#Hasty shootings

[mapecl-stories]

[akq96618]

in the end, you are still my little brother

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

Rose: We're just like the allegory of the cave

John: which one?

John: spiders georg?

Rose: PLATO

[paris-geller-was-straightwashed]

thinking about how out of the four reservation dogs, jackie singled in on elora and tried to extend a hand to her....how she gave elora her only knife and offered to sit next to the random white dude they did not know.......how she immediately went ‘fuck this’ to the weird vibes in that white lady’s house and went to get elora, and although nearly made the selfish choice to leave her there, did go back for her.....asking her questions about daniel and even divulging what happened to her brother.......how she sought out help in order to get elora’s car back (’this is my friend elora danan’)......showing up when elora’s grandmother passed even though she tried to play it off like her aunt forced her and clarifying with elora that they were gunna try again for california, despite not even ‘needing’ elora now since her car was busted and her money was stolen........driving elora to the seminar and even after storming out deeply hurt from what willie-jack said, still texted elora to say sorry for ditching and ask what she was up to.....standing next to elora after helping save cheese where you can see the couple inches of height difference....helping the rez dogs get elora’s car back and then stepping aside on her own to quietly tell elora to be careful going to california and good luck, elora assuring her they’d be back and jackie softly smiling in return.....

like, I think jackie sees a lot of herself in elora, sees the same deeply wounded hurt over losing someone close and a need to escape it (and elora likewise, as they are very similar). they’ve both become jaded and guarded from losing someone, and feel a want to simply pull away from those they’re close to - a feeling, that they have to carry it all themselves, just take care of their own worries and needs and therefore eliminate any risk of pain or being let-down from others. but in the end, their kind natures that still shine underneath come out, and you see them for what they really are - hurt, grieving kids who in the end, don’t really want to cause any harm. and, I think, the love they carry from those they lost (elora from her connection with daniel, jackie’s from her brother who clearly cared about her) shows in their inevitable choices to do the right thing. they’re both so alike, and that’s what makes the dynamic so interesting.

but also, at the same time.......gay activity.

[peterlorrefanpage]

Peter Lorre as Foto Johnny in F.P.1 Antwortet Nicht. Screencaps found here.

OMG the cuteness. I need to watch this movie already. If he's really calling Johnny "Little one," it's killing me slowly but surely. So poignant. The look in his eyes - !

[bitten-fruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[one-last-scare]

doom 2016 had to grow on me but doom eternal was love at first sight

[6okuto]

stop an angel from losing its wings

akaashi x gn!reader | fluff. Not that serious. about men cutting their hair

“do you think my hair’s getting too long?”

the knife in your hand stills halfway through a peach for your boyfriend.

keiji watches you, innocently, fiddling with the dark strands falling across his brow as your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the same bangs framing his face. “keiji akaashi, don’t you dare.”

“...what?”

“please, so help me god, if you cut your hair short i will cry.”

there’s a familiar click as the kettle turns itself off, hot water meant for his tea bubbling against glass.

“pft—”

“don’t laugh!”

“i’m not—” his chuckle is barely muffled by the hand over his mouth, and you gape.

the last time he cut his hair was maybe six months ago, and you’ve watched it slowly but surely reach a perfect length.

it lets you make little horns when you shampoo his hair as he holds you against him,

it looks stupidly good when he combs it back for special occasions,

it falls in his face just enough that it’s brought you the gift of keiji with his blue light glasses, cat slippers, and a little sprout ponytail on top of his head, tied with a little fruit hair tie, as he works away late into the night.

and he’s allowed to cut it. he is, but at the same time—

“this is serious! keiji, please- i’ll get on my knees and beg, look, please.” 

the apartment isn’t big; your spot in the kitchen is just a few meters away. it takes all but three seconds to leave the fruit you’ve cut for him and jog over with your arms wide open.

keiji holds his out to stop you. “what? no—”

“please, please, please, please, please,”—you dodge and slide to the floor, wrapping your arms around his legs—“please, my angel, my beautiful boyfriend, love of my life who i love so much, please—”

“i’m—” he snorts while you laugh between desperate pleas, muffled against the cotton of his pajamas, “i didn’t want to cut it, i was just wondering.”

and you sigh, loosen the grip around his pajamas, now slightly wrinkled. “oh thank god.”

keiji snickers and moves his hand to rest on your head. it travels down to hold your jaw, tilting your face to look at his. “is cutting my hair really that awful of an idea?”

you lean into his touch. “i mean, no, you look good no matter what. but they’re not joking when they say every time a boy with perfect hair cuts it too short an angel dies.”

he hums, his thumb rubbing against your cheek. “so are you the angel in this case?”

“am—” you almost parrot the question, caught in place by the amusement on his face. “shut up.”

“because if you’re the angel then i definitely can’t cut my hair.”

“oh my god.” the hair in question falls in front of his eyes again, and you take the opportunity to stand up while he fixes it. “whatever, i’m leaving, you nerd. go back to editing or whatever it is you do,” you huff with a smile and pinch to his cheek.

his soft laughter fills the room while you move to let him work, (swearing when you remember his tea you promised to make,)

but your leg is caught by one of his, and a hand is suddenly holding yours against his face.

keiji shoots you a smug smile, keeps you near just a little longer, just so he can say one more thing—

“okay, angel.”

forgot i wrote this months ago. hey

🏷️| @pelicanpizza @godoffuckedupcats @causenessus @priv-rose @ur-local-simp @xaaavi @respitable @hasti-666 @deepenthevoid

[usedtobecooler]

sexual content minors dni.

the thought of eddie munson just being so desperate and aching in the middle of the night that he sleepily, desperately ruts up against the curve of your ass, tip leaking steadily all over the silk of your sleep shorts.

it’s. a thing. always has been a thing. your shorts meant the green light for him to grind and slide up against you in a feverish heat, moonlight peaking through the gap in the curtains and casting the hasty motions in your shadows.

you’re barely awake, only just rousing enough to get with the program and wiggle up against him, make it known he’s okay to keep going even as you bury your face into the pillow sleepily. you roll your hips, marvelling in the way his length kicks up at the movement.

he’s plastered right up against you from chest to thighs, moaning high pitched and desperate into your ear, mouthing at your neck as he ruts a little quicker. until he slides against you differently, askew enough to have his entire shaft slipping between the apex of your thighs, nestled in the tight heat of your sweaty skin, the curve of his tip slipping over your clit through a thin layer of satin.

