#and for the final time (yes truly) these will be the final looks in the story :] the fun part will be seeing how they evolved in the story-

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 6

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals, vomiting, blood and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando felt like time was moving far too slowly.

He tried to keep himself occupied on the plane, but every moment felt like an eternity. His brain kept returning to thoughts of Lizzie, the words ‘multiple seizures’ running through his mind on a continuous loop.

He had never felt so out of his depth before. Racing? Sure. Even dealing with fans and the media? That was a walk in the park compared to the knot in his stomach now.

And worst of all, the not knowing was killing him.

He had no idea what Lizzie’s condition was truly like.

Was she not responding at all? Was she in a coma? Was she… was she even okay?

He barely managed to keep it together on the plane ride...The taxi ride from the airport to the hospital felt like an eternity. Lando fidgeted in his seat, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his knee.

Every second felt like an hour. Every minute felt like a decade.

Finall, finally, the Royal Sussex Hospital loomed large, its white walls and rows of windows a stark contrast against the grey English sky. Even though it was May, the cold air was biting at his exposed skin.

As he went through the doors, his nostrils were immediately assaulted with the sterile, clinical scent of the hospital.

"Elizabeth Treshton?" he asked at the reception, Lizzie's full name feeling foreign on his tongue. Did anybody ever even call her that? Lizzie was the name she introduced herself with, Lizzie was what friends and family called her…hell, even all the fans on her instagram account seemed to have adopted that name. Elizabeth Treshton seemed solely to exist to be put on her books and that was it.  

The receptionist looked up at him with a small smile. "Yes, she's on the fourth floor. Room 404."

Lando's heart leapt into his throat. "Thank you."

He made his way to the elevator, his mind racing. Fourth floor. Room 404. Four was lucky. Right?

The elevator ride up to the fourth floor was excruciating.

The hum of the elevator’s motor and the faint music playing in the background felt like nails on a chalkboard to Lando’s already frayed nerves. When the doors finally slid open, he practically jumped out into the hallway.

404.

The room number was emblazoned on the sign next to a door partially cracked open.

Lando paused outside, taking one last deep breath to try and steel himself.

Standing outside her room, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock, introduce himself, or just stay quiet until the door magically opened. He debated for a moment, his hand hovering awkwardly for a moment before rapping lightly on the door.

There was no answer.

Silence filled the hall.

And then a voice called out, raspy and weary: "Come in."

Lando swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as a desert. With a shaky hand, he pushed the door open and took a single step into the room.

"You're...Lando Norris." His eyes immediately snapped to a man in his late 40s sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed. Lizzie's dad. There was no question about it. He looked just like her.

It was almost more as a statement than a question.

Lando, slightly taken aback, nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. Uh, I came as soon as I heard. Is she...okay?” It was a stupid question, as his gaze fell on Lizzie...dead asleep in the hospital bed.

He wasn't sure what he had expected...maybe more machine's connected to her. 

Granted, there were a few…her heartbeat was silently broadcasted to everybody in the room…there was an IV-Line in her hand…and there were also white bandages wrapped around her forearm. They were nearly the same white colour as her skin. 

Lizzie’s father nodded, a weary smile on his face. "She’s stable. Hasn’t seized in over a day. But she’s been in and out of consciousness a lot. Not very responsive when she is awake, but the doctors say that’s normal."

Lizzie’s father took a slow, appraising look at Lando, like he was trying to piece together the weirdest puzzle of his life. “I must admit, I expected pretty much anything, but not you, to be honest," he finally said drily. "Richard Treshton. Most people call me Rick."

Lando nodded, tearing his gaze away from Lizzie for just a moment. "Nice to meet you, Rick."

He felt acutely aware of the fact that Lizzie’s dad was sizing him up.

Rick leaned back in the chair, his gaze never leaving Lando’s face. "How do you know Lizzie?"

Lando felt a pang of nerves. "We, uh...we’re friends."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Friend with the benefits sort of thing, or...?"

The blood rushed to his face. "We had two dates!" Lando blurted out. "We haven't...talked about...labels yet."

Rick raised the other eyebrow, now looking rather amused. "Ah, two dates then. I see. But not...dating."

Lando huffed out a breath. "We’re not not dating."

Rick chuckled, now looking thoroughly amused.. "Right. Not not dating. Clear as mud. Two dates, huh? But you’re already flying across the Atlantic to be here? Even though I am quite sure that there is some partying to be had in Miami?"

