#I don’t want to give away too much because I have ideas for a one shot of this scene

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Pick A Pile: What’s Hiding In Your Subconscious—Are You Ready To Find Out?

Hello, today we’re deep diving into your subconscious to explore what’s lurking in those deep waters. This is a collective reading, so not everything may resonate with you, but there is truth in it. Be prepared for blunt, honest, raw, and stripping truth. If you’re not ready for that, feel free to click away from this post.

However, if you’re interested in this pick-a-pile reading and find value in the way I explain things, please check out my paid services here, where you can receive a deeper, personalized reading directly channeled from your subconscious.

I hope you have a beautiful day. Stay present, stay conscious, and stay aware.

Pile 1

For this group of people, what lies hidden in your subconscious is a deep sense of chaos and instability. No matter how great things may seem on the surface, underneath it all is utter turmoil. In the coming months, you will see this play out unless you take control of your life.

You carry deep-seated fears that you refuse to confront. These fears create confusion, leaving you paralyzed and immobile. They eat away at your courage, fueling feelings of inadequacy that linger within you. You are not warm or inviting; instead, you are distant, cold, and often withdrawn, struggling to form deep emotional connections with others. You have built a stone-cold wall around yourself—one that needs to be broken down, yet you are afraid to do so. In fact, you may feel that no one nurtures you enough or offers you the emotional reciprocity you crave, making it difficult for you to give back in return.

Your mind is constantly overwhelmed with thoughts, ideas, and emotions. At times, they consume you, creating a cloud of mental fog. You have so much to say, yet you may struggle to articulate your words with precision. You often find yourself engaging in arguments, picking fights, or instigating debates, sometimes speaking in a way that comes off as harsh or negative. While your bluntness can occasionally be appreciated, more often than not, it leaves people feeling something they weren’t ready to face.

You have ambitions and desires, but your confidence is lacking. Fear holds you back, and self-doubt lingers in the shadows of your mind. You struggle with low self-esteem, often feeling like you don’t shine or that people don’t notice you. The attention you long for seems out of reach, and at times, you feel unattractive or inadequate—whether in your physical appearance or in your pursuit of your life’s goals. You wonder if you will ever truly fulfill your dreams.

Your past is filled with pain, betrayal, and trust issues. You have been stabbed in the back, humiliated, cast aside, and made to feel like an outcast for far too long. People have done things to you that you never wanted or deserved, and yet, you are still not over it. You hold grudges, still feeling the weight of past wounds. The pain is sharp, so instead of confronting it, you bury it deeper.

Even when you crave stability, groundedness, and financial prosperity, you feel held back. Your mindset is trapped in scarcity, making you feel as though you never have enough. You may even struggle with basic self-care, wondering how you could ever have the “glow-up” you desire. At your core, you feel destabilized. There is so much work to be done.

In the next few months, I challenge you to empower yourself. Face your fears, heal your wounds, and take control of your life. If you don’t, you risk falling deeper into chaos, isolation, conflicts, betrayals, and insecurity. The choice is yours. Will you rise, or will you remain stuck in the cycle?

Pile 2

Pile 2, you have a tendency to burn yourselves out. You don’t know when to stop—or maybe you can’t stop—because deep down, you feel inadequate. You push yourself harder and harder, believing that if you just do more, you’ll finally prove your worth. But the truth is, you already feel worthless, and no amount of effort will fill that void unless you address the root of it.

You have an incredibly sharp mind, with a keen eye for logic. You cut through to the truth with ease, and people seek you out because they believe you hold knowledge they don’t. You speak clearly and articulate your thoughts well, rarely stumbling over your words. Yet, despite your intelligence, you struggle to get along with others. Collaboration is difficult for you. Compromise is even harder. You resist admitting when you’re wrong, refusing to acknowledge that other people’s ideas can be just as effective—sometimes even better—than your own.

You want to be on top, but at what cost? Do you uplift others, or do you push them down in order to stay ahead? Are you willing to let other people’s ideas wither just because you believe yours should thrive? You are undeniably skilled, but your stubbornness holds you back. You resist learning lessons the easy way, preferring to do things on your own—even when guidance is available.

And are you truly an honest person? You may articulate yourself well and possess deep knowledge, but at times, you use that knowledge manipulatively. You withhold the truth, twist facts, or make others question their own reality. You are too smart for your own good, to the point where your intelligence becomes a tool for deception. You move through life strategically, but sometimes that strategy is nothing more than manipulation—blinding others to the truth they deserve to see.

You make decisions quickly because you rely on logic. But where are your emotions? Where is your warmth? Where is your intuition? You present yourself as confident and capable, someone who can take on life at any cost. Yet, despite this persona, you still struggle. No matter how hard you try, you always seem to end up disappointed—let down by people, abandoned, or kicked to the curb.

This cycle of disappointment has pushed you into hyper-independence. You don’t want to rely on anyone. You’d rather talk to the moon than to another human being because even the slightest vulnerability feels like a risk. You fear being played, used, or betrayed. But the truth is, you are vulnerable. You are struggling.

Not only do you struggle with stability, but you also struggle with prosperity. Every time you climb toward success, it feels like the ground beneath you crumbles. You are independent, but perhaps to a fault. You lack emotional groundedness, emotional intelligence, and emotional nourishment. You work hard—very hard—because you want to build a life where you can rely only on yourself. But is your hard work balanced? Or is it leading to pure exhaustion?

When you can’t be productive, do you feel worthless? Has your worth become entirely dependent on what you do rather than who you are?

In the next few months, I challenge you to tap into your emotions. Let them guide you. Use their power to transform your life. If you continue to ignore them, you will only repeat the same cycle of burnout, isolation, and emptiness. The choice is yours. Will you finally embrace balance, or will you keep running yourself into the ground?

Pile 3

For this group of people, I feel like you struggle with clarity. Most of the time, you’re indecisive, confused, or ruminating over the past, and there’s no shift in your mind. Your thoughts are stuck in the old, and though they need to move forward, you prevent that progress because of your confusion. Maybe you don’t speak up enough, silencing yourself in moments when you need to demand clarity. You back down from confrontation instead of confronting the changes that would allow you to get what you truly want.

It seems like you deeply care about romance and love. Perhaps someone special is on your mind—someone you genuinely want to bond with. You desire harmony with this person, craving emotional connection and nourishment. You long to merge emotionally with them, to hold your cup out, and have them do the same, filling each other’s cups to create an overflow, an abundance of love between the two of you. You are seeking romance, desiring it, and you crave someone who occupies your thoughts, igniting intense passion within you.

They stir feelings inside of you that are overwhelming, making you want to step out in bold, courageous ways that you’re not used to. This person makes you want to dress up, look good, smell good, and step into a room demanding attention. They make you feel artistic, creative, and abundant in ways you’ve never experienced. This person is catalyzing a major transformation within you. Old things in your life are dying off—things that no longer serve you, people who aren’t worth your energy, and habits that no longer hold value. You’re in the process of shedding your old self, those past versions of you, to embrace a new version that is more loving, confident, and radiant in every room you enter. You are becoming the queen or king, ruling your own life and letting all the old structures crumble around you. You watch with satisfaction as the past falls away, knowing that the transformation is complete.

However, this transformation has also put you in a position where others may struggle to be around you. You’re no longer quick to give; you’re not a charity. Even if someone holds out their hand, you refuse to give, because you realize that your priority is now yourself. Serving yourself is what’s most important, and you’re tired of being responsible for people and connections that no longer serve you. You’re no longer overly responsible for others; now, you are responsible for yourself.

A lot of changes are coming into your life, and they will happen fast. It feels like everything is shifting in ways you never imagined. New cycles are entering your life, and things are blossoming in ways you never anticipated. This can feel destabilizing, because the energy is so powerful and invigorating that it’s almost too much to handle. You may feel overwhelmed, attacked by this ferocious energy, but it ignites something within you that will forever change you.

Still, you are going through a deep grieving process. The past, although it is crumbling and losing its grip on you, is something you still grapple with. You carry wounds, trauma, and pain that don’t disappear overnight. You often reflect on them, and in moments of privacy, you might shed a tear for someone you’ve lost or for a past version of yourself. Certain names, places, or memories might trigger a reaction. The sadness remains deep within you, and the pain can still feel overwhelming at times. You need time to grieve, and others must understand that this sadness still resides within you.

However, you know there is a new path ahead. Despite the trembling, the tears, and the pull of the past, you are emerging from this process as an ignited flame, ready to face the world without fear. The illusions have shattered, and you are no longer bound by the past. You’ve broken free, and now, you’re ready to tackle everything that comes your way with a newfound strength. Who dares to stand in your way?

Pile 4

For this group of people, I see that some of you are feeling aimless. You don’t have concrete goals, and you’re not writing things down or observing your environment. Maybe you’re just being spontaneous right now, or maybe you’re simply drifting without direction. There’s no clear path you’re following—you’re just holding onto what you know, which is the past. And the past is only going to repeat itself if you don’t break free from it. So, are you ready for this next cycle to repeat, or do you want to break free from it?

In your subconscious, I see a lot of disharmony. You may have a difficult relationship with your immediate or extended family, or perhaps you’re struggling within your marriage, co-parenting dynamic, or a significant relationship. There’s a lot of tension and separation. It also seems like you were promised something beautiful—maybe by your parents, family, or even your own created family. Promises of happiness, fulfillment, and good times with loved ones, but these promises were never fulfilled. You may have been lied to or misled into thinking certain things would happen, but they never did. Now, you’re facing the harsh reality that you believed in an illusion, which has been shattered by the truth. There’s not enough closeness, not enough emotional harmony, and not everyone is on the same page. You may feel responsible for this lack of harmony and distance in your life, blaming yourself because you fell for that illusion.

It also seems like you’re coming to a place where you’re refusing to settle anymore. For a while, you allowed life to just be the way it was, not taking control or empowering yourself. You were simply coasting, walking aimlessly through life, stuck in stagnation. I can see this clearly. Things haven’t been exciting for you. Life has felt dull, and you’ve been playing a passive role because you didn’t know what else to do. You may have allowed external influences—your family, friends, or relationships—to dictate your life, which left you struggling to assert your true self.

But now, you’re realizing this. You’re coming to terms with the fact that you struggle with asserting yourself. You’re realizing how often you’ve fallen for illusions. You’re understanding that the passive role you’ve played has only led you down aimless roads, leaving you without direction or the ability to live the life you truly want. It seems like you’re frustrated with your energy levels, and you’re finally coming to grips with the passivity that’s shaped your life. This role, where others and external forces decided your path, is no longer serving you.

You’re now reflecting on the opportunities you’ve missed—those moments when you could have expressed yourself, pursued your passions, and acted with confidence and courage. It’s hard for you to face these missed opportunities, especially when you see others who seized them while you were idly waiting. This has impacted your confidence, and you’re struggling to muster the courage to go after new opportunities. I can sense that your confidence has been low for a long time, and your drive toward life has been weak. For a while, you’ve been taking the easy route, doing the bare minimum just to keep your head above water, but not truly nourishing your inner power.

Your soul wants more, but you’ve been weighed down by past experiences that have convinced you that you can’t do it, and you’ve started to believe that. You may have become dependent on someone who sold you an illusion, weakening you in the process. You gave them the power to strengthen their skills, but now they’re strong, and you’re left feeling weak. You’re looking around, wondering why this happened to you and what you did to deserve it.

But I’m telling you this: your life is about to change. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Stay with me—life is about to shift dramatically in the coming months. The fire is being lit in your eyes. Your awareness is deepening every day, and you’re no longer going to remain idle. You’re stepping into your power, embracing your creativity, and undergoing profound self-growth. You will experience a major transformation in the next few months that will destabilize the core of those wounds, the illusions, and the stagnation that have held you back.

You will shed the old, overcoming the past, and emerge as an independent, strong person, living in your own power. You’ll become the creator of your life, full of creativity and seeing things from a more mature perspective. This growth will enable you to guide others toward their own fulfillment, drawing on your own experiences to understand how people get to where they are. Not only will you become a guide, but you’ll undergo a significant transformation, gaining the independence to go after what you want with clarity and decisiveness. This shift will change your life completely.

🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠

[witchywithwhiskey]

For the sweethearts game I would love to see what you do with Crazy 4 U + Andy Barber 🩷❤️🩷❤️

your favorite sweet treat

pairing: boyfriend!andy barber x female reader

summary: after your valentine's day date in the city, you stop at a diner with your boyfriend, and when you don't share your milkshake, he decides to steal a taste of something else.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!); smut; vaginal fingering; fingerfucking; semi-public sex; come eating; orgasm control/denial; light bdsm; risk aware consensual kink; quiet sex; oral sex (m receiving); road head; brief mentions of piv sex, spanking, and more overt bdsm dynamics (including punishments); dirty talk; daddy kink; praise kink; some degradation kink; begging; pet names (babygirl, baby); established relationship

word count: 3.8k

a/n: ahh Cate, thank you for sending in this prompt!! i don't remember where i got the idea, but i wanted to do something with a diner and it just made sense to use Andy. plus i love the idea of straight-laced lawyer Andy being a little reckless on Valentine's Day 🤭 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

“You look like you’re really enjoying that milkshake, babygirl.”

The neon lights of the diner shone brightly in the dark February night as you cut your eyes to Andy Barber, who sat beside you in the booth. The lawyer, dressed in a suit that was more than a little rumpled after your Valentine’s Day date in the city, was eying the milkshake in your hand with a hungry look. 

“Mhmm, it’s very good,” you agreed sweetly, knowing exactly what Andy was angling for and refusing to give in so easily. If he wanted a taste, he’d have to ask directly—or wrest the chilled glass from your determined fingers, especially since he was liable to drink half of it in one gulp. 

Andy chuckled at your seemingly innocent response, turning toward you in the booth in the back corner of the diner, where you’d stopped for a late dinner after seeing a show in Boston, and shifted closer to you. He lay his arm across the back of the bench seat, his big body curling around yours while he ducked his head close.

