine. You end up drinking more than she does, the wine adding to the cozy atmosphere of the evening.

As the movie nears the end, you lean your head against her shoulder, finding comfort in her presence despite the dining room chairs not exactly providing the most comfortable watching experience. Your exhaustion finally catches up with you, your eyes fluttering closed towards the end of the movie. You might have fallen asleep, were you and Trixie not left to squirm in your seats for the last twenty minutes of the film. Eventually, however, Trixie seems to get fed up. She flicks the movie off, leaving the television on to use it as a light. She groans, helping you up, your eyes fluttering open, “Alright…come darling. It’s time for bed.” “Nooo…” You whine, slowly standing up. You felt a little tipsy, your feet a tad unstable under you. Trixie’s arm snakes around your waist, helping guide you towards the bedroom as you groan and whine. “I have all my translations to do. I can’t sleep…” “I don’t want to hear it, Miss ‘Up since 3 am.’” Using her hip, she bumps open your bedroom door, carefully walking you towards the bed, “You’re going to bed and sleeping in until lunchtime. I’m sure Mr Grumpy–” A small smile tugs at her lips as she hears you giggling, “--won’t mind if the translations aren’t done before the convention.” “But he will.” You drag your words out, whining as Trixie finally gets you onto your bed. As she goes about pulling the blanket back for you and organising your pillows, you flop back onto your bed, groaning, “He’s gonna get mad at me again and scold me in Russian…” As your whines grow, you grunt as the blanket is tossed over your body, making you squirm a little. As you wiggle your way out from under the blanket, Trixie giggles at you, “You’re still not over that? That was, what, almost a month ago at this point?” “He’s gonna do it again!” You insist, continuing to whine. Trixie keeps laughing at you. In your exhausted, tipsy mind, you didn’t seem to comprehend how childish you were behaving. It was a big reason why you usually didn’t drink more than a glass at social gatherings. “Is he?” As you give a loud ‘mhm!’ in return, she shakes her head, moving over to your bedside table to pick up your phone. You sit up, sleepily rubbing your eyes as she speaks to you in a teasing, yet confident tone, “Well then I’m going to call him and give him a piece of my mind!” You snort. There was no way Trixie would actually call your boss, but it was amusing to watch as she unlocks your phone, pretending to actually be phoning Fyodor.

She giggles deviously as she holds the phone up, showing the caller ID; ‘Mr. Dostoy’ for short is what you have him saved under, along with a photo of Tolstoy curled up on some of your translations. You’re half giggling, half huffing out laughs at this point as she presses the phone to her face, sauntering around your room as she huffs into the phone, even taking fake pauses here and there to add to her performance, “Hello, Mr. Grumpy? This is Trixie and I’m the best friend of the best translator you’ve ever met this side of the globe!” You snort, laughing in amusement as she sways her hips, walking about quite dramatically as she adds, “I’m calling to tell you she isn’t going to finish translating that Mount Everest-sized pile of chapters before the writer’s convention next week and that you better just give her more time!” “My darling is over here, waking up at three in the morning, exhausting her poor tired body just to translate the chapters of your book, and I think you and I can both agree that she needs a rest!” She holds up the phone to you, covering her mouth with her hand as she speaks in what you assume to be her best attempt at a Russian accent. Unfortunately, her attempt at adopting a Russian accent sounds more like a mishmash of various accents, which just makes you laugh harder, “Why yes! Of course my…my…” She looks at you, a wide, amused grin on her face as she asks, “Psst, what’s he always calling you?”

You struggle to speak. You hold onto your sides as you laugh and wheeze, “I-I can’t–” “‘I can’t?’ That’s not a very good nickname.” She hums playfully, seeming to shrug as she sits on the edge of the bed, stopping you from rolling off in your laughter fit. “My assistant can sleep for the whole week! I want her wrapped in her favourite blanket in five minutes or I’m firing her!” “H-he would never say that–!” The image alone sends you into another eruption of giggles. “He just did though!” She grins at you, standing to put your phone back before she guides you, laughter hushing into giggles into your bed. You sigh, taking a deep breath to relax after all that laughter as she covers you with your blanket. “But you do seriously need to get some sleep, bookworm.” “Mm..” You yawn softly, watching Trixie as she moves from your side, coming to lay beside you. You roll onto your side, gazing up into the familiar light blue of her eyes, a soft hum escaping you, “Maybe I will ask him.” Trixie huffs softly, a small smile appearing on her face as she runs a hand through your hair soothingly. You close your eyes, relaxing under her touch, “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to…but are you really sure about this?” You give a soft hum of approval as you teeter between that fine line of awake and asleep. “I have to do it, Trix…his books meant the world to him.” Your heart clenches tightly in your chest. As though she can feel it, Trixie wraps an arm around you, pulling you in for a hug. “I…I have to do it…” She doesn’t give a reply. Instead, her fingers continue to run soothingly through your hair as you drift to sleep, your hands reaching up to clutch gently at her ruffled blouse. Amidst the myriad of intense smells, her expensive perfume permeates the air, its scent enveloping you in familiarity and warmth. ︵‿︵‿୨✩୧‿︵‿︵

A shudder ripples down Fyodor's spine, encouraging him to tug his cloak tighter around his body. His eyes drift towards the leaden sky, taking notice of the eerie silence surrounding them. He hadn't anticipated sitting outside today, but you had been very insistent.

The usual symphony of sparrows chirping and fluttering around the area was suspiciously absent, replaced with a sense of stillness that had his nerves on edge.

Even Tolstoy, usually eager to explore and hunt despite his old age, had refused to leave the cottage this morning. Fyodor's grip on his cloak tightens, his keen violet eyes continuing to scan the area as a chilling breeze gusts past you both. “It’s quite cold today, huh?” You remark, suddenly shattering the silence. Fyodor snaps his attention towards you, his gaze lingering on the subtle changes to your attire- a light brown scarf wrapped warmly around your neck, black fingerless gloves adorning your delicate hands. His eyes narrow thoughtfully as they settle on the brace hidden under your sleeve, wrapped tight around your wrist. He'd thought you were taking more frequent breaks compared to usual as well. “Hmm,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet laced with concern. Meeting your gaze, he holds it for a few heartbeats. With a nod, he raises his teacup to his lips, “Winter is upon us it seems.” He mumbles cryptically, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip. Today’s tea of choice was vanilla bean. It was part of the selection you had given him. What a shame the tea had gone cold. He can tell from the way you’re hesitating with your pen that something is wrong. Judging by the brace around your wrist, your carpel tunnel must be giving you some grief. With how many pages you’d translated and likely thanks to the colder weather, it was no surprise. You had even started taking chapters home to work on, so he doubted you were really giving yourself a proper break. With a sigh, he reaches over, hand gently placing over your dominant hand. He watches your eyes flutter up to meet his own as he speaks in a soft voice, “That’s enough for today, Огонёк.” You blink up at him and he watches as a mixture of shock and what almost seems to be worry crosses your features. He notices the glimmer of stubbornness in your eyes and in your tone as you reply, “But it’s early morning. There’s still another three hours until lunch.” He gives a soft shake of his head, “It doesn’t matter. You need to rest your wrist, Огонёк.” He frowns, concern etching into his features. He moves his hand, gripping the pen in yours. He can feel the tightness in your grip. Despite your pain, you don’t want to stop. “Остановись," his voice is laced with concern. He doesn’t let go of the pen as he feels your grip tightening, "Я высоко ценю твоё стремление и преданность, но это не повод становиться мученицей. Твоё здоровье для меня гораздо важнее. Не работай в ущерб себе — это не принесёт пользы ни тебе, ни мне.” He feels your grip tightening further, the pen trembling in his grip. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself to be a little more stern with you.

But then, you let the pen go. He flashes you a grateful smile, putting the pen aside to touch your jacket sleeve, over where the brace is. “I apologize, but you need to rest,” he says, voice soft and laced with care for you. “I’m sure you understand what could happen if you keep pushing your wrist like this.” “I do know,” you mumble, your eyes glued to his hand as his fingertips caress the sleeve of your coat. “But…I…” He watches you purse your lips, silencing yourself. Fyodor frowns. “Yes?” He encourages, his hand stilling over your wrist. You inhale deeply, eyes flickering between your own teacup and his hand for a moment before your eyes lift, meeting his once more. “I wanted to get all these chapters translated before the convention next week.” Fyodor blinks a few times. Slowly, a heavy sigh escapes him, “Я советую тебе притормозить. Не хочу тебя огорчать, но качество твоей работы снизилось.” He reaches across the table, picking up the latest page you’re working on, “ Для такого профессионала, как ты, это должно быть достаточным поводом осознать серьёзность последствий.” His brow furrows, his eyes reread the page a few times over. He gives a sigh, eyes turning back up to you, “Я нанял тебя, чтобы ты точно передала мою душу словами, что неродные моим устам . Так не дай моей душе потеряться в беспощадной гонке со временем.” “Like here, Огонёк. I merely described this lady as being dressed provocatively, not…well…” He grimaces a little, shaking his head in displeasure. He passes the paper back to you, noticing the faint pink hue on your cheeks.

He adds, his voice slightly more teasing now, “I’m sure a lot of readers would be displeased if I referred to her like that.” Observing your furrowed brow and anxious demeanour, Fyodor sighs inwardly, realizing quickly that his words didn't have the intended effect. With a gentle yet firm touch, his hand reaches across the table, finding yours once more as he offers a reassuring smile. “Do you understand now? I value precision over haste in your translations," he explains, his voice tender yet resolute. His fingers brush against your pained wrist, a silent reminder of the importance of your well-being.

He keeps his voice gentle, but stern, his hand gently grasping at your aching wrist. “You’ll be unable to achieve either if you need surgery for your wrist.” "Neither speed nor quality can be achieved if you jeopardize your health in the process." He watches as your eyes turn downcast towards his hand. He sees your chest expand as you take a deep, almost defeated breath, a cool breeze teasing the locks of your hair and the tassels of your scarf, “I know, I know–” “Something is troubling you,” he notes softly, eyes scanning you closely. You look up, steadily meeting his eyes.