Lando felt his cheeks redden even further, but he held Rick’s gaze. “I care about her.” The words felt a little too raw, a little too real, and the weight of them hung in the air.

Rick regarded him for a few seconds. Then a small, tired smile appeared on his face. 

"You really do, don't you?"

Lando nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He did care about Lizzie. Deeply. 

"Just don’t make me regret letting you near her, okay?” Rick said with a sigh.

Lando nodded firmly. "I won’t. I promise."

Rick studied him for a beat, as if searching for any trace of dishonesty. Then he gestured to a chair next to the bed. “Sit. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

"Where's Mara?" Lando asked as he sat down, his eyes searching for the dog.

"I made Mara take Tasha out on a walk. She goes crazy when she is copped inside for two long."

Lando blinked twice. "You made the dog take Tasha out on a walk?"

Rick chuckled. "Technically, I told Tasha to take Mara on a walk, and she agreed. Tasha kept terrorising poor Lizzie everytime she woke…besides Mara was hard at work this week, she needed a break too….she was with Lizzie when the seizures started."

Lando sat down in the chair beside Lizzie's bed, trying to process everything he just heard. He had so many questions, but the one that was the most pressing on his mind was, "How did this happen? The seizures, I mean? Did something trigger them?"

Rick’s expression darkened. "She changed medications a few weeks ago. The new one didn't do a particular good job. Clearly." He sighed. "This is the worst it has been in...around 5 years," he said with a grimace. "Around the time Lizzie got Mara, we also found a combination of medications that minimized her seizures from every few days to every few weeks...This isn't normal for her," he told Lando seriously.

 "Yes, she has epilepsy, yes, she will always have to deal with it, but Lizzie is normally able to live a a mostly "normal" life most of the time. She hasn't been hospitalised like this since her school years."

Lando nodded, trying to wrap his head around everything Rick was saying. His gaze went down to Lizzie, so small and fragile against the stark white sheets of the hospital bed. He had only seen her mostly healthy and whole so far. Even that evening after the one seizure she had had, she had looked tired, but not…not like this. 

She had still been happy Lizzie who was snarky and witty and always ready to dish out a bit of playful banter.

This Lizzie was none of that.

She was pale and still, her face drawn and her body limp. Only the occasional twitch of her fingertips or flutter of her eyelashes indicated that she was still alive.

"Is this...going to happen again?" he asked weakly.

Rick’s expression was grave. "I hope not. Not to this extent, at least. She will have seizures in the future, but hopefully they won’t get this bad again.” He paused, studying Lando for a moment. "This is...a lot. I get it if you want to bail."

Lando’s head snapped up so quickly, it nearly gave him whiplash. "Bail?" he repeated vehemently. "You think I came all the way here to just bail?"

Rick shrugged a little. "No offence, kid, but you’re a world famous racecar driver. You’re known for being a party animal. This,” he gestured vaguely towards the bed where Lizzie lay, "is a whole nother level of commitment."

Lando bristled at that. “I am not afraid of commitment,” he snapped. “ I am not going to bail just because she’s ill.”

Rick just held his gaze for a moment, then chuckled. "You got a hell of backbone, kid. I see why she likes you."

Lando felt a small flicker of pride, but it was quickly overshadowed by worry. "How long do you think she'll be like this?" he asked, gesturing towards Lizzie. She looked so lifeless, so unresponsive.

"Ah, she'll wake up again in a few minutes and ask the same exact questions, she has been asking for the last 3 days," her father said drily. "Who won Miami?"

Lando’s jaw dropped. "Winning Miami is seriously the last thing on my mind right now," he said incredulously.

"Not on Lizzie's," Rick said with a laugh. At that moment, the door opened again. Mara ran into the room, tail wagging, immediately jumping up on the end of Lizzie's bed where there was a blanket waiting for her

Lando watched as Mara lay down on the blanket, head resting on her paws. She looked like she had settled in to stay. 

"You owe Mum 10 bucks, Uncle Rick" came the voice of a young women from the doorway. "Hi, I am Tasha."

Lando turned towards the doorway, taking in the young woman who had just entered. She was striking to look at, with shoulder-length blonde hair and bright green eyes. This must be Tasha. LIzzie's best friend.

"Hello," Lando said, surprised to find himself feeling a little tongue-tied for once. This young woman exuded a kind of confident energy that made him feel slightly...intimidated.