You watched him sharply, a ripple of heat curling in your belly as you noticed the way his eyes were fixed on your mouth. He stared at your lips as they wrapped around the straw and you took a sip of the sweet drink, seeing his gaze darken infinitesimally.

You let the straw fall away from your lips and darted your tongue out to savor the milkshake’s flavor, delighting in the quiet groan that rumbled in Andy’s chest. The satisfaction of teasing him made you smile.

“Why don’t you let me have a taste?” Andy murmured, his voice low and enticing. His words were barely louder than the 60s Motown music playing from the classic jukebox across the diner, but you could hear him well enough.

Andy was so close that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek and it almost made you want to give in, just so he could understand how good the milkshake truly was. He’d seemed satisfied with the burger he’d polished off, so surely he wouldn’t drink all of it before he gave it back…

But then you saw the glimmer of greediness in Andy’s gaze and you knew that if you let him have just one small taste, he was going to drink the milkshake in half a second—and it was just too good to share. It was rich and thick and creamy perfection. You couldn’t risk giving Andy any because he’d take too much.

“Get your own,” you said airily, tossing your head and turning so you were giving Andy your back as much as you could in the vinyl booth. You even curled protectively around your milkshake, taking furtive sips as you enjoyed its sweetness. 

Andy laughed lowly, but there was something a little dark in the pleasant sound that had your body going on delicious alert. Instead of making a play for your milkshake, though, he dropped a kiss to your shoulder, his lips pressing against the bare skin between the thin strap of your dress and where your cardigan had slipped down your arm.

He nuzzled into your shoulder, his hot mouth dragging over your skin an exquisite contrast to the rough rasp of his beard. It was so distracting, you nearly missed the moment when his hand fell on your thighs and began to skim higher. 

It wasn’t until Andy’s fingers pushed beneath the hem of your dress that you realized what he was doing. You had to bite back a gasp of surprised delight as heat bloomed, hot and insistent, in the core of your belly, settling heavily between your thighs, which spread instinctively for Andy’s hand.

“If you won’t give me a taste of your milkshake, babygirl,” Andy rumbled in your ear, his voice deep and warm and so rich, it sent shivers down your spine. “I’ll have to take a taste of something else.” His fingers pushed between your plush thighs and swiped at the already damp fabric of your panties. 

“Andy,” you said on a sharp exhale. You’d been aiming for a scolding tone, but your whisper was too fluttery, too drenched in needy lust, and there was no real recrimination in your tone.

Still, you remembered where you were, and your eyes flicked around the diner. 

It was late, nearly midnight, so the place was practically empty. The only people in the whole building were a lone man sitting at the counter on the opposite side of the diner, and the waitress and cook, who were talking to each other through the order window. 

“You’re crazy,” you murmured, keeping your voice low so as not to draw attention, even as your legs fell open in wordless invitation. 

Andy was quick to act on the invitation, his fingers curling around the edge of your silk panties and sweeping along your damp slit. He gathered your wetness on the pads of his fingertips, his touch sending sparks of pleasure dancing through your body and you had to silence a whimper by taking another sip of your milkshake. 

“Crazy for you.” Andy’s words were purred in your ear, and you could hear the smile on his handsome face without even turning to look. But you did turn, just in time to watch him pull his fingers from between your thighs and slide them into his mouth.

You turned toward Andy more fully, watching eagerly as he licked the taste of you from his fingers, his eyes sliding closed as he groaned in pleasure. The sight was so erotic, you could feel yourself drip even more wetness into your already very damp panties.

For a brief moment, you entertained the thought of Andy Barber, your serious lawyer, getting down on his knees right there in the diner and tasting you straight from the source. It was a delicious, deviant thought, one that would no doubt end up with Andy getting disbarred, but it was fun to think about.

Andy’s eyes opened and they caught your undivided attention. His gaze, darkened with lust and sparkling with hunger, roved over your face, taking in your expression—and that was enough for him to know you’d been thinking dirty thoughts about him.

An obscenely self-satisfied grin spread across his handsome face, making him look even more sinfully hot. Andy ducked closer, so his forehead was pressed against your temple, and spoke directly into your ear.

“Does my babygirl like it when daddy fingers her sweet little pussy while she’s drinking her milkshake and not sharing it with me?” he asked teasingly, his hand falling to your thigh again and letting his thumb draw small circles on your bare skin. 

A whine rose up in your throat, but you held it back. With another furtive glance around the diner to make sure no one was paying attention to you and Andy, and they couldn’t see what you were doing while you were sequestered in the back corner booth, you spread your legs even wider. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered, nodding for good measure as you looked up at him from under your lashes, your lips curving in a sweet smile. 

A moment later, you had to bite back a gasp when Andy curled his fingers around your knee and pulled your thigh over his leg, opening you up obscenely wide and forcing the skirt of your dress to ride up improperly high on your legs. The cool air of the diner brushed against your heated core and you couldn’t help but squirm on the vinyl seat.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, turning your face into Andy’s shoulder to muffle a helpless moan. The fabric of his suit jacket was soft and cool against your heated skin. When you breathed in, you could smell the familiar scent of his spicy cologne, and it filled your head with even more fluffy clouds of desire.

“Be a good girl and drink your milkshake, babygirl,” Andy said, his voice warm, but with the steel of a command. His fingers skimmed up your thigh, raising goosebumps in their wake, and dove beneath your panties to slip teasingly through your wetness. “Daddy’s going to play with your pretty little pussy, and if you can stay quiet, I’ll let you cum.”

“Daddy, you have to let me cum,” you whined, pouting up at Andy with your widest, most innocent eyes. But, though you saw the corner of his mouth flicker in a smirk, he gave you a stern look and nodded his head toward the cold glass still clutched in your hands. 

Obediently, you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a deep pull of the creamy treat. All the while, Andy’s fingers explored your pussy, sweeping teasingly along your slit, dipping shallowly into your hole and gathering your arousal to rub lazy little circles around your clit.

It felt so good that your mind drifted hazily in pleasure. The rest of the diner fell away until it was just you and Andy in your secluded vinyl booth, his hand doing filthy things with your pussy while you hypnotically sucked on the straw of your milkshake. 

All you could do was focus on the sweetness on your tongue and the pleasure building between your thighs—and staying quiet, which grew increasingly difficult the longer Andy played with your pussy. Thankfully, the straw in your mouth helped muffle your little huffs and quiet whimpers of need.

When Andy finally slid his finger into your aching, fluttering hole, it felt so good that you forgot yourself. Your entire being was reduced to your inner walls clenching greedily around his thick finger, wordlessly begging for another, begging to be stretched around as many of Andy’s fingers as he could fit in your tight cunt. 

Overwhelmed, you had to stop drinking your milkshake so you could let out a low moan, forgetting to bury your face in Andy’s jacket. The noise spilled into the diner, with only the music from the jukebox masking the sound of your debauched pleasure.

Thankfully, no one seemed to hear it except Andy, who froze immediately. A rumbling sound of recrimination came from his chest as he shifted in the booth, curling around you even more and crowding you into the wall so that you were hidden entirely from the view of the rest of the diner.

“Be quiet, babygirl,” he growled, more bite than warmth in his voice. The dominance in his tone made your pussy squeeze around his finger and you mewled quietly into his shoulder. “Unless you want everyone in this diner to know what a little slut you are, letting daddy finger you in public and getting so wet for me, you need to be quiet.”

Although Andy’s words had the desired effect of admonishing you about how important it was that you stay quiet—since a public indecency charge could lead to his disbarment—they also drove your need and desire higher. His warning reminded you of how dirty and filthy the two of you were being, him with his hand up your skirt and you getting off on it.

So you forced yourself to take a deep, calming breath, clearing some of the hazy pleasure from your mind and buried your face in Andy’s neck. The rasp of his beard against your temple and the smell of his cologne filling your senses calmed you enough to let out a sweet little sigh and find your words.

“It’s the milkshake, daddy,” you said in your most innocent voice, placing a kiss against the side of his neck and grinning when you were rewarded with Andy’s big body shuddering beneath your frosty lips. “It’s just so creamy and delicious.”

Your voice was thick with innuendo so Andy didn’t buy your guilelessness for a moment, but he chuckled indulgently and brushed a forgiving kiss to the apple of your cheek. 

“Then you should keep drinking, babygirl,” he urged, his hand beginning to move again as he withdrew his finger from your warm cunt and pushed it back inside. He quickly added a second finger, the slick of your arousal making it easy to push inside your tight hole. “Because you’re not gonna cum until you finish all of it.”

A petulant whine slipped from your mouth, but at Andy’s stern look, you wrapped your lips around the straw of your milkshake and prepared to drink the rest. 

Peering down into the glass, you were relieved to see there wasn’t much left at the bottom and nearly huffed a laugh. Wasn’t it only a little while ago that you were hoarding the milkshake all to yourself? 

In that moment, you nearly wished you’d given Andy a taste. But then he never would’ve subjected you to the delicious torture of his fingers between your thighs in the back of that diner, and it would’ve been a damn shame to miss out on the orgasm he was driving you toward.

You took a deep pull on the straw of your milkshake, reveling in the delicious sweetness of the creamy treat, and nearly spit it all over the table when Andy’s thumb brushed against your clit. You managed to swallow and hold in your desperate moan, but it was a near thing. 

Andy rubbed steady, leisurely circles on your clit as he fucked you with two fingers, pumping into your hole like he was barely trying to make you cum, which only made what he was doing so much hotter. Your head was tucked beneath his chin and he murmured soft praises, telling you how good you were, how well you were taking his fingers.

You fell back into your mesmeric daze of pleasure, sucking on the straw in your mouth while Andy fucked your pussy with his fingers. He thrust into you with rhythmic strokes that drove your pleasure higher and higher so gradually, you barely recognized it as you drifted in bliss. 

It wasn’t until the sharp sucking sound of your straw pulling in air that you roused from the depths of your pleasure. Still, out of habit, your lips pulled on the straw, trying to suck up every last drop of the delicious milkshake, enjoying the final remnants of sweetness as they trickled onto your tongue. 

“Good girl, such a good girl,” Andy cooed, his arm along the back of the booth curling around your shoulders to pluck the glass from your fingers and set it on the table. Then he pulled you deeper into his chest, your face pushing into the gap between the collar of his dress shirt and his warm skin. “Do you wanna cum now, babygirl?”

“Yes, please,” you whined softly, feeling achy and needy. “Make me cum, daddy, please,” you begged in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Your hips rocked into Andy’s hand, meeting the thrust of his fingers as he added a third, stretching you enough to make you whimper and bury your face more firmly into his neck. 

“Such a perfect girl, did such a good job drinking your milkshake and staying quiet while I fingerfucked your needy pussy, babygirl,” Andy purred in your ear, his hand working faster between your thighs, his fingers curling deep inside to press against the spot that made your whole body tremble. “You’re such a good girl, did so well for daddy, baby.”

Your fingers, still chilled from the milkshake glass, pressed beneath the lapels of Andy’s jacket, reveling in the warmth of his body through his dress shirt. You clung to the fabric, knowing you were wrinkling it with your desperate grip and not caring even a little bit. You couldn’t care about anything beyond Andy’s fingers fucking you, driving you straight to the edge of your release. 

“Please, daddy, please let me cum,” you begged on a silent sob of pleasure, opening your legs wider until your knee nudged against the bulge in Andy’s slacks. Knowing he was hard for you only made your body hotter, achier, needier, and you whined softly into the hollow of his throat, babbling, “Please, please, please, please.” 

“Cum for me, babygirl,” Andy ordered in that warm commanding voice you loved so much. “Be a good girl and cum all over daddy’s fingers, you can do it, make a mess of daddy’s hand.” His thumb pressed harder against your clit, fingers stroking the spot inside you, his words urging you on. “Good girl, baby, cum for daddy—cum for me, babygirl.”

All at once, the tension in your belly snapped and you shattered apart on Andy’s hand, burying your face deep into the fabric of his jacket and dress shirt to muffle your moans as you came. Your pussy clamped down on Andy’s fingers, sucking them in deeper while he fucked you lazily through your release, still rubbing soft circles on your clit to drag out your pleasure.

It went on like that for what felt like ages. Andy didn’t stop until you were whining at the overstimulation, your body trembling while you struggled to pull yourself up from where you’d slumped against him. 

You met his gaze, the small, self-satisfied smile nestled in his thick beard sending another tendril of heat curling in your belly. Then you grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss.

You kissed Andy hard, your tongue plunging into his mouth and letting him taste the sweetness of your milkshake on your lips. You could taste the faint traces of your own desire on his tongue and you moaned into the kiss, scooting nearer to him on the vinyl seat of the booth, practically climbing into his lap in an effort to get closer to him.

“Mm, your milkshake tastes very good,” Andy murmured when you separated to catch your breath. “But I think your pussy will always be my favorite sweet treat.”

He popped his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them lewdly and licking them clean with such unabashed zeal, you couldn’t help but pull him in for another all-consuming kiss, groaning at the delicious mixture of tastes as you licked the tartness of yourself from his mouth. 

For long moments, you savored each other, but Andy gently slowed the kiss and eventually pulled away. His cheeks were flushed a little pink above his beard as he rearranged his hard bulge in his slacks to be less obvious, and he had to take a few deep, calming breaths before he was ready to stand. 

Andy paid the bill for your dinner at the cash register near the door, then tugged you out to the parking lot of the diner. He opened the passenger side door of his sleek car for you and helped you inside before getting into the driver’s seat and pulling back onto the dark road that would take you home. 

Thankfully, since it was so late, there was no one else on the road—no one else to see you reach across the car’s console and greedily undo Andy’s belt and fly. You reached inside his pants to pull out his half-hard cock before he even had a chance to say anything.

“What’re you doing, babygirl?” Andy asked in a deep, gruff voice, glancing away from the dark road as it wound and curled through the Massachusetts countryside outside Boston.