He hums thoughtfully as he leans forward, staring perhaps a little too deeply into your eyes, judging by how you pull back a little. His hand moves, now lying over yours as he gives it a tender squeeze, “What’s weighing on your heart?” You huff softly, looking up at him. He watches your lips quirk into a soft smile, a tint of amusement around the edges, “You read the other translations I wrote on that page too, huh?” He flashes you a small smile, confirming your theory. He listens to your soft giggle for a moment before you grow more serious.

“Can I ask you something, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” He gives a little nod, encouraging you to continue. He can hear the slightly strained tone of your voice. Your drumming fingers of your free hand against the outdoor table. The way your brow is furrowing. The way you take a few soft, deep breaths before finally speaking once more. “The writer’s convention is next week. And I…” You roll your head, eyes scanning upwards before darting to your left. You’re struggling to get the words out.

“Look, I understand completely that this is for your work as an author. Vivian wants us to go on business. It’s like your first big step as a no longer anonymous author, or…something!” He huffs softly, slightly amused by how you’re phrasing it right now. You continue, eyes darting towards the lake now as you tilt your head in that direction as well, “But this writer’s convention…well..it could be my last chance to…well…” When you finally meet his eyes once more, he feels his heart skip a beat, his eyes widening slightly. It’s the first time he’s seen your eyes gleam like this. He’s seen the stubborn hardness to them before. The gentle amusement. The twinkle of pure excitement. Even the whisper of worry. There’s a burning in your eyes. Yet, this isn't merely a flame; it's an inferno—a fervent forest fire blazing deep within the recesses of your being. It crackles with an unyielding ache, an insatiable burning desire, visible in the fervour that blazes forth from your eyes, igniting the world around you with its intensity. Fyodor feels breathless simply gazing into your fire, his mind reeling back to the venture into the hidden grotto just last week. The way your voice shook with genuine raw emotion.

The bitter anger that bit at the edges of your words, the simmering resentment towards those few who had denied someone their dream, crushing it as though it meant as little as the dirt beneath their feet. ‘They mean everything to me.’ “You want to bring one of your father’s storybooks,” Fyodor deduces, his voice breathless as he stares at you, your passionate fire almost engulfing him. It falters for a moment as you blink in surprise. It looks like you’d underestimated just how attentive Fyodor could be. He watches your gaze turn away, that fire engulfed in waves of sudden bashfulness that make him want to chuckle.

But he holds his tongue, listening to your soft tone, “Yes…I know, I know, the convention is for work reasons–” You’re starting to ramble again. Fyodor felt his lips tugging upwards. You were cute when you were like this. “--But I just want to bring the last book he wrote. I just….it feels like…” You groan, lifting your hand from his, running both of your hands through your hair as you struggle to fully express yourself.

A soft hiss escapes you, the pain of your carpel tunnel pausing your motions. “Easy, Огонёк, easy…” He reaches up, gently grasping your sore wrist in the palm of his hand, using his other to rub soothing circles around the brace. He sighs, gazing understandingly at you, “Sometimes the heart screams words of such fierce passion, your mind cannot find a way to convey them through speech properly. It is alright…” He keeps rubbing soothing circles on your wrist, humming softly before he continues, “I understand. It would mean a great deal to you if you could present one of his stories to the authors that will be present…”

He frowns a little, his eyes lingering on your brace, his fingers gently caressing it. “However, we will be attending with other authors. Well-known names around these parts and good…” He pauses for a heartbeat. “Acquaintances of mine. Vivian will be expecting us to stay with them for the duration of the event.”

He frowns a little as you look down, reminding him of a sad puppy before he adds. “But–” His heart sparks as you lift your gaze, eyes full of hopefulness as he speaks, “--I will ask Vivian if it will be alright for you to pitch it to a few authors at the end of the convention.”

A small smile graces his lips as he sees the joy lighting up your face, "I don’t think it would be appropriate to show it to my acquaintances. It could create a conflict of interest. But there will be many other fantastic authors you can pitch it to." A surprised sound escapes Fyodor as he feels your hand slipping from his. He watches in astonishment as you spring up from your seat, moving fast as you bound over to him like a rabbit. Your arms envelop him in a tight hug, catching him off-guard. For a moment, Fyodor freezes, his eyes widening as he inhales the soft floral scent of your perfume. He feels the warmth of your gratitude radiating from your embrace, a sense that goes beyond just physical warmth. As your arms tighten slightly, he feels that familiar spark igniting in him, a flicker of something unfamiliar yet undeniable. It stirs the waves of emotion in his heart, leaving him momentarily breathless. “Thank you, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” You whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you so, so much…” He swallows hard around the lump forming in his throat as he struggles to find the right words. His hand trembles faintly as he reaches out, giving you a few soft pats on the shoulder.

Sensing his desire for space, you pull back to smile rather awkwardly at him. He notices the tears glistening in your eyes, a silent testament to the depth of your gratitude before you swipe them away. “It is fine,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he takes a moment to collect himself. His throat feels constricted as he tries to swallow down that heavy lump wedged inside.

The ember of warmth in his heart burns with renewed intensity, threatening to ignite into a powerful flame. With shaky breaths, he attempts to quell the rising flames, to extinguish that familiar warmth before it consumes his heart. Closing his eyes, he focuses on each breath he takes, willing the flames to subside. “Mr. Dostoyevsky? Are you–?” He lifts a hand, halting your inquiry. Silently, he battles the storm of emotions raging within him; gradually, the ember dwindles, leaving behind only a faint flicker nestled deep in his heart. Opening his eyes, he offers you a small, apologetic smile. You’re looking at him with those worried eyes once more, just as he expected. “I apologize for causing you concern, Огонёк,” he says, his voice steady despite the lingering turmoil within. “I simply needed a moment to compose myself. I am well now." “Are you certain?” You move closer towards him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. In response, he rises abruptly, stepping away from your touch. His cloak billows in the breeze, creating a physical barrier between you. “Yes. Although I think it is time we moved our work inside. I believe it's about to–” “--Snow.” Your awed tone catches Fyodor’s attention; his violet eyes turn towards you swiftly, then it darts towards the sky, eyes wide as his heart clenches tightly, noticing the delicate flakes as they gracefully descend. You watch the first flakes drift quietly to the ground, reaching out a hand to catch one. It lands daintily on your glove, instantly melting into the soft cotton, disappearing as if it hadn’t existed to start with. You’re about to reach for another when you hear quick footfalls behind you.

You spin around, your eyes falling on Fyodor as he hurries towards the garden table, “Come,” he says to you, his voice quiet and calm. He begins gathering the chapter you’re translating and the finished pages, scooping them close to his chest. He turns, hurrying towards his cottage with fast steps. “H-hey, Mr. Dostoyevsky–!” You watch as he disappears inside, a frown forming on your lips as flakes of pure white fall around you. They cascade down, twirling like tiny dancers as they make their journey to the earth but you barely notice them. Carefully picking up the teapot with your good hand, along with the teacups, you quickly scurry after Fyodor, heading into the cottage. You squeak, Fyodor almost running into you as he quickly heads out of the living area towards the kitchen. You follow him, listening to the sound of curtains being yanked shut. As you step into the kitchen, you set down the teapot and cups with a gentle clink. The murmurs of Fyodor reach your ears, his words too faint to understand. Your gaze lifts, noticing the way he shakes and shifts the curtain, making sure it’s completely obscuring the window. This was unusual behavior for Fyodor. While he always closes the curtains when it is overcast, he's never displayed such agitation about it before. His muttering and meticulous attention to the curtain's exact placement is a new, unsettling trait. “Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You carefully break the silence, your voice tinged with concern. At the sound of your voice, his muttering subsides. With care, you approach him, gently cradling your braced wrist. “Are you alright? You seem a little…stressed.” He doesn’t turn to face you immediately, his shoulders rigid with tension. His breath comes in shallow, uneven intervals, causing his chest to rise and fall in a staccato rhythm. Slowly, he turns to face you, violet irises lingering on your face for a few seconds too long before he finally speaks. “Yes, everything is fine.” His voice is strained as he moves towards the table, picking up the teapot, his facade of calmness already faltering. As he does so, you glance at his hands, noticing that they’re trembling slightly. You catch a glimpse of his face, noticing that he's clenching his jaw tightly as well.

He moves towards the kettle, preparing to reheat the tea still inside the pot. He lifts the lid, the sweet aroma wafting through the kitchen. “You’re shaking…” You point out, taking a small step towards him as the window rattles behind the closed curtain as the wind begins to whistle, its mournful tone sneakily creeping inside through cracks in the window frame. It looks like the wind is picking up, “If something is bothering you, you can talk to me.” You reach out to him as the kettle bubbles softly, steam rising from the white jug. Your hand lightly rests on his shoulder, “I’m here to listen.” Suddenly, Fyodor jolts away from your touch, his dark eyes staring down at you. Your stomach twists in knots as he gives you a stern look, the coldness in his eyes rivalling that of the falling snowflakes outside, “I said I am fine. You are needlessly worrying over nothing.” Your throat tightens faintly as you draw your hand back. You frown, watching quietly as he refills the teapot before turning his eyes to you once more. His tone is less stern now, “Go and sit in the living room. I’ll light the fireplace shortly.” With a heavy heart, you obey Fyodor's command, retreating to the living room. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of the unspoken tension hanging in the air. You settle into the window seat, wrapping your orange coat tighter around your body, its warmth failing to dispel the lingering chill in your heart, leaving you to ponder what had gotten into Fyodor. The silence between you echoes louder than any words that could be spoken, leaving a lingering sense of uncertainty in your heart. Fyodor sighs, lifting a hand to rub his temple a few times. Great. Just great.

𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 1. Stop. I appreciate your drive and dedication, but that is not a reason to become a martyr. Your health is much more important to me. Don't work to your detriment - it won't benefit either you or me. 2. I advise you to slow down. I don't want to upset you, but the quality of your work has decreased. For a professional like you, this should be enough reason to realize the seriousness of the consequences. I hired you to accurately convey my soul with words that are not native to my lips. So don't let my soul get lost in a merciless race against time. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@tecchoussuperlady @hearts4heidi @lovestruckbook @wixxlemuff @twinkaesop @livelaughyo @yonseibananamilk @honeyangelsblog @soggyoreoinmilk @verminthorr @cherridove Dividers by @/Saradika

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #Flurry-of-writing

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gosmigenergy · 7 months

Text

JUST DESSERTS

( Triple Frontier Boys x F!Reader )

Summary: Frankie and Santiago decide to host a Valentine’s dinner however you’re already a little suspicious of what they have planned.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, swearing, minor angst because Santiago’s an idiot, sex pollen, group sex, oral - female receiving, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), cream pie, voyeurism, choking, nipple play, oral - male receiving, hair pulling, spit roasting, gagging, squirting, allusions of masturbation (male), fluffy ending, nickname/pet names, no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 8.4k

Author's Notes: Just for a little context, here's the fic this one's related to.

You had spent all afternoon watching from a distance.

Frankie preferred you to be out of the kitchen when he was prepping a three course meal for multiple people, saying you were too much of a distraction. Reluctantly, you stayed out of his way and tried to keep yourself busy.

You heard his hushed profanity.

“You ok, babe?”

He was stuffing his phone into his pocket when you approached.

“I forgot an ingredient.”

Your head cocks to one side, brows furrowing. It was unusual, he was so methodical when it came to cooking, he’d never forgotten an ingredient since you’d started dating. Maybe it was Valentine’s Day nerves or because he was in someone else’s kitchen, you had to ask him why they chose Will’s place.

“I can go get it for you.”

“It’s ok, I’ve already messaged Pope.”

The pair of them had planned this evening together because you couldn’t quite book a table for five at a fancy restaurant on the day of love without being questioned. Not to mention the extortionate price rises, the candle lit table where you can barely see and the knowledge you would sit throughout dinner with four sets of eyes on you, all wanting the same thing.

“Soooo,” you bite your lip, “what do you want to do now?”

Leaning back, he folded his arms, eyes trailing you from head to toe. A shiver shot up your spine as his stare hung low, his tongue flicking over his lips and Frankie knew he had just enough time to do what he wanted to do.

When Santiago knocked on the door, it took a few minutes to get an answer.

He was just about to knock again when it swung open and revealed you, flustered and glancing down, he noticed your lack of pants. His one eyebrow quirked and a slight smirk came to his lips.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Frankie entered the living room. “I made sure she finished.”

The temperature in your cheeks rose to scorching, in all of your dating history, you’d never been caught and of course, it has to be Santiago who catches you after a thorough fingering. He’s fucking delighted.

You walk away from him before he can utter a word.

“He wouldn’t let me answer the door until I came,” you say, taking your shorts from Frankie.

“Gotta make sure you’re satisfied.”

A hand snakes around your back and he pulls you closer, squeezing the plumpness of your ass. You cup his whiskered jaw and place a kiss on his cheek before kissing him lightly on the lips, his fingers burying further.

“I’m just gonna clean up.”

“You’re welcome to stay like that,” Santiago chips in.

“I thought you were helping Frankie in the kitchen.”

You saunter away, purposefully not putting on your shorts just to rub it in his face a little.

“I hate you,” he turns to Frankie.

Frankie blinks at him, “You got the stuff.”

The pair of them go into the kitchen, ensuring they’re out of the way from prying eyes and Santiago pulls a tiny brown bag out of his pocket. Frankie snatched it from his hand and eased out the bottle, it looked like any other baking ingredient in a pipet bottle except it was fluorescent pink in colour.

“I still think we should tell her,” he said, bringing it closer for inspection.

“She’ll be fine.”

Frankie went to the fridge and brought the rest of the ingredients to the counter top.

“Ruby chocolate?”

“It’s fruity and should conceal the colour of that stuff.”

Santiago patted his friend on the back, “I knew I could trust you.”

Once you’d finished in the shower, you went to check on the pair of them in the kitchen. Santiago wasn’t being much help, merely standing there and talking whilst Frankie gently folded a pink concoction in a bowl. As you stepped closer, you caught the chocolate wrapper and knew you had to sneak a taste, slipping past Santiago.

Frankie clocked the single finger approaching and slapped your hand hard.

“Ow!”

He immediately put everything down and wrapped himself around you.

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’ve only made enough mousse for the five of us, no samples.”

You look up at him, your pouted lip beginning to quiver, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. It actually really fucking hurt but only Frankie knows why he had such a reaction and Santiago probably, you could only assume.

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it better.

“There’s some chocolate spare in the fridge,” he glanced at Santiago as he spoke.

Santiago headed to the fridge and back, handing you the other unopened bar before boosting you onto the countertop next to where Frankie was working. You eased the paper packaging apart at the top and cracked the first line, breaking a square off.

“You got any questions about tonight?”

Santiago leaned in, opening his mouth slightly and you fed him the piece of chocolate in your hand.

There was only one question you could think of.

—

“Why are they hosting it at your place?” Benny asked his brother.

“Because I’ve got a big enough dining table.”

In all honesty, Will didn’t know if that was their reasoning, he was confused when they asked him too.

“They could have hosted it here.”

“With what table?”

Benny shrugged, “I could have got something.”

His brother was still living like a bachelor, no table just two stools on a breakfast bar, no spare bedroom or fold out couch, he shook his head. When Frankie arrived at his place with bags of ingredients, Will saw it best to get out of the way and offered to come and get Benny, who was trying to figure out what to wear.

“Don’t you have a dress shirt?”

Will watched on as Benny rifled through his wardrobe.

“Do I look like I would have a dress shirt? The moment I stopped doing parades, I got rid of ‘em.”

He would have offered him one if it wasn’t for the fact Benny’s lean physique would be swamped by his. There was already a pile of rejections on the floor including the one denim shirt he owned and the one that Benny had named his good hoodie.

“Who’s idea was it to dress up anyway?”

“Who do you think?”

“Ah, the man with a thousand black shirts.”

Will laughed, “Even Fish has a nice shirt, brother.”

“The coke one?”

Will folded his arms, brows knotting. Benny looked innocently over his shoulder, throwing his hands out.

“You know which one I mean.”

Narrowing his eyes, Will notices the stuffed shelves to the side of his brother and can make out two green sweaters amongst all the greys and blues.

“What about the green sweaters?”

Benny stepped to the side and pulled them out.

“Bunny likes this one.”

He held it up the forest green one and Will was about to say it would pass until he turned it round.

“Is that a cartoon character?”

Benny scowled at him, “It’s a video game character.”

“You never fail to surprise me,” Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “and the other one?”

Tossing another rejection to one side, Benny unfolded the other one, a lightweight knit with a v-neck and emerald green in colour. He’s pretty sure this was one his mother gave him, he wore it once or twice to please her and then pretended he’d lost it over Thanksgiving. He just hated wearing anything other than gym wear, jeans and a t-shirt.

Will was going to have to take him shopping.

“That’ll do.”

—

You’d finished getting ready just as the sound of keys entering the door. Tottering over, you grabbed the door handle and opened it before Will had chance to get it himself.

“You look as lovely as ever, Bunny.”

You brush the front of your pink and purple slip dress, turning round to show him the back, you’d even wore kitten heels for the occasion.

He hands you a bag whilst he takes another, “The Prosecco you like was on offer.”

“Oh, thank you,” you kiss his cheek and leave a mark.

Benny bashfully came in after his brother.

“Aw, Benny, that sweater brings out the colour of your eyes.”

His cheeks turned pink, this was the first time you’d seen him relatively dressed up.

“I told him that but he wasn’t impressed,” Will called from behind you.

You take his sweater by both hands and pull his body to yours, crashing your lips to his. Instinctively, he brings an arm to your waist to stop you from falling backwards as your frame arches.

“Thanks for dressing up for me,” you say after parting your lips, “I know you hate it.”

“If that’s the reaction I get, I might do it more often.”

A pop of a cork filled the room and Frankie was the first to complain.

“Christ, you could have given me a warning,” he said, the food he was tentatively placing on a finely toasted slice of bread now sprayed across the plate.

Santiago came out of the dining room to see what all the fuss was about and then ushered the three of you away from Frankie. He sat you at the top of the table with the Miller brothers either side before he switched on some background music and left to help Frankie serve.

“Can we have more light?”

“Honey, this is meant to be romantic.”

You hum, “Would be nice to see everyone’s faces.”

You had resisted saying anything for two courses, it only seemed right to see them for dessert. Frankie pulled out all the stops on food, to start was freshly made Bruschetta then he followed it with the first ever meal he cooked for you, steak with dauphinoise potatoes and greens. With everyone’s plates clear, he went to dish up dessert.

Santiago grumbled and turned the dial up a little, bringing a warm glow into the room.

“That’s better,” you smile even as he stares you down.

Frankie comes in with the first two plates, placing one in front of you. The pink mousse he was creating earlier was delivered with a handful of berries on the side.

“I’ve waited all afternoon to try this!”

You waited, fidgeting for the rest of the boys to get theirs with a spoon in your hand. The moment Frankie put his ass in his seat, you took the biggest portion you could.

“This is so good,” Benny said, continuing to stuff the mousse into his mouth.

It was good, you weren’t going to deny that. It was velvety smooth, the ruby chocolate adding a touch of fruitiness along with the berries but there was something else. You began to eat slowly, eyebrows knotted as you tried to decipher what it was.

Everyone kept eating before Will spoke up, scraping the last of it from his ramekin bowl.

“What was that floral flavour?”

That wasn’t quite it but you knew he was close.

“Special ingredient,” Santiago responded quickly.

Frankie sighed, “We’re gonna have to tell them eventually.”

“Tell us what?”

Benny was using his finger to scoop out what remnants he could, eyes flitting from Santiago to Frankie.

“Sooo, it’s not rose?”

Will’s query suddenly makes you feel queasy, unable to eat the last couple of spoonfuls so you place your cutlery down.

Santiago clocks it.

“No,” he says, folding his arms. “It’s Aphrodite’s Essence.”

Will looks at Santiago and Frankie before his brother, who sheepishly avoids eye contact.

A swell builds in your chest, the name is all too familiar and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or both. Instead, you bundle the cotton napkin from your lap in your hand and throw back your chair.

“You’re such a fucking dick, Santiago.”

You launch the napkin, hitting him square in the face as you flee from the room.