“please, please baby, lemme stay here. can i?” he begs, peppering kisses against your shoulder and you can’t help but nod when he slides between your thighs again and nudges that bundle once more.

it’s hot, sweaty, the steady stream of pre leaking from his flushed red tip more than enough to slick up the way as he thrusts inside your thighs. you moan, can’t help yourself as the prickle of heat and want shoots up your spine and buries deep. you never expected it to feel so good, to keep you stimulated as much as it did him.

“so fucking good, sweetheart. even your thighs fuck me up, so tight.” eddie’s so stuck to your back he’s practically moulding into you, the bite of his fingertips teetering on painful in the dip of your waist as he uses his grip for leverage to keep thrusting. his curls stuck to your sweaty skin, kisses turning to biting and sucking as he teeters close.

you can’t help the noises that fall from your own lips, needy and hungry for it. it feels good. so good. to feel how desperate he is to get off, listen to how pathetic he sounds being brought to the edge by nothing more than the squeeze of your thighs and the roll of your hips. he knew how to make your head big, so in love with you and turned on by your body that he’d fuck any part you were willing to offer up.

it’s all too much, even with your eyes shut. so when you open them and look down, watching the head of his cock sliding in and out of your thighs and covering you in creamy spatters, it’s too much. your body coils tight like a spring and you’re reaching your own peak before he reaches his, clamping your thighs even tighter with the sheer force of it.

“holy shit, did you—? oh god, fuck it’s so wet, ngh,” eddie thrusts behind you sporadically, sucking right on the tip of your shoulder as he cums in between your thighs, thick spurts soothing the slight sting of your skin, painting you in a gorgeous pearlescent mess.

[tojirights]

Alastor doing some…inappropriate things with his microphone cane thing. Love the way you write him btw!! xxx

tags: 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI for real. requests are open!

def imagining he can imbue the staff with magic :')

alastor always kept the staff close to his chest, literally. he never let anyone touch it or even come close, but then he has you writhing on his bed for the first time and decides maybe... just maybe... he could let you touch it.

or rather, touch you with it.

with your eyes closed, you don't even know he's reached for it until you feel it, an unfamiliar heat pressing against your still clothed cunt. you gasp, eyes flying open when you feel a wicked vibration shoot up your spine and see that alastor is holding the staff in his hand with the telltale green light emanating off of the tip. "o-oh, alastor that's-" you pant, hips arching off the bed in a meek attempt to feel more. "does my girl like that, hm?" he coos, watching your every move with hungry eyes.

he chuckles when all you can do is whine and nod your head, your eyes welling with tears at the sheer amount of pleasure. you barely even notice that the sound of his voice is actually coming from the staff itself. "i-i'm gonna-" you whimper, and alastor removes the vibrations just a moment after. "ah ah, sweetheart." he hums, enjoying the glare you shoot his way. "the fun has only just begun." he slides the tip under your panties and hooks them, tugging them down to your knees. "as lovely as these soaked panties are, i think they're getting in my way."

"please alastor, n-need more." you huff, your core burning with desire. "ooh but you're so pretty when you beg. this is a good look on you, my dear." his smile shifts into a deep smirk, running the staff up to your chest, back down your stomach. a trail of goosebumps follow in its wake. "now, don't be too hasty." alastor watches your legs shake, the muscles in your stomach tightening the close he moves to your pussy. "you know i like to.... take my time..."

[mariahcarreyyy]

.ೃ࿐𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 . . . | 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏 |

oscar piastri x fem!reader

plot. your sexual frustration is humiliatingly evident when oscar lets you sit on his lap

wc. 2.2k

warnings. smut 18+, thigh riding, innocent!reader, praise kink, purity rings, osc has a major corruption kink & refers to himself as god (sorry🫣), manhandling, swearing, allusions to heaven, and religious symbolism

A time when the gifted silver band wasn’t laced around your ring finger is not one you remember clearly. At the ripe age of twelve, with a face adorned with baby-like features and an ever-present aura of giddiness, your father had gently placed the circle on your overstretched hand.

“It’s a promise for abstinence,” he’d responded to your furrowed brows, but the foreign word had only deepened your confusion. “Look—here, it says, ‘I will wait for my beloved’. And you will, won’t you?”

Even now, despite his absence, you find yourself nodding at the slightly threatening question as your right hand fiddles with the thin loop. Boredom eating at your mind, your eyes shift to the figure occupying your chair; a smile slowly creeps onto your lips.

Oscar, a man of stubborn chestnut hair and constellations of moles embellishing his toned frame. The gleaming screen of the rectangle illuminates his face harshly, likely stinging his eyes as they dart across his unanswered emails.

A sigh leaves your lips. You fall pliant on your bed, unraveling the tight knots in your shoulders with a roll of your arms and an arch of your spine—an obnoxiously loud noise (a little whiny, in Oscar’s opinion) echoes along the room.

“You need anythin’, baby?” Oscar mumbles, mindlessly tapping at his keyboard.

With an exasperated huff, you lift yourself to sit upright and lean on your arm, your head lolling lazily to the side. Oscar perks up. He rips his eyes away from the rectangle box to crane his neck back and peer down at you through thick lashes— you and that godforsaken circle around your finger.

The small, knowing grin that makes itself home on Oscar's lips almost makes you embarrassed at your obvious search for attention. Almost. Your boyfriend sways his hips lightly to turn the wheely chair toward your peripheral vision.

“C’mere, sit on my lap while I finish?” he muses, patting his right thigh encouragingly. When he registers your giddy smile and hasty advances toward him, Oscar wants to punch himself three times in the gut for not asking you sooner.

“Well, if you’re begging for it,” you shrug sarcastically through a tight-lipped smile, finding solace in the V of his pale thighs before pausing.

Oscar notices your sudden shift in demeanor because, well, when does he not? “What’s wrong?”

You blink dumbly, pointing your index finger at the hem of his loose, cobalt blue shorts. The Australian follows the invisible line shooting out of your finger and frowns; his thighs tense instinctively, your unnerving stare fueling his insecurities more than he would like to admit.

“Y’don’t like them? I went to the mall with Lan last week, and he told me they were nice, so—”

The last of his words are muffled by a hand pressing against his mouth. Guilt shines through your pupils, he notices. “No, no, Osc, t-they’re fine. Fine, just– just short, is all.”

