#I'm just feeling a little bit tired of it...

[nakylvr]

ℒevitate ✧ ℳ.𝒮

summary જ⁀➴ your twitch streamer girlfriend keeps you up late in the night because of her streaming a horror game, to which you come in

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, streamer!megan, f!reader, established relationship

i wrote this in ten minutes. please take it

"AAAAAAAH!"

"WHY WONT HE STOP CHASING ME!"

"FOUR BULLETS LEFT??? I'M SO COOKED!"

"GO AWAY!"

you'd been hearing yelling since megan started her stream. despite being in a completely different room, you could hear everything loud and clear. you could assume she was playing another horror game judging by the amount of screaming, but it was starting to tick you off little by little.

"FUCK!"

thats it.

megan stares at her computer screen with wide eyes, her fingers frantically moving on her controller trying to run away from the mr. x in resident evil 2. tens of thousands of people watching her play live at midnight, screaming like a child whilst playing the game.

she didn't even hear you from the other room. she didn't hear anything until her door opened.

"megan skiendiel."

megan's hands freeze, quickly pausing the game and slowly turning her head towards you. you're standing barely a foot into the room, where the camera can see half of you, and you look pissed. you're looking at her with a blank expression, with tired eyes and your hair a bit of a mess, and she feels a wave of guilt wash over her realizing she probably woke you up.

"hey, babe–

"what did i say about streaming late at night?" you interject. "to not do it if you were going to scream the whole time."

"i'm sorry, baby." megan says softly. "i didn't realize."

meanwhile her views have skyrocketed in numbers, the chat going crazy over this interaction between you two. some fans have already started screen recording to clip for edits later that megan will probably repost.

"just be quieter please, i have work tomorrow. or come to bed," you tell her. "i'll be waiting."

and you leave the room with a soft click as the door closes. megan looks back at her camera, then at the chat, then at her game, then finally at the camera.

"okay chat, i think we're done for the night," she says, saving and turning off the game. "i'll see you guys later, bye!"

you're climbing into bed and pulling the blanket over you when the door creaks open, revealing megan's frame. she doesn't say anything, just gets in beside you silently and shuffles behind you. one of her arms drapes over your waist, pulling you closer to her so you were touching.

"i love you." she presses a soft kiss on your shoulder. "i didn't mean to wake you up."

"it's okay." you pat her hand and then intertwine your fingers with hers. "you're just doing your thing."

"still. you work. i shouldn't do it at night anymore," megan murmurs. "i won't." she decides.

"i love you," you say quietly.

"i love you too. i'll see you in the morning." she kisses your neck gently.

[gorjee-art]

God your heartache of chaos au is genuinely so incredibly creative and breathtaking I literally can't stop looking at all the art for it, it's like eye candy--

And now I'm curious about the overall story, can we get a summary? (If that's aight!)

The overall story as I'd personally write it without spoiling the fun bits:

"It's been months since Fluttershy got into a pretty serious scuff with her friends. A pretty big explosion coming from the animal specialist as Ponyville heard it. Whispers of a wedding gone wrong, friends gone sour, and a pegasus gone into complete social isolation, barely even went to town for groceries.

What little did the humble town knew, she was tired of seeing scowling judgmental faces, fully convinced that she can never truly blend into the crowd. Fluttershy was going into her own depressive spiral, completely cutting herself out of the picture to protect her already very fragile heart. Foraging off the land, and fraternizing with critters that she knows can never hurt her. Happy to just live with herself and become her own zoo animal, caged in her home.

It was until then her eye spotted a...seemingly growing mark on her precious bunny's leg. A new strange pattern practically painted on his fur. It looked garish, but oddly natural, as if he grew it himself. No matter how many washes it took, she could only groan and mutter curses under her breath realizing that she had to go the vet. Eyeing at the door with distain, unhappy to leave her sanctuary. Cooing at her precious rabbit to hop in her bag, and ignore all the piled letters outside her home.

Thus an odd beginning of noticing cracks in the seam, her habitual pony watching made her realize... a continuing growing pattern of subtle spirals growing under their coats, an abnormal friendliness, laughter suddenly sounds sinister, extra limbs, and eyes, and...impossible environments, maybe an alley that shouldn't be there. Surely she was going--a little insane? An off day turning into a troubling night, she decided to scurry through the letters to ease her mind, rolling her eyes with all the half assed apologies she has been receiving, only really feeling a slight twinge in her heart when she saw a package made by the baby dragon "Spike" giving her a gem to enjoy, "Looks like a lizard huh? I chewed it myself!"...

Knots. Knots in her stomach, picturing the idea of a frantic Twilight pleading with her sibling to give her "dear friend Fluttershy" a gift, knowing they were nothing more than associates. She couldn't help but really mull over the idea, of...well returning for a dragon checkup. Is it rude to come over unannounced after so many months of silence? She did say she was in Canterlot for a project, yeah?

After a day of contemplating, and checking through the Golden Oak windows to see that there was indeed a substitute librarian taking over, really...REALLY enjoying a new book hacking her lungs out coughing. She set her path towards visiting Twilight...which.

...

Ended up in screams, and a talking head.

A pandemic has spread! A curse of chaos, thought to be the work of Discord! And Twilight found a way to halt the process, despite being...a head, barely coherent in her speech, gave her a message that only Fluttershy can fix this. Traveling all across Equestria in search of her friends and the harmony stones, she has to cross impossible terrains, reason with creatures gone mad, and find the heart of the problem, with the only clue being a sample of chaos blood.

The girls will fix it, as they always do...just not with the solutions they might like.

[m1rotics]

fire-licked (bodies burn)

seonghwa x fem!reader x wooyoung

word count: 1k

warnings: heavily implied dom/sub dynamics, sadomasochism, sensory/temperature play ( fire play specifically), human furniture (you to hold an ashtray for them), they're both mean, nothing explicit happens but the entire thing is inherently sexual.

Seonghwa and wooyoung like playing with fire; they always drag you into their schemes. But that's enough about their impish behavior, today they're playing with fire in the literal sense. There's a lighter clutched between Seonghwa's fingers. A plain silver zippo lighter with his and wooyoung's initials engraved on it. Wooyoung did it while you were all shooting the shit with the pocketknife he always keeps with him.

You can hear him clicking the flame to life just to kill it again. The warm orange fills the entire living room, just to leave it dim again with nothing but the living room tv illuminating the room. Wooyoung's situated himself on the couch in wide-legged repose, black pants tight on his thighs. A hand resting under his baggy shirt. A cigarette tucked between his lips; you in between his legs, holding out a glass ashtray.

Smoke swirls in your vision; twirling around itself like ribbons.

"getting tired?" wooyoung sneers. His voice is a bit gruff from disuse, from all that smoke clogging his lungs. You're not expected to answer, so you don't.

Wooyoung's teasing you, purposely making fun of you— he doesn't care about your response when he's doing that; Seonghwa does though, so he's the one that interjects, "words, use them."

You are getting tired— you've been at this for a while now, around ten minutes or so, and the muscles in your arms are already burning.

"yes, sir," you reply. Seonghwa hums, placated. The lighter clicks on again, orange light highlights the side of Wooyoung's face. The name is for everyone and no one at all— Wooyoung could give two fucks less about what you call him, and Seonghwa's a bit of a chameleon, morphing into whatever honorific feels apropos to his mood.

Right now, sir suits him best. He's feeling mean, you can tell.

Wooyoung's chuckle is more of a harsh exhale, his smile sharp, he taps his ash off into the tray. "That's too bad."

After a few minutes, Seonghwa's sidling to your side because you can register it. Knobby knee knocking Wooyoung's foot out of the way. It's a tight fit because of the coffee table behind you. Seonghwa can barely stretch out. He doesn't seem to mind. Wooyoung's cigarette is almost done, nearly a quarter, and you're so close. All you need to do is hold the tray.

You jump when Seonghwa's hand rests on your thigh and his teeth plunge into the skin of your arm.

Wooyoung tsks, "careful.”

"sorry, sir" you mumble.

Seonghwa plants a tender kiss to the mark when he's done, taking pride in it whilst offering the slightest nonverbal comfort.

A chink of the lighter opening, a click of it turning on. Seonghwa lightly squeezes your thighs. He holds the flame underneath your arm. The feeling is instantaneous; heat permeates your body and it stings. A muffled whimper, and you're shaking intensifies.

"stay still," Seonghwa scolds.

"I'm trying," the words came out with less bite than you had hoped; more thin and wet, than mean and snappy.

"don't try, Do," Seonghwa's voice is low and edged. A bow dipped in poison. You shudder.

You're surprised Wooyoung hasn't said anything, but he seems to be entranced, shot pupils focused on the lighter Seonghwa's placing so close to your sensitive skin. He bites his lip, and you can see his Adam's apple shifting as he swallows. There's a flush to his cheeks that wasn't there before, a gleam in his eyes incited by your pain. Without realizing your thighs rub together to release a bit of tension.

He groans when this time, you whimper, the wetness in your eyes begins to drip down your cheeks. His hips thrust up to get a little friction from the inseam of his pants. The gesture is so desperate that it sends a pang of arousal through you.

Seonghwa holds it there longer this time, and the pain quickly becomes excruciating. It's too much, but enough to make you tap out, but it's enough to have a constant stream of tears rolling down your cheeks. The inside cheek pulled between your teeth to distract from the throbbing.

It seems like forever when he pulls away, and you see Seonghwa smile in your peripheral, pleased with your obedience. You can't help but preen under the attention.

"ten seconds down," he murmurs, planting a soft kiss to your cheek, "one more time, and you'll be done."

"okay," you breathe.

"Only one more," he repeats. Another kiss to the cheek. Finally, he pulls away.

Bracing yourself does not make it better is what you swiftly learn. It makes it worse honestly, because the pain is somehow worse than what you expected despite previously experiencing it. It's like your body is reacclimating itself to it each and every time. Your sobbing, sniffling, and chewing on your bottom lip. Seconds seem to slow into minutes, and wooyoung's soft panting is grating at your patience— you wish he'd hurry up with this last drag, so you could be done with it all.

You're so fucking close to the finish line.

The moment it happens is filmed in slow motion. Wooyoung's about to ash it one last time, seonghwa still holding the lighter to your skin. You're shaking like a wet dog, hands sweaty and arms growing weaker by the millisecond. Seonghwa instructs you to stop squirming even though it's pointless. All it takes is a practically hard jerk, and the ashtray is falling to the ground. Ash spilling over old tile. Luckily it doesn't break.

The dread is immediate and all-consuming. Clawing out of your chest, and forcing more ugly sobs out of you. The lighter clinks shut, and Seonghwa's hand is guiding your head to look at him. He groans at the sight of you, reveling in your misery, and leans closer to place a chaste kiss to your open mouth. You don't kiss him back, and the kiss is awkward. His mouth moves relentlessly against yours, tongue licking into your mouth, as you do nothing but sob and gurgle.

Seonghwa pulls away flushed, breathless and dazed, looking at you like your beauty incarnate.

Unsurprisingly, it's Wooyoung's that breaks through quiet, "you were so close. I almost feel bad."

[noralia20]

okay so first of all i read your others sinner fics and they are chef’s kiss!! Could i request a jannik x fem reader who plays tennis but not like pro level, just as a hobby, but she has problems with low iron and low blood pressure so sometimes playing can be challening. So I was thinking maybe at Wimbledon (I’m obsessed rn) they are chilling after a match and just playing around a bit but reader isnt feeling well and maybe faints?

Heart made of iron

sum up : Sometimes what makes the body weak makes the heart harden. But that doesn't mean he can't break through.

Loved the idea, I'm a low-almost-deadly-iron-girly. So I know that feeling by heart

You’d stopped competing in tennis years ago, right around the time university and adult life started demanding more from you. You never quite lost the love for the game—your racquet still rested near the front door, and on free weekends you’d hit the courts for fun or friendly matches—but the edge of competition had long since faded.

Still, it helped. Dating Jannik Sinner, a world-class tennis player who lived and breathed the sport, sometimes came with pressures that not everyone could understand. But when his coaches spoke in numbers or techniques, or when he needed to vent after a match, you got it. You spoke the same language—even if your court days were behind you.

The relationship worked. You’d been together for over three years now, and though the time zones were hell and the airport reunions bittersweet, it never wavered. He was gentle and silly and just shy enough to make every “I love you” feel like a warm secret passed between two kids at a school dance.

But lately… something was off. You’d been tired. Not your usual end-of-day exhaustion, but something heavier, like someone had siphoned all your energy out through your bones. You woke up tired. You fell asleep tired. Your hair had started thinning around your temples. You joked it was the lack of sunlight in your apartment, but deep down, you knew something was off.