Tasha's gaze flickered over to Lizzie's form in the bed, her expression softening for a split second. Then she fixed Lando with a calculating look, head tilted to the side."Huh. So you are the Lando Norris."

Lando shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling under the spotlight. "Uh, yeah. That's me."

Tasha's gaze was scrutinising, like she was trying to peer straight into his soul. Then she grinned suddenly, her whole face lighting up. "Damn, Lizzie really wasn't kidding. You are pretty cute."

Lando blushed, caught off guard by how bluntly Tasha was speaking. "Uh...thanks, I guess?"

Tasha chuckled, clearly amused by his discomfort. “Relax. I’m not going to bite you. I just wanted to get a good look at the guy who’s snatched Lizzie’s heart.”

Lando’s blush deepened at that, his heart fluttering in his chest at the thought. He was saved of more interrogation by Mara perking up

Mara, who had previously laid still on the end of the bed, suddenly lifted her head, ears pricked. A low, quiet whine escaped her throat, and she turned her head towards Lizzie.

Lando followed Mara’s gaze to Lizzie’s face, where her eyes slowly fluttered open.

Her eyes were glassy and unfocussed, like she was trying to remember where she was. 

There was a beat of silence before Rick spoke up softly. "Hi, sweetheart."

Lizzie’s gaze slowly shifted, landing on her father. A small, confused frown pulled at her brows. "Dad?" she murmured, voice raspy. “Where...what…"

Rick shushed her gently, moving over to the bed. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re in the hospital. You’ve had a seizure.”

Lizzie’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Who won in Miami?" she croaked out.

"The race never actually started. The Miami Dolphins accidentally flooded the track, and now it’s an aquatic event," Tasha said brightly.

…at least Lando now knew what Rick had meant with Tasha kept terrorising Lizzie. 

Lizzie slowly turned her head towards Tasha, her eyes slightly unfocussed. For a second, she just stared at Tasha, as if trying to process her words.

"You made that up?" she finally said faintly questioningly.

Tasha grinned, completely unrepentant. "Yep. But the look on your face was so worth it. You looked like a baffled trout."

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of Lizzie's mouth.

It was the first sign of life on her face since Lando arrived. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel a tiny bit hopeful.

"I feel like a baffled trout," Lizzie mumbled slowly, "Where’s Mara?"

As if on cue, Mara let out a soft whine and shoved her head against Lizzie’s hand. Lizzie’s fingers automatically curled around her fur. "Hey girl," she murmured. 

She looked tired. And pale. And fragile. But still, in that moment, she was the most beautiful thing Lando had ever seen.

"So who's won Miami?" she asked, again.

"I did."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them

Lizzie looked up at him. For a second, she looked utterly baffled, like she was surprised to see him. Then recognition dawned in her eyes.

"Lando?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, unable to form words in that moment, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Her eyes flickered over him, taking in his tired, rumpled appearance. "You're here," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Lando could only nod, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. He felt the weight of Rick and Tasha's gaze on him, but he didn't register it. All he saw was Lizzie.

Lizzie’s hand was still buried in Mara's fur, fingers massaging the dog's head gently. Lando suddenly felt the need to touch her. To assure himself that she was really there.

He reached out, slowly, carefully, as if afraid she would disappear if he was too hasty. His hand hovered awkwardly above hers for a second, hesitating.

Lizzie's gaze flicked to his hovering hand, then back up at his face. There was a beat of silence, a loaded moment, a quiet invitation of sorts.

Lando hesitated for only a second longer, then carefully placed his hand on top of hers. Her skin was cool and smooth beneath his fingertips.

There was another beat of silence, the room heavy with tension. Then Lizzie turned her hand over, fingers intertwining with his. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt like everything. Lando exhaled shakily, squeezing her hand almost without intending to.

Lizzie's thumb rubbed over his knuckles gently, a soft and reassuring gesture. Lando was suddenly hyperaware of every detail about her. The warmth of her hand, the slight chapping on her lips, the circles under her eyes, the faint scent of hospital antiseptic on her skin.

"Either my brain is really scrambled, or you are actually here. Which one is it?"

Lando huffed out a quiet laugh. "I’m really here," he said softly. "Not just a figment of your imagination. I promise."

Lizzie’s eyes fluttered shut, relief and exhaustion warring for dominance on her face.

“You won?” She asked him, her voice slurring slightly.

Lando chuckled quietly, the noise bubbling up in his chest without his consent. "Yes, I won."