Really, incredibly, stupidly short. They were bunched up to the crease between his inner thighs and crotch, the pure muscle spilling out from the sides, making you curl your fists by your sides.

“Ah.”

Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, and regret swells in your heart almost immediately. “What? Why’re y’looking at me like that?”

Oscar nearly coos at the slight whine in your voice, and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around your forearm. Now, he’s sure he coos when you melt into his lap, his palms gripping the back of your folded knees and pulling you closer into his embrace. 

“M’sorry, sorry, baby,” he laughs, and you hum happily as you bury your forehead into the crook of his neck, Oscar pecking your temple lovingly.

He still sounds like he’s aware of something you have no recollection of but. The warmth that wraps your soul in a blanket each time Oscar touches you returns, and the thought is quickly forgotten.

“S’fine,” you murmur. And you mean it this time.

A hum ripples against his throat and vibrates against your skin; time drifts by unknowingly—fast or slow, ten minutes or hours—but it’s enough for you to shift listlessly in your place. Oscar freezes, his pupils blown wide.

“S–shit, y/n, stop that,” he seethes through gritted teeth, hands flying to your waist and pushing you back slightly.

Your eyebrows furrow, confused wrinkles covering your forehead as you gaze down at him for an explanation, a reason—really, anything to stop your mind from running at a hundred miles per second.

“What?” a pout graces itself on your lips; Oscar wants to kiss it away, but. But if he does, he’s not sure how much self-restraint he can muster around you. “D’I do somethin’? Why don’t you...”

Sighing heavily, Oscar’s tight hold on your waist relocates down to your thighs. “No, no, baby—fuck, no, nothing like that. Just,” he lifts your knee to straddle one of his thighs instead. “Like this... s’better.”

Half instead of whole, and.

And Osc would cross the world twice, delving into each volcano and marching up the tallest mountains, to reassure you that you did nothing wrong in particular. It was him. Him and the blood rushing to his balls from you practically humping your clothed pussy against his dick.

Okay, maybe ‘humping’ is a bit of an exaggeration, but it didn’t feel like one.

Unbeknownst to Oscar, however, the relieved pressure on his end only slipped through the cracks of his skin and into yours. But he, God bless him, thinks nothing of the tension that’s boiling in your shoulders or the hitch of your breath. Blaming it on the lingering effects of his sudden repositioning, Oscar gently pulls you down with two massive hands on the swell of your ass.

Flush against his thigh. His thigh, Jesus fuck—a quiet forgive me, Lord, echoes around the walls of your mind.

“Osc,” you gasp quietly, the constant pressure against your privates shooting unfamiliar spikes of something down to your stomach—something you needed more of.

He hums dismissively; you want to cry. It doesn’t take you long, though, to fully grasp his attention when Oscar registers the heartbeat pressing between your squished pussy and his thigh.

The Australian's mind short circuits. “Y/n?”

“Osc, I-” you roll your hips experimentally, slapping a hand over your mouth and flushed cheeks when it parts around an unrestrained whimper.

Your boyfriend, seemingly snapping out of his bewildered daze, dips down to dust his lips over your reddening cheeks, chuckling fondly. “Enjoying y’self, baby?”

And that. That is what pulled you away from the edge of logical thinking and onto its’ center, halting movement in every bone in your body. Wrong—this—it’s all wrong, isn’t it? ‘I will wait for my beloved’ is etched into your skin, engraved onto your heart, and yet.

Yet, you can’t help but wonder: Is Oscar not your beloved?

“Y/n,” his assertiveness grounds you, pulls you back to the surface of his honey-filled eyes—just as he had intended. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready…”

Oscar's hand leaves the curve of your waist and reaches behind his neck to clasp onto your palm, bringing the cool metal of your purity ring against his mouth as he murmurs, “But don’t stop on my account.”

The ring burns through your skin and falls to the ground; you hope it cracks into a million little pieces of stupid promises. And anyway, Osc’s giddy smile when you allow him to—do what, you’re not really sure—is too precious to deny.

Nibbling on your raw bottom lip, you slowly shake your head. “No, I– I want this, Osc. Want you.”

He does not disappoint; his eyes crinkle through that grin you’d pay to see a hundred times over. Oscar taps the side of your thigh twice, signaling you to stand up, so you do. Your hands lay helplessly by your sides as he smoothed over the contours of your body until—

You let out a little gasp. “Osc!”

A soft, harmless tug at the hem of your shorts widens your eyes.

“Y/n,” he calls, and you can’t bother fighting the urge to rub your thighs together. “Y’want me to touch you, right? Make y’pussy feel better?”

The amount of self-restraint needed to block the guffaw from slipping past your lips does not fit into a number. Or a word. In any language.

Nonetheless, you find yourself bashfully nodding.

“Words, Y/n.”

You gulp, embarrassment apparent on your crimson cheeks. “Want you to—to make m’feel better.”

Oscar heaves out a laugh at your refusal to say those objectively filthy words; you almost want to commit murder, but it hurts. It hurts, and you can’t help but sigh happily when his hands swiftly pull both your shorts and panties down, manhandling your ankles out of the pool of clothing by your feet.

And only then, being ogled at by his mesmerized eyes and hands sliding down the sides of your body, does your mind grasp the fact that you were standing in front of Oscar. Half naked. His for the taking. The shame you'd expected to feel never came, and when Osc pulls you to straddle his thigh, you knew it never would.

“There we go,” he praises when you shift your weight fully onto him, rewarding you with a bounce of the leg you were resting on.

Choking through a loud gasp, your hands fly to his shoulders to brace yourself. “Oh, Osc, oh my—”

“Yeah? Y’like that?” Oscar grins almost cockily, repeating the sharp movement of his legs and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Mm, fuck, baby, can feel you all ov’me.”

The humiliating amount of slick your pussy’s gushing out should make you ashamed, but, well. When you grind against his thigh, the glide is much smoother than when you were fully clothed, so you silently thank your desperation instead.

“C’mon, baby, y’can do better than that,” he urges, hands resting on the globes of your ass and grinding your pussy against his slick-ridden thigh. “Y’ve been waiting so long for this, haven’t you?”

He coos at your frantic nods and refrains from groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in pleasure; using him—his fucking thigh—to get off. The sound of your little, whiny moans leaves him feeling like an inexperienced teenager all over again; he wants more. Wants to have your pretty sounds made into a song to play on loop whenever he needs to.