He calls your name but you ignore him, already bolting for the bedroom, swinging the door heavily. The slam echoes through the hall and Santiago goes to get up. Will gestures a hand for him to stop and he follows the order like any good soldier would.

“Give her a few minutes,” his eyes glanced to everyone again. “And you can tell me what the fuck is going on.

—

Santiago was hesitant to go in, he didn’t quite know what was behind the door. The four of them had talked it out, Will was pissed with every single one of them for a fleeting moment. Benny and Santiago almost ended up in a shouting match whilst Frankie remained quiet until he decided to step in and shut them up.

“Sure you don’t want to do this?”

He looked over his shoulder at Will who shook his head, he was always shaking his head at one of them.

“It’s gotta be you, man.”

His friend was right, Santiago just hated it.

Taking a breath, he rapped the door but you didn’t respond. He takes it as a good sign and squeezes past the threshold as he opens the door enough to fit through.

“Hey.”

You’re sat up, back against the headboard of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around the teddy Will won you. In the darkness, he could just about make out your teary eyes and he switched on the nearest the nearest lamp to give off some light.

You sniff, “Hey.”

He sits at your feet and you move them back.

“Honey, I’m sorry.”

“The last time we saw each other, you wanted to slow down on all of this shit then you go and —“

You lose your words, you’re so mad at him.

“I know, it’s bad timing on my part.”

You look away, pushing your cheek into the soft fabric underneath.

This wasn’t bad timing, he’d made an idiotic decision to get revenge on Benny and thrown everyone else into the mix with them.

“You remember how scary it was for me, I thought I was going to die.”

“But you didn’t, Fish and I made sure of that.”

“It doesn’t mean I want to go through it again.”

“It’s about ten percent of what you had last time, fifteen tops. We added a little extra just to make sure it works.”

“Couldn’t you have just laced Benny’s?”

“Would you want to be around Benny with that stuff in his system and without any in yours?”

“No,” you hugged the teddy closer. “You could have made him go it alone.”

“I’m mean but I’m not that mean.”

“You could have warned me,” your voice was timid.

He rested a hand on your foot, his thumb stroking your ankle. You were right, Frankie was right but he wouldn’t admit he was wrong.

“Would you have eaten it if you knew?”

You breathe in, the stutter in your chest that you only get from crying. Dropping a hand, you hold onto his thumb, eyes returning to him.

“I guess not.”

He hummed, he guessed as such.

“We’ve got to make sure we all have a level playing field,” he handed you the last of your dessert. “I had to fight Benny before he had the rest.”

Your smile peeks from behind the green dome head and you let go of his thumb, taking the dish. You eat the final spoonfuls and hand it back.

“How long till it kicks in?”

“Somewhere between thirty minutes to an hour.”

“So I have time to fix my makeup?”

He double checks his watch, “Plenty.”

Santiago continued to draw circles on your ankle, listening to your breathing as it steadied into its usual pace.

“Am I forgiven?”

“We’ll see how the night goes.”

He slips off the bed and onto his feet, leaning forward to brush his nose against the crown of your head.

“We’ve got you,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You wait until he leaves the room to sort yourself out. In the bright light of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of how messy you looked, mostly from the mascara trailing down your cheeks like rainfall. Wiping it away, you reapply everything and fix your hair, rearranging your tits under your dress.

“Need any help?”

After hearing the hive of activity in the kitchen, you popped your head through to the dining room.

“All good, sweetheart.”

Will was alone, carefully stacking dinnerware and blowing out candles. You step further in, playing with your hands.

“I kind of ruined dinner, didn’t I?"

“Hardly.”

Santiago ruined dinner, you merely reacted how most people would having found out their food had been laced. He was surprised he’d taken it so well himself.

You hovered nervously, waiting for his attention.

Leaving the plates on the table, he wanders over to you and coils an arm around your frame, pulling you close. His touch is hotter than usual, palm scorching through the slip dress you wore and you try to figure out how long you’d been gone from the room.

“Can I fix you a drink?”

You smile, “Please.”

He took everything in his hands and told you to head to the lounge. Following him, you part ways and you perch on the couch.

You recognised the similarities of last time beginning to trickle through your system. The elevation in your heartbeat, the rise of temperature in your skin that felt as though you were basking in the afternoon sun. It felt like your lips were getting plumper, your eyes growing bigger, the colours of the room becoming vibrant.

“Benny’s insisting whatever this is isn’t working,” Will chuckled. “Fish is fighting with him to not put a couple more drops straight into his mouth.”

“And what do you think?”

You take the glass from his hand and scoot to the side to allow him space next to you. Taking a sip, every bubble pops along your tastebuds, the flavour sinking in deep.

He shrugs, “I don’t know, what am I supposed to be looking for?”

Leaning back, his eyes roam over your body, noticing how you seem to be glowing. Each inch of bare skin he looks at tingles and you wonder if this is how it starts when you take a normal dose. He stretches his hand, fingertips skimming over your shoulder blades and the shiver travels down your spine, pulsating in your pussy. Something travels from you to him, electricity shooting up his arm and his face turns serious.

“On the table.”

You cock your head to the side, “The coffee table?”

“Front on the coffee table, ass facing me.”

“You sure?”

His one eyebrow arches and he folds his arms, tipping his head towards the table quickly.

You swallow, mouth drying as you listen to his instruction. Slipping effortlessly off the couch, you crawl to the coffee table and move a few items out of the way before you drape onto the cold glass top. Glancing over your shoulder, you see his glazed stare, Aphrodite’s Essence soaking into every fibre of his being.

You knew you were in trouble when his hands reached for his belt.

Your desire was already pooling, the nice underwear set you wore an afterthought as you leaned to show your ass to him.

Will glanced to where the other guys were talking before lifting himself up and dropping to his knees. He tapped your ankles and you spread yourself wider. Grabbing the hem of your dress, he lifted it over the curve of your ass, displaying the dark patch already present on your knickers.

“You shouldn’t have worried about the underwear.”

You frown, looking further over your shoulder.

“Didn’t expect to already be this turned on, thought you would like them.”

“Any other night I would.”

You gasp as he cups a hand over your pussy, pushing against your mound and forcing the bottom half into your wet folds. Whining, you lean to his touch, back bowing. The noises you make cause his cock to harden, already straining against the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck,” he growls, hungrily yanking down your knickers.

He parts your ass cheeks to gaze upon your glistening folds, arousal weeping from your entrance. You breath shudders in anticipation as you break eye contact and face the dark television screen.

You watch as he stares longingly before shuffling back and lowering himself, his broad shoulders visible either side.

He flattens his tongue to your folds and licks up slowly. The mewl you gift him is intoxicating, how your body shakes only sweetening it. Your juices already dribble onto his chin, every moan he gives scattering through your nerves.

Unlike last time, the sensation isn’t as intense, instead it softly spreads a warmth through your body, like the tingle you get from coming in from the cold.

Will continued to eat your pussy, tongue slipping between your lips and teasing your inner walls. Then he tilted his head back and moved forward, mouth locking around your clit. It came alive, your legs threatening to lock if he hadn’t forced you to widen, hands gripping harder.

The sweat was arriving to his forehead, his head cloudy as you engulfed him.

You try to hold onto the table top, clammy palms slipping on the glass as you stretch your fingertips in front. Yet, he fights you, continuously pulling you back until you managed to break free.

“Where are you going, Bunny?”

Turning your upper half, you see his dishevelled appearance, messy blond hair and bright red cheeks.

“Nowhere,” you bat your eyelashes, tongue flicking to dampen your lips.

A smile grows on his face, “Good.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, chest heaving as he scrambled to get the fabric from his skin. Standing up, he stripped down to nothing, eyes not moving from you.

Everyone else remained in the kitchen, talking, unaware of the situation enfolding on the opposite side of the wall.

Kneeling down, Will kissed your lips and brought his weight down on you, pining you to the table top. His hardened cock pushed into the valley of your ass, nestling sweetly between your cheeks. You moan, inviting him to shove his tongue into your mouth and meet your own.

His hands trail up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he carried on up your body and over your stomach, hitching your dress higher.

Sinking his teeth into your bottom lip, he tugs gently before releasing it and nuzzling into your neck. His whiskers scratch your skin as he suckles and the essence in your system screams desperately to be covered head to toe in his marks.

You nudge your ass into him, grinding against his stiff length as your want becomes too much.

Groaning, he snakes a hand between the pair of you and takes hold of his cock. He brushes the tip over your asshole, causing you to shiver before he gathers the juices pooling at your opening.

You have little time to prepare yourself as Will ploughs through your folds and fills you to the hilt. It took the air from your lungs, your arms slipping on the smooth material beneath you. He brings his hands to your shoulders, chest firmly set on your back as he squeezes you, pressing you firmly to the base of his cock.

He waits to see your fingers grip the edge of the coffee table, knuckles almost turning white before he pulls easily through your slick and slams into you again and again. Each one of his overwhelmed senses was only able to focus on you. The final hint of your perfume as the aroma of each other’s sweat hit his nostrils, your frantic cries as you begged for more, your wrecked appearance reflected in the tv.

In the stifling heat of your bodies, you could only think of his cock.

How it glided and buried itself within your walls which pulsed as they attempted to take hold of his length, how every stroke hit the multiplying number of sweet spots in your weeping cunt. It was becoming almost unbearable, you just needed to cum.

“Will,” there was a sense of urgency in your tone.

His breath burns your neck, “I promise I’m close.”

You whine, toes curling as the desire is fit to burst in your belly.

He let go of one shoulder and brought his arm just below your neck, holding you to his chest. His other hand moves downwards, stroking your side with a featherlight touch that has your body vibrating in anticipation. Tucking it underneath, he pulls back the hood of your clit before pressing a fingertip to the bundle of nerves.

His arm locks around your neck as you begin to squirm.

Words fail you, nothing coming out of your mouth but tiny squeaks and the sound of you choking to get air into your lungs. Your eyes are shut tight, the inside of your lids decorated with pinpricks of white and pink.

He takes a few more thrusts until he can no longer force his way through your closing walls. He holds you as close as he can as you stop fighting and your hands cling onto his arm, the orgasm surging through you. Your pussy throbs until you milk him dry, his rasp hot in your ear as your bodies mould into one.