“That milkshake hit the spot, but now I want my favorite sweet treat, daddy,” you said tartly, then you rearranged yourself in the passenger seat, leaving your seatbelt buckled over your lap while you leaned over the low console and pressed a kiss to the tip of Andy’s cock. “If you can keep us from crashing, I’ll let you cum,” you purred, echoing Andy’s earlier words.

The sound that came from Andy’s mouth was part groan, part breathless laugh. You half expected him to refuse your game, to pull you away and give you a stern warning about the importance of safe driving, but there must’ve been some kind of magic in the late night air, some kind of spell cast in time to make your Valentine’s Day perfectly debauched, because he didn’t. 

Instead, the car slowed, which you knew was Andy’s way of taking precautions to make sure you were as safe as you could be while gave him road head. But it made you smirk against his tip, because it meant it would take more time for the two of you to get home, and you could play with him for even longer.

“Enjoy your treat, babygirl,” Andy rumbled, his voice deliciously deep, with just a hint of the steel dominance that made your pussy wet. “Because when we get home, I’ll be teaching you a lesson about not distracting daddy while he’s driving.”

Your whole body clenched at the promise and you grinned against Andy’s cock, dragging your plump lips down the thick ridge on the underside of his dick. You lapped eagerly at his balls before murmuring, “I’m looking forward to it, daddy.” 

Then you licked up the length of his cock and wrapped your lips around the tip, tongue sweeping through the slit and moaning when you tasted his salty precum. One of Andy’s hands fell to the back of your head, petting your hair lovingly while the other held the steering wheel so tight, you could hear the leather creak.

For the rest of the drive home, you sucked Andy’s cock just as leisurely and reverently as he’d played with your pussy, savoring the taste of him and burying your face in his balls while you stroked him steadily. By the time you made it home, Andy’s cock was a throbbing, leaking mess covered in your spit, but he refused to let you make him cum. 

That, he said, would have to wait until after your punishment. 

Andy’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he dragged you into the home you shared, telling you he hoped you’d enjoyed your favorite sweet treat, because he was going to make you beg and cry on his cock until you’d repented for being bad and were his good girl again. 

Since Andy Barber was the type of man to follow through on his threats and promises, you endured your punishment—a spanking, over his knee, while your pussy dripped all over his thigh. Then he stretched you out on his thick cock, pounding into you relentlessly and withholding your release until you were crying and begging to cum, apologizing for distracting him while he was driving.

You enjoyed every moment of it, and it was all worth it because at the end of the night, Andy Barber gave you your favorite sweet treat—his cock shoved deep in your throat, filling your mouth with cum while you swallowed greedily with a smile on your face.

sweethearts game masterlist

[bunni-v1]

May I ask your advice on something? I want to make a cookie that will be loved by shadow milk and I toss and turn the idea in my head thinking about his loneliness, but his arrogance in assuming most cookies aren’t worthy of his time makes it difficult. It leads me to building the cookie to be bigger and more powerful/elaborate than him so he immediately recognizes it, but that’s unsatisfying for me. I’d like them to be ordinary, clever of course, observant, and quick witted to not only keep up with shadow milk, but to even outpace him at times in a verbal sparring match. But most ordinary cookies don’t really fit the bill. They usually either worship or fear him depending on personality and self awareness. Both are good and what he needs/uses, but you can’t really be friends with a tool. Makes it hard to think of an ordinary cookie that might have caught his attention. I liked your analysis of what getting close to him pre corruption was and he’s a more viable candidate, but even he on some level looks down upon ordinary cookies that know less and don’t live as long. Namuwiki and regular wiki categorize his corruption as both an obsession with his own power as well as loneliness in a truth that broke him. I think the truth that did so or that at least planted the seed of corruption was: that cookies/people don’t care about the truth. He states as much so many times to pure vanilla to weaken his resolve, his dedication to truth. How cookies willingly/happily turn from the bitter truth to embrace a sweet lie. How cookies were more interested in listening to him speak than what he was really saying. It’s a one two punch realizing the cookies around you don’t really care about the thing that makes you you. And if they do it may only be for selfish gain, not for knowledge in itself. And the real rub is the reason they don’t care is often times due to some form of ignorance or stupidity. I mentioned this to a friend irl and she said,”oh he got bullied before he got corrupted. 💯” Which made me think of the cookies before his fall, who maybe took for granted that 1. The font of knowledge even exists and 2.That he would willingly and happily answer their questions truthfully forever and 3. Would never lose his patience. Because how much do you want to bet that the illusion from the sugar free road he taunted pure vanilla with, the woman yelling at him saying “tell us where to seek healing! Tell us how to be healthy to live in wealth and happiness! Use your power! Share your power with us! Do it if you truly care!” Were words from a cookie in shadow milks past? How many refused to seek the truth themselves, wishing no demanding he provide it for them. And criticizing him if/when he either refuses or lies, like bratty children. “Nothing but empty promises. All a lie.” Give them! Cookies who were so ignorant and stupid wanting to take away the thing that makes him him. Because that’s all he is isn’t he? His power his soul jam. Neither he nor anyone else it seems has seen him beyond his abilities. To who he is as a cookie.

Which is just another layer to his isolation, but all of which to say. Maybe the ordinary cookie who just happens to be curious, innovative, and above all patient and kind is his only balm against such words. And maybe that cookie crumbles under the weight of their deceit. Maybe that helps crumble his resolve. After all the main thing hes running from, the big lie he tells himself is that nothing bad ever happens to him. Because how could it? He’s a god, he’s all knowing, but not all powerful. Thoughts?

I think Shadow Milk's fall is the most interesting, because it could quite honestly be either he fell first or last. I'm a bigger fan of the him falling last theory, because it's very interesting to see how he would react to his friends becoming beasts and realizing he too will shortly.

With the new costume's story we can get a better look into him, and he's a lot like PV. Patient, kind, gentle, intelligent, and more than willing to share his knowledge with cookies. With such knowledge, he is very separate from other cookies. He knows and understands things that other cookies could never dream of.

That much knowledge will weigh on your being, even if you are a god. Especially if it's all you're supposed to be, a fount of knowledge for cookies. I think he does enjoy sharing his knowledge and the truths of the world. He cares for his cookies. How could he not? they are innocent and freshly baked, full of fear and confusion. His knowledge is meant to soothe them.

But, cookies fear what they do not understand. When they start asking harder questions, and he gives them the truthful answer, they don't like it. They lash out and deny the truth, and he realizes they would rather live in a lie than bear the truth. The fact that, even if it's unintentional, the very cookies he loves and cherishes are rejecting him... well, it would devastate anyone.

Shadow Milk Cookie became a beast because he was rejected by his people. He became the embodiment of lies to become what they wanted, rejecting the truth to show them the error of their ways. This is what they wanted, right?

I think that's why he needs a partner who challenges him. They can't just accept everything he does as okay. He doesn't want or need someone who just sits there and affirms him like his minions. His partner needs a backbone and a strong moral compass, the confidence to look at him and say, "Absolutely not."

They also need to have the awareness that he is the master of lies. They need to be able to see through his lies and illusions by themselves because he can't hold their hand all the time. He has this deep aching need to be seen, though he doesn't acknowledge those feelings. They have to be able to crack his shell by themselves and show that they care, and only then will he open up to them.

It's certainly not an easy feat for a normal cookie, but if Ginger Brave and co. can do it, I'm sure his partner can also do it. It takes a special cookie to get the master of deceit tripping over himself, after all.

[wherearedagrapes]

Man, we have almost the exact same ideas about Amy! That’s crazy Haha! She’s been one of my favorite Sonic characters since I first played (I think it was) Sonic Adventure 2 as a little kid? I loved that she was pink and small but brandished this big hammer and big personality. I’m hoping she keeps that, which means, yeah I both want and expect movie Sonic and Amy to have a bit of a rocky start lol But that’ll make the balance they establish later more rewarding.

I also think it’s more interesting than Amy being seen as this, like, perfect dream girl that Sonic spends the movie trying to get with. As cute as the fam giving Sonic dating advice would be, I really need Amy to be complex and kind of a pain like the other characters. I want her to challenge Sonic (and vice versa). I want them to learn from each other, to grow because of each other. Since that’s been the case with all the characters introduced in the movies thus far, I’m not too worried. But, you know, there’s always going to be a little wariness.

I’m excited to see movie Sonic and Amy’s dynamic as buds beyond that friction as teammates. They’re both playful, high-energy characters that I can see keeping up with each other’s quips and bits and having similar senses of humor. I think they can match each other’s freak in a way their game counterparts don’t exactly lol… Again, the movies have done such a great job with Tom and Maddie that I’m not that worried. Like I constantly think about how we’re introduced to them as a couple — with Maddie having bought two cakes for Tom in case he didn’t get the job in San Fran and pulling out the wrong one by mistake lmao like that’s so funny, and right away it tells us so much about them! But I’m getting sidetracked. Anyway

What you described, Amy being kind of a control freak in the team at first because she’s desperately trying to keep the situation from becoming worse — because she’s so passionate about this, about saving the world — is exactly what I see! Those obsessive traits of hers manifesting from her obsession with this mission, her life’s mission essentially. (Much like Knuckles guarding the Master Emerald) This is her destiny. And in being so obstinate and self-sacrificing, she’s actually sabotaging her chances of success. Yes!!

I didn’t notice the explosion is blue and pink — that’s very interesting… And Ivo being sent to the past instead is totally plausible. I don’t know how I feel about Amy having chaos powers though. Like, okay — I’m not super familiar with Sonic game lore, but having chaos powers is supposed to be rare. Right? In the games, it’s just Shadow. In the movies, I think it’s Shadow and Sonic? And having that power is treated as a very special (and dangerous) thing.

All of the alien characters definitely have heightened abilities. Knuckles also seems to have inherited and learned specific abilities from his tribe. So I can see Amy having some clairvoyance due to her family or culture. But that’s not chaos energy, right? Or is it? Is chaos energy like the Force in Star Wars? Lol I guess I’m curious why you think Amy has chaos powers aside from Metal Sonic creating that pink energy blast.

With Amy coming along, I can't stop thinking about the Amy-Sonic/Tom-Maddie parallels.

You know, the pink and blue scheme, Tom having a similar personality to Sonic and Amy possibly having some similarities to Maddie, Amy and Maddie possibly being two big city girls with Amy being from New York and Maddie from San Francisco while Tom and Sonic are both from Green Hills, the setup of Amy plus 3 Wachowski siblings as well as Maddie and Tom, who canonically have siblings too.

They've been foreshadowing this couple since the second movie, fight me!!

(and Tom x Maddie are the parents and couple ever, I love them!)

(Also, please give Maddie more prominence. She's awesome!)

[callsign-rogueone]

Going off your wingleader!Liam idea… Liam and reader are third-years and total couple goals. A first year comes in and starts flirting with reader every time he sees her. He doesn’t know she’s dating his wingleader. She’s polite but doesn’t mention Liam.

One day during training the new guy is watching reader and running his mouth about how hot she is, nudging other guys in his squad and making all kinds of remarks, even going so far as to make a comment to Liam. Liam just smirks, showing off those cute little dimples, as reader walks over and kisses him in front of everyone. New guy just stares in absolute shock (and horror when he realizes the woman he’s been objectifying is his wingleader’s girl.) Need a fic like this immediately 😭

I love this so much. I don't have the bandwidth to write this into a whole chapter but I DO have ideas. so here they are. (future Liz here… I got very carried away. but it’s Liam, so it’s fine.)

this guy clearly thinks he's hot shit. not even bonded yet, but his ego is bigger than Tairn's. so of course he goes after you, a third year with a leadership position at the top of your class. (because Liam's girl is as perfect as him.)

at this point you're used to these boys coming in and trying to flex on everyone. so you know how to brush it off. it's so routine that you don't even mention it to Liam, because you've got more important things to do / discuss.

anyway.

a couple weeks go by of the same thing, until one day, mister confidence is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. running his mouth without realizing who's around him, watching you demonstrate something and making comments to his friends instead of paying attention. Liam's about to elbow him and tell him to shut up, and then he realizes that they're talking about you.

immediately, he's upset — he's just itching to tell this guy off, both for talking when he's supposed to be listening to directions that could save his life, and also for saying those things about you, making comments on your body and how much he wants to... you know what I’m getting at here. anyway.

you can see Liam standing at the back of the gym, can see the visible frustration on his face and the way his jaw is clenched, his shoulders tight and tense... and you know it's hard to upset our sunshine boy, so something bad must have happened.

you wrap up the demonstration, get the youngins paired up to work, and then you slip away to Liam and give him a little kiss, because that’s your default greeting, that’s just automatic at this point when you see him, and take his hand and ask what’s wrong.

and then all the stress and tension just fades out of him, and he gives you a genuine smile, pulls you closer and holds you in a way that makes it clear that you’re a couple.

normally he isn’t one for PDA, so you’re a little surprised, but you don’t question it at all, just happy to cuddle up with him, resting your head on his shoulder and taking a moment to relax — his presence is always so soothing, and you don’t get moments like this very often in your very busy days as a wingleader and a section leader.

you don’t even notice the boy’s slack-jawed look as he realizes that you have a boyfriend. you’re too busy appreciating the moment you get to spend with Liam — but over your shoulder, he’s definitely smirking at the kid, like… get fucked, she’s mine. not that our boy would ever say that. he’s just thinking it really hard.

he gets a little pouty once you're behind closed doors, though, and tells you about it.

you laugh, and remind him that the first year boys can look all they want, but he's the only one who can touch, and if they do, they're going to get their nose broken. and that he's the only one who can set foot in your room, because you absolutely warded them like Xaden and Violet's.

that pacifies him, but he’s still thinking about it for the rest of the day.

he doesn’t consider himself particularly possessive, but he realizes that he just wants people to know that you’re his — or more so that you’re together and in love, and you’re it for each other.

the pair of you have always been focused on the present, the incredibly stressful lives that you lead here at this death trap of a school. but now he starts really thinking about the future.

you’ll be graduating soon, a pair of lieutenants headed off… somewhere. he hasn’t decided yet. he’ll get his choice, being a wingleader. but what about you? section leaders aren’t promised anything. there’s only one other way to guarantee that you’ll stay together… and damn, does he like the idea of you having matching name patches on your flight jackets.

but you deserve a real proposal, a romantic one, not something rushed, decided out of practicality. and when is too soon in your relationship to talk about that? you’ve been together since your threshing, but it feels like a lot longer than that — everything you’ve endured has brought you closer, he supposes.

you curl further into his side with a sleepy hum. “what’s on your mind?”

he’s about to tell you it’s nothing, but you know him better than that. “you have that look on your face,” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “know you’re thinkin' about something.”