Her hand, intertwined with his, twitched slightly tighter at his words. "Really?" she repeated weakly.

"Really," Lando assured her softly. "Finished in first place."

He couldn't tell whether the emotions fluttering in his chest were joy or worry. Perhaps a strange mixture of both.

“I told you, you could do it,” she said simply.

Lando huffed out another laugh, the sound tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Yeah, you did. I should really start to listen to you more often."

Lizzie’s eyes flickered, fighting to remain open. She was losing her battle with sleep.

"You look tired," he said softly, rubbing the skin on the back of her hand with his thumb. "You should sleep."

Lizzie made a small, disgruntled noise. "Don’t wanna," she mumbled stubbornly.

"You need to," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You need to give your brain a chance to rest and recover."

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest, but a massive yawn cut her off, her protest coming out as another tired groan.

"See? Your body’s betraying you," Lando said with a smile, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. Lizzie huffed, her expression somewhere between annoyed and too exhausted to care.

Her eyes were fluttering closed, trying to stubbornly refuse rest. But the exhaustion was winning, it was blatantly obvious. Lando gave her hand a light squeeze, bringing her attention back. "You need to sleep," he repeated, his voice even more tender this time.

Lizzie huffed again, but it was a weak sound, lacking any real defiance. She was giving in. "Fine. I'll sleep," she mumbled, her voice slurring with exhaustion.

She shifted slightly on the bed, still clinging on to Lando's hand like it was a life line.

Lando gave her hand another gentle squeeze, a silent encouragement. Lizzie let out a soft sigh, her grip on his hand loosening slightly as sleep finally closed in on her.

Lando watched, his heart feeling both heavy and light in his chest. She looked so small and fragile against the hospital sheets.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered softly, not sure if she could even hear him. But her fingers twitched faintly, a last, desperate attempt to cling onto consciousness. Then, finally, her hand went slack in his, and her breathing leveled out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

Lando felt the tension ease from his body, a breath he didn't know he'd been holding escaping from between his lips. Lizzie was asleep, and it was the best state she could be in right now.

He looked up, suddenly remembering that they were not alone in the room. Rick was watching him silently, his gaze steady and observant.

Lando fidgeted under the scrutiny, his grip on Lizzie's hand unconsciously tightening. He'd almost forgotten about Rick and Tasha's presence, caught up in the intensity of the moment.

Tasha was watching him too, her expression hard to read. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glint that spoke of protective instincts.

"Relax, kid," Rick said, seeing Lando’s discomfort. "We’re not going to tear you apart."

Lando tried to suppress his nerves, but he felt very aware of the fact that he’s just held their daughter’s hand in front of them. "Yeah, I know," he managed to get out, his voice slightly shaky.

"Mara likes you, so I won't be too mean to you," Tasha said drily.

Lando let out a strangled laugh, feeling oddly reassured by Tasha's words. "Is...is that a good thing?" he asked tentatively.

Tasha rolled her eyes, but her expression was amused. "With Lizzie, it’s the highest form of approval you’re going to get."

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

The world was gigantic. It was vast and large, with endless planes and forests and even more endless oceans. So word sometimes travelled long distances. Legends changed, lore was smudged. And yet, in this moment all seemed to flow together at this one point in the farmlands.

As if all rivers of Eos met here, clear and unaltered.

She explained his thoughts. Aerith and he had the same mind in this moment. Connecting dots on a large picture that had been clouded before. Dusting it off and revealing a truth that had slumbered for a long time.

His eyes fell from the mural and to her. How she stood there, in deep shock. Quiet horror. Unveiling something that finally made sense. That he was chosen and blessed… Somnus wanted to scoff at it. He… yes, in part it was true. But, if this all added up… was it truly him, who should stand here? Were the gods looking down on them and growling about the mix-up once more?

He was not the one who healed the Starscourge. It was Ardyn.

And it complimented Aerith so much more. If one of the brothers was a puzzle piece, she and her Cetran ancestry were the entire equation that brought this together.

“We need to tell someone.”

Someone… sure. Her mother. That was who needed to know. And yet Somnus felt dread quell up in his chest at this thought. The last time they had thought they needed to tell her something… they, no, he had been all wrong. Underprepared. Foolish. Like a little child.

Shaking his head, Somnus took half a step back. His fingers flexing and uncurling, trying to make sense of this.

“Wait, no... Your mother must know already. She knows. How could she not…? This is… this is far too big not to know.”