With Oscar’s forceful hands dragging you up and down his muscular thighs, tensing them occasionally, and lips mouthing at your collarbone, you don’t think a sin should ever feel this good. You don’t think it could feel any better than it does, but.

The urgency in your movements almost has your legs aching, your jaw parted around a permanent ‘o’; the whimper that slips past your lips when his fingers graze your folds, not pushing but they’re there, and Oscar fucking moans when he feels your hole clench against them; the stutter of your hips when he dips down to your tits, tongue licking over the tight, thin fabric covering the hard nubs.

“Osc, ohmygod, ohm—” Your wail echoes around the entire flat, you’re sure, and if you had even a sliver of dignity left, you’d quiet down.

But. Oscar seems to have that effect on you; really, you don’t mind.

“Yeah, baby, I’m your god, huh?” He huffs out, muffled by his sucking on your nipples like they’d disappear tomorrow—like he is the one being taken apart on someone’s lap. “Humping my thigh—fuck, so fucking desperate, look at you.”

Your mouth parts around a moan, and you quickly put your face into the crook of his neck to, hopefully, contain your embarrassing noises. It does fuck all. Oscar lets out a disapproving noise at the separation of your little, swollen nipples and his pursed lips.

“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar,” you sob out like a prayer. “I feel, ah, I think I'm—Oh, yes, feels s’good, so.”

When Oscar slides a hand up to your hair to tug your head up to his face, he looks nearly as fucked out as you feel. And when his eyes dart to your lips, visibly contemplating whether or not he should kiss you, you make the decision for him.

His soft lips meet the fuse of the boiling pleasure in your stomach, forcing your spine to arch and painting your eyes a shade of white you had only imagined would be in heaven—smiling hazily and foggy-brained, you can’t imagine this not being heaven. 

A sharp cry dances between your mouths, and you swear you can feel a few tears trickle down your face, but your mind only processes the last few moments before you collapse onto his chest.

Oscar gently slides the silver band out of your ring finger, tucking it into his pockets, and placing a soft kiss on your temple as he murmurs, “No use f’this, now, is there?”

Even when on the brink of passing out, you find yourself nodding; Oscar thinks you’ll be the death of him. Or, more specifically, his dick.

authors notes this is an apology to @lifeboredme for ignoring the poll n writing the max fic hehe hope u enjoy 🫶 + thank you to @cafekitsune as always for the dividers mwah.

plot what plot??? porn without plot🗣️🗣️🗣️ very much hate this fic but i also hate every fic of mine so. en e wayz im sorry in advance for my inactivity the next few weeks i have sm shit going on. writing grind comes after march 6 istg🙏

also, thank you so much to everyone who waited for this fic and im so sorry for the delay!! i got hit by a mountains load of stress but yeah <3

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🥕

taglist in separate posts again el oh el . . . i tagged everyone who interacted w/ my original post bcs i was too lazy to make an actual post dedicated to tags

p.s REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🧡🧡

[mapecl-stories]

Disregard of Wolf Deterrence: Reckless Wolf Hunting Endangers Young Animals

In a series of regrettable incidents, seven wolves were shot in Burgdorf. However, these hasty shootings have revealed an alarming issue: hunters are displaying their incompetence and are unable to identify the correct wolf. The victims were innocent young animals, although their parents should have been the primary focus. The core problem, however, lies in the fact that 90 percent of livestock were inadequately protected against wolves, often lacking even the minimum protection. This concerning situation in Burgdorf, with seven attacks in 2023, six of them without any protection, urgently needs to be addressed.

Lack of Wolf-Resistant Fencing: Of particular concern is the fact that 90 percent of livestock in Burgdorf were not fenced with wolf-resistant measures, not even with the minimum protection. The minimum protection stands at 90 cm, while the basic protection should be 120 cm, and wolf-resistant protection should be 140/150 cm. Additionally, adequate electrification with high shock power and proper grounding is of great importance. According to the Federal Office for Nature Conservation, the fence should be at least 120 cm high, or ideally even higher.

Legal Framework and Responsibility: On the European level, the legal framework was clearly established by the European Court of Justice in three wolf-related judgments. On 10th October 2019, it was decided that livestock owners must fence their livestock according to the best scientific and technical knowledge. Failing to protect one's livestock appropriately constitutes an administrative offense. Despite the knowledge of these regulations, the Hannover region, represented by the Lower Nature Conservation Authority/Nature Conservation Team, continues to permit wolf hunting in the Burgdorf area. This approach is unlawful and contradicts Article 16 of the Habitats Directive, which permits the killing of only the "problem wolf" in cases of damage.

Lack of Reporting and Illegal Killing: What's particularly alarming is that the main edition of the HAZ conceals the fact that on February 6, 2023, a child was illegally killed by two wolves in the Burgdorf forest. It is now time to file criminal charges against the hunter, the regional president Steffen Krach (SPD), and the official in the Hannover region. Krach, who is considered the new responsible politician for wolf killings in Lower Saxony, fails to understand that in the entire Hannover region, there are only two adult wolves in Burgdorf and two in Wedemark, spanning an area of over 2,000 square kilometers.

Conclusion: Wolves have been present in the Burgdorf area for over seven years, with four documented instances of offspring. In Wedemark, there were even three instances of offspring. Nevertheless, a significant number of livestock owners have still not implemented the legally mandated protection measures (Paragraph 3, Section 2, No. 3 of the Animal Welfare Livestock Husbandry Ordinance). It is imperative to take action in this regard. Those who fail to provide wolf-resistant protection of at least 120 cm should be fined, and in case of further violations, may even face a ban on livestock keeping. It is also crucial to emphasize that THE GREENS, in their 2022 election program, called for comprehensive herd protection in Lower Saxony. Currently, there are only 35 wolf populations with offspring, approximately totaling 280 wolves, and not 500, as often claimed, considering a total of two million wild animals.

[kombuuuu]

NEEDD someone to write more about simp!miles and how he finally asks reader out. I love him w the trope friends to lovers i definitely feel like he would try to ask his s/o out and fail to so many times😭😭

Jitters.

Simp!Miles Morales x Gn!Reader

“Oh my god you’re clueless.”