“about you," he answers honestly, lifting the arm you have slung around his waist and finding your hand, taking it in his. it fits perfectly, your skin smooth against the callouses and scars decorating his hands from years of making his carvings. a dangerous hobby, you’d joked. you have a point. he’s amassed more tiny injuries from his own knives than from anything Basgiath has put him through. “about us.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he answers, his thumb brushing over your ring finger, where a wedding band would go. “about the future.”

“two kids and a cat,” you murmur. “and trips to Morraine in the summer. rent a little house on the lake for a week or two, and just lay around.”

“sounds perfect.”

you just hum in reply, too tired to keep talking. Liam presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling the covers a little higher. “I love you.”

“Love y’too.”

[freyito]

hello hello!!! may i order an idia flavored curry rice plz?? blinks cutely) ty!!

✭ pairing(s): idia shroud x gn reader

★ in which: idia is WAY too confident that he can out miku you.

✩ curry rice black forest cake w/ idia shroud!

✦ entry for my 1k follower event, Freyito's Maid Cafe! check out the link to figure out how to send an order!!

✧ a/n: ykw anon. im so glad you changed your mind because this gave me SUCH a banger idea that i couldnt go to sleep cause i was writing it out in my head. teehee :)

🗒 cw: gn reader, ffxiv sneak, just embarrassed idia :3, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.7k

ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴇᴠɪʟ | ꜰʀᴇʏɪᴛᴏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴀꜰᴇ !

It was late at night, and you had been on call with Idia. He was grinding out materials for some new transmog that had dropped in his game, and cursing the drop rates. You, on the other hand, were grinding out Project Diva Mega Mix for no particular reason. You had just made up your mind that you wanted to full combo some extra songs, and now you were hellbent on doing so. Plus, it provided some nice background music for Idia and his grind sesh.

By now, you had two songs finished and full cleared (albeit, with 97% accuracy), and you were working on your third, Sweet Devil. You already had four failed runs, your hands were starting to cramp a bit, and Idia’s smart remarks weren’t helping you. Not to mention, you always found the mvs distracting. Too much happening in the background while you were trying to focus on the notes.

You slump back in your chair with a huff as you watch the small word ‘safe’ pop up and interrupt your combo. You watch for just a moment as the symbols fly past on the screen, a barrage of ‘miss’es following shortly after. You finally exit the mv, balling your hands into a fist and then stretching out your fingers.

“I thought you were, like, a god at rhythm games,” Idia chides. You can hear the smile through his mic.

“Well sometimes it takes a couple tries,” You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure it does,” He chuckles. When you look at his stream, he’s finished up running maps and his character is now toiling away by the marketboard. “I bet I could do it.”

You raise your eyebrow, though he can’t see it. “Hm, what’s the stakes?”

“We need stakes?”

“You’re insulting my integrity as a rhythm game player. I want there to be a deal.”

A silence follows your voice, but you can hear him shift back in his chair. “Okay. What do you want to bet, then?”

Hm. You yourself don’t know exactly what you want if you win. Maybe you could get some gil off of him in game, but that didn’t feel like enough. You look around your room, before spotting something rather intriguing. It was a forgotten purchase, a pastel pink maid dress. It was rather cheap material, but still served its function. You were sure if you looked for them, you’d find the rest of the pieces…

“Loser wears a maid dress,” You declare triumphantly. “I got one in my closet.”

“... I, uh, don’t wanna ask why you have that,” He mumbles, “But I guess I accept. It’d be pretty nice to see you in a maid dress, heh…”

“Don’t act like you’ve already won. You haven’t even opened the game yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, just lemme put this up on the marketboard and I’ll get on the game…”

You lean back, content to wait and give your hands a bit of a break. You can’t help but smirk at not only making Idia eat his words, but seeing him in a maid dress would make you… quite happy, to say the least. The light pink would pair well with his hair and– you have to stop yourself there. You’d rather not distract yourself any further, nor allow yourself to get cocky. You can’t get ahead of yourself, or else you risk losing perhaps the most precious award you could ever have. 

“Okay. I’m on. Which song was it again?” Idia finally speaks up. When you look back at his stream, he’s ended it.

“Sweet Devil– Hey, you should stream your screen,” You point out, tabbing back into your game.

“I’m getting to itttt,” He drags the last letter, like it was too much work, as if he had not streamed his games every time you two called.

You watch as the ‘stream has ended’ switches to his screen, scrolling through the songs before landing on sweet devil. He changes difficulties to extreme, then waits for a moment, like he’s expecting you to say something. You decide to mess with him a little bit, staying silent a little longer.

“I’m waiting,” He groans, and you can almost hear his eyes roll. “I know you’re watching. I heard the little viewer noise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Idia doesn’t even grace you with a ‘go’, or anything of the sort, simply starting the song, following your words. You scramble to tab back into the game, quickly selecting the song. 

The song and mv start up, and soon after the notes come in. You do your best to focus, to try and block out the MV, the bright pink lights of Miku’s room and Miku herself made it hard to follow the notes, especially with how fast they were. Still, you find your rhythm relatively easily, considering you knew the song and charting by heart. Normally, you’d be super conscious about the progress bar beneath the screen, checking to make sure you were well above the ‘excellent’, marker. However, you were too determined to focus. And unfortunately, that would be too much of a distraction. You don't even focus on if your hits are 'good' or 'excellent'.

The hold notes scare you the most, considering you always end up slipping up on them, somehow. Either that, or you don’t hold them for long enough and panic when you can just press the other buttons on your keyboard. You tell yourself, over and over again, in your mind, that you can just use the other set of keys. You have to. You can’t risk allowing Idia to have any sort of edge on you.

Three minutes feels like five, or even ten. Idia has been far too quiet during this, not even muttering something under his breath. You feel grateful for a moment, if you heard anything on his side, you’d probably mess up. Maybe you could mess him up. Yes. No. Ugh, if you did, you’d probably mess yourself up, too. And if you had messed him up, he’d complain and call for a redo. You would rather never play this song again, to be honest.

Just as your fingers start to tingle– a result of adrenaline, for some reason–, the word ‘success’ comes up. Behind the notes, Miku turns her little devil tail into a spear and throws it as a planet. You do your best not to celebrate too early, still having to go through with the last couple seconds of the song. You were just happy to have nailed the challenge time, more than happy. 

After the last couple of notes, you’re able to lean back and relax. For a moment. When the ‘clear’ screen comes up, you feel your heart jump at the percentage. 101.53%. You look over at Idia’s stream and can’t help but laugh. 99.07%.

“No,” He utters weakly, with an agony in his voice you have never heard before. He doesn’t say anything else.

“Yes,” You feel maniacal, an odd elation spreading through your chest. You don’t even exit the game, hopping out of your chair. “You stay right there.”

You pull the dress from your closet, listening to Idia frantically call for Ortho from your headphones. The rest of what he says is unintelligible, given the distance between you and your headphones as you rummage through drawers to find the rest of the costume. You find the cuffs, stockings, and even a headband with cat ears. It’s a little bent, but you’d fix it on the way.

Hurriedly, you stuffed the costume into a bag, grabbing your phone and turning on the flashlight. Slinging the bag over your shoulder and rushing out of your house. You keep your flashlight pointed at the ground so you don’t trip, running as fast as you can to the Hall of Mirrors. Like it is a high-stakes situation, time is precious. If you can’t make it to Ignihyde’s dorms soon, then you will never see Idia in a maid dress, even if you won the bet.

The minute you reach the Hall of Mirrors, you practically throw yourself through Ignihyde’s mirrors, scrambling through the halls with harsh breaths. Your heavy footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way up the steps and to Idia’s room, clutching the strap of your bag. Ortho is there, in front of Idia’s door, opening it just a crack.

Seeing you, the boy lights up, smiling at you from underneath his mask. “Oh, hey, Idia. They’re here!”

“Nooo!” Idia squeals, and you can what him scrambling from his chair to close the door.

You shove your foot into the crack of the door just as Idia tries to open it. He uses more force than he means to, squeeze your foot slightly. You don’t emote, despite how much it hurts. Which scares Idia. But you don’t care. You won the bet. And he needs to pay up. Ortho stares blankly, trying to figure out what has Idia acting this way, before scolding his brother.

“That’s mean! You shouldn’t try to shut your partner out, especially like that!” 

Idia shrinks back a little. It’s clear that Ortho doesn’t know what has you on such a warpath, and you are quite happy with that. Finally, you smile a little, opening the door with your other hand. 

“Ortho…” Idia murmurs, turning his gaze away from you and his brother. “We’re gonna, uhm, game all night. Just us two. So, uh, you should get some sleep.”

He sounds utterly defeated, and Ortho remains none the wiser as to what you were about to subject poor Idia too.

“Huh? But you called me here?” Ortho tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I didn’t mean it– er, It was a mistake,” 

“... Okay! I’ll leave you two be. Have fun!”

And with that, Ortho hovers away, happy to leave his brother in your hands. By then, Idia knows he’s lost. You take a step in, handing him the bag with the dress and accessories in it. You don’t even speak to him, feeling a bit too giddy about your win, and prize.

“Uhm… can you at least stay out there, while I get changed?” His voice is shy, understandably so. 

“If you lock yourself in there, I’ll get Ortho to break it down,” You place your hands on your hips, in an attempt to seem confident.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

He’s right, you were well aware that your threat was kind of empty. But there’s no way you were going to let him get away.

“Then I’ll get those Heartslabyul first years to kick the door down.”

He lets out a small ‘eep’ at this, frowning. “Okay, okay, I won’t lock the door. Fine. You win.”

He doesn’t allow you any time to reply, taking the back and closing the door all too quickly. You can hear him shuffling about and the clothes rustling, and you feel your stomach flip-flop with nerves. You fidget with your hands and turn your back to the door, pretending like you actually didn’t care all that much so that Idia could get dressed faster, like that would work. You cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your biceps while you wait.

After a while, you hear the door crack behind you, and you turn around way too excitedly. He barely peeks through, giving you a look akin to a pleading puppy. He didn’t open the door all the way, insistent that you had to slip in through the crack, in case any one else would look out and see him. He’d rather save himself the embarrassment.

Finally squeezing through the door, he shuts it quickly. You, on the other hand, are greeted with a sight. His entire face is red, the tips of his hair flickering a bright pink as he looks away in embarrassment. The dress is a little short for him, so he clutches to the hem of the skirt and pulls it down a little. The pink worked well with his hair and his skin, just like you thought. It’s cliche, one of the dresses that was copy pasted from all those maid animes and what not. But still, you think it fit well.

“This is so cheap,” Idia complains, tilting his head up. “Okay. I dressed up. Can you go now so I can get back in my pajamas?”

You realize he’s missing something. The cat ears.

“No. No, I’m not leaving until you put the cat ears on.” You state simply, looking around for where they are.

He grimaces, deflating even more. “Please no. I think I might die. Actually, I’m going to die. Right now.”

“I won the bet fair and square, it’s not my fault. Where are they, Idia.” You speak with such a stern voice, it almost scares him. He finally, hesitantly, points to his chair, his grimace deepening as he looks back at you. “Put. Them. On.”

He groans, turning around and grabbing the cat ears. He gives you one last look, begging you to just let him go. Maybe you’re being a little too sadistic, but c’mon, Idia in a maid dress. That’s it. You plan to make the most of it. Slowly, he lifts the headband over his head, then lowers it down. Now you have your own Idia cat maid in front of you. You can’t help but smile, absolutely jubilant to see this poor man wearing such a cute dress.

“Okay. Can you go now, please,” He pleads once more, bringing a hand up to his face.

“Can I at least take a picture?” You hold up your phone.

“N-no! Please, no. I’m already at my lowest point, don’t have to kick me while I’m down…”

“Okay, okay,” You decide to finally allow him some mercy, “I won’t. But… I don’t think this image is ever leaving my head any time soon.”

He sighs and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. But he doesn’t reply. Well, that won’t do. You decide to come up with a quick excuse to stay.

“Well, I ran all the way here, in the dark, it’d suck if you sent me back,” You try to play it cool, tilting your head a little and looking up through your lashes at him. This earns you a deeper blush.

“Stop it,” He huffs, turning his head. Met with his set up, he realizes you two are technically still on call. And he finds his way out. “Your pc is on, you know.”

“Huh.”

“It’s on. You’re still in call.” He points to his monitor.

Your blind blanks for a minute, before you panic a little. You would like to stay and see if you can get him to stay in the maid dress for a little longer, but at the same time, you’d rather not blow out the power supply of your pc. That thing is too damn expensive. And you love it too much.

“Okay. Bye.” You huff briskly, turning on your heels and waiting for the door open before running back down to the mirror that connected the Ignihyde dorms to the Hall of Mirrors.

Idia yelps as the door slides open fully, stepping back and pressing himself against the wall so no one would see. Like anyone else was up at this time. He listens to you rush down the hallway, before letting out a breath. Once the door is shut all the way, he’s quick to wriggle out of the dress, throwing the cat ears, cuffs, and stockings (which ended up ripping a bit) to the corner of his room.

Almost breaking the zipper, he yanks it down on the back of his dress and throws it alongside the scattered recipes, before staring intently at it. Why couldn’t you have just waited for him to undress and take it back? He didn’t want these god forsaken items here. In his room. That reminded him of you. That’s like the cheesiest romantic thing couples do! And in this fashion, perhaps even cringey! He wants to burn it, so bad. Or throw it out. But what if someone somehow finds it in the trash? And then they link it back to him? That’d be the worst scenario. The absolute worst.