There were no words uttered between them. Only a silent push, as though thousands of hands encouraged them to step forward together, to come face to face with an intertwined history that had been buried under rubble for too long now.

Aerith felt... overwhelmed. Though like two pieces that had perfectly aligned, her and Somnus continued onward, hand-in-hand choosing to face down whatever laid waiting for them in this hall of memories.

The tapestry gave her pause. Him too. The way her eyes sought his out were as though she were seeking permission to look behind the veil. Or perhaps his strength, because she certainly wouldn't be able to do this alone...

Taking care, the tapestry was lifted. Though the words could not be deciphered, the Prince and the Princess could look upon the scene that had protected over lifetimes and understand to their core what was being depicted.

It was the origin of their tragedies.

This was Jenova.

This was the Starscourge.

They could look upon the same moment etched in time and understand the event unfolding without needing it explained. It had been explained to them again and again, but nothing quite like this that unified the Cetra and Lucians.

"... The northern crater." Aerith quietly added, her head turning to regard him. "That it is listed here in your tongue, as Cauthess. It's all one and the same."

She almost sounded breathless as she poke. It certainly felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, as the room finally seemed to quieten around them again. They had found their calling.

Her eyes traced back to the mural again. Where the Lifestream existed with blue crystal. "It has been here all this time, and no one ever..." Her head shook. "No, how could they connect this, there weren't other Lucians with such a power, these were just blue crystals without meaning. But you, you were chosen, and you were blessed." Before him, there had not been a man or woman with his blessings. There had only been Gods.

[hyunjuenthusiast]

Im craving for angst , so girl can you write about Hyun ju x female reader

Basically Hyun ju and female reader have been dating for 1 and half year now, but things didn't went so well after attending squid game, Hyun ju gave young mi more attention , than she did for female reader so she distance herself from Hyun ju and her team, wondering why female reader ditched her. So female reader went to Gi Hun's team instead. And to make things worse not only Hyun ju voted O to continue the game, but Hyun ju lost the love of her life during the Mingle, ANND.. It took Hyun ju 2 to 4 business days to figure out that she hasn't been a good girlfriend ever since they came to squid game and Hyun ju Crashes out so badly.

(Female reader committed su!cide during Mingle, died instead of young mi and the shaman lady predicted female reader's death)

(And YES the guilt is definitely eating Hyun ju alive)

Sorry if this is too long

Take your time for this one

゜・（／。＼）・゜

Okayyyy complex, I like it! Hopefully I do this ask justice 🙏🏻

HER ANGEL

Pairing: Hyun-ju x femreader

Warnings: ANGST, depression, death, suicide, longing, survivors guilt.

Insecure. That was a word Y/n had always been familiar with. Ever since she was little. Her mother would criticize everything she did. If she ate too much, if she didn't eat enough. If her hair was down, if her hair was up. If she smiled, and if she didn't smile. Everything she did up until she was an adult was judged.

When she finally got the taste of freedom, moving out at the ripe age of eighteen, she discovered that the world was an ugly place. Nothing like how she fantasized how it would be. The books were wrong.

For the first few years after moving out, she was alone. Truly alone. She had no one. No friends to call late at night, no fuzzy kitten to cuddle when she had tears running down her face on a rainy day. No significant other who would whisper sweet nothings to her as she fell asleep... No one.

Not until she met her angel. Hyun-ju.

Everything had changed. For the first time in her life, Y/n felt like she deserved to take up space in the world. Hyun-ju made her feel wanted, loved. She erased every insecurity Y/n had. She loved every flaw and imperfection. She kissed her scars and wiped her tears.

Hyun-ju was her soul mate.

Y/n didn't care that her angel was different. She didn't care how people looked at them in public. Hyun-ju was perfect, in every way. Even if her angel couldn't see it for herself.

Hyun-ju told Y/n of her wishes for surgery. She had cried to Y/n about her debt and abandonment. And Y/n was there to comfort her in return, wiping her angels tears away and whispering promises.

So when a nice-looking man asked Y/n to play a game, showing her the money she would win, of course she agreed. For her angel, for Hyun-ju.

Y/n didn't need convincing to call the number on the back on the card. Once she saw Hyun-ju looking at herself in front of the mirror, her eyes filled with loathing, she dialed the number.

It was the least she could do. Hyun-ju had given Y/n her sense of self back. She had given Y/n her smile back. Of course, she would return the favor. Anything for her angel.