A doctor’s appointment, a routine blood test. You didn’t expect much.

Then the lab called. Not your doctor—the lab. That’s when it stopped feeling like nothing.

The screen lights up just as you settle into the couch, a blanket pulled over your knees and your body heavy from another day of doing too little, yet feeling like you’d run a marathon.

Jannik FaceTime Incoming

You hesitate. Just for a second.

You forgot you’d told him about today. The appointment. The test. You hadn’t wanted to worry him—he was across the continent, somewhere warm and loud, training or preparing for a match, living the kind of schedule that didn't need a tired girlfriend clouding it.

Still, your thumb slides across the screen.

The video connects, and his face fills your phone—a little blurry at first, then clearer. Damp curls, hoodie slung over one shoulder, the hint of a hotel bed in the background. His mouth curls into a smile the moment he sees you.

“Ciao, amore,” he says softly, voice warm with affection.

You smile without thinking. “Hey.” He leans closer to the screen, inspecting your face like he always does. “You okay?” You nod quickly, then yawn. “Yeah. Just tired.” He frowns. “You look tired.” You arch a brow. “Wow. Compliment of the year.”

“No, no!” He chuckles nervously and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean—you’re always… beautiful, ovviamente. Just more…” He flaps his hands awkwardly, then sighs. “Okay, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh—because he is, and because it’s endearing. “Sleepy-beautiful?” He perks up. “Yes! That one. I was going to say that.”

“Sure you were.”

He grins sheepishly. “So. How was it?” You blink, confused, your heart beating faster, though you were doing nothing. the feeling of being caught like a child stealing cookies. “How was what?” His eyes narrow slightly. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Then it hits you—the blood test. The results. The entire reason you’d gone to the clinic today. You make a guilty face, trying to busy yourself by cleaning the apartement while still holding the phone. “A little.”

He waits, expression soft but expectant. “Tesoro…?” You stop mid cleaning of the living room. You know you can't escape this, because he will push or you will feel guilty. And feeling guilty and anemic doesn't sound like a great combo. You reach for the little paper bag on your coffee table and hold it up to the camera. “Iron supplements.” You make a small grimace, as if it would make it all softer.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Anemia?”

“Very low iron levels,” you explain. “Not enough to send me to the hospital or anything, but the lab called before my doctor could, which apparently is a big deal... according to my mom...” You sound sheepish.

Jannik goes quiet. His expression changes—not panicked, but focused. Like he’s trying to take it all in without letting the concern leak out too visibly.

“I thought it was just winter blues,” you say, trying to fill the silence. “Or too many late nights. But turns out, no. My body’s running on empty.”

He only sighed, taking it all in at once. “Dio mio…” he mutters under his breath, then meets your eyes through the screen again. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You shift the blanket higher around your shoulders. Reaching down to pick up something but deciding against it when you moved too fast. “I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“That’s not your job,” he says, softly but firmly. “You’re allowed to tell me things. Even when they’re not fun.” Your lips part to respond, but he keeps going—his voice gentle, but determined. “We’ve been together three years. You don’t have to carry it alone, you know?”

Your chest tightens. “I know. I just…” You rub your eyes. “I didn’t think it was serious.”

“Do you feel sick?” he asks. ���Like, really?”

“Honestly? Kind of. Everything’s heavy. Even holding the kettle earlier felt like lifting weights.” you look into space, remembering about you trying to make a simple task : making tea. Though your body made it seem like a workout.

He runs a hand over his face. “Okay. Alright. So what now?”

“I take the pills,” you say, lifting the bag again. “Every day, with vitamin C. More daylight, better meals. My doctor was very kind about it. She said it’s fixable.”

He nods slowly, still worried. He knew how stubborn you could be, and out of nowhere. Like a tantrum you wouln't listen to something simple but obey when it's difficult. “And you’re going to listen to her?”

“Yes, Jannik, I’m going to listen.” You roll your eyes affectionately. “Good. Because I’ve already started Googling iron-rich recipes.” You now noticed how his face was moving while he tipped on whatever research blog the diet changes. You blink. “Seriously?”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Did you know dark chocolate has iron?” He scans the screen, probably searching other benefits.

You snort. “Yes. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“Okay, but—dark chocolate and spinach? That’s like… the perfect combo.” He scrolls again. You cringe a little at the two ingredients. “Are you suggesting I eat them together?”

“No! I mean… maybe? I don’t know.” He laughs. “Google says oranges help, too. Vitamin C and all that.” He's really proud with what he's finding. “So now I’m eating spinach, oranges, and dark chocolate in the same meal. Sounds delicious.”

“You’ll be strong like Popeye,” he says, proudly. Then he pauses. “Wait, do you know Popeye?” You scoff, slightly offended but not holding it against him. “Yes, Jannik, I know who Popeye is.” He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Just checking. He’s very famous in Italy.”

You roll your eyes again, grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” he corrects. “Do you have any chocolate at home right now? You know, maybe from the last time you got your periods.” You glance at the drawer. “Probably.”

He nods. “Go get it. I prescribe one square every ten minutes.” You were already mid-step when you froze at what he was saying. “That’s not how prescriptions work.”

You could see a laugh bubble in his chest but he held it, trying (and failing) to lift a brow. “I’m Italian. We do things with more love.” You pause, then burst out laughing. The weight your bones seem to carry feels less heavier for a few seconds. After calming down a little, you manage to mutter quietly, “Thank you. For making me laugh.”

He softens, it's like for a moment his green eyes changed colors. You don't know if it was because of the lightening or out of love. “Sempre.” There’s a moment of stillness. You’re both quiet, just watching each other through your screens. Then he adds, “You know I love you, right?” You nod, throat tight. “I know.”

“I mean it,” he says. “Even on bad days. Even when you’re tired. Even when your iron’s at zero.” You bite your lip, trying not to cry. “Well if it is at 0, I'd be dead. But I love you too.”

Early july- Wimbledon

The London sun had decided to overperform that day, casting a stubborn golden glow over the Wimbledon grounds. While the crowd clustered around the courts to soak up the rare warmth, you lingered beneath the shelter of a side awning, your back leaning against the cool metal support beam. The slush of melting ice clinked softly in your plastic cup, the only sound beside the occasional pop of a ball being struck.

You tilted your drink back, catching another half-melted cube between your teeth and crunching it slowly. It was oddly soothing—a recent comfort you hadn’t expected to adopt. Chewing ice wasn’t exactly normal for you, but lately, it calmed the static in your chest, the lingering fatigue, the haze that hadn’t quite cleared since the anemia diagnosis.

The medical update a few days ago had been cautiously optimistic: your iron levels had finally started creeping up. Not great, but better. You could feel the difference. The crushing exhaustion had dulled, your limbs felt less like wet towels, and your hair had finally stopped shedding like you owned nine cats. It wasn’t over, but it wasn’t as scary anymore—and Jannik… well, he had finally stopped watching you like you might disappear if he blinked.

You could still feel his eyes on you sometimes, though—like now.

Out on the grass court in front of you, Jannik was clearly in his element, or at least pretending to be. His coppery hair stuck up in every direction, slightly flattened by his backwards cap, and his shirt clung to his back in places where sweat had soaked through after his earlier match. He was playing around now, laughing with Aryna Sabalenka while Novak Djokovic lounged nearby, calling out teasing commentary for the cameras lined up beyond the court.

It was a rare media-friendly moment after a match, a lighthearted interlude where players could be silly and charming and less like warriors. Aryna thrived in this kind of spotlight, grinning brightly, her voice carrying across the court like summer thunder. Jannik wasn’t as flashy, but today, he looked relaxed. Comfortable. A little shy, maybe, but happy.

You watched him pivot on his heel during a footwork challenge, swinging his racquet with an exaggerated motion before hopping sideways—too wide, too clumsy for his usual form.

You couldn’t help it. The words slipped out before you thought.

“I’ve seen tighter pivots at an amateur doubles match.”

It was barely above a mutter, more to your melting cup of ice than anything. But Jannik’s head jerked slightly, and his shoulders paused mid-turn. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked over his shoulder, straight at you.

“What was that?” he called, eyes narrowing with faux indignation.

You raised a brow and crunched louder on your ice cube, offering him an innocent shrug.

Aryna turned too, following Jannik’s gaze. Her grin widened. “She just roasted your footwork, Sinner.”

“Oh, she does that all the time,” Jannik replied, swinging his racquet casually over one shoulder. “She’s a retired competitor. Brutal. No respect.”

You grinned from behind your cup. “Hey, I’ve played. I know what good footwork looks like. That little scissor-hop you just did? Bambi on ice.” Aryna howled, nearly dropping the can she was about to set up on the baseline. From the sideline, Novak’s laugh boomed across the court. “Better come back from that one, mate!”

Jannik squinted at you, placing a hand on his hip and pointing his racquet directly at your lounging figure. “You’re brave, sitting over there with your cup of ice.”

“And you’re bold, thinking that was a proper recovery step,” you fired back, adjusting your sunglasses with theatrical flair.

He paused. You could see it in his face—that glint, that calculating little flicker in his eyes. He was plotting something. “You still know how to hit a target, right?” he asked, voice light. Your brows pinched. “Jannik…”

He turned fully now, his weight shifting onto one foot as he gestured to you with his racquet like a conductor signaling your solo. “Come on. If you’re going to criticize my technique, let’s see yours. Hit the can.”

You sat up straighter. “No. Nooope. Not doing this.”

“You scared?” His voice dropped playfully, low and teasing. A grin began creeping onto his face—soft, crooked, and smug. You crossed your arms. “Don’t you dare.”

“I mean, it’s okay,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “You’re a little out of practice. And with your energy still low…” He gave you a dramatic wince. “No need to prove anything.” Your mouth opened slightly. A slow, dangerous breath filled your lungs. “Excuse me?”

Jannik didn’t respond—just turned to his side and walked backward a few steps, facing you with a mock-sympathetic smile and hands spread in surrender.

Sabalenka tilted her head and looked between the two of you, visibly amused. “Oh, he absolutely is geyting you back for all this.”

“Jannik…” you said again, warningly this time.

But the truth was, your feet were already shifting. Your free hand was already tensing, nails curling slightly against your palm. Your pulse picked up—not with irritation, but with something that felt suspiciously like excitement. It had been a while since you’d felt that snap of competitiveness. That thrum in your chest.

You knew it was stupid. You weren’t fully better. You still tired easily. But God, you wanted to wipe that smug little half-smile off his freckled face. He tilted his head. “You used to be able to hit a ball with your eyes closed,” he said with a faintly nostalgic sigh. “But I get it. Iron levels, long bench rest, early retirement…”

Your eyes narrowed into slits. “Oh, sei morto.” ("you’re dead")

You pushed off the bench, your sneakers scraping against the pavement, and with a defiant crunch of the last of your ice cube, you tossed the empty cup in a nearby bin and crossed onto the court.

The moment your foot crossed the white line, Jannik lifted his chin slightly, watching you approach like a cat sizing up a rival. You moved with quiet confidence, the sun casting long streaks across the court, outlining your figure as you stepped onto the grass and stretched your arm once overhead.

You rolled your shoulders back and rotated your wrist out of habit, letting your fingers ghost along the frame of his spare racquet, which he’d left propped against the bench like bait. You picked it up, feeling the familiar weight of it settle into your palm.

It wasn’t your racquet—yours had a thicker grip and was strung a little looser—but this would do. You spun it once in your hand, gauging the balance.

Jannik was already at the opposite end, walking backward toward the baseline, that slow swagger in his step like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Alright,” you called. “If I hit the can in five shots or less, you buy me those stupid matching couple shirts.”

He paused mid-step, blinked. “The ones with the little cartoon fruit?” You grinned. “Yes. You’re the peach, I’m the strawberry. Very romantic.” He groaned, throwing his head back. “They’re hideous.”

“But they’re hideous together,” you said, settling into position near the service line. “Just like us.” He exhaled a laugh and rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying not to smile. “Fine. Five shots. But if you don’t hit it…”

“I will,” you said firmly. He raised a brow. “But if you don’t—you wear my old junior training kit for a whole day. The one that still has the huge red sponsor patch on the back.”

Your nose scrunched. “The one that smells like teenage sweat and ego?” He smiled innocently. “It builds character.”

“Deal,” you said, tossing the ball once and catching it. You walked toward the baseline and set the can yourself, placing it right on the corner of the line. It was dented already from earlier hits, slightly crushed on one side, but still standing proud. You backed up slowly, eyes on the target, calculating the angle.