He continues to stare at it for a minute, before reaching for his pajamas that were hanging off the back of his chair. Fine. He’ll leave the stupid costume alone for now. Perhaps it’d come in handy one day. Give you a taste of your own medicine… or something.

© freyito, 2025 | maid cafe event | maid cafe masterlist | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices , dividers by cafekitsune , headers by yours truly

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[st3f13ily]

Jealousy?? Yeah, Right

Summary: Two weeks have gone by since that day, and now Satoru's latest mission is over, he decided to make a new one! Operation: The art of (not) making you jealous!

Timeline: Teenage Arc (2006)

Dual pov

Previous | Gojo Satoru Masterlist | Next (soon!)

Your Perspective

You noticed it immediately.

The Gojo Satoru is weird.

Well, weirder than usual.

He is standing by the vending machine, leaning against it with all the grace of a soap opera playboy, talking to some random girl from who knows where. His arm is propped up against the machine like he’s in some kind of drama scene.

He laughs.

Loudly.

Obnoxiously.

As if the girl just told the funniest joke in the world.

She looks confused. You feel confused. The vending machine probably feels confused.

And then it click.

You know Gojo Satoru . You know how he operates. You know he likes to poke and prod at people until they snap just to amuse himself.

So it's probably one of his harmless pranks again, he is probably thinking something ridiculous right now.

And yet.

And yet.

Why does your stomach feel weird?

His glasses are pushed onto his head, revealing those ridiculously blue eyes, and they’re locked onto the girl with full intensity.

Your fingers twitch.

It's fine.

You don't care.

You don't care.

But he leans closer, 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲. His hand rests against the vending machine, caging her like some shoujo manga protagonist.

What the!!

That's his signature move.

He actually do that to other girls also??

The worst part? that girl giggles, her cheek turning red.

Then your fingers clench into a fist.

This is stupid. You know it's stupid. You know him too well to fall for this nonsense. It's so obviously a trick, one of his dumb pranks, because every few seconds, his eyes dart toward you, checking for a reaction.

He's trying to make me jealous.

And gosh, it's working.

The realization makes your blood boil. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, but your pride won’t let you just walk over there and call him out.

No.

You will not give him the satisfaction.

You turn on your heel, heading in the opposite direction.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You don’t.

But the second you hear another giggle from that girl, your feet betray you and start marching straight toward him.

Gojo is mid-sentence, saying something ridiculous.

His attention snaps to you instantly. The girl looks between you both, suddenly nervous.

You don’t even look at her.

"What are you doing?" Your voice is sharp.

Gojo’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You knew that from the very start!! You even planned it, idiot!

You scoffed "Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

He tilts his head. "Ooh~~ someone's a little grumpy"

You scoff, forcing yourself to get away. "Whatever. Do what you want." You turn to leave.

But then, because he’s an idiot, he says something that snaps the last thread of your patience.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn back around. "What?"

Gojo grins. "I mean, you are acting kinda—"

"I am not jealous," you snap, cutting him off immediately.

His grin widens. "Ohhh? Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

Your fingers twitch.

Gosh, you hate him.

You hate him so much.

You glare at him for another long second before huffing, spinning on your heel, and stomping away.

Gojo watches you go, grinning to himself. Then, without a second thought, he jogs after you, leaving the poor, confused girl behind.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

"...I hate you."

"You love me."

You keep walking, gritting your teeth.

His Perspective

Ok, so—it probably wasn't the best idea.

In theory, it should’ve been flawless.

Step one: Flirt with some random girl in an over-the-top, ridiculous way.

Step two: Make sure you were watching.

Step three: Watch as you get adorably jealous and storm over to me, demanding my attention.

Easy, right?

𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴.

Because now you’re standing across the courtyard, arms crossed, eyebrows twitching, and you look pissed.

And for the first time in my life, I’m actually kind of nervous.

I glance at the girl in front of me—uh, what’s-her-name again? Doesn’t matter. I barely hear what she’s saying because I’m too busy sneaking glances at you.

Are you watching closely?

Are you jealous yet?

Come on, react.

I lean against the vending machine, flashing my best smirk. "Wow, your hair is so shiny! Like... premium-grade sweets!"

The girl blinks. I blink. Somewhere in the distance, I think I hear Nanami sigh.

....Huh. It sounded way better in my head.

Crap. OK. Damage control.

I push my sunglasses onto my head and try again. "And your eyes! They’re like... uh, a limited-edition soda flavor! Super rare! A once-in-a-lifetime color!"

Silence.

The girl just let out a plain laugh.

I sneak another glance at you.

You’re still watching. But now—oh. Oh.

Your fingers are clenched into fists. Your shoulders are tense.

Your jaw is tight.

And—holy shit—are you actually jealous?

I fight the urge to grin. Oh, this is way better than I planned.

Then, suddenly—movement.

Your marching straight towards me! Oh crap.

"What are you doing?" You demanded, voice sharp. I barely processed two words because—wow you are close.

This is great!!

I smirk, tilting my head. "Oh? Were you watching me, sweetheart?"

You glare at me. Glare. At me.

And for some reason, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

"Ha! No, of course not, I'm just trying to do this girl a favour."

Liar. This girl is completely fine. I think. She seems fine, but it seems like she wants to get out already.

"Ooh~~ someone a little grumpy"

Your fingers twitch, like you’re debating whether to punch me or strangle me. I kind of like both options. But then, you were about to leave. "Whatever, do what you want."

You’re leaving. And I can't help myself but just say it.

"You’re not… jealous, are you?"

You freeze.

Oh. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You slowly turn back around, eyes sharp enough to kill a man. "What?"

I widen my grin. "I mean, you are acting kinda—

"I am not jealous." Ohhh, you’re so jealous.

I step closer, dropping my voice just a little. "Then why’d you come over here like you were about to rip me away from my lovely new friend?"

Your jaw clenches.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you this close to exploding.

And gosh, it’s so cute.

Then suddenly, you huff, spin on your heel, and stomp away.

Wait.

Wait.

You’re leaving?

No, no, absolutely not.

Without a second thought, I ditch the random girl and jog after you.

"Wait up, jealous girl!"

"I SAID I’M NOT—"

"Let’s go get ice cream!"

You pause. I can feel you resisting. Then, without turning around, you mutter, "...I hate you."

I grin, catching up to bump my shoulder against yours.

"You love me."

You didn't tell me to leave. So, Yeah, I totally won.

[priyajoyyy]

Dark!lottie Matthew’s x reader head cannons

From my psychotic girlfriends universe

More stuff for my psychotic girlfriends series!!!

Doing one of these for Nat and Shauna too

Deffo a bit more dark than the initial stuff icl

Warnings:

Dark!lottie, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cult stuff, typical Yellowjackets stuff tbh, isolation, starvation, hallucinations, etc

Not fully proof read

🦌Lotties dark traits are the most hidden from plain sight out of the girls

⭐️ while Shauna is pretty open about her toxicity and Natalie doesn’t even realise how dark she can be, so doesn’t bother hiding it, Lottie is like a dark horse

🥞 Lottie can be a lot more manipulative and good at hiding her true intentions

💌 she uses her influence in the group to control everyone and your love for her to especially control you

🌸 she sees how you all respond to her beliefs and her link to the wilderness

🍋 and she’s not apposed to using it to her advantage

⚰️ she truly believes that she has a connection to the wilderness, that it’s trying to talk through her

🐚 so when you start to have hallucinations she sees it as a sign from the wilderness, much to nats annoyance

👛 and she’s not against using this belief against you

✨ manipulating you to believe her

🍊 you can’t convince me should wouldn’t have you absolutely worshiping her during sex under the guise of the wilderness acting through her

👜 and even if you’re hesitant at first, eventually you succumb to her words the longer you’re in the wilderness for

☕️ she would also deffo treat you like a little concubine

⚽️ who just has to sleep with her and worship her constantly and nothing else

🪷 one of lotties main forms of punishment is isolation

📰 she’s not against being physical if she has to, but she much prefers to use her power to get to you menatally

🐇 she’ll convince the others to ignore you, leaving you alone and isolated for weeks at a time from everyone but her, Natalie and Shauna

🪵 it works especially well if you’re already on house arrest from Natalie, locked up in the cabins spare bedroom, pantry or simply guarded from leaving your hut after the fire

👒 you’ll be completely alone and even the three of them won’t come see you

🪦 and the worst part is definitely having to sleep alone

🥐 growing so accustomed to having someone with you at all times in the wilderness, especially all of you sleeping in the same rooms at night

🌻 and ofc she’ll be there to pick up the pieces when it gets too much and you break

🧸 she knows exactly what to do and say to get to you physiologically

💛 she can prey on your biggest fears and weaknesses and use them against you

💫 but you don’t understand, it’s harder on Lottie than it it you!!

🧚‍♀️ spending time away from you is torture!

💐 oh and Lottie would deffo love weird culty alter sex

🍂 taking you out into the woods to her special stumps or making a big ritual out of it

🧈 honestly I’d even say she’s probs get a bunch of the girls involved, watching you both under the pretence of it being an offering to the wilderness, giving it what it wants

🪽 ofc Natalie would go nuts at that idea, she certainly doesn’t want to have everyone watching you

🎀 however lot can be pretty persuasive so I wouldn’t put it past her managing it

🛼 because this girl 100% has an exhibition kink purely because of how possessive she is, wanting to show everyone your hers and they can’t have you

[girl-lostconnection]

Ask and you shall receive, I cooked this one up in my notes a few days ago but forgot to send it to you

Helldiver!Reader growing attached to a younger recruit, they see themselves in them, and they want nothing more than to force them off their ship and make sure they don’t make the fall from grace they did.

They want to turn them away, to stop them from diving into the hellscape with them, but they can’t, the moment the recruit signed up they became the governments loyal dog, only stopping when their heart does

Helldiver!Reader finds themselves going softer on them, much to their dismay, they grow close with this recruit, which is very against their person policy (there’s a 99% this kid won’t make it until the end of the week, they can’t get too close..)

But they do, they get far too close, to the point the kid is telling Helldiver!reader why they signed up, that they have no one on the outside and they decided screw it, they’ve got nothing else to lose may aswell become a chew toy for the creatures of hell… right?

Helldiver!Reader gets so close that the recruit is now treating them as a parental figure, and one drunken night confesses that Helldiver!Reader is the only family they have, and that’s when Helldiver!reader realises they’re in too deep, they’re too close, too attached.

The regret of being to close to this recruit comes to an head when they lose them, on the battlefield, torn to shreds by some creature and calling out for Helldiver!Reader to do something, to save them, but they can’t, all they can do is watch as this kid dies slowly, and painfully, and at the end, retrieve their dog tags.

There’s no funeral, no mass, no mourning, the kid didn’t have a family or home for their remains to be shipped off to, so their body stays in the hellscape, slowly rotting away; soon to be forgotten…

(Something something something I’ve never played helldivers so I have no idea how accurate this is, I just had this funky idea for a character and then it spiralled into this)

Legs have swung

The young thing is skittish and too tense, fear clouding his judgement and making him slip more often than not, his finger on a trigger shooting without any account for recoil or the fact that loud noise attracts the enemy.

He is fresh out of training, his ship a useless can of a transport — no stratagems, no enhancements, just him and the basic weapon he got in training.

You move to cover him if the enemy comes out blasting — getting ahead, trying to keep one eye on the mark scanning the grounds and another one on bloody cadet that somehow slipped through the cracks of Vog-Sojoth.

You sigh, hoisting the precious bot head with data up higher and nod to the lad to keep going.

You know he is getting agitated — you had to “reinforce” him 8 times already and now fear gives place to embarrassment and stupid reckless urge to prove himself.

No one likes looking like a damn fool, but it’s not kid’s fault system lags and lets him get down to level 10 “The Helldive” when he was barely cleared for level 5.

It’s not his fault this it went like that.

Sometimes it just happens and there was no way he could have been ready for the madness that comes with war that rages down here.

You don’t blame him for being scared or for shame that clouds his head or for nerve damage induced shaking after pumping 13 stims through him just to keep the lad going.

But what you do blame him for is for trying to show off to you.

Because it’s not worth it down here, it’s never fucking worth it.

Helldives this filled up are the only place where you need to survive first and foremost and where rules and dignity and pride don’t matter.

It’s the only place where each of you is supposed to hold onto each other and never let go just so you stand a chance of getting out in one piece and coming out on the other side.

The only place where even trained and tried Helldivers like you two need to brace for impact before they even hit the ground.

Extraction is gruesome and bloody — longest three minutes of wait of your fucking life, enemies pouring from every bloody hill, kid behind you shooting without looking where he does.

Few of his bullets graze you a little too close to home.

One of his grenades almost leaves you without a leg.

But it’s not the time to smack the dumb little thing, not the time to knock some sense into him — there is a minute and a half before Pelikan-1 descends and you are almost empty.

So you have to push the cadet down, forcing him to stay low as to not let anyone shoot him and call in supplies.

You try not to think about how much adrenaline is running through you and that you made a mistake twice trying to call in additional ammunition.

You have one more orbital laser that will descend from the sky like God’s fury destroying enemy in its wake and better you have a shit ton of stims when it runs out.

Timer clicks forward, seconds seeping out and some of your anxious rage subsided when mechanical voice chimes “additional reinforcements approved”.

Thank fuck for that.

One more chance — a safety net, one for both of you to stretch out.

You better make it count.

A minute and a half on Vog-Sojoth stretches out and chokes you out, because no matter how much you will do — the work is never done.

Enemies are pouring from every side, you sentries are working non stop as you duck and cover and shoot and duck and cover and shoot and duck and cover—

You are never actually out, you just get to take a break before coming back down to this hellhole and laying ruin in your wake.

It’s a cruel glory to be one of you.

It’s not pretty, it’s not even well-paid but sometimes…sometimes when you meet runts like this one you understand why you are still there.

What are you even doing in a hell like this one.