THIS WAS LIKE FIVE MINUTES ADTER MY CALL FOR POST LMFAOOO OKAY BBY I GOT U ‼️

2 + 1 Trope? Got that DOWN baby.

—

The first time Miles had ever met you, it had been the most bland, unimportant, nothing-burger of a day he’d ever been privy to living.

The weight of his classmates gazes settled uncomfortably, but familiarly, onto his back. The whispers they shared with one another having him strain to hear over the beating of his own finicky heart.

A boring, low effort slide show casted on a lazily erased white board was barely keeping him from falling asleep.

And yet his foot wouldn’t stop tapping, the nerves alighting something within him like sparks near a gas leak. The way his heart was beating wasn’t just from the whispers flown around he knows weren’t about him. (He couldn’t help it, what if they are?)

There was something else, like an anticipation boiling his blood vessels. Spidey-sense through the roof and heart rate accelerating.

He stanced his feet, twisting them slowly to shoot out of his seat when ready, as if a crazed, murderous version of him was going to burst the the door at any moments notice.

The handle twisted, his vision honed in, ears sharp-tuned to every movement the muse terry figure made.

And as the door swung open, the breath he was holding left him. Exasperation and amazement at the person in front of him, the harmless, beauty of a person.

“Ah. Mx.[Last Name], Pleasure of you to join us,” His Teacher snarked, adding a hasty ‘finally’ to the end under his breath.

Miles shot the man a dirty look before focusing back onto you, as seemingly everyone had.

You caught people’s attention from the get-go, aura leaking something trusting, something good. Like out of everyone in the world he could talk to, he knows you’d listen in earnest.

You made eye contact with him, your eyes glistening against the light of the projector, he almost sighed.

You looked away again, addressing your Teacher. “Sorry Sir, I didn’t exactly know where to go.” You politely laughed it off, disrespect to authority wasn’t exactly something you wanted on your track record the moment you got to this place.

“It’s—“ He dragged a hand down his face whilst you shuffled in your spot. “It’s fine. Just go sit next to uh.-“

Miles say up a little straighter, a silent competition with the other people in his class crawling for your attention.

“Miles. Morales raise your hand.”

He felt almost smug as he did Small huffs of disappointment coming from his undeserving peers. You smiled at him, waltzing over with a confidence he could only dream, and sat in the chair beside him. He watched you unpack your stuff as the professor drawled on, and when you caught his watchful eye, you waved.

He blushed. The whispers definitely weren’t about him now.

—

One.

You were putting you books in your locker when a small tap was placed upon your shoulder.

Catching your attention, you stuffed the remaining books inside carelessly and turned to face the subject of curiosity.

The boy you had sat next to your first date stood shuffling foot to foot before you. Nervously scratching his neck and kicking his Jordans.

“Hey I- Uhh.” He coughed, scared his voice would crack in front of you, he almost cringed at the thought. “I’m Miles-“

“Morales. I remember you.” You smiled sweetly up at him, you did remember him. It was no lie, he was kind of hard to forget. “Oh, you do?”

“I mean, you were the only one in that class willing to sit next to a stranger. And you were pretty nice about it too.”

“Uhuh, yeah, that’s me.” Only one willing? With a person like you showing up? The entire room was glaring at him.

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

You closed your locker and turned back to him.

“Yeah, no problem. It was no big deal, really.” He rushed out, your presence alone making him nervous.

“Anyways I-,” he cleared his throat again. “I was wondering if you’d y’know..” He looked at you through his thick eyelashes, god he was pretty. “I’d…?”

“Wannahangoutsometime.”

You stumped for a moment, trying to figure out what he’d just said before laughing lightly. He swears he saw heaven the second you’d smiled at him.

“Yeah we can hang out, right now actually!”

Grabbing his arm and walking with him as you chatted. His breathing stuttered, unprepared for your misunderstanding of his intentions, but okay with the outcome. Having your arm linked with his, pulling him wherever you wanted to go like some puppy. Giggling and whispering to him something he couldn’t pay attention to over the sweetened sound of your voice. He was pretty damn okay with it.

—

Two.

It had been around three months since you had met Miles. And although you hated the thought, you only had your mean professor to thank. So, kudos to him.

You were into the boy, no doubt. His charming personality additional to the kind of dorky thing he had going on, you loved it. A month after the initial meeting, he had finally got the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It was probably the most adorable thing you’d ever seen watching him stumble upon his words.

Now you sat with him on the rooftop of his apartment building.

A picnic blanket had been laid for the both of you by Miles himself, and his mother had made snacks.

You had just met his mother, Rio. The sweetest woman you’d probably ever met. And by the way Miles and Rio interacted, you could only think how good of a man he was.

You can always tell the intentions of a man, by his treatment of his mother.

“Your ma is really nice.”

“You think? She’s kinda protective of me.” He turned to look at you through his peripheral, leaving enough space it wasn’t obvious. “I think it’s cute, she cares for you, y’know?” You shifted yourself to face him, the Sundown light glittering against his smooth skin. He looked beautiful here, you thought. He looks beautiful everywhere.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good, ‘s always good to know you’re loved.”

Miles’ heart stuttered in his chest, sucking in a quick breath and turning himself to face you.

“Mhmm.”

You looked up at him, leaning on your hand, drifting closer to him subconsciously.

He let himself drift as well, your voices quieting without either knowledge.

“Miles?” Your soft words questioned him, doey eyes gazing up at him, heart on your sleeve.

“I wanna—“ His sentence was cut off, a blaring siren sounding in his head, nerves.

“I think I might..—“

He huffed, mad at himself for being unable to speak.

“Do you want- Holy shit.”

You laughed, leaning back, a genuine glee in your eye.

“Do I want holy shit?-“ You giggled, he felt his heart flutter along with his disappointment (once more).

“-Not really, no.” You kept giggling, the serenity of your moment with Miles and his fumbling an apparent treat to you. He buried his face in his hands and groaned loudly. Only furthering your hysteria, “Leave me alone.” He dragged the ‘lone’ dramatically before flopping back against the blankets. Huffing and staring up at you from his spot. The smile on your face was a quick fix for his soured mood, not that it was that sour in the first place. But knowing a moment of undeniable spark like that, had you smiling and giggling after, even if it led to nothing. Had his hopes and his pulse rate rising.

—

Miles was head over heels for you. He was smitten, a total and complete dog for your affection. Sitting at home sulking when you weren’t there to hang out with him. Making you add his steam solely so he can play games with you.