When you catch your breath, the adrenaline pumping through your veins approaches your chest and dispels into giggling.

“Shiiit…”

The laughter was contagious, Will’s chest rumbling against your back before he lifted himself from you. His cock draws out of you as he rests onto his heels and he watches you push his thick white cum from your opening, the audible churn as it dribbled out.

“Is this what happened last time?”

“Sort of,” you look over your shoulder, “except this is much more fun.”

His still stiff length twitched at your words and his cheeks went even redder.

“I’m gonna get some water, want anything?”

You pick yourself up, legs shaking and your dress falls over your frame covering the evidence, if you ignored that he was completely nude.

“I’m good,” you say, closing the space between you.

Leaning in, you kiss him, the flavour of your juices soaking into your lips. When he pulls away, he winks and retreats to the kitchen.

Inside the others had carried on talking, Santiago on drying duties whilst Benny cleaned. Frankie clocked him first, eyes darting over Will’s post sex image and he stepped aside to allow him entry to the sink. Will grabbed whatever glass he could and knocked his brother out of the way, immediately switching on the tap.

“What the fuck?” Benny couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Santiago leaned against the counter top and admired the view as Will chugged before going in for another.

“You ok?”

“Fucking fantastic, brother,” Will smiled at Santiago.

“See, Benny, it is working.”

Benny rolled his eyes, “My brother’s hard on is not proof that it’s working.”

Santiago didn’t know what other proof he could give, he shrugged, opening up his hands in disbelief.

“Will’s got a hard on, I’ve got a hard on and Fish—”

Abruptly, he stopped talking when he realised Frankie wasn’t even in the room any more. He ran his hand over his mouth, fingers tugging gently on his bottom lip as he thought about his next move.

“Come on,” he strode to the door.

Benny threw the sponge into the sink and followed him, Will stayed put, downing water to rehydrate himself. In the lounge, the other two were greeted by a euphoric sight.

Frankie had already made himself comfortable with his shirt unbuttoned, jeans and underwear pulled down his thighs and sat on the one armchair. You were sat on his lap, legs tucked either side of his as you sat with your ass to him, now fully naked. Slowly, you lifted yourself up and down his shaft, sweet and delicate grunts falling from your lips.

One of his broad hands was on your hip, fingers deep into the flesh as he guided you gently, the other at your neck, shaping your back into a perfectly formed arch. You tilted your head to look at him, eyelids heavy as the cock drunkenness begins to set in and his blown eyes reflect back at you.

“Looks like we have an audience,” he drawls.

Your eyes break away from his so you can catch a glimpse at who’s watching, through the fog of the essence you can tell it’s Benny and Santiago. A sharp sting comes across an ass cheek and you yelp, attention returning to Frankie.

“Feeling it?”

Benny took the question as rhetorical, of course he was feeling it now. His cock grew in a matter of seconds, the bulge visibly drawing the tension in his pants and Santiago tried not to look at it.

Instead, he starts to unbutton his shirt, walking towards you and Frankie hungrily. He places a single finger on your knee and follows your form, a delicate touch over every curve before he takes his thumb and squeezes your nipple.

You bite your lip to stop the moan from coming, a slight stutter in the movements of your hips.

Santiago steps forward and looks down on you, beads of sweat on your hairline and flushed cheeks - god he loved you like this.

“How’s it going, Bunny?”

You gasp for air, “Good.”

His head tilts to one side, eyes flicking to Frankie.

“Just good? I’m sure Francisco and Will are better than that.”

Frankie’s fingers constricted around your neck causing your inner walls to pulse, more juices to flow down his length.

“They are,” you plead with them. “They’re so fucking good.”

Santiago could forgive you, words never came easily when you were overstimulated. Your hips had stopped moving and you sat heavily on Frankie’s length, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he loosened his hold on your neck.

He looked at his friend, “Can I join you?”

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the way their eyes met.

Frankie removed his hands from you and you straightened you back, eyes following Santiago as he repositioned himself in front of the pair of you. Your hips had begun rolling of their own accord, only widening Santiago’s smile as Frankie hissed.

He roughly snatched your hands in response, bringing them together behind your back before he placed one of his in between your shoulder blades and eased you forward. You watched, saliva building as Santiago unbuckled his belt, slipping it swiftly from the loops. There are so many ways he could use it yet it gets tossed to the side along with his shirt and pants.

He picks your chin up, “Don’t look so disappointed.”

How could you be disappointed?

Frankie takes your ass in his hand, pushing to encourage you to start riding him. You’re slow at first, trying not to go hell for leather like the essence wanted, and at this angle, you can’t see him just hear how he purrs.

Santiago holds two fingers in front your face and you part your lips, running your tongue along the underneath as he slipped them in. You rolled your tongue around them before he pulled them out, a string of spit hanging briefly between the both of you. Licking your lip, you open your mouth wide enough for his stiff length and girth.

Tipping your head, you stick out your tongue and lick the precum from his radiating tip, the sharpness hitting your tastebuds. He sighs, cupping your jaw and drags you along his cock, stepping forward to graze the back of your throat.

“That’s it.”

His hands drop to his side as he allows you to the control.

You bounce on Frankie’s lap and swallow Santiago in tandem, moaning at the sensation of being full but also the fire in your muscles from being trapped in this position. After a few minutes, Frankie meets your hips with a thrust and you gag on Santiago’s cock as it twitches.

“You alright, cariño?”

You give a muffled response.

Looking up bleary eyed, Santiago’s one eyebrow arches as he double checks on you. You flutter your eyelashes when he brushes the hair from your face and tucks the strands behind your ear. His hand hovers before he runs his fingers into your roots and takes a fistful, the prickling travelling down your neck and shooting down your spine.

He begins to bob your head for you, the tip of your nose tickled by the hairs that line the base of his cock.

Benny had to get out of his clothes.

He scrambled to remove his sweater before freeing his cock from it’s prison. Dropping to the couch with a groan, his length swung towards his navel, this must be what it’s like when someone stumbles across one of his videos.

Every sound the three of you make floods the room, the smell of sweat as the heat builds and can no longer fight the overwhelming urge to wrap his hand around his throbbing shaft. He flinch, his cock so sensitive it’s like he was stupid enough to touch fire. Pushing through it, his jaw locked as he clench his jaw and cautious spread the bead of precum over his head.

Santiago heard movement and track Benny as if he had eyes at the back of his head. He adjusted his stance to let him see you, your features enhanced even from the distance. The glistening of your spit over your lips and round your mouth as you sucked Santiago’s cock, the wave in your throat as he moves in and out, the peaks of your tits wobbling every stroke Frankie took.

The rest of the world blurred around the edges.

Frankie could feel his legs seizing, the knot in his stomach tautening, he wasn’t going to last much longer. He was dizzy from the high, different to the one used to gain from drugs, if he didn’t cum soon he was going to black out.

“We’re gonna need to hurry this up.”

Santiago gave him a singular nod.

Frankie let go of your wrists and tucked them just above your elbows before lifting himself from the armchair. Santiago kept you steady as he moved back and you almost didn’t notice you’d changed position until Frankie snapped his hips, plunging deeply into a new spot.

The vibrations of your groan sent shockwaves through Santiago.

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth.

He brought another hand to the back of your head, strategically placed in a way to not obstruct Benny’s view. He helped you take him smoothly as Frankie slammed into you again and again, making you see stars.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, stay with me.”

This was the first time Santiago had seen you go crossed eyed, your tongue so loose you were drooling down your chin, each choked huff sugary sweet.

Frankie could feel the essence pumping through his veins, his crotch was burning as his desire increased until he balls were full enough to explode. His final thrust forced you into Santiago’s stomach and he held you there as his seed coated your walls before your whole body trembled.

When Santiago came, he spilled his load deep into your throat until you swallowed every last drop. The orgasm carried on, your muscles spasming to the point where you pushed Frankie’s cock from your pussy. Your juices flowed after and in the pink coated darkness you could hear Santiago singing his praises, pulling his shaft from your mouth.

Your arms are still held strong by Frankie who worried you were about to collapse before the room came back into view. Santiago was crouch in front of you, rubbing your cheeks until you stopped seeing double.

“I thought it wasn’t meant to be this intense.”

He shook his head, “I dunno, honey, maybe it’s to do with the hormones.”

You were surprised he understood you, your tongue going numb.

Frankie coiled an arm around your chest and straightens you up, holding you close until you stop feeling floppy. However the goosebumps arrive on your skin as you can still feel a set of eyes drilling into you and your eyes finally drift to Benny.

He’s still sat down, his hand firmly clutched around his cock.

Frankie kisses you on your temple before he unravels you, allowing you to approach Benny, who’s hand relaxes. You pierce your lips together, your head dropping to one side as you inspect his length. Your fingertips skim the back of his hand that had settled onto the arm of the couch and his stern expression melts away.

“Need a hand?”

He shuffles forward, head falling back so he can gaze upon your beauty.

“You could use a break…”

Your heart sinks.

“So hold onto my shoulders,” he stands as he speaks, crowding you, “and I’ll do the rest.”

Curiosity paints your face as you look up at him doe-eyed. He raises his eyebrows before he moves quickly, hooking his arms under your ass and lifting you off the floor. You scream, instincts kicking in as your arms winding round his neck and legs opening to wrap around his waist. Burying your head in your arms, he feels how tense you are, muscles shaking in your effort to hold on.

He chuckles when he feels your nails dig into his back.

“Relax, I got you.”

You lift your head up, leaning back to be greeted with beaming face. Your arms loosen up, your spreading hands sending a hot flash down his spine causing his cock to twitch. He repositions his hands to hold more firmly onto the meat of your ass, lining up with your opening. As your legs relax, he slowly sinks you down, cock entering your spent pussy with ease.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, eyes peeking to watch as his shaft disappeared.

Your inner walls pulsed as he dropped you inch by inch. The base of his spine was on fire, reaching over his hips, burning in his groin and he swore he could shot his load in you there and then.