The cadet whimpers from pain — laceration from shrapnel bleed him out quick to leave him dry and cold.

But you are mad and stubborn and you refuse to let the kid die. It won’t happen today. Not with you.

Stim after stim are getting plunged in him, forcing his heart to keep going, forcing his blood count replenish at the speed that is not possible or normal, but why would it matter if he gets to live another day?

You will kill his stupid reckless ass yourself as soon as he gets better.

But by the time extraction shuttle reaches your ship the lad is stabilised and shaking like a bloody leaf — uniform torn and fists clenched.

Adrenaline finally crashing down and crashing him in the process.

You have to practically drag the kid out, his legs not listening to him, not moving properly so you pull him up, grunting and annoyed.

God knows you are tired.

God knows you are hungry and in a whole lot of pain and mad at him for acting like a right proper twat. But he latches onto you, like you are the lifeline, his grip on you so hard you can feel it through layers of kevlar and plates of armour.

Takes you a moment to notice that he is shaking. Takes you another one to drag his helmet off and oh, he’s fresh faced and smooth — barely 18, barely out of training, barely capable of holding his own on lower levels.

Thought hits you like a brick to the back of your head, pain spreading down to shoulders, sharp realisation digging through your nervous system.

He probably has never died before. He probably has never been reinforced this much before

He probably doesn’t understand why his body is brand new when he aches all over.

He probably doesn’t know why he can’t black out.

You have to take your own helmet off, his lip trembling when he can finally see your face. You know.

After a while down there Helldiver’s uniform starts to look a little too much like Automaton.

After a while you can’t remember how humans are supposed to look, everything in you diminishing to few very basic tasks and commands. Tactical optimisation, that’s how command would call it.

You call it the “mutt mode”. No use for long thoughts when they can kill you. No use for working through trauma if the actual awareness of how fucked up the things are almost drove you insane once.

“Come on, cadet, it’s okay, you are okay.”, you murmur, pulling off gauntlets and gloves, letting him feel the warmth of your skin, the lines of your scars.

Warm tangible and human.

He shakes when you scoop him up and whimpers, phantom pain wrecking his body, phantom pain tearing out his ligaments and cutting off his limbs.

“I’m right here, yeah? I’m not leaving you, I know it hurts.”, you wave off your staff and massage the scalp of his with your fingers, trying to ground him on something. “It will pass, the first fifteen minutes are the worst, it will pass, cadet, come on, breathe with me”.

Your whisper is awkward frantic rumble, it’s been a while since you comforted anyone but the lad soaks it right up, forces himself to breath, presses his head against your neck.

Listens to your heartbeat.

You hum quietly as he does and he melts into you. He is as young as they get here, he is aching and tired, his face wet with tears and blood. But he is alive.

You stay on the cold steel floors until he stops shaking. You stay on the cold steel floors, massaging his head and not saying a thing when he nuzzles into your neck and stays there with no intention to (ha-ha) dive out.

The lad in your hands is young and aching and you won’t force him to go. Maybe if you teach him some things he will leave on his own.

Maybe he will get to keep himself safe without you and leave for good. One more decent Helldiver in your branch. One more chance for others like him to survive.

That would be nice.

You think this throughout the next few months and at some point forget he was supposed to leave. Because he doesn’t.

He is chatty and energetic, makes paper cranes out of old reports and shares whatever gossip other runts share with him. Always comes back to you hauling something, like a hound that is bringing game from the hunt.

Eager for praise and melting from your approval.

He’s touchy but in a way that makes you feel softer, he knows when to give space but more often than not your personal space turns into “our personal space, yeah?”.

And despite huffing with exasperation you let him. Why not? He’s warm and he smells nice under all the blood and gore you both are covered in.

He starts feeling like part of your life. Part of you.

Second pair of hands, another heart in the rib cage of yours, breathing in your neck when he decompresses after dives by wrapping himself around you.

He doesn’t talk much about his life before, doesn’t mention any family and for some reason you start talking first.

Sharing that no one waits for you back home. That you aren’t sure if you have one anymore.

He hums, unusually silent before wrapping himself around you again, tucking his head under your chin like he’s a koala.

You don’t come back to this conversation until months later, you two standing over what was terminid nursery before you launched a bloody nuke in the depth of it.

“L.T.?”, his voice snaps you out of staring down the abyss, making you take a step back and remember about your objective. Still two more nurseries to go.

“Yeah?”, you muse back, voice cracking through your comms, click of you changing magazines in your primary. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it…really necessary?”, he asks and for a moment your mind blanks out. Perhaps he senses it because he hastily adds. “I mean, I understand the need to destroy terminids. But the nurseries…we are killing their eggs, L.T. It’s their children. No wonder they are so determined to kill us”

You make a noncommittal sound in return, busying yourself with checking your gear, lad’s eyes boring in the back of your head.

“You ever thought we might be the bad guys?”, you half expected the question but it still catches you off guard, eyes flickering to your runt, not even cadet anymore, with heavy intensity.

You don’t say anything but you don’t really need to — he snaps his jaws shut once you softly tap the side of your helmet. All comms are being monitored.

All interactions being observed from the moment you step out of the ship.

You don’t say anything to your chatty charge but he can see the grim expression on your face as you holster your secondary weapon.

“Maybe we are.”, you say after a while, not explaining what are you referring to, but understanding dawns on him after a beat. “Though I’m doing it few years longer than you are. What kind of person it makes me, m?”.

Lad stops and for a moment there is sharpness in his eyes you didn’t expect. Heavy sort of protectiveness.

He opens his mouth, stepping closer to you but then remembers that you are still being monitored and falls silent.

Years later you will wonder what he wanted to say. Years later you will regret you never asked.

But in the moment you turn away and push forward. It’s not the place nor the time.

You both know who you are. 

What kind of person it makes you if you mindlessly killed thousands of terminid species and never asked why was it okay to commit atrocities?

The answer is simple: a really wicked one.

Each and every one of you is a war criminal. It’s just that some have more conscience than others. Doesn’t make you less guilty.

“Can you promise me something?”, the question is sudden, but you just pause before focusing back on the terminal and its adjustment, trying to turn off the bloody broadcast tower.

The lad, now finally a sergeant, sits on the abandoned chair, hands wrapped around his primary like it’s a baby he’s nursing and not a semi-automatic rifle.

“Don’t let them replicate me again, aye? I know they destroy ships if mission fails and mine is…well, you saw. Nothing like a bird you are piloting. They can destroy mine. Together with the “reinforcements” of me”, he says softly and it’s so nonchalant you almost miss it. Registering his words a moment too late, your fingers twitching to curl into a fist.

“Why?”, is a sharp and curt and you didn’t mean it to come out that way, but god knows you have never been good at this kind of conversations.

He deserves certainly more than your sneering. He deserves to know that ships are made to be better with time, he deserves to know that he doesn’t need to die. He deserves to know that you like him and you want to work with him again.

He deserves to know that he’s a good Helldiver.

He deserves to know he is needed here.

(He deserves to know you like his hugs and spontaneous cuddling, he deserves to know that he is part of you, that you can’t imagine yourself without him. He deserves to know that it doesn’t matter if down on Earth no one waits for him — up here you always will. He deserves to know he is your favourite runt. Your only runt)

Years later you will try to remember his response to your question.

Years later you will toss and turn at night, rummage through your journals and try to find answers.

You will never get them.

But the memory of his smile — soft curl of his lips beautiful enough to make a soldier like you weep and kneel — will keep you going for the next eternity and a half of endless service.

Why have you never said it to him? Why did you never said how much he meant to you?

Why-why-why-why-why?

You think about it as you drag him into Pelikan-1 that you forced to come down even though it would be third time they re-attempt pick up.

You think about it as you pump him full of stims and do chest compressions at some point forgetting to count and forgetting to breathe.

He is lying on the floor, eyes sharp with understanding, impossibly blue — prettiest summer sky you ever saw.

He looks at you like it’s a goodbye.

It’s not a goodbye.

It can’t be goodbye, you just got used to him, you have finally accepted that he’s staying, you can’t say goodbye.

You won’t say goodbye.

He’s not dying on you.

You will kill his stupid reckless ass yourself as soon as he gets better.

And he will get better, medics will patch him up — he will be like new in no time.

He is not leaving you, he isn’t going, you can save him. You will save him.

You practically slam both of you on the hard floors of your ship, gear and legs too heavy to move, your body aching with exhaustion — your vision is filled with dark spots, pain lacing through your nervous system with every beat of your heart.

Someone is speaking to you but you don’t know them and you don’t hear them, blood roaring in your ears, your fingers clenched in a death grip on the vest of your runt. Your cadet. Your lad.

“Lieutenant, you have to let go”, the voice is muffled, all sounds are, like you are underwater. The blood pumping in your ears is so loud you aren’t sure if you can still hear properly.

There’s pain in your wrists and aching in your fingers, your body too cold and sticky which doesn’t matter right now, none of it matters.

You need your med bay now, you need the medic, you need to save him.

You need to get up and move-move-move.

Another Helldiver crouches in front of you, their eyes unusually soft — glimmering through the visor of their helmet. Their rank shines like a bloody supernova and what are they doing on your fucking ship.

(You know what they do here, don’t you? The SOS beacon, the mission, the frenzy and panic.)

They are soft and you hate them because they pry your fingers open, they force you up, they hold you tight as you crumble.

You have no right to mourn someone who barely reached the rank of sergeant, who you dragged to hell and back, who almost dragged you down.

But you do. God, you do.

Your eyes skim over the sealed off and soldered down doors of what previously was your med bay.

You really can’t save him. You can never save him, can’t you?

You can never keep anyone, not even this once, not even this lad.

Sob builds up in your throat, pushes through bile of realisation and draws out your rage because not fair, not fucking fair, never fair.

Weren’t you good? Haven’t you done your due? Didn’t you earn to have something in your hellbane of an existence?

Despair is coursing through you — thick enough to choke you out, building up in your throat, hurting you and hollowing out. Strong enough to force you back on your knees.

You can never get up. You won’t ever get up again.

You don’t want to.

But commander forces you up, strong hands holding you on your legs, their voice thick with something you can’t place in a shell shocked state of yours.

You can’t save him-you can’t save him-you can’t save him.

You can’t even try.

“You did good. We’ll be able to bury them. You did good, lieutenant, you didn’t leave them behind”, the murmur in your ear is quiet and hands around you just get tighter.

It takes you a full night before you come back and declare your lad a traitor. He will not get reinforced, his ship will be blasted to pieces and his name wiped out and forgotten.

Against every recommendation and veiled threats to report it as undemocratic you stuff his body in the same capsule you are using and jump down on Vog-Sojoth.

Your hands wrapped around him and he’s cold-cold-cold, god he has never been this cold, you should have covered him with something, you should have took care of it, he might have died cold.

But your lad is motionless doll when you drag him out and find a nice enough place to bury him.

You haul the gravestone from one of the mass burials for other divers and you knife out the name.

They have no right to remember him. They have no right to his name. No right to him.

Doesn’t matter what happens later.

What matters is that you did what you promised. Never again will he be reinforced, never again will he return to your ship, never again will he laugh with you late at night.

You could never save him — his grave unnamed place on a lovely hill and your hands are sticky with blood from torn callouses. You have been digging for a good hour before you were finally sure no one would marauder his body.

Time and continuous reinforcements will wipe his name out of your memory. But you will always remember the way sun shined on the tiny grave on Vog-Sojoth.

Unnamed and forgotten, he will lie resting.

You hope he gets a good sleep. You hope next time — maybe he will stay with you.

Maybe next time you won’t need to learn how to live without him.

Maybe next time you are a good person. And he still wants to be your friend.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

On the train once, I sat right next to an older woman and a small child who must’ve been only 4-6 years old, presumably grandmother and grandson by the way they talked. The child was quite hyperactive, refusing to sit still in his seat, jumping and shaking the table coming from the back of the seat in front, yelling and screaming and bursting into random bouts of laughter. Usually I am privately annoyed about children being noisy in public (I mean, kids are kids, I was loud too as a kid, they’re allowed to act like that because they’re so young and I am at most mildly inconvenienced), but the way the grandma acted, I couldn’t help but just feel really sad for the kid. She kept hissing “be quiet!” at him every few seconds, giving the same empty threats of “your mom will be very upset when I tell her how you’ve acted. I’m calling her right now”, even took away the kid’s activity book as punishment!!?? At one point she said, “if you would’ve acted politely I would’ve taken you to the play cart, but since you haven’t acted politely, and you CAN NEVER act politely, we’re not going!” UM. HELP????? I can’t say I know too much about children on account of never having them and I don’t know this kid at all but how does the combination of a hyperactive restless child and forcing him to sit still and taking all of his activities away somehow make him less hyperactive and restless??? Going to the play cart to blow off steam would’ve been the thing to FIX his behaviour, because he could’ve ran around and had a myriad of activities to choose from, he would’ve had an outlet for his energy. But no! You’ve already decided that your grandson is loud and unruly even before you stepped on the train, and so you never even planned on taking him to the play cart in the first place, you just wanted to dangle the idea of that prize in the face of that small child just so you could disappoint him by telling him you’re not going. Do you really think he learned anything from you forcing him sit still with nothing to do, a little five-year-old boy? Did you learn anything from this?