Jannik stood with his arms crossed, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, like he was watching a fireworks show with a personal stake in the finale. “Take your time,” he said lightly. “I’m just worried about your stamina, you know. Don’t want you fainting mid-swing.”

You didn’t rise to the bait.

Instead, you adjusted your stance. Left foot forward. Shoulders square. You bounced the ball once, then twice. Calm. Stay calm. Tennis wasn’t just movement. It was rhythm. Precision. Control.

And mind games.

“You’re chewing the inside of your cheek,” Jannik called across the net. “You always do that when you’re concentrating. Come un piccolo criceto.” (Like a little hamster)

“Shut up,” you muttered, shaking your head but grinning. You threw the ball up. Your first hit—crack—was clean. It soared across the net and clipped just past the can, maybe a hand’s width to the right. Close.

Jannik whistled. “Oooooh. So close. Too bad close doesn’t count.”

You inhaled deeply, nodding once. Not biting. You knew his tactic. He’d try to distract you, throw your rhythm, tease you until you tensed your grip or rushed your toss. It was how he won a lot of points in smaller matches—poker-faced, slightly irritating, totally unreadable unless you knew him.

And you did. Second serve. You rolled your wrist a little more this time, adjusting your grip ever so slightly for a curve. The shot went wide. Not awful—but not good. “Two down,” Jannik sing-songed. “Pensa alle camicie…” (“Think about the shirts…”)

You didn’t look at him. You bounced the ball once, twice, paused, and stared down the can like it had personally offended you.

You threw the ball up, swung—

Third shot. This one hit the net. Too low.

Jannik clicked his tongue, mock-concerned. “Is it the sun? The ice withdrawal? I can get you a new cup if that helps.” You glared at him, lips twitching at the corners. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You’re cute when you’re losing,” he replied, barely able to keep the smile off his face.

Fourth shot.

You threw it a little higher this time. Let the arc give you time. You planted your feet and twisted your hips into the swing.

The sound echoed just a little louder. Ping.

The ball hit the can dead center, sending it skidding sideways and tumbling to the ground in a little metallic spin.

Silence. A single beat of stillness. Then—

You lifted your arms in a mock victory pose. “BOOM!” Jannik let out an exaggerated groan, his head dropping into his hands. “No. Noooo. Not the fruit shirts. Anything but the fruit shirts.”

“You agreed,” you said, striding forward with the confidence of a Wimbledon champion. “I expect them printed and wrapped by the finals.”

Aryna’s voice rang out from the other court. “She hit it?! I missed it!”

“Dead center,” Novak said, shielding his eyes to look over. “It was surgical.” Jannik dropped his racquet dramatically on the ground and collapsed onto the grass, arms spread like he’d been mortally wounded. “I’ll never recover from this.”

You stood over him, nudging his leg with your foot. “Come on, sore loser. I want the strawberry shirt to say ‘serving looks.’”

He squinted up at you through one eye. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” you said, crouching beside him, “you’re in love with me.” He groaned again, softer this time, but there was that smile—the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and tugged unevenly at his mouth. The smile that betrayed how proud he was. How impressed. How utterly smitten.

And then he reached up and tapped your nose. “Alright,” he whispered, “You win.”

Just as Jannik rolled onto his side, still sprawled on the grass in defeat, you leaned down, elbows resting on your knees, and said softly, “Hey. Play one set with me?”

He blinked up at you, brows furrowing slightly. “Now?”

“Just a short one,” you said quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Like a warm-up. Nothing crazy. You don’t even have to go full power.”

He searched your face for a moment. You knew he was checking—scanning you the way he always did lately. Since the diagnosis, since the low iron, since all the scary unknowns, he’d become hypersensitive. But now, you smiled, light and coaxing.

His expression softened. “You’re sure?”

“Promise,” you said, already turning to grab a few balls and toss them into the air with a flick of your wrist. He rose to his feet with a sigh, brushing off grass from his shirt and shaking his head. “You’re lucky I like you.”

From the adjacent court, Aryna called out, “I’ll be your referee! But only if I get to mock both of you equally.”

“Deal,” you and Jannik said in unison.

You both moved into position. The rhythm came back quickly—your grip tightening naturally around the racquet, your body falling into the familiar choreography of serve and return. The first few minutes were light, easy. You danced across the court, laughing as Jannik hit a wide slice that made you scramble to the far corner.

“Oh, come on,” you panted. “You said warm-up!” He grinned, bouncing slightly on his toes. “This is warm-up.”

“Not for someone with half a liter less blood in her system,” you muttered, but you were smiling, and he caught it. You hit a clean forehand, placing it just along the baseline with a drop in your wrist—his signature move. He stopped mid-step. “Did you just copy my technique?”

“Maybe,” you said, innocently. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, then turned to Aryna. “That was clearly out, right?”

“It was in,” she sang. “By a whisker. And also way cleaner than your version.”

The three of you burst into laughter, the kind that echoed across the court and made a few heads turn. Jannik ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, mock-offended, and you wiped your brow with the sleeve of your shirt, heart racing from the volley.

You didn’t notice right away, but your breath started hitching in a different way. Not from fun. From fatigue.

The sun pressed harder on your back, like it had grown more intense in just seconds. Your vision blurred slightly at the edges, as if someone had turned down the contrast. But you pushed through it. Just a little longer.

You rallied another point—quick footwork, hard return. The court blurred slightly underfoot, but the ball was still visible, still spinning in the air like a magnet for your focus. You chased it down, feet pounding the grass, muscles working on instinct.

The laughter faded. You became quiet.

Jannik noticed first. His shoulders lowered, gaze narrowing. “You okay?” You nodded quickly, even managed a breathless “Yeah.” He served again. You met him with a solid backhand. It clipped the line.

Aryna whistled. “This is getting tense. Should I actually keep score?”

But you barely heard her. Your brain had tunneled into one single channel—keep playing. You weren’t even registering the heat anymore. Or the slight sway in your stance after long runs. Or the way your breath had stopped catching up between points. Your skin prickled as if the heat had crawled under it.

You shook it off.

Another serve. Another point. Jannik slid low to return it with a grin—he was enjoying the competition now, pushing just a little harder, confident you could handle it.

You didn’t even swing.

The ball flew past you.

You stood still, eyes locked on it as it bounced once, twice, and rolled into the back net.

Jannik froze. “Amore ?”

You turned your head slowly to look at him. There was something strange about the light. It was brighter than it had been seconds ago. Or maybe everything else had dimmed. You opened your mouth to say something. Your legs felt wrong. Trembly. Like standing on stilts made of wet paper.

The ground swayed beneath you.

You looked up at the sky—blue, blinding. Then a hot wave rolled over your chest like someone had cracked an oven door in front of you. Your heart skipped. Your fingers twitched.

Then everything tilted. Jannik’s expression shifted in an instant—from confused to terrified. “Wait—hey!”

But your knees were already giving out. You dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, your racquet slipping from your hand as your legs buckled under you. Your head hit the grass with a thump, not loud, but final.

Gasps erupted from the sideline. “No—NO!” Jannik’s voice cracked as he sprinted forward, the sound of his shoes ripping through the grass sharp and panicked.

You didn’t hear it.

All you felt was heat, then nothing.

Jannik barely registered the moment your body hit the ground.

It was the way your knees buckled—like the tendons simply let go—and the way your racquet fell from your hand without resistance that made his stomach lurch. One second you were upright, flushed with motion and sunlight, and the next… gone. Collapsed into the grass like a puppet with its strings abruptly severed.

He sprinted toward you, his shoes skidding slightly on the soft Wimbledon turf as he dropped to his knees beside your unmoving body.

“Amore,” he gasped, voice jagged. He reached for you with trembling hands, palms hovering before finally pressing to your cheeks. Your skin was clammy, and far too warm. “Tesoro, hey—hey, look at me.”

You didn’t move.

A heavy silence rang in his ears despite the sudden stir of voices around them. Someone in the crowd gasped. Aryna’s footsteps approached fast behind him. Somewhere to the left, Djokovic’s voice called out sharply, but Jannik couldn’t understand the words—everything had blurred into static.

He tilted your chin toward him gently, brushing your hair back from your face. The tiny crease between your brows broke his heart.

“Guardami,” ("look at me") he whispered, more broken this time. “Please.”

Aryna dropped to the ground on the other side of you, her hand going to your wrist as she checked your pulse. “She just dropped. Her legs—she didn’t brace the fall. I think she hit her head.”

Jannik sucked in a breath like it hurt. “She was fine five minutes ago. We were just—she was teasing me, she was laughing—”

“You don’t always see it coming,” Aryna said, calm but serious. “Exhaustion creeps up. The heat’s brutal today.” You made a faint sound then. Not quite a word, more like a groan pushed from somewhere deep. Your eyes fluttered open.

Jannik’s chest squeezed painfully. “There you are,” he breathed.

Your eyes opened.

The light hurt a bit. It filtered through the tent roof, soft but too white. You blinked. Slowly. Everything was blurry at first, like you were underwater. Shapes formed. A person leaned close. A hand—warm and familiar—curled around yours.

Jannik.

His eyes were so wide. Wider than usual. A little bloodshot. His curls clung to his forehead, damp with sweat.

You blinked again. His lips moved, but you didn’t quite hear him the first time.

“Jannik…?” The word was featherlight. You sounded confused. Small.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” he said quickly, cradling your head in one palm, his other hand squeezing yours. "Stai bene, amore. Stai fermo. Non muoverti, okay?" (“You’re okay, amore. Just stay still. Don’t move, okay?”)

Your breath hitched. You looked around, your gaze flicking over Aryna, over the court’s edge, the crowd, then back to him. “I’m… I’m fine,” you whispered, as if to convince yourself. “No,” Jannik said, firm but tender. “You fainted. Hard. Don’t try to sit up.”

“But I—” You made a weak attempt to lift your arm, but it shook, useless. “You’re burning up,” Aryna murmured again, pressing the back of her hand to your jaw. You turned your head slightly. “Just felt hot. That’s all.”

“Hot is what you say before you pass out on grass courts in front of everyone,” Jannik said, his voice straining to stay calm. You tried to smile at him—half-hearted, apologetic. “Didn’t want to stop playing…” He stared at you, heart crumpling. “That’s the problem with you,” he whispered. “You don’t stop.”

A bottle of water was passed down from Novak, who knelt beside Aryna. “Ambulance is coming,” he said quickly. “Medical’s been alerted. They’ll check her vitals.”

Jannik helped tip the bottle to your lips as you took a shaky sip. You winced and turned your head, clearly dizzy. The effort alone seemed to sap you. He gently patted your cheek with a damp towel Novak handed over, wiping away sweat.

“She needs fluids,” one of the medical staff said moments later, already crouched beside Jannik. “And full cooling. We’ll set her in the shade, get her on a stretcher just in case. Probably heat exhaustion, compounded by low hemoglobin. The fainting is a red flag.”

Jannik’s voice was immediate. “She’s been dealing with severe anemia. Diagnosed months ago. She’s been recovering, slowly, but she’s still low. The doctor said it’s not critical—but…”

“But this can happen,” the medic confirmed, already working efficiently. “She likely didn’t notice the signs because she was pushing through them.”

“She does that,” Jannik muttered, eyes still glued to your face.

The medical staff started organizing transport to the tent, gently shifting you onto a stretcher. Jannik was at your side the entire time, gripping your hand tightly, brushing your forehead with the back of his fingers.

Once under the large parasol in the shaded tent beside the court, they laid you down with a thin sheet across your legs. The light filtered softly through the canopy above, dull and yellowish. You blinked slowly against it.

Jannik sat beside the cot, elbows on his knees, watching you breathe like it was the only thing holding him together. You were pale. So pale. You stirred faintly, your lashes fluttering again. Your view came back in slow, blurred fragments: the soft flapping of the tent’s canvas in the wind. The dull throb in the back of your skull. A warm pressure on your fingers.

You turned your head slightly—and there he was.

Jannik, hair messy, curls stuck to his temple, his t-shirt damp with sweat. His eyes were locked on you with unspoken panic. His grip on your hand tightened the moment he saw you move. "Mi hai spaventato oggi," (“You scared me today,”) he said, softly.

You tried to swallow. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he murmured. You blinked again. “Do I still get the fruit shirts?”

It took him a second to react. Then he let out a sharp, choked laugh—half-relieved, half-wrecked—and dropped his forehead to your hand.

“Yeah,” he whispered, lifting it to his lips. “You get the stupid shirts.”

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, even as your eyes fluttered closed again. He kept holding your hand, rubbing soft circles into your wrist, grounding you with touch, with presence.