When he filled you to the hilt, he let you become accustom to the angle and waited until you focused on him. Your chest was picking up speed as your heart rate quickened and skipped, the adrenaline of pleasure entering every end of your body. The flush was returning back to your cheeks, pearls of sweat on your décolletage as he watched.

“Just remember what I told you,” he says when your eyes finally meet.

He dragged his cock as you whine from the loss before he thrust back in, gradually increasing the speed.

Frankie tuts, “Show off.”

Santiago smiled, if his knees didn’t hate him, he would have taken you like this at some point. The training Benny did as well as his physique in general, helped him without the need for wall support though it wasn’t going to last.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Benny.

His furrowed brows as his head hung low, infatuated with how you were taking him, how more juices seemed to flow with every penetration. His dirty blonde locks fell in front of his face, the centre of his chest gaining a sweaty dew, his huffs a rumble against the thunderous claps of each other’s skin.

The tip of his cock nudge at the same soft spot every time, turning your legs to jelly.

“Benny, Benny, please,” you beg.

“Almost there, Bunny.”

His hips were moving as fast as they could, his grasp sinking deeper into your ass yet he could feel you going limp. When he craned his neck, your fingers were slipping to his neck, upper body slopping away from him. Suddenly, he was seeing everything in slow motion, the ripple that travelled through your curves every time he rocked his hips, your tits bouncing. Your head was thrown back, mouth slack as you tried to gain air in your lungs.

Every part of him began to stiffen from his neck towards his chest and abdominals, from his feet to his legs. His movements got sloppy before his ass clenched and the desire he held within dispersed, surging through his veins. The last thing he could do was move a hand to your back and shove your chest to his.

He grunted animalistically, hips jerking as he pumped you full of his cum.

You shuddered as another orgasm washes comes yet there’s no sound from your lips, that underwater sensation washing over you. All you can hear is Benny’s pounding chest, the ragged breaths he releases when finishes.

There’s a wobble as he staggers backwards before collapsing on the couch. He settles, twisting your head to one side to give you fresh air, the hand on your back rubbing soothingly. Another one of the boys approaches, you can’t tell who, and you listen to Benny drink hurriedly.

You don’t know how much time passed until you could lift your head.

“Thought we’d lost you.”

In your cock drunk state, you managed to focus on him admiring you. He brings a hand to your cheek, a thumb trailing over the hot skin and you tilt your head to deepen the touch.

“You’re gonna need this.”

Will crotched down next to you two, placing a hand on your shoulder. You lift your head, sluggishly moving the rest of your body and using Benny to push yourself up with your hands.

Looking to Will, he holds out an entirely full water bottle and winks before you take it off him. He clears the hair from your face as you tip your head back, chugging as the Millers keep their eyes firmly on you. You remove the bottle from your lips and take some big inhales before you can eventually speak.

“You two ok?”

Frankie and Santiago were staring dumbfounded until you snapped them out of it. The tips of Frankie’s ears went bright red and his eyes took a sideward glance to Santiago.

“All fucking good, Bunny.”

You knew Santiago was teasing you except you couldn’t care less.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s take you to bed.”

You move your legs first, setting your feet on the floor, then you press your palms deeper into Benny’s defined abs to lift yourself. Both of you groan as you raise yourself from his cock which landed heavily to his navel.

All of the boys were still hard and the desire already ignited again.

“Everyone’s coming, right?”

Will took your hand, “Do you really need to ask?”

You walked across the room, glancing over your shoulder when you notice Benny isn’t following, his body solidified to the couch.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Getting tired, Ben?”

He hated being called Ben and out of all of them, he knew he could last longer than Santiago. Flicking his middle finger, you left him to take a break, sharing one more fleeting glance to see him smiling as you stepped out of view.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night, you found yourself in between of Benny and Santiago, the three of you in the guest room. Both were out cold, their rising chests slow as they breathed softly, tangled in the sheets.

You wiggle from under the covers and crawl over the bed without disturbing them… or so you thought.

“Where are you going, honey?”

Santiago stirs, rolling onto his back, you can both just about see each other’s faces.

“I’m going to check on Frankie and Will.”

“They’ll be fine.”

You fold your arms and huff, “I’m still mad with you, remember.”

There was a pause.

“How could I forget.”

He turned over, shuffling closer to Benny.

Opening the door, you slip out and tiptoe down the hall before gently entering Will’s bedroom. It doesn’t take much to wake him, the dip in the mattress caused him to lift his head.

“Coming in with us?”

You hum and he tosses his side of the duvet aside for you to get in. Tucking yourself to Frankie, you draw your arms in and press your forehead to his back. He mumbles something incoherently and you sigh, a quiet smile coming to your lips.

Will pulls the covers over you and himself before coming near, his warm palm spreading across your stomach as he snuggled you.

In the morning, both sides of the bed were empty. You blink, squinting as your eyes adjust to the light streaming through a single slither in the curtains. Taking your time, you gradually haul yourself out of bed and stagger around the room to find something to wear. You pull on one of Will’s t-shirts and venture down the hall.

The house was alive, the smell of pancake batter frying in butter, the sound of chatter and laughter. You thought you may just be able to slip into the kitchen with them, nick a piece of incredible crispy bacon that would be on the griddle pan whilst one of them tried to pass you a drink.

Santiago’s spider-senses were tingling.

Suddenly he appeared in the hallway, holding two mugs in his hands. You freeze before he juts his chin towards the office and you go where you’re told. He follows behind and you shut the door behind him, placing the mugs down on the dark wood desk.

“What have I got to do for you to forgive me?”

He asked as soon as the mechanism of the handle clicked.

“Morning, Santi,” you say, not turning round.

“Morning, honey,” the words rush out. “So?”

You sigh, stepping forward whilst you hugged your frame.

“You’re forgiven.”

“Since when?”

“Since you managed to get five orgasms out of me.”

He’s lucky last night actually went so well.

Santiago wanted to correct you, tell you it was actually six but this was not the time to for bragging rights.

“Then what have I got to do for you not to be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

He swore under his breath, in his second language so you couldn’t understand or maybe you could, he didn’t know by this point. Your attitude told a different story, you were closing yourself off to him, that constant soft smile of yours no longer there. He bites his tongue, not wanting to lose his shit, not wanting this to become a screaming match or for him to yell at you for acting like a child.

Your eyes were starting to turn glossy with oncoming tears and he saw how hard you swallowed, your jaw locking.

“Bunny…”

His anger subsides, his tone less harsh. He comes to you, gently wrapping an arm around your back, the other hand cupping your face.

“Talk to me.”

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” the words caught in your throat.

Santiago nodded, his deep brown eyes searching your face.

“Or plan something as stupid as last night without consulting me.”

He shakes his head, “It wasn’t stupid.”

Now, who’s acting like a child?

“Santi,” you extend the ‘i’ at the end of his name, using your hands to cover your face out of sheer frustration.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

You fight him as he tries to pry your hands away until he stops and walks away. He approaches the desk and takes a coffee, leaning his ass against the edge, folding one leg in front of the other. When you drop your hands down, all you can see is his smirk.

“So, where do you stand on surprises?”

“Surprises?”

He hums, staring over the lip of the cup as he drank.

You try to keep your composure, straightening your back and folding your arms again but Santiago can tell your fit to burst.

“Depends how stupid they are.”

“Yeah,” his eyebrow arches, “A trip to Disney is kind of stupid.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

There had been conversations about a trip. The boys all wanted different things, Will was happy to hop from state to state trying higher end motels, his brother mentioned the desert and horses. Frankie was fine if there was a body of water, preferably a lake, whilst Santiago said a cabin in the woods with a hot tub.

You vaguely remember alluding to the fact you hadn’t been to the parks in over ten years but if you were going to do it, you wouldn’t want just the day there.

The moment you said the ‘D’ word, Santiago groaned. It wasn’t that he hated it, more that he detested the idea of being surrounded by kids, overpriced food and Benny singing ‘it’s a small world after all’ on loop.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re lying.”

“You didn’t want me to lie to you anymore,” he held his hands up.

He’s grateful he put his coffee down as you sprint to him and throw your arms over his shoulders, crashing your lips squarely to his.

“I love you, Santi,” you say when you pull your lips away.

He doesn’t say anything and you scowl.

“You gonna say it back?”

He smiles, “Love you, honey.”

You give him a peck on the cheek.

“Am I allowed to let the boys know that I know?”

“Sure.”

With that you were gone, door left wide open.

“Bunny, your drink!”

The rest of them stood in the kitchen, chatting about what they could remember from last night, cradling cups of coffee and tea. It was the picture of calm until you burst in, bounding onto Benny who almost lost his balance as he took the weight of you around his neck.

“Hot pan!” He flung his arm out.

“We’re going to Disney,” you screamed.

Frankie and Will groan in unison. Benny put the pan down and wrapped his arms under your ass, scooping you up to his waist before talking to you enthusiastically about the trip without giving away any details.

“Pope, seriously man?”

“I thought we were telling her closer to the date.”

He shrugged, “I had to.”

Santiago would never admit why though Will gave a knowing nod and smile before turning his attention to you. He took the handle of the frying pan and switched the gas on as you twist your head round.

“Pancakes?”

“Please,” you replied softly and started discussing what you wanted to do. “We should do the drink around the world challenge!”

“Yes!”

“No,” Frankie and Santiago said immediately.

You pout to them as Benny places you down on the counter top. It’s short lived as you watch Will pour the batter perfectly into the pan with an accompanying sizzle. Benny still talks and you stuff your face with strawberries whilst Santiago and Frankie look on.

“You’re getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut up.”

Frankie knew full well it wasn’t old age.

#triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier x you #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #santiago garcia #benny miller #will ironhead miller #frankie catfish morales #benny miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #will miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #smut #valentines fic

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everything-is-as-it-was · 15 days

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My TIT Berlin experience!