[cynicalmusings]

i’m kind of tempted to write a series of little anecdotes of socrates!reader interacting with each amphoreus cast member and just… either winding them up or confusing the hell out of them until the characters give up and leave the conversation.

mydei is the easiest to frustrate, and about three minutes into the discussion, he’s just like “i don’t care about this. go away before i want to punch you,” and goes off.

phainon is initially willing to have a discussion—it couldn’t hurt that much, right?—before regretting it severely. to do him justice, he fares relatively well, but after ten to fifteen minutes he has to leave (1) he has no idea what’s going on anymore and (2) he feels a crushing existential crisis coming on which he would rather suffer through in privacy (which is to say he breaks down from existential dread the moment he leaves your line of sight).

tribbie doesn’t get angry, but they’re another one who gets a touch confused. they get both the others in on it, too, and by the end you’ve got the whole group being like “…we’re sorry, we don’t think we can do this anymore” and flying off. they’re pretty polite and honest about what they don’t understand, though, which you appreciate.

castorice, having studied at the grove, has some background in this kind of thing, and she keeps up with the debate pretty well. when she doesn’t understand something, she’ll be open about it and ask you to clarify, making for a good conversation partner. she also strikes me as a pretty patient type, so she won’t lose her temper or anything while you get very particular in your arguments, either. i feel like the main reason she would call off the discussion is because she needs more time to think about how to respond to something you’ve said (and the constant interchange has probably tired her out a little, too).

hyacine is pretty honest from the get-go that philosophy isn’t an area she has much direct experience with, but because she’s nice and doesn’t want to let you down, she’s happy to go along with it. she gets a little emotion when you question her about why life is meaningful and whether it’s really worth inconveniencing oneself to help another (which isn’t to necessarily say you hold these views yourself; your main objective is to gauge her position and how she responds to such a challenge) — and soon tells you that she feels like she can’t do this anymore and needs a moment to herself.

aglaea would be really difficult to befuddle, frustrate, or get any major reaction from. she’s very calculated with her responses, good at keeping a level head, and doesn’t reveal her emotional position. the only way you could get under her skin, if you so wished to play devil’s advocate, is by challenging her about the value of okhema and its citizens. even then, she’d barely crack, but if you’re looking closely, you might be able to tell she’s

finally, debates with anaxa are… literally nothing new. you’ve been bugging him with constant questions for years, and he’s used to it by now (to be honest, he probably ought to thank you for it — you kind of act as his argument-checker to see if he’s overlooked any problems or made any assumptions with any claim he makes). he might pretend to be a little annoyed, but really, he enjoys your intellectual matches. the only ways you could wind him up is (1) committing a fallacy in your argument on purpose/ acting with intellectual dishonesty, which you would just… never do, or (2) saying something (probably negative) about yourself, which… also would never really come up in a discussion, because you’re interested in knowing stuff, not talking about yourself.

(he’s also definitely tried to convince you to take part in the annual great debate on multiple occasions, but you refuse every time. to be fair, every day is a ‘great debate’ for you and whichever unfortunate soul you run into that day… so it’s understandable why you don’t need to join some tournament to get, what, some public affirmation of your debating skill? who needs that? does it get you closer to uncovering knowledge about the world? no? well, you’re just not interested, then.)

[billy-cockblock]

I’ve been watching resident evil lore summary videos and some gameplay clips all day and have been mulling over my re venom au for a few days, and am gonna make just a brain dump of thoughts.

According to one video I watched, shadows of Rose takes place in 2037 (if I remember correctly), quite a while after previous games. Resident evil 2 takes place in 1998, and let’s say Leon’s 20 in that game. That would make Leon 59 during the events of shadows of Rose. That is older than my parents, and I can’t imagine anyone their age doing backflips to dodge chainsaws or doing parkour or getting tossed around by a BOW and being able to stand back up. So, I’m gonna screw with the timeline a little bit. And by that I mean I’m throwing it out the window.

So! Plot ideas: Leon’s in his mid-40s and is starting to feel the combined effects of age and a life of being BOW’s chew toy. He’s getting tired of life as an agent, being surrounded by so much death and destruction with no end in sight other than dying on a mission. He starts to bring up the topic of retirement, and his friends are supportive of the idea. Even Chris, who Leon’s sure plans on working until he dies. He starts to go through the process of filing paperwork, getting assigned to find people to replace him, and trying to think of what to do once he’s no longer an agent.

The government isn’t as big a supporter of him planning retirement. He’s one of their best men, he knows a whole bunch of extremely classified information, and if he wasn’t working for them anymore, he’d just be out in the world and much harder to control. Some higher ups do their best to slow down his retirement process as much as possible, but he’s Leon fucking Kennedy, he never stops until a job’s done (even if that job is quitting your job). They’re assigning him extra work, claiming it’s backlog that they want him to finish before he goes, assign him on smaller, more frequent missions so he has less time to process his retirement, and try to find a solution to the risk he’d be once he left.

One such mission he gets sent on, is to check up on one of Chris’s assignments. A motion alarm had been tripped at a lab, and they just needed him to go make sure there weren’t any intruders hiding where security cameras couldn’t see.

He’s known what the higher up had been doing for a while, but he wasn’t fighting them on it too much because he was kinda lost on what he wanted to do after. Fighting biological threats was all he’d really done and all he’d had time for, he didn’t know what direction to go after retirement. That’s why he agreed to go check out the small, off the radar lab, even though it was under Chris’ jurisdiction. Just an easy surveillance sweep of a probably-empty building to kill some time and get some thought on his next steps.

He finally makes it to the lab space of the building, it having been much more well protected than he thought it’d be. A cursory glance tells him no one’s there, but then he hears glass breaking behind the shelves in the middle of the room. He quietly walks around, until he sees a broken-open containment flask full of some kind of goo. The glass is covered in dark, drying, and clearly dead material, but emerging from the cracked-open center was a shifting blob, pulsing a faint red.

He tried to swat it away when it leapt at his face, but it clung to him like glue. It sunk into his skin, and his nerves were set alight.

[shiftthemoon]

reality shifting isn’t hard. you’ve been told it’s hard because everyone’s too scared to admit it’s not. they cling to their 800-step methods, their must-have crystals, their perfect conditions because they think that if they let go of that control, they’ll fail. but here’s the thing: the more you try to control the process, the more you convince yourself it’s out of your control. and that’s the problem. that’s why so many people feel stuck. shifting isn’t some big, far-fetched thing. it’s just you. it’s always been you.

we’re conditioned to think we’re powerless. think about it—school, work, society, all of it drills this idea into us that everything has to be proven, earned, validated. so, when you hear about shifting, your brain freaks out and says, wait, wait, this is too easy, this can’t be real. and then you spiral. you overcomplicate it. you make yourself think you need the “perfect” script, the “right” subliminal, or that you have to meditate for three hours while the stars align perfectly. like, no… you don’t. all of that? it’s fluff. it’s noise.

at its core, shifting is belief. just belief. no, really, let that sink in. you don’t need to “do” belief perfectly. it’s not something you master through sheer willpower. it’s something you already have. you’ve believed in things your whole life. you believed in gravity without needing proof. you believe your favorite songs are beautiful without needing to explain why. belief is natural. it’s effortless when you stop overthinking it. that’s the energy you need to bring to shifting—trust. trust that your mind knows what it’s doing, and that if you let it, it will take you there. every single extra thing you pile on? the overthinking, the doubt, the need for guarantees? that’s what’s slowing you down. not the “lack of progress,” not some mythical “block”—it’s you convincing yourself it’s harder than it is.

and let’s talk about social media for a second. oh my god, the shifting community on social media… i get it. it’s comforting to see other people on this journey. but let’s be honest—how much of that content is actually helping you? like, really? 90% of the time, scrolling through shifting advice isn’t inspiring; it’s overwhelming. everyone’s got their own opinions, their own “best methods,” their own rules. one person says scripting is a must, another says it’s a waste of time. one person swears by affirmations, another says visualization is the only way. and before you know it, you’re sitting there questioning everything you thought you knew, wondering if you’ll ever get it “right.” spoiler alert: you already know how to shift. you don’t need a thousand voices telling you what to do. in fact, the more you listen to them, the harder it becomes to hear yourself.

take a break. seriously. log off the apps. give yourself space to breathe and think. ask yourself: why do i want to shift? what’s stopping me? what feels right to me? no tiktok trend, youtube guide, or reddit post can answer those questions for you. only you can. and i know that sounds scary. we’ve been conditioned to think we need external validation for everything, but shifting is a deeply personal thing. you don’t need a step-by-step tutorial. you need to trust your instincts. that’s it.

and let me be clear: i’m not saying methods or subliminals are bad. they’re fine if they help you feel aligned. but they’re not what makes shifting happen. you are. methods are just tools. if you use them, great. if you don’t, that’s great too. because the truth is, shifting isn’t about doing things “right.” it’s about letting go of the idea that you need to.

so let me break it down for you. the only things you really need to shift are:

1. a desire. you have to want to go to your desired reality. no brainer, right?

2. belief. this is the big one. you have to trust it’s possible. no “what ifs,” no “but hows.” just trust.

3. persistence. if it doesn’t happen right away, that’s okay. don’t give up. if you’ve ever learned to ride a bike, you know that falling doesn’t mean you can’t do it—it just means you’re learning. shifting is the same.

that’s it. no fancy rituals, no endless research, no “perfect” conditions. the process is simple because it’s natural. you’ve probably done it before without even realizing it— the only reason it feels hard now is because you’ve convinced yourself it has to be.

stop making it harder than it needs to be. shifting isn’t this unattainable, mystical thing reserved for “chosen ones.” it’s something anyone can do. you can do it. your mom can do it. that anti-shifter lurking in every crevice of shiftblr could do it. you’ve always been capable. but you have to stop getting in your own way. stop doubting yourself. stop relying on others to tell you what’s possible. this is your journey. own it.

and above all, be patient. shifting is not a race. it’s not about how fast you can get there or how perfect your dr is. it’s about trust, intention, and focus. log off, tune into yourself, and let it happen. shifting has always been yours to claim. it’s not something you need permission for. it’s not something you need to earn. it’s just you, your mind, and your belief. always has been, always will be.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetic torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[smolbeandrabbles]

Me, reading this fic:

I ran out of tags! 🥲 It’s been so fun to read your work! 🥰 Especially of the certified Best Boy™️

I can’t wait to read more 💚

Dance with me? (Roronoa Zoro x f!reader)

Summary: you try to convince Zoro to dance to a slow song with you.

A/n: okay so i love dancing. And i love Zoro. So i thought: why not have Zoro dancing?! And then this idea came out 🤣 it's kinda short, just cause i wanted to write down this scenario ajskajakja i hope you like it though 🩷 this was slightly inspired by Selena Gomez's Body Heat. This song isn't as slow as the song i imagine them dancing to in the fic but the lyrics fit sooo well 🤭 also let's pretend there's a band playing at the Baratie lmaooo

Warnings: drinking, swearing, maybe ooc Zoro (i just had to get this man dancing yk ajskajksja)

"We're connected by the sun

And all of the stars above

You melt me and my body feels no shame

And I don't care tonight

If it burns too bright

'Cause, baby, that's why I came"

You were at the Baratie celebrating after very a successful mission!

Luffy and Usopp were inside eating as much as they could (like always lol) and you were outside watching the band play and the people dance.

Sitting with you and sharing drinks, there were your best friend Nami and your crush Roronoa Zoro.

Yep, you were crushing on the moss haired swordsman ever since you joined the straw hats.

You thought about confessing to him several times, but you were really afraid of being rejected and making things awkward at the Going Merry. No, you couldn't risk that, not when you loved your crew that much.

What you didn't know is that the pretty swordsman felt exactly the same, even though he tried to fight that feeling everytime you flashed your beautiful smile at him.

yeah two idiots secretly in love with each other oh well ajskajskaj

The three of you were just relaxing and drinking when the band started playing one of your favorite songs. It was a slow and romantic song that touched deep into your heart.

- oh my gosh, i love this song - you closed your eyes and started swaying to the beat. It felt wonderful.

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol making you brave or if you just couldn't stand hiding your feelings anymore, but you turned to face Zoro and you were so certain of what you were saying even he was a bit surprised.

- come on, dance with me - you said, very sure of your words.

- what? No. I don't do "dancing", (Y/N). - Zoro replied, crossing his arms and looking away, knowing very well that if he kept looking at your beautiful eyes he was going to give in at some point.

- please, it's just one song... i can lead you - you said almost pleading.

You approached him and put your small hand on his strong arm (yep, the alcohol definitely was making you brave). That's when he couldn't resist anymore and turned to look at you.

- please, Zoro... for me?

The way you said that and tilted your head slightly to the side made Zoro feel something deep inside of him he never had felt before. How could he say no to you?

He rolled his eyes:

- okay, okay... but just one song. Make it quick.

You were so happy you nearly jumped out of your seat.

- yay!! It'll be short, i promise. Let's go! - you said clapping and happily standing up.

He got up too and you grabbed his hand to lead him to the dance area. Yes, you just grabbed the Roronoa Zoro's hand and pulled him with you. Maybe it weren't the drinks, maybe you were just really determined to be with him ajskajskaj

When you got there, you started giving him the directions.

- okay, you have to put your hands here - you grabbed both his hands and placed them on your waist. The touch was so soft and intimate it made your whole skin tingle - and i go here - you placed your arms around his neck.

You could feel he was still a bit suspicious about the whole thing for how tense his muscles felt, but you decided you were going to make that a good time for both of you.

- hey, you're tense - you said softly - just... relax, okay? I know it may seem scary but dancing is supposed to be fun. You don't have to be a pro to enjoy it, just... feel it. It's just you and I having a good time together. No pressure at all.

Little did you know Zoro wasn't feeling nervous because of the dancing. Well, maybe a bit (he had never done that before ajskajskaj), but it wasn't the main reason.

He was nervous for being that close to you. God knows what he could do being so close to the girl he had been crushing on for so long.

You ran your hands through his shoulders and arms, trying to calm him down and feeling his strong muscles slowly relaxing under your touch.

- now you just focus on the beat and move along. When i move right, you move right. When i go back, you go forward. Just... feel it and enjoy - you said kindly and you started moving with the song.

You both moved smoothly through the dance floor and it felt amazing.

- see, it's not that hard. I'm sure you've faced bigger challenges than this one, pirate hunter - you emphasized these two words in a mocking way.

That made him chuckle and look down, feeling a bit shy.

Yes! You made him laugh 🤩 you loved knowing you were the one to create such cute sight.

On the other hand: fuck, you made him laugh 💀 everytime he smiled it made you weak on your knees and you couldn't even think straight.

That's when you closed your eyes and rested your head on his chest, while you both just moved along to the beat. It was such a blissful moment, dancing to a song you loved and sharing it with a person you loved too.