There were still checkups to come. Monitoring. Maybe more tests. But for now, you were safe, and he was there. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

dividers : @strangergraphics

[arachnidseyes]

「💤」

“If I was stuck in a time loop and I told you about it, would you believe me?”

Damian sighs, his eyes still closed as he mumbles lowly,

“Go to sleep, Beloved.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow next to him, bringing the sheets up as well.

“Don't act like that's such a ridiculous thing that could never happen. Everyone on earth got turned into a gorilla last week!”

Damian scratches at the faintest bit of stubble on his jaw, settling deeper into the pillow under him.

“Only for a few minutes.”

He creaks an eye open just to see your unwavering stare. He sighs again and turns on his side to face you.

“Yes, Habibti. I would believe you.”

“and you would-”

“Yes, I would find a way to get you out of the time loop. Qalbi, please go to sleep.”

He reaches out to bring you closer and you let him. You shuffle forward until you're snug in his embrace. His arm is around your waist, the weight is calming.

He closes his eyes, feeling every breath from your nose brush his face. He can tell your eyes are still open, but he knows you just like staring at him sometimes so maybe you'll eventually get tired and fall-

“What if I was cursed to only speak in riddles?”

Damian sighs, he leans closer to rub his forehead against yours.

“I'm good at riddles.”

“What if I made a bad deal with an imp and had to give him my first born child?”

“Why would you-”

He cuts himself off with a huff, rolling onto his back and rubbing a hand down his face. He loves you but god, you test him sometimes.

“I am not giving my child to an imp.”

“Well, I didn't say it would be your child.“

He gives you a look and you huff a laugh. You nudge closer to give his cheek a little kiss, resting your head on his shoulder as he brings the blanket up higher over your bodies.

It's quiet, so quiet. Your breaths are slow and even. Damian feels your weight on him and it's a comfort he can't explain. His eyes flutter closed.

What you say next is so quiet Damian barely hears it.

“What if you die again. How do I know if you'll come back or not.”

He's not sure you even meant for him to hear it. After a long silence he whispers back,

“I'll always come back to you. Don't doubt me.”

With that heavy promise settling in the air you both finally sink into sleep.

「💤」

[arc-misadventures]

A Snipers Choice in Fashion

May: C-Coco... do you have a moment?

Coco: Hmm...? Oh, hey May-May! No that doesn't work... What do you need May?

May: Uhh... I need your help with something... fashion related.

Coco: Oh-hohoho~! Trying to come up with something spicy to entrap our loveable white knight~?

May: W-What?! How did you know?!

Coco: Jaune may not notice when you're giving him doe eyes, but I do~!

May: That's probably because I'm looking at Jaune not the rest of you... Wait... does that mean everyone knows I like Jaune?

Velvet: Yes.

Yang: Everyone does.

Blake: It's cute, but seriously just date already!

May: But...

Pyrrha: Just fuck already!

May: Eep!

Coco: And, as you can see... everyone knows you have a crush on Jaune. So please do something, we're all tired of you dancing around each other.

May: Well... how would you all feel if Jaune did l-l-like me...?

Coco: ...

Coco: Excuse me...?

May: And, I need your help to... seduce him?

CVYBP: ...

Coco: May. Sit.

May: W-What?

Pyrrha: Sit.

May: O-Okay

Blake: Now May, we need details... a lot of details to know what we're working with.

Velvet: Especially the juicy bits~!

May: Uhh...?!

Yang: Well... start talking~!

May: O-Okay... Well... Jaune, and I have been childhood friends for years...

Pyrrha: Childhood friends?!

Yang: And, they're still not dating?!

May: And, well... we chat a lot online, and we even hang out at each others places a lot, mostly in each others rooms...

Blake: Have you done the deed there?!

Velvet: You idiot. If they did the deed they would already be dating! Jaune's not that kind of man.

Blake: Sorry...

May: W-Well... We sometimes send photos to each other... Hobbies, interests, cute pet pictures...

Blake: Are you the pet~?

(Smack!)

Yang: Behave!

May: And, well... I sent him a photo of when I went to an airsoft tournament. Just a little photo of me being cutesy...

Pyrrha: She's cute as is, how does she define being cutesy?

Velvet: I need photos of May's 'cutesy...'

May: And, well... I went to his house, and went to his room to chat, and hang out, and well... he left for a moment I bumped the mouse on his computer, and I saw his screensaver. And, well... his screensaver was the photo of me at the airsoft tournament...

CVYBP: AHHH~!

Velvet: He does like you~!

Pyrrha: He totally has a crush on you!

Yang: I thought he was just dense, but apparently he's just shy.

Blake: Gods I wish I had my notebook with me... This has the making of a great story!

Coco: So... May...

May: Y-Yes!

Coco: So, you need fashion advice from me... Something cutesy that you can entice Jaune with from your next air soft tournament?

May: Yeah... I thought I could take another photo, or showoff the cute outfit to him one of the days he's at my place...

Coco: Smart girl. Okay, show me the photo that caused this all, I need to know what I'm working with.

May: O-Okay... Here's the photo...

Coco: Okay... let's see...

May:

CVYBP: ...

May: W-What do you think?

Coco: What do I think...? You ask me what do I think? I think you look...

May: Eep!

Coco: Adorable!

May: W-What...?

Yang: That's such a cute pose!

Pyrrha: You mostly see her eyes, but they're so pretty~!

Velvet: I need to do a photo shoot with her!

Coco: Okay, I now know what I'm working with... and honestly I can't believe I'm asking this... But, Yang, I'm going to need you to call for your sister.

Yang: Ruby? Why?

Coco: Ruby knows more about military apparel than I do. So, I'll need her advice on what works functionally, rather than just stylistically.

Yang: Whoa... Coco asking Ruby of all people for fashion advice... The world is full of wonders...

Coco: Well girls, let's get going... it's time to get our girl her man! But, before we begin, can I ask you one thing May?

May: S-Sure... what is it.

Coco: What are your thoughts on wearing just a helmet, and a camo bikini?

May: W-W-W-WHAT?!