Waking up to the blasted music, she looked around to see other people. Waring the ugliest green she had ever seen. Looking down at herself, she saw her jacket was labeled 005.

She gathered around like everyone else. Waiting for an explanation. There were so many pink guards and even more players. They explained that they weren't trying to collect debt or cause any harm.

"Excuse me!" Said a voice. Not just any voice. Her angel's voice. Y/n quickly turned and saw Hyun-ju. Her Hyun-ju standing near a couple of bunks. She didn't catch what her angel said next, only focused on the fact that she was here.

Y/n winced as she saw Hyun-ju getting slapped. That was the day her angel had gone on a walk. She remembers her coming home, acting strange. Hyun-ju had met the salesman before Y/n did.

As all the players walked in single file lines up the colorful steps to get their pictures taken, Y/n looked around for Hyun-ju. Seeing her fixing her hair prettily, she smiles and quickly walks up to her. "Angel!" Y/n gushes.

Instead of greeting Y/n with a smile, Hyun-ju tenses. Asking her what she was doing here. "I know how much you need the money..." Y/n whispers softly, watching as Hyun-ju's eyes soften.

As they all walk into the first game, Hyun-ju holds Y/n's hand. "Don't separate from me, sweet girl. Okay?" Her angel asks softly. Y/n squeezes her hand in return.

"What is that?" Y/n asks, pointing to the giant doll like figure in the distance.

"Green light..."

Y/n quickly runs forward a few steps, then stops.

"Red light!" The doll waits, seeing if anyone would move.

The first to go was 196. Y/n stood, stiff as a board, the sound of people dying behind her. When the doll says green light, no one moves forward, but Hyun-ju reaches over and grips Y/n's hand.

Player 456 explains that they will die anyway if they don't cross the finish line in time, and so, she stays behind Hyun-ju, racing towards the finish line.

Once across, she watches in horror as her angel races back across to help player 456. This is the first and only time that Y/n has ever wanted to yell at Hyun-ju.

The second game is the six legged pentathlon. Her and Hyun-ju look around for more teammates. She notices Hyun-ju's fallen expression when people stare at her, and when they don't want to join because of her.

"Excuse me?" A timid voice says from behind the both of them. Y/n and Hyun-ju turn to see a small girl, obviously nervous. "W-Would you...like to team up with me?" She asks, looking at Hyun-ju first, then to Y/n.

Ever since then, Hyun-ju had been attached at the hip with Young-Mi. It was hard for Y/n not to notice, especially in a place like this. When she wanted comfort and reassurance from her angel, she would see that Hyun-ju was already comforting Young-Mi, that she was already whispering words of encouragement to her instead of Y/n.

But that was just who her angel was. She was kind to everyone, and Y/n had no right to take that away from Young-Mi. Y/n could clearly see how terrified the small girl was, and if Hyun-ju was her safe place, then who was Y/n to take that away from her?

That's was until Y/n heard it. What Hyun-ju was saying to Young-Mi.

"I won't let anything happen to you, sweet girl." Hyun-ju had said. Y/n felt her stomach drop. Sweet girl. That was Y/n's nickname. That was her word of endearment.

She decided to give them space. Joining player 456 and his team.

The third game was mingle.

As they all stood on the platform, Y/n watched as Hyun-ju held Young-Mi's hand, giving her soft smiles. Y/n felt horrible for feeling envious. Would she always be cursed to be this insecure? Would she ever feel content with anything?

"TEN"

The voice said. Everyone scrambled to find their groups and rooms. So far, their team had nine after joining Hyun-ju. Until her angel grabbed the crazy shaman lady.

Running into the green room, Y/n pants, not even bothering to look at her angel holding onto another woman. Hyun-ju gives her a confused look, wondering why she had left their group.

"Your heavy sorrow will swallow you whole." The crazy lady says, making everyone look at her. Y/n shrinks into herself as she realizes that she's talking to her. "You won't last much longer, I'm afraid. Pity. You have the purest birthstone."

"SIX" the voice says.

Gi-hun and Young-il had split from the group, leaving Y/n no other choice but to join Hyun-ju.

They all run to a yellow door, freezing in their tracks as they see a group is already in there. Hyun-ju races to find a different one.

She found one.

Y/n starts to run towards it with the other people in her group, but when she sees player 333 running towards it too, she slows down.

Looking over at her angel, she sees her clutching Young-Mi's hand.

The pregnant girl holds her belly.

The mother and sun cling to each other.

Where did Y/n fit into that? She didn't.