A puppy of a man, god he wasn’t even ashamed.

“Dude, you just need’a ask ‘em out already.” Hobie served no help to his ever growing dilemma with you, but did serve to humiliate his seemingly non-existed romantic experience. “I’m *trying, man. They just keeps misunderstanding.” “Are they taking the hint?” “What hint?” He looked up from his slouched spot in his gaming chair. Spinning the thing in circles idly. “You haven’t given ‘em a hint?” Hobie blanched at Miles, like it was some obvious mistake.

“What. Hint.”

“Oh my god, Miles.”

—

He still didn’t get it, Hobie had explained his way of ‘hinting’ to someone he liked them. Through slight touches and subtle looks, a wink here and there. But not a cringey wink (Miles would argue they’re all cringey.), the ones where you feel like you’re part of a secret. This would be helpful to him, sure. If had hadn’t done everything with you already, except the winking, that is.

He did touch you, he did catch your eye when everyone else around looked away. He kissed your forehead and held your hand. You seemed borderline allergic to walking without you arm linked through his. All of there’s things that Hobie said were couple things, he’d already nailed. So why couldn’t you just.. date each other?

“I don’t know, it’s not like that.”

“But it is,” Hobie pointed to the centre of Mile’s’ forehead and flicked. “You guys are quite literally already dating.” “No, not really?”

“Oh my god you’re clueless.”

Hobie sighed, jumping off the bed and stretching his arms above his head. Miles grumbling a pouted ‘am not..’, Hobie settled him a look, taking a deep breath and continuing.

“Miles, mate, You both go to each other for comfort. You cry to each other, you find solace in one another. You touch and cuddle and sleep in the same bed.” He took another breath, seemingly needing a lot, “The only things you’re missing, are kissing each other for real. And calling each other your partners.”

“And if they end up saying no?”

“Then i’ll smash my guitar.”

Miles paused, considering the severity.

“Okay, okay i’ll do it.”

“Thank fuck.”—

—

+one

Miles had spent the better of an entire afternoon hyping himself up (and subsequently psyching himself out), before he finally had managed to make it your door and knock.

He was beyond nervous, the jitters in his bones crawling under his skin like spiders. Worse than normal, he observed.

A shuffle from inside your apartment had brought him back down to Earth. Everything suddenly becoming very real to him as you opened the door grumpily.

“Oh i’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Oh, Miles!” Your pout had almost instantly been lifted, a smile grazing your face sleepily, it was so late, he shouldn’t have come.

“I’m so sorry- It’s late. I should—“

“No!”

“No?”

It was your turn to get bashful, twisting the hem of your shirt in your hands nervously. “Stay Miles.”

He softened, posture relaxing at your tone.

“Don’t want you running away again.”

That caught his attention. “Wha-“ “I was wondering when you’d finally show up outta’ the blue.” You glanced down to his lips then back. The amber in his eyes haunting your dreams, in such a welcomed way.

Miles couldn’t take it, with the way you spoke, so soft and fragile. To the things you were saying, confident and headstrong. He couldn’t fucking take it.

His hands shot up to your face, caressing the curves of your cheeks and slope of your jaw. The trails of hair behind your ears his fingers just grazed. He brought himself down to your height once more, standing on your porch step. Like some sappy rom-com.

“Tell me to stop.” He was near breathless. You didn’t, you didn’t say a thing. You simply carded your deft hands over thick curls, and pulled him down to meet you. His eyes fluttered closed and lips met yours. He felt like crying.

Like after the months of pining for you. For trying and trying for your love, for your affection, that everything in his life had only ever led to this one point. And everything farther was his happy ending. The spiders under his skin stopped crawling, settling into the crooks of his bones and finding home. He wasn’t shaking. He was still.

And as you pulled away to breathe, ogling up at him with nothing but love to give he smiled and laughed just like you did.

ITS FUCKING 3 AM I GENUINELY HAVENT SLEPT THIS IS SO CUTE

(he is ⬇️)

[supernaturalfreewill]

reader pronouns: she/her "Uhh—Dean? Do you think it was a good idea to leave Y/N over there with those two idiots?" Sam asked.

"Huh?" Dean turned and looked across the restaurant at you standing with Harry and Ed. "I think it's fine. She's still smiling. ...Oh. God. She's—she's still smiling. Why won't she stop smiling like that?"

"Yeeeah, you better—"

"I better get over there before she kills them," Dean said, jolting into action. He rushed across the restaurant and stopped next to you, gently grabbing your arm. "You okay?" he asked you in an undertone. "You looked like you were about to throat punch one of them..."

"Oh," Ed said abruptly, eyeing you and Dean, his eyes flickering back and forth. "Is he—Are—Are you—Is he—?" he stammered.

You and Dean stared at him with furrowed brows.

"I wasn't hitting on her," Ed burst out abruptly. "I was just—I was—Are you—are you two—? Uhh..."

Dean glared at him and wrapped his arm around your lower back. "Yeah. We're together, dipshit," Dean growled.

"Ooookaaaay. I'll just—we'll just—Harry? Come on," Ed said and they made a hasty exit.

"They were hitting on you?" Dean asked, shooting you an apologetic look.

"I think they think they were," you said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Sorry," Dean said. "I shouldn't have left them unsupervised."

You laughed. "It's okay. I can handle myself."

"I know. But still..." He tugged you in close for a moment and snuck a kiss in your hair.

Prompt: "it's fine. She's still smiling. ...Oh, God. She's—she's still smiling. Why won't she stop smiling?"

[snowyquokka]

Hey I saw that you wanted ideas for some angst, thought I would shoot my shot. What if one of or all of them idk you choose the boys calls reader clingy and reader gets insecure about it. It's okay if you don't feel like it tho. Take care of yourself and drink lot's of water❤️❤️ I'm new to your blog but I really love your work hope to see more of it in the future❤️❤️❤️

CLINGY

cw - non idol!minho x gn!reader, angst (😈), swearing, fluffy ending, hurt comfort kinda

wc- 1.1k

a.n - IT’S DONE !! i am exhausted but hey it’s out 😭😭 anyway i’m sorry for being a bit MIA lately, i’ve been having a bit of a rough time but it’s getting better. i’m not sure if i like this piece or not tho :((( I LOVE YOU MUAH <3

AND I JUST REALIZED THIS IS MY FIRST LINO FIC OMG THIS IS A MOMENT IN HISTORY

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥

All day, the silence in the house seemed to echo with Minho's absence, each tick of the clock stretching the worry tighter across your mind. The morning had started off on the wrong foot, with Minho oversleeping- a rare occurrence which in turn threw off his whole routine. The rushed breakfast, the hasty goodbye—everything felt off-kilter. It was unlike him to be late, especially for his job at the veterinary clinic, a place he often described as his second home, where he could merge his passion for animals with his skills in care and healing. The hurried departure left a cold space in the wake of his frantic energy.