Coco: That's a maybe, we'll put it on the back burner okay. Alright girls, let's begin~!

~~~

Jaune: Hmm...

Ren: Something wrong Jaune?

Jaune: I have felt a wave of foreboding, and unease wash over me...

Neptune: The girls are probably planning on something involving you, and May.

Sun: I'd bet money on that.

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Whelp... I'm screwed...

RNS: Yep.

[jacks-muses]

"They don't hurt... I mean anymore than normal" he says "I'm just tired need to sit down... probably eat something" he says frowning a little bit.

"I want to feel well enough to take the class at least"

Open RP!

Bucky's sitting against the wall in his living room taking a shaky breath, he wipes his eyes quickly trying to stop himself from crying, he clenches his hands leaning forward.

[revelboo]

Hello, may we please have a continuation of the tfp Wheeljack story? I simply must know how this story goes. I yearn for the warm embrace of this noble knight and his tendency to explode things (but not me).

Also, is there still the Tumblr bug where asks aren't anonymous for you? I guess I actually don't mind if you know the depths of my (sfw) desire to be held lovingly by giant alien robots, but I'm just curious. I think I send an ask like once every couple of weeks, and I hope it doesn't look like I'm badgering you for fluffy Wheeljack and Fort Max content

-an anxious mage with a furby profile picture

They’re anonymous! For a bit it was just attributing random PFPs to the anonymous asks apparently. It’s one of those weird Tumblr quirks, like the character limits in posts that vary between different users or broken asks I can’t answer while the inbox can just accumulate for infinity

Crooked Ways Pt 6

TFP Wheeljack x Reader

• Slowly coming online, he’s disoriented for a klik. Feels you shift against him and he realizes he’s still lying there with his head in your lap, but you’re bent forward over him. Sound asleep. Venting, he awkwardly reaches to push you up with a hand as you make a sleepy noise. Grimacing at all the kinks from how he’d been recharging, he eases you down and stretches out on his back beside you. And glances at your face, studying you. Because right now, you’re not angry or afraid. You look peaceful and that’s a rare thing.

• Reaching up, he runs a big hand over his face, painfully aware of all the mistakes he’s made. That he keeps making with you. Not cut out for this, for gentle and soft. Rolling onto his side, he reaches to brush your hair away from your temple and he freezes when your eyes open, that familiar wariness in your stare leaving him suddenly exhausted. Doesn’t want to fight with you. Watches your eyes dart to his servos then his face.

• Know you should scoot away from him, get some space between you both even though he’s an arm’s length away as he slowly draws his hand back. And you’re just staring at each other, his optics tired. Maybe sick of fighting just like you are. “You hate me, don’t you?” He asks, deep voice rumbling and your mouth opens, ready to blurt yes, but you stop yourself. Because you know how that ends. Just because he’s being nice now, doesn’t mean it’ll last. And smarting off always passes him off, but you can’t seem to help yourself.

• “If you were me, wouldn’t you?” You ask slowly, tone guarded. Lips twitching into a rueful, crooked smile, it hurts, but he deserves that. Knows it. Screwed this up so badly and now he’s not sure how to move forward or if he even can. Maybe there’s no fixing this and all he can do is watch it burn down around him. It’s what he’s best at, his collateral damage taking out everything and everyone around him. Living up to the Wrecker name.

• “Why did you help me if you hate me?” He asks, reaching out and laying the back of his hand between you both, palm up. “Why bother?” He persists as your eyes narrow. What does he want? For you to forgive him? Say you like him now? That he’s not that bad and reach out to hold his hand? ‘Because I’m not like you,’ you mutter sullenly thinking he’ll pull his hand away, curl his servos into a fist. Instead, that crooked, little smile grows. Somehow that affectionate smile, like you’re flirting with him is quite than his anger. Don’t know what to do with it, so you roll so your back is to him.

Previous

[w0rm3y]

HOA Horrors- R. Sukuna

overview Sukuna has beef with the Homeowners' Association in his neighborhood, and, unfortunately, isn't allowed to handle it in the way he'd like. a/n hi hi! this is lit just fluff and humor, but in a Sukuna kind of way. loosely edited, prob typos, sry, but i'm super tired rn wc 2k sparkle divider- anitalenia

The average homeowners association was able to strip the joy out of suburban living for most people; ancient, powerful deities like Sukuna were included.

All the petulant fines over the smallest changes you’ve made to your own house, on your own property, that you bought with your own money, just felt a little ridiculous. And it didn’t matter how many times that old hag reprimanded you for breaking the HOA code of conduct, you would always find it stupid. 

Usually, she’d win the argument because the everyday human didn’t feel like wasting time on trivial matters. However, this HOA president’s wife, the old hag who was currently reprimanding your husband for breaking the code yet again, wasn’t just dealing with an average human. 

Little did she know, she was reprimanding the King of Curses. Granted, it had been a long while since that name instilled the fear in someone like it used to, but that didn’t change who Sukuna was. No, of course not, it only meant that he’d… mellowed out as the years went by, and since taking you as a wife, maybe he’s voluntarily passed on a few town slaughterings for the sake of spending time with you. 

He found that if he surrounded himself with you, rather than screams of agony and the stench of blood, the world seemed a bit more pleasant. Pained shrieks had turned into a gentle melody that you’d hum in the morning, and that familiar stench of blood started to smell a lot like the flowers you obsessed over. 

He learned to enjoy the simplicity that came with being your husband, even if you overthink your gardening sometimes and force him to participate in the flower placement. While Sukuna didn’t truly care about flowers, he cared deeply for you and surrounded himself with your interests for your sake. Therefore, he had a green thumb by proxy.

“I think I’m tired of seeing these sunflowers,” you mumbled one night as you both sat on your back porch. 

And suddenly, Sukuna had a newfound dislike for sunflowers.

“I think I want to redo the flowers that line the stepping stones. What if… what if we did daylillies?” you suggested, turning to give him your usual wide-eyed stare, the one you’d always have when you asked for his input. 

“I believe they’re toxic to felines,” Sukuna added oh so subtly, gently reminding you of the neighborhood stray cats that he’d secretly feed in the backyard, which was yet another HOA violation. 

“You’re right. What about dahlias, then?”

“I like dahlias.”

Did Sukuna really like dahlias? He wasn’t entirely sure because he couldn’t recall what they looked like, but if you liked them, he liked them.

And that’s why he was awake pretty early on this fine Saturday morning, toting around with him a gardening hose that he was using to messily water the new flowers you’d planted last night. Apparently, they required a substantial amount of water, but well-drained soil, and a sunny spot that was also sheltered.  

Sukuna didn’t understand what that meant, but you did, and that’s all that mattered to him when you told him to go water the dahlias this morning while you started on breakfast for you both. 

He didn’t ask questions anymore, he just did what he was told–you knew best. 

Always. 

And if you said the backyard stepping stones looked better lined with dahlias, then that was true. There was absolutely no one who could change Sukuna’s mind, not even the HOA president’s wife, who had stumbled into your backyard gated garden.

The sight of her stalking up to your massive husband was a little funny, so you took a brief moment to watch them through the kitchen window, readying yourself to intervene as soon as Sukuna looked as though he might slice the woman in half. He had been really good so far with not using his abilities to murder humans, but you knew that this HOA lady was definitely pushing his buttons. If there was anyone who could do that without any repercussions, it was you.

 This wasn’t the first run in you or Sukuna had had with her, and it definitely won’t be the last. However, this would probably be the only time she’d ever step foot onto your property ever again without permission. Sukuna would make sure of it.

She leered at Sukuna like he was the devil incarnate, eyeing his choice of clothing, which was a black tank top and some sweat pants because he just rolled out of bed for this and wasn’t even half awake. 

Unbeknownst to the ranting woman–Terri, was her name–this was a terrible time to irritate the King of Curses, for he was grumpy on a good day, and a homicidal maniac if he was even the slightest bit tired. 

While he continued to spray the new flowers down with water, he looked at her, waiting for her to begin with the usual reprimand. 

“According to rule 6583:4-19-11, flowers must remain muted in color so as to match the other flowerbeds around the area.” 

“Is that so?” he hummed absent-mindedly. In reality, Sukuna was only thinking of crawling back into the warm bed he’d just come from after dragging you in with him. “Color is subjective.”

“Subjective?” she spat exasperatedly, motioning to all the dripping flowers at Sukuna’s feet. “There’s nothing subjectively muted about this color at all. It’s hot pink!”

“How odd. They seem rather pastel to me-”

“Don’t be smart with me, boy.”

Sukuna stiffened, big hands easing off the water hose to give this woman his utmost attention.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to? Addressing me as a boy?”

“You look to be my son’s age.”

Sukuna could feel all the bottled up rage he kept stored so tightly begin to shake on the metaphorical shelf. 

“I’d eat your son.” It was now Terri’s turn to stiffen, but her frozen figure was out of confused fear. “I could take him in my hands, tear him in two, and eat him. Now get off my property before I give you a demonstration-”

“Sukuna?” you called out, stepping onto the back porch after having sensed the rising tension in the back yard. 

But your voice didn’t hold comfort, nor was it meant to gently coax him back from doing something he shouldn’t–no, it was a warning. A warning not to do what he was thinking about doing, lest he wished to reap the consequences you’d no doubt torture him with. 

With that in mind, he suppressed his anger to the best of his ability and said, “Get off my property. Now. Dealing with you this early is torture-”

“The HOA code-”

“Take that code and shove it up your ass-”

Terri gasped, “How dare you speak to me that way-”

With a blighted groan, Sukuna raised the garden hose in his hands and unleashed the jet stream of water on the old woman. She screamed, of course, and definitely woke up the entire neighborhood in the process. Only when she was sufficiently soaked did Sukuna relent and begin to water the dahlias again. 

Wiping the water droplets from her face, Terri sputtered, “Big mistake, boy! You do know what I am?”

“A drowned hag?” he offered, voice bored and monotone once again–watching her nearly drown had quelled his need for violence just enough to not boil over. 

She let out an irritated shriek. “Oh, I will be back, and I’ll bring my husband, who happens to be the president of the HOA.”

“Mhm. You do that.”

Terri stormed off, leaving Sukuna to finish the task you’d assigned to him in peace. Afterwards, when he entered the house, his breakfast was presented to him on the kitchen table as you plated your own meal. 

“You’re not going to kill her, are you?” you asked, taking your seat next to your husband. 

“Not yet, but if she sets foot in our backyard again, I might. I swear, moving here was the biggest mistake. I didn’t think anyone could care about the color palette of the neighborhood flowerbeds. Aren’t there more pressing matters she should busy herself with? Like finding heavy-duty retinol to take care of those wrinkles? You’d think she was as old as me with skin like that.”

You giggled, “Ooo, she really has you pissed off today, doesn’t she?”

“She’s upset about the dahlias. They’re too pink.”

“Oh? If that’s all, I can find some in a different color-”

“No. You wanted pink, so they’ll stay pink.”

And with a small smile and a peck to his cheek, you dropped the subject before you ruined his mood for the entire day. But that was the end of the dispute. After returning from the store with Sukuna, you found a note that had been taped to your front door. 

Sukuna ripped it off with a grunt, reading it over before chuckling. “It’s another fine. According to her, my clothing, the garden flag, and, of course, the flower beds break the fucking code of conduct.” The paper disintegrated within seconds after he finished reading it. “How many fines have we paid since moving here?”

You shrugged and fit the key into the lock. “A lot. Maybe they’re just after our money.”

“Pathetic fools. We have more than enough money–more than they could ever comprehend.” Upon stepping inside, Sukuna took your many grocery bags to the kitchen while he pondered something to get that hag to leave you alone. Maybe he should pay back the fines in the smallest form of currency–that’s sure to get a rise out of the old woman, maybe even give her a heart attack and kill her in the process. 

The next morning, when Sukuna stepped out onto the porch to water the dahlias again, he realized he’d need to do more than pay them back with a prank. For these idiots had trampled your dahlias in the night–a clear sign that they were prepared to fight. 

Sukuna clenched his fists at his sides as he stormed back into the house, pausing in the archway of the kitchen. He cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“Woman,” he began, trying to steady his breathing as you turned to face him. “It appears this association of moronic humans has taken it upon themselves to initiate war. I will be back in less than an hour.”

You blinked at him, already imagining how this would pan out. You knew it would end with you both having to ditch your life here and escape to somewhere new, which you weren’t entirely upset about. With that in mind, you gave him a small smile, huffing out, “Okay, ‘Kuna. Be safe.”

ty, ty, ty for reading <333 also, i wanna quickly mention that if you see this posted somewhere else (inkitt & wattpad), but with Hades and Persephone as the characters, don't be alarmed. it's mine. i originally wrote it for Hades and Persephone, but i feel like it fits the vibe of Sukuna and his wife, so i made a few changes, and here we are :)

[allsnellthatendsnell]

Proof of Life - Part One

Spencer Reid x GN Reader!

@reidsrightsock - I hope you like it!

A/N:I am so sorry this got away from me. It was meant to be a cute texting fic, i swear! I think there will be a part two about Reid's call to hotch/the brunch thing.

Summary: You and Spencer text while he is away on a case. About 2.5k words.

It’d been four days since Spencer had left, and you’d only heard from him twice. Once to let you know he had made it safe, and once on the first morning where he had sent you an article about the lifecycles of freshwater fish in a particular town in the south. He worked away a lot and you missed him of course but Spencer being Spencer had sat down with you to talk about what he could do to make sure you were okay when he left. So, as per your conversation with him you sent him a quick text as you got ready that morning. 

You: Proof of life? 

Spencer: As you wish. 

You grinned down at your phone, waiting for the picture that you know he will send through. It came, and you saved it quickly before actually taking a minute to look over it. Spencer was leaning towards the camera, his hair a mess. He was looking into the camera, not quite smiling but his lips were turned up a little at the corner. He was in a t-shirt, a rarity for him. It made sense. It was supposed to be hot where he was. There was not a lot of light, so a bit of his face was shadowed but he looked as handsome as ever. You wanted to kiss him stupid. 

You: Good Boy.

You couldn’t help but tease him. It was too easy. Plus he got all subby and beggy when you did. 

Him: Not ‘Pretty Boy’?

Except over text. He was bolder over text. 

You: Oh that too. 

Him: Tease. Now you. 

You took a quick selfie in the mirror before you finished up your hair, poking your tongue out at the camera and sent it. You were just in your work clothes, which you didn’t find all that attractive but you knew Spencer did. 

Him: <3 Pretty Baby.

You: We match!

Him: We do. 

~~~~

The following night he sent you a picture unprompted. It was him in a car, taking a photo of his jaw and hair, a little curl brushing his cheek. You wanted to bite him. He was too gorgeous. 

You: OMG *heart eyes emoji*

Him: the humidity is curling it again. Morgan has been making fun of it all day. I'm cutting it off. 

You: Nooo, it’s cute! You know I love your hair! 

Him: A witness told me I looked like a pipe cleaner with eyes. 

You: NO! You know you are stunning. I have told you this, and I know you have a good memory.

Him: I need a trim anyway. Morgan called me Shirley Temple in front of a suspect. 

You: . . . 

You: I am begging you not to cut it off

Him: Beg harder

You: You okay? You sound a little mad

Him: Just tired. It’s been a long few days. I want to come home. I miss you.

You: Oh my love. You’ll be home soon.

Him: I snapped at Morgan today

You: Yeah?

Him: I told him at least I have hair.

You: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 

It was quiet for a minute before your phone rang, surprising you. It was a video call. You answered, and when you answered it wasn’t Spencer’s face that filled your screen, but Morgan's. You grinned at the offended look on his face as he exclaimed “Y/N!!” 

“Morgan! What are you doing with Spencer’s phone?” you asked, seeing your boyfriend's hands on the side of the image as he tried to pry the phone from Derek’s hands. You could hear his muffled protests in the background 

“Pretty boy was giggling and looking at me. I had to know what he was saying about me.” he defended

“I don’t giggle!” you hear in the back ground

You just laughed at Morgan, unrepentant “Serves you right.” you scolded “You’ve been bullying my baby.” 

He rolls his eyes at you “Relax future Reid, it’s just teasing.”

Spencer manages to rip the phone from Morgan’s hands as you say “Relax Morgan, it’s just teasing.” You hear a ‘humph’ from Morgan as Spencer books it down the hall with the phone to his room. 

You giggle as you watch, waiting for him to be sequestered away. 

“Feeling better?” you ask him, as he closes the door to his hotel room behind him and turns to look at you oh the camera

“I always feel better talking to you.” he says honestly and you grin

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

You talk for an hour, until his eyes are fluttering shut while you’re talking to him and you wish him a goodnight and end the call, crawling into bed yourself. 

The next morning you get

Him: Are you really begging me not to cut my hair?

You: I don’t want you to cut it because Morgan is teasing you. I like your hair. 

Him: I know you like pulling on it. 

You: Touche, sweet boy. 

You: But if you want to cut it, I won’t complain. 

Him: Much

You: Exactly! 

You: Why? Are you thinking of cutting it? 

Him: Just a trim. It is getting pretty long. JJ mentioned she would take me to a place she knows near here if I wanted.

You: If you want, my love. I just demand a photo. 

Him: Can I get one back?

You: Of course!

An hour later you get your demand. Spencer is leaning back in a chair on the jet, his hair still a mess as it always is. He is wearing a black shirt and dark blue tie, and leaning back to show you the new hair with an arm under his head. It’s not that much shorter, you note.Just more out of his eyes. A little like the grown out boyband look. You love it. 

You: That is not fair, you know I love your arms. I wanna lick you. 

Him: I thought it might soften the blow. 

You: Nothing to soften, handsome. You look so good. I might have a heart attack. 

You: Wait?! Are you on the jet?! Are you coming home?!?!!?!

Him: I left some length there. So you can pull it. We are due back this afternoon.

You: and pull it I will! 

Him: Dinner tonight? 

You: Sure! Where?

Him: No, you, for dinner tonight. Pulling my hair. 

You: Spencer!

Him: Is that a no?

You: . . .  no it is not. 

Him: See you soon, Gorgeous.

Him: You still owe me a photo. 

He was right. So you got up off the couch, changed your outfit real quick, and snapped a selfie in the bathroom mirror. You bit your lip seductively in the photo. You were wearing just an old shirt which was long enough to just cover everything. It left your thighs on display though, which you knew would drive him nuts. You smirked as you sent the photo. You couldn’t wait. 

Later that night he’s curled into your chest with his hair tickling your chin. You’re both sated and sleepy but fighting it. You, so you can play with his hair, fingers combing through, scratching at his scalp in time with the hand you have rubbing his back. Him, so he can thread your fingers together and play with them, press his lips to your jaw occasionally. It's intimate and comfortable. Neither of you are clothed. Your naked skin pressed against each other as if you can’t get enough. You can’t. You never can. 

“Thank you for messaging when you needed to.” he murmurs and you kiss his forehead. You love how cuddly and pliant he gets with you when you do, and he squeezes your hand in return, turning his face to meet your lips for a slow, languid kiss. 

“Of course. Thanks for talking about it with me when we first got together.” 

“Morgan called you ‘Future Reid.'” he said. It wasn’t a question but you knew what he meant

“He did.” 

“You didn’t react,” he said. You understood. He knew you well, but mind reading was not one of his talents. He needed to know where your head was at. 