Here's all the things that happened during the show that stood out to me as probably things that don't always happen/ were specific to our show:

They came out wearing shorts because it was a super hot day in Berlin, Dan said they had performed in the same venue for ii as well and distinctly remembers rivulets of sweat cascading down his arms

They made the dolls 69 :(

During the Phil Doctor bit, people shouted "scheiße" for the first one, and the typer write it as "scheisse." Dan asked "do we not have the B thing?!" and the person then proceeded to write "scheisseBBBB" on the screen. We had the same answer for the NEXT two questions and they were written: "scheiBBBBe" and then simply "BBBBB"

Phil seemed to forget a line and laughed after Dan looked at him pointedly at the beginning of the game show bit

Dan had to repeat the fact that they put Vegas pages in Tabinof twice in order for them to actually put it on the screen

Someone shouted cat whiskers when Dan asked what their legacy would be

The wrestling went as expected (notable instances include but are not limited to: Phil shoving the pompoms of a hat while standing over Dan. Dan trying to hit Phil with a metal chair. Phil slamming Dan's head into said metal chair. Dan biting Phil. Dan holding Phil hostage, prompting Phil to ram his ass into his crotch. Three times.)

Dan was very very sweaty after the wrestling (lol)

After Dan's little monologue once the wrestling was over, Phil came out and there was a super awkward pause where I think someone forgot their lines (I remember there being a pause and Phi saying "......what are you talking to them about?"

The confessions bit:

Someone pegged a cop that was their ex's friend

Two ppl got engaged

Person's friend cancelled on them so they sold their ticket to buy merch (this was also stated on a card in the phlit during the pre show)

During the dance bit Phil was very obviously looking at Dan. Dan was very into it but Phil is so me in that he looked quite honestly lost lmao

After the show we stood by the stage door and Dan and Phil came out in a big black van with tinted windows. It was very difficult to see inside lol. Then about 15 minutes later one of the members of their staff (british ginger guy with a beard) came out and said "they" (dnp ig) texted him and wanted to make sure people weren't waiting at the door anymore since they were gone, so he just wanted to let us know they'd already left in case we didn't know.

#dan and phil #dnp #phan #dan howell #dip and pip #phil lester #dapg #danandphil #dan and phil games #amazingphil #tit tour #terrible influence tour #titspoilers #dnptitspoilers #tit berlin

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rhaistars · 3 months

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Bungou Stary Dog Head canons(Pt.1?)

Dazai had a lisp when he had braces as a teen, and Chuuya would tease him about it

Tachihara convinced Gin and Hirotsu to get matching Black Lizard Tattoos

When Nikolai first discovered his ability, he would use it to absolutely terrorize people in games of hide and seek and tag.

Every year on his birthday, Dazai will skip out on work and bring a drink and extra glass to Odasaku’s grave. He pours the whisker into the extra glass and places it next to Odasaku’s grave, and drinks straight from the bottle.

Hirotsu was assigned to teach Dazai, Gin, and Tachihara how to drive.

Dazai never paid attention so he still sucks at driving

Yosano is Ranpo’s wing-woman whenever he needs one

Junichiro is a theater kid

Kouyou is the member the Port mafia go to when they need a haircut

Kajji is banned from playing UNO with the executives because the last time he played, he got mad and tried to use lemon bombs

Fyodor learned of his ability when he and his significant other had been murdered by a stranger, and he had taken the culprit's body. Left alone without his S/O

Going back to ^, Fyodor avoids gaining meaningful connections in case of instances like this

Akutagawa and Gin share an apartment, and Tachihara will show up uninvited

Chuuya takes Q and Elise to the playground around once a week

Naomi’s natural hair color was blonde but dyed it

Kunikida calls his mom weekly, but has to stay away from Dazai because he will make interruptions

Yosano, Ranpo, and occasionally Dazai will meet up to just talk about Gossip

Ranpo knew from day one Dazai was a PM executive

Fukuzawa gets father’s day cards from Yosano, Ranpo, Kenji, and now Kyouka every year

The coat that Dazai has is one of the One’s Oda had in his closet

Dazai didn’t wash his hands for days after Oda died

Atsushi let Kyouka paint his nails before

Every time Kenji returns to the ADA from his farm, he brings Kyouka a new flower for her hair

Q and Elise will have tea parties together

When fyodor wrote sigma into the book, he forgot to write a gender, so Sigma is essentially genderless

Dazai should wear glasses, but he’s too lazy to

Kouyou judges Chuuya for his haircut sometimes

A part of Chuuya was disappointed when Dazai left, but he just pretended to be relieved

Love craft showing up to any Guild meeting is a once in a blue moon event.

Jouno and Tecchou have had arguments about Pineapple on pizza that lead to having Teruko break the argument up

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aizawaiscrazy · 2 months

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The Sweet Tooth & The Baker

This is my first post on here, and it is just a copy & paste from a previous work I did on AO3! I wanna start posting on here, but I'm not sure if I will yet, so this is just to see how it'll go! -- Enjoy!~ --

Aizawa had a sweet tooth, and that's something most didn't know about. He liked cakes, cookies, pies, anything that was sweet, he liked, as long as it wasn't too sweet that is. He also loved you, which you were like a sweet. Sweet enough to give someone cavities. But he didn't become your boyfriend, just because you were sweet. There were so so many reasons.

"Shota!~" You called out to your boyfriend as you walked through his classroom door. Lunch just started, and like usual, Aizawa forgot his lunch, being the kind girl you are, you bought it to him. He grunts in your acknowledgement, not looking up from his papers, but you could see how much more relaxed he got when you entered, the way his shoulders fell, and a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

You set down his lunch, grinning widely. "I made ya somethin'.." You grin wider when Aizawa stops his writing and looks at the bento box you bought him, along with another small container on top.

He opened the container, and like he guessed, some cookies were in there, along with a small cake pop. You, were a pastry chef along with a baker. You went to school for it, worked at a bakery/pastry shop since you do both, and have your own shop, which is how you and him met. He had a sweet-tooth, and you loved baking. So of course, whenever you could, you'd make him something.

"I also got enough for your class and the other teachers if you wanted to share."

Aizawa grunts and stares at you. "Dunno if I wanna share." He muttered, though you could tell by the small smirk on his face, he was only kidding. Aizawa loved to show you off, and if he gave others your cookies, it'll show how he got you, and how no other teacher could, and if the kids piss Aizawa off too much, he can just threaten to take away their cookies. Win win for him.

"There's more cake pops at home!~ Your favorite ones too! Cute little cat ears on them and whiskers." You giggle at the way his face heated from embarrassment, but it wasn't a lie, it was in fact his favorite. The flavor was chefs kiss, and the look was a bonus.

You swear you have to sometimes remind him he can't just eat all your sweets. Of course, he doesn't eat 30 of them at once, but he sometimes forget to eat other foods during the day, so you have to remind him that he can't just have a donuts, or cookie, for his meals.

Although you were a great baker, you weren't as great a good. You could make ramen, and sandwiches.. a grilled cheese? Point is, you couldn't cook, not well, so Aizawa was the cook of the house, you were the baker. He taught you some tricks and you taught him some tricks, and it all works out. He finds it adorable whenever you get flour all over yourself, smiling widely as you hold your sweet of the day.

Or how you look proudly at your display in your shop, looking at the cute designs on some of them. Another perk of dating a baker, is he gets to taste test a lot of the sweets you make before you put them out.

You make desserts, muffins, bread, even chocolate sometimes. Whatever you were in the mood for, you made it. Aizawa is also hoping you'll make the wedding cake. Make it exactly how you like it. Though knowing you, you'll teach him some more tricks and y'all can make it together.

You stay with him for lunch, and then leave. Once the class comes back, they immediately smell the cookies you made and they all feel their mouth water.

Aizawa groans and gives each of them a cookie with a napkin, though, before any of them could dig in, his hair floated and his eyes turned red. "If anyone dare say they taste bad, you'll be expelled." He threatens and they all nodded their heads.

The threat had them scared, though, once they sunk their teeth in, they couldn't help but be in heaven.

"Who made these, Mr. Aizawa?! I needa know!" Toru shouted and Mina agreed loudly.

"None of you-" He stops mid-scentence. "Y/N's Bakery made them. She's a friend and dropped by." Aizawa noted how the students scribbled the name down, even Bakugo did, hell even Tokoyami, but he couldn't blame them. After all, his love was amazing.

You'd get a lot of customers now, and you'd be so happy, and Aizawa couldn't help the small smile that formed over his lips.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #soft aizawa #sweets #aizawa x reader fluff #fluff #aizawa #first post

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zayne-li · 4 months

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Imagine he does this for the kids in pediatrics-- the nurses swoon. Zayne forgets he has cat whiskers on his face halfway through the day and is sat there lecturing some young resident and highly confused why they seem to be trying to stifle their laughter, because, normally people are very respectful and almost frightened of him??

Then MC comes in for her check up, sees him at his desk, her mouth drops open, and before Zayne can even react she's snapping a picture of him. It's absolutely the new wallpaper on her phone. Just him looking slightly confused which she thinks makes him look even more like a cat.

"What are you doing?"

"You make such a cute little kitten, Zayne!"

"Ah... Right. So that's why everyone's been looking at me funny all afternoon. I forgot."

"My little kitty... Please leave this on until you get home tonight, I want to--"

"No."

"Pleeeease? Just once? Be my little kitty, Zayne!"

"..."

"I'll do anything you want, I swear. Pleeeease?"

"... Fine. But next time it'll be your turn, kitten."

"ZAYNE!"

"And before you ask, no, I won't meow for you."

"We'll see about that~"

#where are the fic writers #oh wait im one of the fic writers #fuck #everyone! give me kitten zayne!#lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x you #love and deepspace

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theinsanefox · 6 months

Text

Comfort, Purrs, and Whiskey

(also can be read on AO3)

“Fuck!”

Angel slams the door shut behind him as he storms into the hotel.

Fucking Val. Fucking Val.

There’s a loud crash as Angel kicks over a side table in the lobby of the hotel. He feels a flash of guilt for a moment, but Niffty will clean it up later. Then he feels another wave of guilt but brushes it off as he continues towards his destination.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Really, Angel!?” Of course, Vaggie is there. She’s always there when Angel needs a moment of fucking peace.

Angel flips her off as he stomps his way over to the bar. “Fuck off. I had a bad day.”

“You always have a bad day.” Vaggie appears beside him as he stands in front of the empty bar, arms crossed and hip cocked to the side. If he wasn’t aware of her former life as an exorcist angel, he’d almost wonder where her attitude came from.