The argument from the night before added layers to your concern. It was one of those disagreements that seemed trivial in the light of day, yet in the shadow of the night, it had grown into a monumental barrier between you two. It wasn't just the words exchanged or the silence that followed, but the unresolved tension that lingered, making the air heavy with unsaid apologies and unexpressed affections. The fact that Minho had been irritable even before the argument didn't help, it only amplified the discomfort, casting a shadow over his usual bright demeanor.

As the day dragged on, you found yourself glancing at the clock, counting the hours until Minho's return. The thought of him dealing with the stress of work on top of everything else weighed heavily on you as guilt settled in. It wasn't just the worry for his mental state, but also the longing for reconciliation. You knew the importance of mending the rift, of clearing the air with conversations that bridged the gap between hurt and healing. The thought of him walking through the door, the opportunity to start anew, to offer a smile as a peace offering, became a beacon of hope in the slow march of the day. But as you continue to relive the argument you can’t help the pang of sorrow that strikes your heart like lighting, complimenting the storm of emotions whirling about your being. 

The dispute sparked when you casually asked him about his day. To you, it was a simple question, but Minho perceived it as intrusive, deeming you "too clingy" and expressing his exhaustion with what he viewed as your constant nagging.Since then you’ve been running yourself into the ground trying to get as much stuff around the house as you can. If Minho comes home to a clean house, you think, then there’ll be one less reason for him to be irritated with you. 

The sound of keys jingling faintly outside the door interrupts your thoughts. You had just finished cooking dinner and were plating it just in time as Minho to strolls in. 

“Mm,“ he hums in approval as he wraps his long arms around your waist, gently tugging your back to his front. He rests his chin on your shoulder as he speaks, “Smells good, baby. Thank you.” You hum and nod, not sure what to do. He was just complaining about you being clingy but here he is, swaying you side-to-side. Minho clearly sensed your apprehension and pulled back with a sigh. “Why am I getting the silent treatment?” 

You aren’t sure how to respond to that. You weren’t purposefully trying to ignore him, you’re just confused and you don’t know how to voice that. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” you turn around towards him and lean back against the kitchen island, using your hands to brace yourself.

Minho hums and folds his arms over his chest. He raises a brow, wanting you to continue. You huff and tip your head back for a moment before looking directly at him. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to come off too clingy.” Your tone came off a little harsher than you’d planned and you watch as his expression shifts into something more serious, guilty even.

“Shit, baby I- I didn’t mean it, you know that. I shouldn’t have said it and-” You shake your head, effectively cutting him off. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s just-” 

His eyes begin to soften as he inches back into your space. “Hey. Hey,” Minho murmurs as his hands find purchase on your shoulders in an attempt to provide at least some semblance of comfort. He’s always been the type to have some sort of contact when talking to you like this. It makes it feel more personal, more sincere, especially when he ends up apologizing. “Don’t do that, you know I hate it. I’m the one who should be sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I was just stressed and I know that isn’t an excuse.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you, I made you upset.” 

Minho shakes his head. “I want you to ask about my day, I want you to show that you care. It makes me feel important. You make me feel important.” You pull your lip in between your teeth, a nervous habit you picked up as a child. 

"Are you sure? Because I will-" Minho clicks his tongue and leans his forehead against yours, his brown eyes sparkling.

"I never want you to feel insecure about anything I say, regardless of what it is. I understand I can be hot-headed, and I'm working to fix that, but I want you- I need you- to tell me when I’m doing something that’s upsetting you. I love you and I promise you I didn’t mean any of it.” He presses a soft, chaste kiss on the tip of your nose with a smile. The action makes your stomach erupt with butterflies and you know everything will be okay. You’ll always bounce back and find your way back to each other. 

Minho looks down and locks his pinkys around yours before looking back up at you. “You okay now?” You nod and lean against him further with a content sigh. 

“I love you too, Min.” Minho begins to open his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. 

“Even if you’re a dick sometimes.” You say with amusement laced in your tone and a grin.

“I guess I’m lucky you put up with me then.” 

“Now you’re getting it,”

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tags: @godslino @seungseung-minmin @myseungsunglove @azuna-sz @kaiyaba @solisyeah

[mayaree-darling]

Only in the Cover of the Night // Sung Jinwoo

pairing: sung jinwoo x reader

synopsis: your headache is not helping you remember that you have a boyfriend ready to care of you

from aree: guess who caught the dengue virus lmao i have three different sicknesses rn i wish i was joking. this was made for my bestie @fuyuu-chan coz she was dying from a headache but i needed this more apparently

content: pure fluff; no plot just vibes ngl; you have a headache and jinwoo is there to help/bother you

fic length: 1.7k~ (unedited)

There's a glass of water and some medicine on your bedside table when you reach out your hand for your phone. You're glad you didn't knock anything over - only grazing the glass with your pinkie finger and the aluminum under your palm. It would've been completely fine to have them there - welcomed even - since you did have a bad headache right now, but you shoot up in bed when you realize.

You did not put those there.

You immediately regret the sudden movement when your headache comes back swinging, pounding into your brain like a drum. You eventually fall back into your bed with a hard thump. Even when the lights are off, it feels like the room is spinning. There are stars dancing in your eyes that are just a tad too bright, but definitely more than a tad annoying.

You sit up but slowly this time, gauging whether you need to lie down and sleep the next hour away again. When you don't feel like throwing up, you open your eyes and blink at the corner of your room. You know you're seeing lights right now with the migraine treating you like a punching bag, but…

Are they supposed to be purple?

You don't quite remember if the stars in your vision are supposed to be stationary, either. You move your head this way and that, but the lights stay in one particular corner of your room, staring straight at you. Staring seems to be the right term, the lights making you think of two, purple ey-

No. No, you look away and lean on your side, taking a steady breath in before shakily exhaling.