“Mm, didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction.” you told him, seriously, scratching at his lower back. He arched up to you and his mouth fell open as he groaned happily. You grinned “But I liked it.” you added. 

He pushed up for a frankly filthy kiss. He took his hand from yours and rubbed it down your side, digging his fingers into your hip as he asked “Would you like that?”

You arched into his hand this time but pulled his hair gently making him moan “Yeah. I would.” you said simply and he turned, slotting one leg between your thigh as he pushed himself to be on top of you. His hips started moving against yours in slow circles “Would you?” you asked. 

He nodded, peppering kisses all over your face, one hand moving to your chest to explore. He moved it down to your tummy because he knew you liked it when he grabbed you “Marry me?” he asked and pressed a pleading kiss into your lips. 

You gasped, pulling back and looking him in the eyes “Are you proposing right now?” you asked, hands going to his hips to still them. He sucked on a spot on your neck though and instead of stilling his lazy thrusts you pulled him into you. You both moaned loudly.

“Yes.” he said “Please?”. It came out more like a whine and you wanted to ruin him. He could not get all beggy and expect you to not. 

You pulled on his hair and his head came up from where it was leaving what you thought might be a truly impressive hickey on your neck “Ask me again when you’re not-” he rolled his hips again and you moaned “Horny.” you said. You knew he meant it. He wasn’t the impulsive type but you still wanted him to ask you when his hips weren’t rocking into yours and his hands were caressing you with love and sin both. 

“I will.” he said. It sounded more like begging “I’ll get you a ring, and” he moaned this time as you started rocking with him. If his kisses felt like begging you weren’t sure what the pleading press of his cock to your core was. It was worse though, and you knew neither of you would sleep for ages. 

“Get down on one knee?” you asked

He nodded against your lips and your eyes met. He looked so gorgeous like this. Begging, pleading. His eyes wet and brow furrowed as he pouted at you. He was so pretty and you couldn’t wait to marry him. “Both.” he said

It took you a moment to realise what he was saying “both?” you asked

He nodded, pushing himself up so he could slip himself into you. You’d already fucked once that night, so you were ready. He notched his head to you and waited. Such a good boy. “I’d beg if you wanted,” he said. His voice was high and strained and you weren't sure of he was talking about proposing anymore. 

“Go ahead” you said gently. Intimately. He did, whimpering as he entered you. You both were still sensitive from the afternoon and neither of you could focus anymore. He pressed into you gently, carefully, and it was a slow needy kind of sex. He whimpered, moaned and begged “Please, please.” he’d whisper in between kisses “Baby.” you’d say, hands roaming his stupidly attractive chest. It didn’t take either of you long to come. You were so sensitive already and between the kisses and the whimpers you came quickly. Spender followed, dropping his weight on you afterwards. He knew you liked it. The pressure of him on top of you. 

You fell asleep that night content, and woke up to an empty bed. 

You first thought, of course, that Spencer regretted what he said. You got up to look for him but he was nowhere in the house. Frowning and feeling rejected, embarrassed and slightly miffed, you stalked back to your bedroom to find your phone. You had half a dozen texts. Just one from Spencer.  It didn’t make a lot of sense. 

Him: I love you. Just gotta get it. You’re so pretty when you sleep. Don’t want you to worry, be home soon. Emily says brunch at 10. 

You also had a message from Hotch, which made slightly more sense 

Hotch: Why is Spencer calling me at 6am?

Hotch: Nevermind

You had two messages from Emily

Emily: Reid messaged me at like 3 am but it just said ‘Baguette tomorrow’ so I think he wants to get brunch? 

Emily: Garcia is down for 10

Penelope had messaged you the name of the cafe and the location, seemingly excited about this game of telephone turned brunch.

You hoped it meant that Spencer didn’t regret what he said, and was talking with Hotch maybe? To get advice? Regardless of your negative feelings you got ready for this brunch thing, excited to see the team. Maybe you could ambush Spencer to reassure him you didn’t hold his proposal against him. You knew what it was like to get swept up in the moment when you were turned on. 

You were just finishing your hair when the bathroom door opened and Spencer crashed through. He looked stunning, in the suit he wore for JJ’s wedding and a cute little bow-tie. It looked like he tried to tame his hair but had taken his hands to it in worry which made you soften. He was so beautiful. It didn’t even occur to you that he was far too dressed up for brunch. 

“I’m almost ready.” you assure him, knowing he hated being late. It was 9.30 and you’d need to leave soon to get to the cafe “Can we talk on the way?” you asked

You looked at the mirror to where he was as you fixed your hair. He wasn’t there. Weird, you hadn’t heard him left. You called out “I’m done!” as you picked up your phone from the counter and turned. 

“You might need this.” Spencer said. He was out of breath and look nervous as hell. Down on one knee. In his hand was a little box, which he held open. There was a ring. 

Your jaw fell open. You didn’t . . . what? He? What? Your bain shut off. 

“Are you proposing?” you said inadvertently mirroring the conversation from last night

Spencer beamed up at you, nodding also mirroring his part of the conversation “Please?” he asked. 

It was very him. Simple, no flowery words or poems (you were sure those would come later. Maybe whispered into your ear in bed.) You knew he had trouble expressing how he felt when he was nervous. You would bet anything that he was trying his hardest not to ramble.

“Of course I will!” you say, voice breaking as you sobbed and jumped at him. He dropped the box in order to catch you and you both sat there kneeling on the bathroom floor and exchanging wet, sobbing kisses and I love you’s. 

You were 20 minutes late for brunch. It was worth every minute.

[tsukuharuko]

The moment she saw Inosuke's eyes filling with tears, Haruko felt her heart crack. A thick knot pressed against her throat, and seeing him like that, knowing she was the cause of it, pushed to the verge of brusting into tears in turn. In fact, she already felt tears starting to stream down her face in turn, but before they invaded her cheeks, she threw her arms ahead and wrapped Inosuke in a tight hug.

"You're such a brave guy," she said, pressing her face against his sleeve in a poor attempt to repress her tears. "And it's just unfair how little time we had together... But..." She sniffled, tigheting her embrace around him. "Nevertheless. I'm so happy I got to meet you. Even if you always get my name wrong," she said, chocking a laugh at the memory of it. "It's a special mistake of yours to me."

She held him tightly, taking a moment to calm herself, and even just enjoying the closeness for a bit -- the feeling of holding him before she'd have to let go, sooner or later. Likely, the next day. Once she felt strong enough to hold back her tears, she pulled back and took Inosuke's hands in hers once more.

"For now... Let's just enjoy this evening together," she said. "Let's eat all the delicious food the old lady made for us."

With that, she reached for a shrimp and offered to Inosuke with a tired smile.

"And then, you can sleep here, if you wish," she offered with a timid look. "So you can guard me one last night. What do you say?"

Something broke inside his chest. He felt it crack and split into piece, like it had been struck with a hammer. A storm of feelings wreaked havoc under his ribs, his throat tightening, the air struggling to find its way to his lungs.

His very first heartbreak.

"Your... family..."

He had seen but glimpses of it, back when he had followed her through the well. That bustling, intimidating world was where she belonged. There were people there waiting for her, an entire life that she was supposed to be living. A life that she could not abandon for the sake of one wild boar child.

He didn't immediately notice when the tears started streaming down his face. Their warm touch had him twitch, his eyes shooting upwards to check the roof for a leak. Why was his vision so blurry all of a sudden? Why did his nose itch like he had caught a cold?

"I... I like all those people, but... they're not you..."

He knew nothing else but to be candid. To speak the entire truth, to voice the few feelings that he could identify inside the whirling storm.

He could have tried to reason her. To bargain with her, to plead her to stay, to cry some more until her heart broke for him as well - yet none of these options even brushed his mind. He understood her better than he'd even understood a human being. She had made her decision, and he would respect it.

As much as it tore him apart.

"You... you watch out for big yokai, alright? You know how to kill them now. If anyone ever bothers you, or doesn't show you any respect, you know what to do! You show 'em who's boss! Remember that, alright?"

His voice broke along the end of his sentence. His frame shook with heavy sobs, tears running down her palm as she reached to touch his cheek. He leaned into her caress as would a cat, a wide smile curling at his lips.

"I'm gonna be fine. The old granny's tempura will give me all the strength I need. I'll be strong... and brave... so my underling will respect me! And I bet I can find even more! So you can go home... and not worry about me!"

[miasmaghoul]

Ok, I am no longer a Ghost virgin! Have some (long, mostly opinion based) NC ritual highlights. Song order might be wacky bc holy fuck I have a shit memory and can't think straight lmao

(Oh also I've now decided I'm calling the new guy Gale and the new girl Vesper. Just so y'all know <3)

- First and foremost, HOT. Hot and so humid. Miserable. Please note I forgot all about both of these things the second Peacefield started.

- Spotted Vanessa in the distance outside, then twice more inside. She seems so sweet, and looked lovely in her ritual dress!

- Museum is so sick! It's crazy to see how TINY all the outfits (and bodies) on display are. The era 4 ghouls costume HAD to be Dew's, it's SO SMALL! Didn't spend a ton of time in it, I was super dizzy from the outside heat and needed to go sit. Copia's white suit was there too! He's also bitty lmao.

- But onto the music.

- Peacefield amazing live. Sounds exactly like the album (except for a few flubbed words). The moment the curtain dropped took my breath away. Many such instances this night.

- Lachryma is a certified banger anyway, but godDAMN. Backing vocals? Immaculate. The girls sounded amazing and so did the new guy! His voice is wonderful, he's playful and a little silly, and at one point (during Mummy Dust I'd like to say?) he was doing body rolls behind his keys. Adore. He is also HUGE and will indeed deserve the title of big sexy #4.

- Spirit fucks incredibly hard. Like, INCREDIBLY hard. Dew and Aeon doing their interlude at center stage was excellent.

- Dew is still booted, presumably for protective reasons. Perpetua teased him about it (playful) and said the boot was kickass 👍

- Aeon is SO active. He was all over the place, so much energy. He did the thing where he came out during a costume change all cute and did the applause wars. He was also, as always, rolling all over the place like a critter. Huge fan. He had a few very cute moments with Papa, Rain, Dew as well.

- Per Aspera. Immaculate. Stunning. This is around the point where I was just Experiencing It and things get vague lmao. However, I will remain completely delusional about a single moment. Dew did the "as above" gesture and I did it back, and I SWEAR he was looking directly at me for that. No way, I was three rows into the floor seats, but G O D I want to believe.

- (Also they were really REALLY good seats omfg)

- Elizabeth. Holy FUCK. I cannot tell you guys how FERAL the crowd went for that. I wonder if Perpetua got tired of no one remembering the lyrics to Satan Prayer 😔

- Speaking of Perpetua, that man is IMPOSSIBLE to look away from. Like, you guys know I'm a Ghoul Guy through and through. I literally missed half of their bits because I could NOT take my eyes off of him. Incredible stage presence, sounds phenomenal, and the outfits? Chef's fuckin SMOOCH.

- He's also a big fan of mic tricks, he was flailing that thing around everywhere. He also did that down-low fingering move and HOO BOY.

- CMLS. I was expecting Majesty, ngl, but oh my GOD I never thought that experience live would be so different. Gale's backing vocals are INCREDIBLE omfg like...yeah I wish I had gotten to hear Swiss' "call me" for myself too, but omfg this guy can SING.

- TFIAFL. Started with the usual little speech (I cannot get over how much easier he is to understand without the mask holy hell) and then melted right into it. 2034 and all.

- I should mention that all the stage stuff (with the exception of malfunctioning side screens) all went off just fine. These visuals really are stunning.

- Also I personally feel like the audio was the tiiiiniest bit off? Bass was super loud and the guitars felt kinda quiet. Certainly didn't sound bad, could've just been me, but still. Did not effect my enjoyment level at ALL.

- Anyway.

- Devil Church/Cirice. Oh boy. Papa Cirice'd one of the stage cameras and his face popped up on the screens and I could not blink for a single second of that stare. It literally made my nipples so hard they hurt. I am not joking.

- DATHOML was beautiful. It's never been my favorite, but it really is something special live. Every song is. They could play two hours of La Mantra Mori and I'd thank them for it.

- Satanized starts with the electronic cue from the start of Umbra and it confused a BUNCH of people at first but then the guitars started and we lost our minds. I could barely hear Papa over the crowd singing and it was awesome.

- Umbra was a masterpiece. The keytar/guitar battle is fucking GLORIOUS, just like I thought it would be and I'm having so many Dew/Cirrus thoughts because of it xhyxdgd. Papa ascending with the cowbell GOT me, and he gave it to Aurora!