She has seen Jun-hee talking to player 333 on several occasions...

She needed him, more than any of them needed Y/n.

She made her decision then.

As player 333 races into the room, she finally hears Hyun-ju calling for her. Her angel was trying to get 333 out of the way.

Y/n walks to the door, looking into the small slit. "Y/n, what the hell are you doing? Go find a room! Go!" Hyun-ju shouts. Y/n only shakes her head softly.

"Ita okay angel." She whispers, putting her hands onto the door. Hyun-ju is starting to panic. The timer still had thirteen seconds on it. "I know there's no place for me here. Not now." Y/n says, tearing up.

Hyun-ju continues to shout, begging Y/n to go find a room. "You made me feel so inside the lines, Hyun-ju. Like I wasn't a lost shade outside of the pretty design. I could actually fit inside the art." Y/n says with a sad smile.

"I never thanked you for that." She says. "Thank you for showing me. For guiding me to see who I was for the first time."

Nine seconds on the timer.

"I know you'll be happy. You'll make it out of here and live the life you've always dreamed of...live the life you've always deserved. A life, with Young-Mi." Y/n's lip quivers.

Four seconds on the timer.

Hyun-ju starts shaking the door, sobbing and yelling. "I love you, my angel." She whispers tearfully, letting out a pained breath as she feels the bullet peirce her back.

"NO! Y/N!"

Player 333 had left that room beaten to a bloody pulp.

At first, Young-Mi's hand doesn't feel out of place instead of her own, not for the next two games.

Until Y/n's words repeat instead of her head.

A life...with Young-Mi.

Once she realizes it, she drops Young-Mi's hand as if it had burned her. She had been holding the wrong woman. Comforting the wrong woman. Calling her...

She had called the wrong woman sweet girl.

Hyun-ju looks over to Young-Mi, a tear falling. She had made the love of her life question her love.

She had been at fault for her sweet girl's death. Not 333. Not even the guards. Hyun-ju was the reason.

"Don't worry. You'll be seeing her again, " the shaman says. "A lot sooner than you think."

For the next game... was human chess.

I'm scared.... what do we think?

[cvnt4him]

Shoyou breaking up w you before you both graduate.

Shoyou has such a hard time breaking up with you. He truly loved you so much but he had to follow his heart. He couldn't hold onto you, he felt as if that if he made you wait for him; wait until he was finally ready to put down roots then he'd be asking you to save yourself for longer than he even knew. It was wrong in his eyes, he loves you so much but it isn't fair to you. It isn't fair to hold you down like this.

“ I can't hold on to you...not like this....I love you, too much for this..”

You both cry in each other's arms, foreheads leaning against one another. You both sniffle and try to hold back your sobs. The way he spoke gently to you, it was so soothing yet so heartbreaking. That was the last time you'd seen him.

A couple of years past, you and a few other former kurasuno affiliates sat inside the bleachers waiting for the game to end everyone on the edge of their seats with the heated game going on. However there was a particular reason you were squeamish...shoyou hinata. He was playing. You watched him move with quicker than you remember jumping higher than ever. He was more attractive than you could even bear.

His tanned skin sweating and reddened slightly, that stupid smile he had on his face that he got when he was eager...goodness. you bit your lip and squeezed your thighs together. It's been so long since you last seen him, since you two had last spoken. You were nervous...what would he say when he actually seen you?,

After the game ends everyone says their hellos and stuff. You were so nervous fidgeting as you groan lowly to yourself. There was no way you could face your ex boyfriend, not like this. It was too......much for you to handle..

Just as you were about to call this whole thing quits and walk away you hear a familiar voice shout to you..

“...hey.”

You stop in your tracks seemingly unable to move. You knew exactly who it was, emotions were filling you. Such a mix of them making your stomach churn. You gulp down hardly before slowly turning to face him.

Your eyes met with those vibrant gleaming orange eyes. So wide and full of neverending potential. He was absolutely gorgeous, even more up close. You could see his skin glisten with sweat and small strands of his ginger hair sticking to his forehead. He offered you a small smile slightly opening his arms to you, letting you do what you will with that.

What else could you do than run into his toned arms. Tears well in your eyes as you laugh inhaling his newly distinct scent inside your nostrils. He wrapped his arms around you tightly chuckling above you. He had gotten a bit taller than you and way more muscular than you'd remembered.

As you both pulled apart clearing your throats from the small laughter you shared, you couldn't help but admire him closely now. He was so ethereal, and goodness that smile....