You are not gonna get killed by some ghost when you're already facing the migraine of the century.

You ignore the lights - you can deal with the ghost when you're all better and ready to throw down with the supernatural, but not now - and turn to where you remember your bedside table was. Where was your phone?

At that moment, you hear the familiar ring of a notification going off. You squint, expecting the unwelcome bright light of your screen, but it's not coming from your table. You freeze.

It's coming from the other side of your bed.

Surely you just rolled over and left it there at some point? Right, yes, of course. You're overthinking things. Your mind is just stuck in a hazy fog made by your sickness. Your paranoia is just stemming from the inability to process common sense. You're starting to think someone is in the room with you just because you-

The bed behind you tips from a foreign weight.

You jump from the bed, but your movements are more than clumsy. You make a hasty turn, trying to face whatever is behind you, but you get caught in your blanket. It envelops the lower half of your body and before you know it you're falling. You try to hold on to the bedside table but your movements are sluggish and you miss it by centimeters. You brace yourself for the impact-

But it never comes.

You feel warm. Arms are circled around you, hands on your upper back and around your waist. A chest is pressed against your own, both heartbeats racing as if trying to catch up to one another. You're overwhelmed by a woody scent (and something… burnt? it's not much but it's there). Although you have an afterthought that it should have made your migraine worse, it ends up comforting you more than anything. So familiar. The figure in front of you leans back, pressing you closer to them as they make sure you're both kneeling safely on the bed.

You're warm. Their warmth is a welcome distraction from the migraine that threatens to make you black out. They loosen their grip ever so softly only when your heartbeat calms down. Almost as if sensing their effect on you, they pull your head to their chest, the hand on your back coming to scratch lightly at your scalp.

There's a new beating in your head, in your ear, but this one is pleasant and makes you feel like you're in a dream you don't want to wake up from. You see a pair of purple eyes in the opposite corner of the room. They blink at you once before becoming one with the dark.

"Did I scare you, sarang?" The voice is muffled. Is it because of your headache again? But you feel it numbly vibrate through your head. You barely feel soft lips against your hair, but it's there, and the knowledge that it's present calms you impossibly more. "Sorry, I should have come through the door."

You reach up and grasp the back of their, his - Jinwoo's - coat. You run your hand up and down his back, trying to bring yourself back to the present with each feel of his coat's texture. Without meaning to though, the action makes him shiver underneath your fingers and you hear him suck in a breath. You feel more awake than you've ever been as you let out a muffled laugh into his sweater.

"You definitely should have come through the door," you mumble, burying yourself further in his chest. He definitely smells burnt. "I thought someone broke in."

"That would be a stupid move on their part. Beru would have slit their throats the moment they touched the door knob," Jinwoo scoffs and you can almost see the smirk on his face.

You groan as Jinwoo shifts in position. He holds you close still, making sure you're nestled in his arms. He leans on the headboard. "It's great you're not a burglar then. I don't feel like cleaning up blood right now."

He hums, tucking your face in his neck and placing his chin over your head. "Bold of you to assume I would've let you clean that. The only thing you would have to worry about is the floor being slightly wet with hydrogen peroxide."

"Can't let them find any evidence." You breathe out a laugh.

"I can even go the extra mile and make sure no one ever looks for him if you want."

"Thanks for the offer. I'll make sure to remember it." you manage another small laugh and Jinwoo offers a small scratch to your scalp in response.

A quiet fills the room and if not for your boyfriend's overwhelmingly comforting presence, you'd think you were still alone with your thoughts and pounding headache. Thanks to him, you were able to forget about the pain for a few minutes. You would've been able to be lulled to sleep again if not for something tickling at your senses, especially now that you're so close.

"What are you doing here? You should've gone home after finishing your dungeons."

"Who said I went to any dungeons today? I could've just been lazing at home for a change and thought about checking on my wonderful significant other," Jinwoo gasps mockingly, and when you look up at him, you find purple glowing eyes looking at you mirthfully.

You laugh blankly. "You talk like I don't know you. I think you'd keel over if you stopped going to dungeons. Also, your clothes are all burnt. I can smell it clearly even with this headache."

"Oh, sorry about that." He holds your shoulders, ready to move you away from him, but he doesn't. He just holds you, not quite sure or willing to push you away. "Should… should I go take a shower first?"

"No, don't go. I was joking," you huddle yourself closer to him. "Do that later. But not right now please."

He lets out a chuckle before relenting and bringing you back in his arms. "Anything I can do to help you feel better?"

"No, no, I'm good I just-" your words are cut short with your stomach rumbling. You don't say anything, and neither does he, but you know he's looking at you like you're a liar. You can feel yourself flush. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little hungry."

"I'll get you something to eat, then. I'll make you something good." he shifts his weight, ready to either get up or sink further into the sheets.

"Don't burn my kitchen again, Sung Jinwoo, or I swear this is the last time I'm letting you into my house." you poke at his side and he winces.

He takes the hand poking him and he pulls it up to his lips, kissing your wrist. You're thankful he can't see your face right now. Or maybe he can? You're not about to test that theory. "Bold of you to think you can keep your boyfriend out."

"Bold of you to think I can't break up with you. If I break up with you then it's considered trespassing whenever you enter my house uninvited, isn't it?" you try to fight back the grin that threatens to push at your lips.

The grin disappears, however, when you're suddenly thrown onto your back. Your fall is cushioned by a soft mattress and even softer arms. Jinwoo's weight is shifted on top of you as he hugs you, head on your chest and body slotted in between your legs. He buries his head in your chest, before reaching up and putting your hand over his hair. When the initial shock has passed, you grin and scratch at his scalp, too.

Jinwoo's voice is muffled. "…Please don't do that."

You laugh, lightly pulling at his hair. "Mhm, yeah, that's what I thought."

Jinwoo lifts his head enough to see your face, purple eyes almost glittering in the dark. "I promise not to burn your well-maintained kitchen with my awful skills."

He reaches over to the bedside table to flick the night light on, but you feel him stop short. His arms return to wrap itself around you once more and he buries his head back into your chest.

"Jinwoo?"

He groans before tightening his hold on you. "Let's stay like this for a while more, is that okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. I'd like that, too."

So you stay in the dark. You think you see purple lights in the corner of your room again. Watching, curious.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.