- Year Zero. I thought I was prepared. I was not. No Raindrop choke, but they did get all close to each other. Also Rain was once again a shit and wouldn't move when Perpetua told him to. Kept mocking his little nods to get out of the way 😭 Also tail omg TAIL.

- He Is. Also WOEFULLY underprepared for this one. Actual religious experience. The visuals here are fantastic in particular.

- Ritual took a lot of people by surprise! Dew had his bit at the beginning with Perpetua, and his bit at the end with Rain. That one was especially cute, Rain was watching with his cheek resting on his hand and then doing a hand motion to tell Dew to keep going when he stopped. So cute. Also Vesper and Aurora danced off their platforms to go play tambourine with him, and it was so sweet.

- Rain looks amazing in the veil, can confirm. It was billowing in the breeze more than once, and it's rad to see him headbang in it. Can also confirm that black bass Rain is extraordinarily cunty. Also I heard that he lifted his bass at one point and was apparently either chubbed up or is PACKING so. Do what you will with that information.

- Rats was SO good. The bass was insane, made my chest rattle and probably would have been the one to take my voice if it wasn't gone already lmao

- KTGG was SO fun. This is another one that has grown on me over time, but live? GOD. I thiiiink this is the song where Gale invited Aurora onto his platform for a little dance, unsure, but possible!

- Mummy Dust was a fucking EVENT. I had a feeling it would be but omg. The growls were perfection, and ghoul antics were good as ever. Cirrus' solo? Beyond incredible. My characterization of her has changed so much with this lmao. Finally got to see Dew jerk off with my own two eyes! He did it after sticking his whole finger in his mouth and then doing the slow chest touch thing, and I needed to die the whole time. Cannons didn't blow much our way, but the sight of the air full of confetti and mummy bux filled me with determination joy.

- Monstrance Clock is such a great closer. Just the right speed, the right vibes, it's perfect, absolutely perfect. Could not have been better.

- ENCORE TIME

- MoaC is so much better live than I ever imagined it could be. The crowd went insane, of course, and Perpertua introduced it as his daddy's song. Also, when he tried to give the cues for the ghouls to stop so he could do the "marijuana" thing, they all kept playing. Kept going until Perpetua stomped up Mountain's steps and did it again but more exaggerated and Mountain got all sheepish and did a little "sorry, sorry" hand raise. Very cute.

- (Overall I'd say my impression of Perpetua with the ghouls is that there is very little trust or respect between them so far - with the exceptions of Vesper and Dew)

- Dance Macabre was a fuckin BOP omfg. The rainbow lights and the sparkling outfits and Papa's silver jacket and and and. His mic seemed to cut out during the wobble wobbles tho. Also didn't get confetti blown towards us this time, but grabbed some off the floor after lmao.

- He did the joint roll, and someone caught it this time!

- And finally, Square Hammer. What a fucking RUSH. Cerberus Mode is REAL and the effect is VISCERAL. It was the perfect loud rush to cap off an absolutely perfect show. Also Perpetua called Dew a little cocksucker after the fistbump. Hope he knows from experience.

- Bonus: the couple next to us had been to two shows on this run prior, and said this was the best one. I think they must have gotten their stuff all lined up and worked out the kinks. Excellent news!

- (BONUS 2 FT UNMASKED GHOUL MENTION) While people were filing in, the girl behind us noticed a certain poofy-haired former ghoulette in the stands!! Perpetua gave her a little finger wave at one point, just for a second, and it was adorable.

And here's the haul:

Overall? 7378336⁷⁸/10 experience. Easily one of the best nights of my life. Thank you so, so much to @iamthecomet for coming all the way down here just for this, and to @obsidianghoul for the bracelets, ghoul masks, sticker, keychains and for scoring us mummy dust!!!!! It was awesome meeting you <3

Also I clapped so hard my hands bruised 👍

Now to do it all over again in two weeks with @belle--ofthebrawl and @forlorn-crows >:3

[mattslilies]

Bed 35 - M.S.

"you have a new intake. he's in bed 35." or... a nurse!reader and street fighter!matt fic. the first time they meet! warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, hospital settings, physical violence. little bit of sad backstory. word count: 1.4k a/n: dividers by @bernardsbendystraws! new au lovelies enjoyyy. this fic may have some inaccuracies, i am not a healthcare worker!!

you sat behind the nurse's station, your head resting in your left hand as your right hand moved the mouse around, counting the amount of forms you still had to fill out for patients. you had upwards of thirty left, various updating forms, labs to send over, and even a few AMA forms.

you rolled your eyes at the latter. nothing bothered you more than people coming into a hospital wanting medical care, but then refusing medical advice. what was the point of even coming in then? you opened up the AMA forms first, wanting to get the people out of here as soon as possible if they were so insistent on leaving.

you hated when people left without the treatment that they so desperately needed, knowing they were likely to continue to get sick or injure themselves worse outside of a hospital. but at the same time, if they weren't going to accept your help, then they may as well leave so that someone who would could have the bed.

"yikes. that's a lot of paperwork still."

you rolled your eyes at the sound of your closest coworker's voice stating out the obvious on the computer monitor. you shook your head, a small smile escaping your lips as you turned to look at her.

"i know. and i'm supposed to be off in an hour, too. there's no way i'm gonna get through it all in time, but i feel awful leaving it all for the day shift."

she shrugged, her signature "whatever" look on her face.

"girl, they leave so much work for us to do at night, i wouldn't even feel bad about it."

unfortunately, you weren't that kind of person. your empathy and kindness was overwhelming, hence why you were in the profession that you were. not finishing your work and leaving it for someone else to handle, on top of their own rush and workload, was something that you just couldn't bring yourself to do.

"yeah, but you know me. i'm either gonna fly through it and get it all done, or i'll clock in for a bit of overtime and finish them a little later. i don't work tomorrow, so it's fine."

she shook her head, clearly not agreeing with your decision, but not setting out to stop you anyways.

"you're a better person than me."

you laughed, knowing she was a very good person, despite her tendency to leave twice the amount of work for the day shift as they left for the night shift.

the night shift was your favorite. you had always been a night owl, sleeping in late, staying up until the sunrise, whether you were out with friends, up doing homework, participating in one of your free time hobbies, or just scrolling on your phone.

now, you got to use that time to help people, which was one of the things you cared about the most. it pulled at your heartstrings when people came in during the night shift, often looking exhausted and in pain both from their injuries and the lack of sleep. sometimes people were alone because all of their family and friends were unreachable due to the time of night, so you were always attempting to fill the gaps, making sure that they didn't feel alone.

you were about a third of the way through your paperwork, having finished all of the AMA forms and currently working on chart updates when another one of your coworkers walked over to you, setting a clipboard down on the counter at your eye level.

"you have a new intake. he's in bed 35."

glancing at the clock, you groaned internally. you were getting tired, and you were supposed to be off of your shift in thirty minutes. regardless, you stood up, grabbing the clipboard and quickly reading over the chart. you stared at your coworker, a little bit of shock on your face as you read over this guy's extensive list of injuries.

"multiple stab wounds??"

he nodded, a suspicious look on his face.

"yeah. they're all superficial, none life-threatening, but he'll probably need stitches, is my guess. he's beat all to hell, and he won't explain how he got them. i'd be careful with that one, he may be involved in something."

you nodded, already giving this guy the benefit of the doubt. he may have just pissed off the wrong person, he may be afraid that telling what happened would get him into more trouble. there could be a million other explanations for why he was injured, and when you're working in this industry, you learn that assumptions often get you in more trouble than they're worth.

walking over to bed 35 and pushing back the curtain, you stepped into the small, cubicle-like area, looking back down at the chart for the man's name before looking up at him.

"so, mr... sturniolo, is it?"

when you didn't receive a verbal response, you looked up, and he nodded.

"did i say that right?"

you always made every effort to make your patients feel comfortable, which included things like making sure that their names were understood, and always spoken correctly. you never wanted someone to feel like they weren't important enough for you to do something so small for them.

he nodded at you again, and you took that as an affirmative yes. you pulled up the small rolling chair next to his bed, setting the clipboard on the table and quickly snapping on gloves.

"okay. your chart says you came in with multiple superficial stab wounds. is that correct?"

you could see cuts, bruises, and scars all over his face and legs. your coworker's statement of him being "beat all to hell" certainly rang true, but you didn't see anything emergency room worthy.

that was, until he pulled off his zip up, revealing his nearly bare chest and arms. there was a cut right above his ribs, deep enough to have bled through the makeshift bandages that he had fixed onto it. when you glanced over, there was another two on his left arm, messy gauze wrapped around them.

you let out a low whistle of surprise before grabbing a pair of medical scissors, sliding to the other side of the bed to take a look at his arm.

"alright. can i?"

your hands hovered over his skin, and you received a nod in response. however, that wouldn't hold up in court, so you asked again.

"sorry, but i need verbal and enthusiastic consent, or i can't do anything."

he coughed, clearing his throat before a deep "yes." escaped his lips.

you cut the bandages off of his arm in a few well-practiced slices, gently removing it as to not irritate the skin any more.

"doesn't look like anything crazy important got hit, but you're definitely gonna need stitches. how did this happen?"

he didn't seem like he wanted to talk much about it, but he knew he had to give some sort of answer, or you'd have to press him harder.

"got into a fight."

you nodded. that didn't imply anything necessarily awfully illegal, so you followed up with one simple question.

"i assume you don't want to press charges?"

he shook his head.

"no. i already handled it with the cops. just needed these cleaned up and fixed."

you nodded, grabbing some local anesthetic to numb the areas around the cuts.

"just a little pinch here, and then you shouldn't feel anything as i stitch them up."

he nodded, and didn't flinch as you injected the medicine around both cuts. giving it time to set, you moved over and did the same with the cut over his ribs. after a few moments, you gently prodded the area.

"does that hurt at all?"

he shook his head.

"no."

"perfect. i'm gonna start stitching these up. let me know if you feel any pain, i'll add more anesthetic to make sure you're not in any excessive hurt."

he let out a small, mocking laugh, and his eyes looked like he didn't mean to let it out.

"i don't think it'll hurt worse than getting them."

you shook your head.

"no, but still."

with that, silence fell in the bed as you worked, your skilled hands stitching up all three cuts within record time. you'd had years of practice, and your sutures were perfect, if you did say so yourself.

you didn't make much more conversation with him, picking up on the fact that he didn't want to talk much. most people who showed up on the night shift didn't, just wanting to go home and sleep. when you wrapped up, he looked it over, nodded, gave you a short "thank you", and headed up to check out.

you couldn't deny the fact that something in you wanted to know more about him, and how he got himself hurt.

[dollyfiles]

cherub!reader feeling insecure and thinking that older!rafe only loves her because of her youth

cherub!reader mlist

cw: based on this ask (HERE), angsty fluff, insecurities, mentions of age gaps, doubts, manipulation, mistrust, comfort

you sat curled on the corner of rafe's couch, knees tucked to your chest, and arms wrapped so tightly around your legs, trying everything to hide and disappear into yourself.

rafe had been in the kitchen, distracted and doing something on his phone. he hadn't noticed the silence until he realized you hadn't said a word in ten whole minutes. when he turned, your expression was blank, lips trembling slightly.

"y/n?" he said, brows furrowing. "ya' doin' okay?" you didn't answer right away. your gaze was far off, looking into the distance of his apartment. when you finally spoke, your voice was a hushed whisper.

"do you only love me because i'm young?" that pulled rafe’s attention. "what?" he asked, almost laughing at the ridiculousness. you blinked, but the tears were already welling. "i just—i was thinking... i won't look like this forever. and maybe you'll get tired of me. find someone else."

your voice cracked on the last part, and you pressed your hand over your mouth, now feeling embarrassed to have even said it out loud. rafe stood still, a strange knot twisting in his stomach.

it wasn't guilt, no, but something very close to that. maybe a little disappointment? just then a flash of annoyance flickered behind his eyes, but he smothered it fast. he couldn't afford to let you see that.

he crossed the room and knelt in front of you. "look at me." he said, soft but firm. so you did, eyes wide and glistening. "you think you're here with me because of how old you are?" he asked, voice low, gentle.