Being there with him, enjoying the beat, feeling safe in Zoro's arms... you felt like you could live in that moment forever.

When you lifted your head and looked into his eyes again, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. There was just the two of you, holding each other and sharing loving looks.

You were so close and you could feel his eyes staring at your lips. You took that as a sign.

You cupped his cheek and slowly went in for a kiss.

Was that really happening?! You wanted to pinch yourself to check if all of that wasn't actually another delulu dream of yours.

But it was real. You could feel it.

The kiss was soft and sweet, but also full of emotion.

When you parted you were blushing madly so you just hid your face on his chest again and went back to dancing. This time you could feel he laid his head on top of yours too and that made your heart so warm. And that's because you didn't know he was enjoying it so much he had his eyes closed too, or else you would have exploded.

You knew at some point later you and Zoro would have to discuss feelings and stuff, but at that moment all that mattered was enjoying now.

You stayed like that for another few seconds until the song ended and everyone started clapping at the band. You and Zoro parted and smiled at each other. crap there was that pretty smile again

- see, you nailed it! - you said playfully punching him - thank you for coming with me, it was so nice. And i kept my promise, short and quick - you chuckled.

- yeah... now i kinda wish it lasted longer though - he said trying to look away to hide the small blush that was on his cheeks. Now besides smiling!Zoro, you also had him blushing?! It was definitely a dream.

You hooked your arm in his and led him out the dance area.

When you were going back to your seats, you saw Nami staring at you with a smug face. Damn, was she watching the whole thing?! Prepare for teasing in 3, 2...

- what a show, huh? - Nami said smirking and raising her eyebrows.

- shut up, Nami - Zoro said nonchalantly as he sat down and crossed his arms again, with that "100% done" face of his to try to hide the faint blush that was still on his cheeks.

You just chuckled and sat down for another drink, still feeling the bliss of that amazing moment you had just lived.

And you know what, the night was just beginning. Who knows what else could happen 😉

"Let's go all night

Just you and me

If you're the flame, I'm kerosene"

[pacofprunes]

wishful thinking

thanos/su-bong x pregnant! reader (fluff, comfort)

warnings — thanos and reader have matching tattoos, crying, mentions of sex, cursing, mentions of pissing on a door, pregnant reader, switching of referring to thanos and subong so hope you don’t get too confused, use of bitch (not towards reader), lowercase, typical squid game shit so mentions of blood and death,

you joined these games because although you thought it was too good to be true, it was all you could do. your shitty ex su-bong making you invest all your money into some dumbass crypto scam and blowing all of your guys money on drugs, childish bets, and gambling. after he blew both your guys money out, you left him, blocked him on everything, ignored your doorbell when he’d attempt to see you in person, everything. but two months after you broke up, it all came crashing down. you found out you were pregnant. and he was the only one you let see that part of you, it was his. but you were sure he moved on and even if he hadn’t, you couldn’t take him back. if he was this much of an incompetent person, he’d definitely be a terrible father. you didn’t want him in your life or your child’s.

besides some guy you assumed to have dementia or be on drugs, the game was going pretty smooth. until it wasn’t and it turns out the guy wasn’t crazy and people all around you were dying. blood splatting on your face left and right. you finally find a method and stay behind other people and everything was going smoothly again besides the intense stress and pressure. your heart and stomach feeling heavy. but the next time that doll turns around you hear a bunch of screams and you look to the right and see that su-bong was here too, and he had just pushed all of those people. he looked crazed. you just ignore it and try not to think about it, finally passing that finish line and being done with the first game, waiting for a full explanation.

you all move back into the main rooms that contained all your beds and people start screaming and yelling for answers. crying to go home, begging for their lives. you too wanted to go home, but you had so much on your mind. so much that you don’t notice your ex is nearing right behind you.

“señorita! oh my god baby is that you?”

he grabs your shoulder and turns you around to face him and you look up at him, frowning your eyebrows. he starts grabbing your face in his hands, touching all over you, not being able to comprehend it was you.

“oh god, it is you, babe, are you okay? where have you been i’ve missed you—”

“subong, stop. we’re not together, and we never will be ever again.”

you push his hands off your face and step back to put some distance between you two, still giving him a major glare. he reaches his arms out towards you again as if he was slowly trying to pick up a scared puppy.

“cmon— you can’t still be mad. baby, i’ll make it up to you, especially now.”

you look behind him and see a few people waiting on him, clearly eavesdropping. he turns around and looks at you again, a puppy dog look on his face but you shake it off.

“it’s not going to work subong. the debt im in now is insane because of you!”

he holds his right hand out before grabbing your right hand.

“baby please — we got these tattoos together,”

you look down at your hands and see the matching line placements decorating both of your hands. it was a stupid idea. you’d been dating for a little over a year, you shouldn’t had done it, you knew that. but you could barely pay for your bills, you definitely couldn’t pay to remove a tattoo. but deep in your heart you wished he was different, wished you could forgive him because deep down you still loved him. that tattoo was a sick reminder of that everyday. you realize you’d been staring at the two of your hands for a while before pulling away quickly. he looks at you with a smile and hope in his eyes. he places both of his hands on your shoulders again.

“see, we’re meant to be. it was a mistake, i know, i did it out of the goodness of my heart! for us, for you, you know that.”

you scoff at him.

“no. no i don’t know that. we’re not getting back together choi su-bong, that’s final.”

his hands go limp on your shoulders before you speak up, saying your next few choice of words slightly quieter as his fans or friends or whoever was still behind you two, stop eavesdropping.

“and just so you know, i’m pregnant. it’s yours. i’m keeping it. i don’t need you to help me. i’ll find a way to make money and i’ll raise my child.”

he stares at you stunned before you push away and move through the crowd. you hear him yell for you, yelling that cringy señorita pet name your way, but you ignore him, trying to hide in the crowd, listening to what the guards say as he drowns in the sea of people.

the guard mentions voting and how you guys were gonna vote whether to stay or leave. part of you wanted to stay still, but if you died, so did your baby. and you were scared out of your mind, nothing able to comfort you. so you knew you were going to choose to leave. you weren’t in insane debts but you still had a lot. the money they were offering after the first game was nowhere near close enough to pay it all off. you would have to play one more game, maybe even two to pay it off, but you couldn’t take any risks. they start calling from highest to lowest numbers and once they call ‘player 230’, your shitty ex makes his way down the line, skipping to smack that blue button, choosing to stay. it only made you wanna choose the other side even more. your turn comes and you choose to leave, sticking the red ‘x’ on your chest. you could see him staring at you through the corner of your eye, but you just chose to ignore it. creepy bastard.

after arguments and close physical alterations, the voting was over. you had lost, you’d be staying for another game. you wanted to go but at least you’d have an opportunity to make a little more money, you guess…

“excuse me, young lady, would you like to join us?”

you look over to a short older woman holding onto your arm, pointing over to a small group of people who were sitting on their beds. you give her a small smile and nod, letting her take you over there. she signals where you can sit and you move slowly while holding your stomach, letting out a deep breath once you finally get down all the way. you look around and there’s an older man, a younger girl, and another woman with some very strong features. the older woman speaks.

“i mean, i can’t believe they chose to stay! no offense hyun-ju, but come on!”

the older woman smacks her hand down on the bed and you give her a sympathetic and understanding look. she looks up at you before she gets a surprised look on her face and quickly flails herself around to get her composure.

“right! ma’am, this is my son yong-sik, this is young-mi, and this is hyun-ju.”

she pauses looking at you and sits up quickly again.

“oh, and you can call me mrs jang.”

she gives you a teethy smile. realizing she’s waiting for you to introduce yourself you let out an oh and tell her who you are and she grabs your hands into hers and rubs circles into them.

“oh that name is so pretty. a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

her son yong-sik slaps her shoulder and then they start arguing. you just sit there happy to have the company before you look to your right and see subong on the other side staring at you. you quickly look away and look down at your legs, biting your lip.

“yo, who’s that girl? you were arguing with her earlier. she’s smoking.”

he keeps staring before snapping his head back at nam-gyu.

“you are right, she is smoking hot.”

he pauses.

“well you see nam-su—”

“nam-gyu…”

“right right, nam-gyu, anyways, that’s my girl over there, okay? she just playin’ hard to get right now is all’,”

nam-gyu raises his eyebrows, getting an idea.

“soo, you gonna let me have a turn with that, right?”

thanos slaps his arm.

“nah bro, i normally share but that, ive had dibs on her for at least two years.”

he slaps nam-gyus arm again and then grabs it, causing nam-gyu to let out an ‘ow bro’,

“don’t worry bro! i’m sure we can find ya a bitch in here though! keep your mind busy and dick wet and we’re sure to win this whole thing.”

he slaps his arm one last time before nam-gyu slaps him back, thanos just laughing before slowly going back to watching you. trying to figure out how he should go about this. deciding that he’d just wait until everyone was asleep to talk to you again.

night time comes around and you had to piss. this fucking sucked. you had none of your pain killers, and you were about to crawl into a ball and start ripping your skin off from the pain you were in. but right now just focus on pissing. just focus on pissing you thought. you get up slowly, clutching your stomach before walking up to the door to the bathroom, knocking on it, waiting for someone to answer. finally the window slides open and you’re met with a triangle looking at you, or at least you think he, it? is looking at you.

“uhm, excuse me, i need to use the washroom.”

“players may not leave this room past your given curfew.”

the window to the door shuts. you take a deep breath, not willing to cause a scene and just about walk away before a guy walks up behind you and starts making a scene for you. that guy being su-bong.

“hey, me and my girl are tryna fuck, if you want we can do it right in the middle of this fucking room!”

it doesn’t work and the door doesn’t open.

“im not a girl! i have a penis and i know how to fucking aim. the next time you open this door it’s gonna be fucking yellow instead of pink i promise you that! i gotta heavy ass piss stream i been holdin’ and i can let out all over this door!”

you slap him, asking him what he was doing and that he was being crazy. but if you were being honest you were trying to stiffle a laugh. he always was funny, and in your relationship he always knew how to make you laugh. you’re pulled out of your thoughts when somehow what he said actually worked and they opened the door for you both. you make your way to the bathrooms and it’s silent the whole time. he was thinking of what to say to you. a million things running through his mind. you make it to the two bathrooms and you go and open the women’s bathroom door before it feels ten time lighter and you see subong holding the door open for you. giving you a cheeky grin. you just look at him before making your way into the bathroom and the door closing behind you. you hadn’t even noticed that you were holding your breath before you breathe out and realized your lungs were burning.

“i really have missed you, you know?”

you snap your head around and see that he had followed you into the bathroom and you call him a perv, yelling at him to get out.

“hey! i’m not here to fuck alright. i mean, unless you’re down then babe, let’s get it fucking going.”

he claps his hands together and you give him a disgusted look before going into one of the bathroom stalls and slamming the door shut so you could finally piss. but when you were done actually doing your business, you just sat there with your face in your hands. he was stressing you out, this baby was stressing you out, and this place was stressing you out and you were on the verge of a breakdown.

“i’m not coming out until you’re gone.”

you see his feet right under the bathroom stall door you were in and groan. hearing the door creak a little, assuming he was leaning against it, which he was.

“baby, please. i just want us again. i’ve missed you so much, you’ve been the only thing on my mind since you left.”

you started to tune him out and started rubbing your face in your hands even more, feeling your eyes start to water, your breath getting caught in your throat, your sniffing starting to become louder before one of your sobs slips and he hears it. asking if you were okay and you just ignore him, covering your mouth with your hand, continuing to cry.

“please let me in.”

you take a deep breath and slightly get up to unlock the door before sitting back down on the toilet seat, face still in your hands. he crouches down to you and cups your face in his hands before he pulls you in for a hug and starts rubbing circles into your back. your sobs getting louder as you burry your face into his bloody jacket, but you really weren’t thinking about that. god thinking of when you two were like this made you start to regret the past, yearn for a future with you two, and hate the present situation you were in. still crying into his jacket as he continues to try to soothe you with his touch. he pulls away after awhile and pushes your tears away with his thumb. his heart crumbling as he sees your teary orbs looking him in the eyes. you’d cried to him before when you were together, and he had comforted you many times before, but never had he seen you this distraught. he hooks his arm under your shoulder and lifts you to standing and he moves you out of the bathroom stall. you wipe your tears away, mumbling a sorry, avoiding all eye contact with him, looking at the ground.

“baby, look at me.”

your eyes look around at the ground before you slowly move your head up to look at him, a small pout on your lips. biting them from the nerves. it was a bad habit you’d never gotten rid of, you’ve had it since he’s met you. he looks at you, almost looking through your eyes. he places one hand on your arm, and grabs your right hand in his right hand, the matching tattoos clashing together.

“please, give me another chance. we’ll figure out the money, work, all of it.”

he pauses and looks down at your stomach. moving the hand that was on your arm to hold your stomach. looking up at you for confirmation that he could and you give him a small nod before he rubs the side of your tummy.

“i just can’t believe it. you should’ve told me!”

he raises his voice and you look away. still about to completely knaw off your lip.

“i didn’t think you’d want to stay. can you blame me?”

he pauses his rubs on your stomach, other hand still in yours and moves the hand that was on your stomach to your face, making you look at him. putting his thumb on your lips, getting you to stop biting them.

“i promise i want to be there for you and for our baby.”

you take a deep breath and he rubs his thumb on your tattoos.

“i won’t leave you, i’ll be better for us, i promise baby.”

you whisper under your breath. can’t believing you were about to say what was about to come out of your mouth.

“you promise…?”

his eyes light up.

“i promise baby.”

he pulls you into a tight hug and he hears you groan, forgetting that he might’ve been putting too much pressure on your belly. he gives you an awkward smile and he takes your hand into his and holds both your guys hands up to your face, as if showing you that he was never gonna let go of you again, and you two couldn’t be separated. you give him a light smile before letting go of his hand and he gives you a look of confusion.

“what? you never gave me the chance to wash my hands.”