Where the hell is Husk? He wonders, ignoring Vaggie as she tears into him about the table. The exact words are lost on him.

“Don’t take it out on the hotel. That’s not fair to Charlie. And you don’t want to piss off Alastor.”

Angel doesn’t even respond and instead reaches across the counter to grab the bottle of whiskey he knows Husk keeps there just for him. “I ain’t scared of Alastor. Sorry about the table. I’ll be in my room.”

“Angel, wait—” Vaggie doesn’t get to finish as Angel walks off down the hallway, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

The door to his room is already slightly ajar when he gets there, and Angel wonders if he forgot to close it on his way out. But when he pushes the door open, he finds Husk asleep on the bed, Fat Nuggets curled up at his feet.

Angel can’t help a small smile at the scene. He quickly strips down to his underwear and takes several more swigs of the whiskey before plopping into the chair at his desk.

“Mm—Angel?” Husk is suddenly sitting up, stifling a yawn as he seeks out Angel. “Sorry. Must’ve fallen asleep waiting for you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Whiskers.” Angel waves him off. “Val kept me late again, anyway.”

Husk’s eyes narrow, as if he could pick up on the stress Angel was trying so hard to hide. “What did that fucker do this time?”

“Nothing. Just the same shit he always does.”

Angel knows Husk isn’t buying it.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” Angel pops the ‘p’ in the word as he swirls the liquor in the bottle, watching the amber liquid spin until he makes a mini whirlpool in the bottle.

“Okay.”

Several minutes tick by in silence, and now it’s Angel’s turn to stifle a yawn. He’s gotten about a quarter of the way through the bottle of whiskey and is feeling a pleasant buzz, enough that the horrors of the workday are starting to ebb away.

“Come here.” Husk finally says, and Angel goes to him like a sailor to a siren.

Angel crawls under the covers, accidentally kicking Fat Nuggets in the process.

“Sorry, buddy!” he gasps, but Fat Nuggets licks his cheek. Angel takes that as a sign he’s forgiven and kisses his pet on his head before settling back in with Husk.

Just as Angel closes his eyes, he feels a familiar vibration, making the stress of the day melt away bit by bit. Somehow, no matter how awful his day is, Husk’s purrs always manage to calm him down.

“Thanks, Whiskers.” Angel smiles into the fur of Husk’s head as he drifts off to sleep.

“Anytime.”

#huskerdust #hazbin hotel #angel dust #husk #angel dust x husk #foxy writes

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hayleythesugarbowl · 1 year

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So I was gonna ask for another Angela Giarratana x reader but your request are closed 🥲🥲🥲 but I think we can talk this out *slides you the 1.04$ left in my bank account* but fr if you feel up to it or wanna save this for later feel free to and you don’t have to do it but I was thinking maybe Angela gets jealous when someone from the cast flirts with reader but it’s part of a bit Angela doesn’t know about and maybe they were playing legacy, betrayal or something idk that’s up to you and I know you don’t write smut so maybe like Angela gets jealous and leave hickeys and bite marks on readers neck when there having a water break or something 💁‍♀️ idk just a lil something or write what you want bae it’s up to you not me ❤️❤️ remember 1.04$ has your name on it 😉

Jealousy, Jealousy || Angela Giarratana x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: oneshot where angela finds herself jealous when another member of the cast flirts with you and she decides to let you know that you’re hers

word count: 1.3k

warnings: hickeys

a/n: ahh sorry this took so long babes but i’m so happy to get this request out for you. this is a little bit out of my comfort zone so keep that in mind but i hope you enjoy this!! also im ashamed to admit my smosh games lore is a little rusty so i didn’t include legacy betrayal hope that’s ok!! also i wouldn’t dream of making anyone pay for a fic so forget about it 💋🎀 enjoy!!

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“Ok, I’m working on a character,” Amanda said to you as you waited on set for filming to start.

“You? A character? Never!” You teased her, feigning shock. You’d been at Smosh since long before Amanda and ever since you’d known her she was always working on one character or another.

“Her name’s Annabelle Charlemagne,” she said, already adopting an accent, “and you are absolutely stunning darling, can I buy you a beverage?”

She was fully in character now, so you played along.

“I’d be honored,” you batted your eyelashes at her.”

“I just have never seen such exceptional beauty. I am charmed.” She grabbed your hand and kissed it.

You glanced over and saw Angela watching you from afar. Catching you staring at her she quickly looked away. But not before giving you a wink and a smile.

Angela. You two had been dating for a few weeks now, and you couldn’t be happier. But you hadn’t exactly told the rest of the cast yet. You were planning on waiting for the right time, but you hadn’t found it yet.

You knew it was killing Angela. You had no problem keeping your relationship a secret. It was easy and safe and you didn’t want to deal with your friends’ thousands of questions just yet.

But Angela was not as great at keeping her mouth shut about everything. You knew she wanted to let the cat out of the bag. Or rather, couldn’t help herself from accidentally giving everyone a sneak peek at a paw or whiskers. More than once you’d had to cover for her calling you ‘babe’ or her absentmindedly reaching over to touch you.

Not that you two didn’t have your hidden moments. Sneaking off in between shows or volunteering to go work on something together. You couldn’t stop a blush from forming on your cheeks at the thought of all the things the walls had seen here that all of your friends hadn’t.

Now, Amanda’s voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Anyways darling, I’d love to get your number but—oh, I’ve forgot my cellular, one moment, let me fetch my husband’s.”

She stared at you, losing the accent. “Get it, cause I’m flirting with you… but I’m married? And British!”

You laughed, “Right. Well I’m still waiting on that beverage.”

She fluffed her hair, “In due time.”

“Alright everyone, quiet on set.”

You shifted away from Amanda, preparing to start filming. You looked around at the rest of the cast—you loved your job here. Glancing over at Angela, you tried to catch her eye, but she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking down, a troubled expression on her face. You’d talk to her after this shoot, you told yourself. Maybe you two could even get lunch together later. It seemed like forever ago since you’d done that last. And you hadn’t even been dating a month yet! The director’s booming voice brought your attention back to the present.

“Rolling…and action!”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

“Alright everyone, take 10,” the director called. Everyone in the cast began filing out of the studio, taking a break before they had to finish filming this show. You joined them, heading to the next room for water.

You had just stepped towards your bag and began to rifle through it when you felt someone behind you.

“Guess who?”

You didn’t turn around right away. You knew who.

“Spencer?”

“Try again,” she said, quieter this time with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Chris Kattan?”

“Ok, if one more person tells me that—” she started incredulously.

You turned around, smiling at her “Kidding.”

She reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from your face. “Hey beautiful, I haven’t had time alone with you all day.”

It was true. It felt like you spent less and less time together—what between filming and trying to not seem like you were dating. You leaned into her touch, and she stepped towards you.

You remembered yourself and spun back around, “Angela, not here.”

You felt her breath on your hair as she leaned towards you and said, “I don’t see anyone here.”

“Angela, what are you—”

Without warning, you felt her mouth on your neck. She began trailing kisses down your shoulder and you suppressed a shudder, leaning into her.

“Ange, what if someone sees us?” You whispered, glancing around nervously.

She kept her lips on you, biting down softly as she sucked at the skin on your neck.

You closed your eyes, savoring this stolen moment despite yourself.

“Angela—”

“(Y/n)? You want me to stop?” she looked up at you.

“No, definitely no.”

She continued, bringing her lips to your ear. She was silent for a while, and then—

“Still thinking about Amanda?” She breathed, her voice hoarse.

“What?” You managed. That was the last thing you’d expected her to say.

“I saw you…earlier,” for the first time, you detected a hint of uncertainly in her voice.

You tried to recall what she was talking about.

“You know, with the ‘oh you’re gorgeous darling’ and ‘why thank you take me home with you’,” You could tell she was trying to keep her tone light. You tried not to smile at her dedication to the character, even in a situation like this.

“That? Angela, she was showing me a bit,” you couldn’t help but smile now. “I—Wait, is that what this is about?”

“What a girl can’t kiss her girlfriend without having ulterior motives!” You raised an eyebrow at her and she looked down sheepishly. “Ok, fine maybe I was a little jealous.”

You marveled at the fact that Angela Giarratana was jealous. Because of you. You’d made her jealous. “Well, you don’t have to worry about anything. I love you, remember.”

“Yeah you do,” Angela waggled her eyebrows and leaned her head against your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at her—she was impossible—but you realized you were grinning.

“I love you more.”

You looked at her against you, this beautiful woman who cared so much about you, and kissed her. She kissed you back wrapping her hands around your neck.

“Thought you were afraid people will see us?” Angela mumbled against your lips.

“I don’t care,” and as you said it, you realized it was true. You didn’t need to wait for a “right time” to tell your friends about your relationship. “I don’t care if they find out.”

“Glad you felt that way, because if we didn’t tell them that hickey sure will.”

You looked down at your neck where a mark was already starting to form, evidence of Angela’s jealousy.

“Good, let them know I’m yours.”

“I like the sound of that,” Angela said, “Shall we?” She gestured to the doorway.

You nodded, taking her hand and walking into the next room and over to the center where all of the cast was mingling, taking advantage of the break.

When you towards them, all eyes eventually turned to you and Angela, settling on your interlocked fingers. Your friends traded looks.

Amanda spoke up first, “(Y/n)? Angela? You, and you?”

“And is that a hickey?”

“You wanna take this or should I?” Angela asked you, her eyes twinkling. Everyone stared at you and Angela, awaiting an explanation.

“Nothing much to tell, other than you all should know Angela’s a possessive, jealous—”

“Well if you’re not going to tell it right—” she interrupted loudly.

You looked at her, letting her know you were only teasing.

“Well, they always say actions speak louder than words,” you said before kissing her again. This time in front of everyone else. “Besides,” you whispered, only to her, your lips trailing down her jawline “it’s only fair if I return the favor and make you mine.”

“Oh, (Y/n), I’ve been yours for a while now.”

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ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this!! i have another angela x reader in the works so keep your eye out for that and as always feedback is always appreciated even negative i swear <3

#angela giarratana x reader #angela giarratana #smosh fanfiction #smosh imagine #smosh #amanda lehan canto #smosh pit #smosh squad #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot

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