"you think i'd waste my time if i didn't actually care about you?" you bit your lip, trying to stop it from quivering. "i don't know. i just... it's always there in the back of my head. like i'm gonna mess this up or change or just not be enough anymore."

rafe let out a slow breath and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "sweetie," he murmured, "you're the only person who sees me like i'm not already messed up beyond fixing. ya' calm me down. ya' make things make sense. that's not something i can find just anywhere."

your shoulders dropped just a little, some of the weight lifting. "you're not just some pretty face to me. you're mine," he said, pulling you gently into his arms. "ya' don't make me feel like a complete fuck-up."

you clung to his shirt, still shaking, but less now. "and i don't care how old you get. you'll always be the one who got under my skin," he added with a whisper against your hair. "that shit doesn't fade."

he held you like that for a while, letting the silence fill back in, and leaving pure comfort instead. you closed your eyes, letting yourself believe him. you wanted to believe him. needed to.

and rafe? he stared at the far wall, jaw tense. he wasn't used to being questioned. but he'd said what you needed to hear. because keeping you close, keeping you his, that was the one thing he knew how to do.

tags: @ribbonbiter @soangelbaby @bradshawed @sugaredbambi @rotapathetic @rafessecret @inspiredangel @et6rnalsun @st8rkey @acklesangel @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @littlelamy @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @st6ined

[offdxty]

Part of Kane, not-Kane, it, is still very much aware of he fact that this - the closeness between them - isn't exactly something that's happening between two men in such a casual way. ---At least not often, and without... other context involved. The same goes for two women. A man and a woman, even. At least that's what Kane thinks, is familiar with, feels that it's... correct, somewhere within himself.

And yet he makes no move to shift away, to try and get distance between them; He enjoys it instead, the intimacy, the care he receives from the other - those arms that curl back around him once that hand has fallen away from his cheek, the way Arthur looks him over---

Arthur. Not Harrow, not. Dr. Harrow, not Doctor - just Arthur.

"...I like it." A hum, a statement, but soft in nature. "Arthur." As if to test what it feels like to speak that name out loud, let it roll over a sore tongue a bit too slow, "...---You look like an Arthur to me. It fits you."

Just like the other had said something similar before - that Kane suits him, that he has... earned it, just like that.

It hits somewhere deep, settles there, and Kane blinks before he swallows, deciding to allow his head to sink and rest against the shape of the other man's shoulder - his cheek is coming in contact with it, nose almost touching Arthur's throat but not quite, a gaze growing even heavier than it had before---

You can sleep on me, the man offers - as if being able to read his concerns in just the same way as Kane had read the other's thoughts... unbeknownst to him, that is.

It prompts a brief smile onto full lips, one that only stays for a second and a half, then fades again.

I'll be here when you wake up, I promise.

"...I'm not sure if I've earned it. The name." A whisper, deeply emotional in nature, a bit unsteady - telling of how much it affects Kane, what Arthur had said before. Not necessarily in a negative way, no, not at all - but rather in a... general way? No, that's also not quite true.

Good doesn't fit either. It's just... very emotional, yes - his voice carrying that truth with every syllable that leaves his mouth, a pair of eyes finally falling closed, unable to remain open for any longer.

"But I like to think... that he was okay with giving it to me. He was... he was okay with me existing, more than I expected him to, when thinking back to it. He... was scared when I appeared, yes, but he wasn't... --he wasn't trying to fight me, and he begun to talk to me."

A swallow, brows furrowing a little as the seconds pass - as something primal and natural begins to take claim of Kane, wraps its dark fingers around his existence, his mind. He knows he's about to fall asleep, exhaustion taking its toll; Arthur being so comfortable, warm and kind, is only speeding up the process on top of it... and Kane surely won't complain.

"...Maybe..." Barely there anymore, but Kane seems to want to get the words out before he grows too tired to do such, before he's unable to keep in control of his tongue any longer. "...Maybe he was okay... with me having the name. Like he was... ---like he was okay with me having his face. His... body. That security guard said I'm wearing it like a badge - the face of a good man..."

It still stings, a little bit.

"...But maybe that's okay... ---Maybe it's okay for me to have his face, to be called Kane. He was okay with me being there, so... maybe I can... honor him, or something... by continuing to live on. By carrying his name."

A breath, a voice growing even heavier, almost a drawl at this point as Kane goes on, clings to his consciousness.

"---He was so strong. A soldier. I'm... a little proud that I got to meet him, and that the shimmer chose for me to be him."

"I don't think... that many... get to have it. The... honor."

One more breath, and silence begins to stretch. Kane's body softens even further, and he's resting a little awkwardly against the other - with his arm still being somewhat-curled around Arthur's back while Kane's head rests on his shoulder...

And yet Kane feels more comfortable than he ever has in his entire, short life.

I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.

Arthur hummed, though he again didn’t say anything. He liked hearing the words - he liked hearing that Kane liked his name. He liked hearing that Kane felt better, that everything was helping; it made him feel good, deep down.

It was a sense of warmth that bled through the cotton in his mind, a form of self comfort just in knowing that Kane was feeling better. 

... He liked the way Kane tilted his hand into the touch, like he liked it being there. Like he wanted it to stay - and so it did. Arthur left his hand, gently tracing it over Kane’s cheek, soft and caring. 

HIs thumb continued to stroke once, gently, tracing over Kane’s face. Beneath his eye, over his cheekbone - and then he let his hand pull back, resting both arms around the other man, again just holding him carefully. 

“Kane suits you,” Arthur said at last, his voice quiet but certain. “There’s something strong in it. Something I think you’ve earned.” 'Kane' belonged to the man in front of him, now - not the second Kane, not the after-Kane. Just Kane.

The other could be the alternate, now. This one was the true one. 

He was to Arthur, at least.

There was another soft pause, Arthur letting his gaze fall down to the curve of Kane’s shoulder. The bruises that rested beneath the bandages still took his focus, even in his drugged state of mind; even when Kane did seem genuine in the fact that it wasn’t bothering him as severely. 

“You don’t have to call me Harrow, you know,” he continued, in a gentle whisper. “Not if you don’t want to. My name is Arthur - you can call me that.” 

His voice didn’t falter on that, but there was something strange in how he said his own name. He hadn’t gone by Arthur in a painfully long time - sometimes people at work would use it, but it was seldom allowed.

He didn’t give his name out, the same way he didn’t give his heart out - and yet Kane had gained possession of both. 

Harrow blinked again, carefully, looking back to the other man with him. “… If you’re feeling better, you need to try and sleep,” he delicately said. “I know you don’t want to, I know it’s hard. But he’s not coming back. I’m not going to let him.” 

He still hadn’t tried to separate from the man fully, still comfortable to be sitting next to each other like this. 

“… You can sleep on me,” he offered, next, wondering if Arthur leaving was the concern. “If I move, you’ll know. You’ll wake up. So you won’t miss anything, I’ll be here the whole time you’re sleeping.” It’d be intimate, maybe, but then again so was this - it wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t romantic or taking advantage of someone. 

It was care. Aching, sincere care. “… I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.” 

[chiyoobaby]

ONE SIDED

pairing | Kang Sae-byeok x fem!reader

summary | after a couple days of your girlfriend coming home late without notice and the continuous coldness you had received from her finally bottled up and you expressed to her how you felt

warnings | angst with comfort - profanity - slight mentions of breaking up if you squint

word count | 1.2k

You tap your foot continuously on the floor waiting patiently for your girlfriend to come back home. This is the third time this week she came back from work late without notice and maybe if she had been more open and communicated she was going to be late you wouldn’t have been so upset. 

The familiar jingle of keys hitting against the door makes you perch from your seat.

“You're late. Again. I made dinner. Again. It’s cold. Again. And you barely even said hi when you walked in. Do you even want to be here right now?” you rest your hands on your hips in slight annoyance and wait for a response.

Sae-Byeok is silent at first, shrugging her coat off and slipping off her shoes. “I’m tired. Work was a lot. Can we please not make this a thing? You’re always too caught up in your emotions.” Her face remains stoic, maybe even unreadable and it makes your blood boil. 

You groan in frustration “No. It's not just tonight. It’s every night. I ask you how your day was, make you dinner, greet you with warmth and adoration and all you do is shrug me off and give me one worded answers. I tell you I miss you and you just nod. You fucking nod.” your voice cracks a little and a small tear slips down your cheek. You quickly wipe it off. 

“Work held me up. What more do you want me to say? My job’s demanding and you know that so stop making a scene when I come home late." She's looking at you now. Her voice is soft but cold. Like she's holding something in but doesn’t know how to say it. “You always need so much. So many words, so much.. energy.” she slumps her shoulders a little. “I just don’t know how to do that the way you do. It doesn’t mean I don’t care.” 

Your heart hurts. Does she really think you're too much?

“But you don't show it. I always feel like I'm trying to pull something out of you. I tell you I love you and you pull a small smile like it's a favor. I need more than that, Sae. I want to feel loved. I need to feel loved. I can’t just constantly be assuming it’s there.” Your voice is sharp. Sharp enough to cut through the tension between you both

Sae-byeok’s tone gets a little bit louder. “I do love you– fuck, just because I don’t say it the same way doesn’t mean it’s not real!” 

“Then why does our relationship feel so one-sided?” You snap “I open up to you all the time and all you do is just.. You shut down! I feel alone in this relationship and I’m not supposed to!” 

She goes quiet, her face softening slightly. If you weren’t paying so much attention you wouldn’t have noticed the shift. She looks down “I’m just not good at this stuff. At feelings. At needing people– But I'm trying-”

“Trying looks like something, Sae. Not just sitting there while I bleed my heart out. I don’t need you to change overnight, I just need to know you’re here with me.” Your lip quivers. Sae-byeoks face now looks slightly distressed, like what you’re saying is disturbing the peace she walked in with. She hesitates. “I am here. I know I don't say much, but I’m not going anywhere. I just need you to be patient with me.” 

Your face softens and you can visibly see the pain on her face. Her posture slumped from her usual poised position and she's leaning on the counter, as if she's trying to catch her weight because she feels heavy. 

She feels heavy with emotion. 

All the weight of feeling but never being able to express it lies on her back and a pang of guilt rushes over her when she realizes what she's doing is hurting you. 

You pass her and walk your way to the living room, you’re still mad. You're fuming, but even through everything you can’t help but feel a small bit of empathy towards her. 

You know for her this is hard and you don’t mean to put extra weight on her shoulders but you cannot continue in a relationship where you feel like love is one sided. 

You gnaw at your lip. 

“You always have an excuse. Work is hard. You’re tired. You don’t know how to express things. But you don't even realize, I'm exhausted too. Physically and emotionally.”

“I can’t be the only one holding us together.” you don’t look at her but you can feel her eyes burning into your face. She’s staring and it’s making you uncomfortable. 

Finally, she scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“You’re acting like I do nothing. That’s not fair.”

You stand up now, walking towards her so you can be face to face.

“No! What’s not fair is that I constantly have to guess how you feel. I never know if you’re upset or just distant. And I need you.. Really need you. You disappear into your own head and it’s like you don't think I'm worth opening up to!” You’re pointing a finger at her chest and she groans and puts her hands in her face. 

“This is so stupid and that is not true. Stop putting words into my mouth.” Her voice is stern and she grips onto your wrist, stopping you from pushing at her chest. 

“I never meant to hurt you.” Her voice drops and her demeanor is calmer with you now. She removes her hand from your wrist and places it on your waist. 

“But you did.” you say, voice shaky and breath uneven.

“I don’t always know how to say the right thing but I hate seeing you like this. I hate that I made you feel alone. I hate how I reacted to you just trying to love me earlier.” 

Sae-byeok steps closer, now both hands on your waist. She’s holding you close, your face just inches from hers and she leans in for a small kiss. 

You kiss back, gently resting your hands on her cheeks 

It’s silent for a while. You both bask in the faint sound of each other's heartbeats. 

Sae-byeok speaks up. “I’m sorry I made it seem like you had to beg to be seen because you don’t. I always see you. I’m just..  scared of being too much or not enough.”

You smile softly. “I just want you. I don’t need perfection. I want all of you. Even the messy parts. Especially those.” 

Sae-byeok nods slightly and pulls you into your bedroom.

The atmosphere is softer now, the lights are dimmed and you’re both tangled into a blanket. She has a protective grip on your waist. Holding you close to her chest. Your breathing has evened out now and she's resting her chin on your head. 

“This is what I need. I just wanted to feel like you were with me.” Your voice is soft and quiet.

“I am. Every part of me. Even the scared, messy, bumpy quiet parts. I’m yours.” 

You smile faintly and if you weren’t paying attention to her features as much as you were, you would’ve missed the small smile she returned.  

Sae-byeok kisses the top of your head and runs her fingers through your hair.

You close your eyes and your heart skips a beat at the barely audible words that slipped out of Sae-byeoks mouth. 

“I love you,” she whispers into your hair. “I never say it, I know but I love you. More than you know.”

You swallow. Hard. “I love you too.”

(A/N) | I hope this doesn't feel too dragged out but anyways thank u for reading !<3