You seen the way he died you up and down slowly biting his lip lighting as he did so. S small amused scoff leaving him. You felt so jittery underneath his gaze like this.

“ you look good.”

His voice was deeper than you remembered as well...sending vibrations right through your body. You stammered on your words trying to find what to say as what he says goes straight to your head, making your face warm up a bit.

“ yeah...uhm, yes well so do you. you really uh tanned up a bit, huh. suits you.”

He chuckled lowly at your words, rubbing the back of his slightly sweatened neck sighing as he speaks to you.

“ yeah well uh, you're not actually the first person to notice that. not the first person to say that either. alot of uh soccer moms seem to love the tan.”

He laughs at the end of his sentence, you can't help but to laugh along with him. Sighing shakily as you stare at him. You feel as if it's wrong to do so, you hate how much you want him badly but gosh he's so sexy.

You both just look at each other for a moment staring deeply into each other's eyes. You see the way he slowly nibbles at his lip.

Before you knew it you were making out in the bathroom trying to be as quietly as you could considering all of the people that were outside. His hot breaths fanning your face as he struggles to get your clothes off with his slippery hands. He groans lowly as you begin to nip at his neck, his hands wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him.

“ god, I want you so fuckin’ badly.”

Shoyou groaned above you, sitting you up on the counter as he cranes your head up to his so he can kiss you once more. He lets his tongue find it's way inside of your mouth. Your tongues swirling around each others spit slipping at the corners of your mouths.

Once he gets your shirt off her quick to attack your chest kissing sloppily over your pushed up boobs, hands going to your back to quickly remove your back his hands coming up to replace it, gently squeezing and groping the meaty flesh. He groans and moves his kisses and small sucked down to your bare chest, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth.

You hold him close by his head tangling your fingers through his ginger locs, small curls forming around your fingers and you scratch lightly at his scalp humming with a small laugh laced in. You kiss his head lightly as your breathing changes, you pant lightly and lowly a small mewl leaving your lips as he continued leaving hickeys and sucking harshly.

A small knock at the door causes you to tense in his hands, a light gasp leaving you as you pull at his hair slightly. He groans and continues as if he's even more needy than before. Pulling you impossibly closer to him.

A voice speaks slightly muffled due to the barrier you couldn't exactly make out what the male said due to shoyous excessive moaning.

“ shoyou.. there's, there's someone at the door...”

A small grunt leaves his mouth as a response you don't know what to do, you sigh beneath his touch jittery and nervous due to the person

After a while it appears he'd left, but by then shoyou was already burying his face inside of your cunt. Inhaling deeply at the smell of you he missed so much, a small whine leaving him as he kissed your clothed cunt sloppily.

He pulled away swiftly to remove the barrier, pulling your pants and panties down at once. Delving his tongue inside immediately without hesitation groaning at the taste of you on his tongue eyes slightly rolling as he struggles to keep his composure.

He licks and sucks up everything you give him trying to maintain eye contact with you as be makes out with your cunny having his thumb rub circles on your clit slowly. As he pulls away momentarily from you a line of your arousal and his spit connects him to your cunt making you shudder at how he looks at you.

Hes so pussy drunk he can't help but to push his face back into your sweet folds tongue flicking and swirling around your clit as he fingers you slowly. There were murmurs outside of the door causing you slight concern, maybe you were being too loud or maybe he was slurping too loudly. There were so many things clouding your head, however with your orgasm coming fastly and crashing down on you all you could do was grab shoyou by his hair and try and pull him away from you.

He kept licking up everything you gave him sighing in your pussy as he rubs your thighs soothingly. He pulls away from you finally licking up everything left on his face before making eye contact with you once more. He smirks and scoffs lowly before pulling your clothes up and riding to his feet.

You catch your breath, yet feeling a bit more breathless as you look into his eyes. Full of determination and a hint of cockiness. He pulls you into a slow kiss letting you taste the flavours of yourself on his tongue.

You sigh shakily before pushing him away lying your head in his shoulder as you continue to level your breathing. He wraps his arms around you and kisses your head making you laugh lightly.

“ I miss this. I miss you.”

He rubbed your shoulder softly looking at himself in the mirror facing the music of his previous decisions. Shoyou didn't know what he wanted but he knew he couldn't let you go. Not again.

“ you were right....before, that is.”

He hums looking down at you, you dust yourself off before jumping off of the counter turning to wash your hands and encouraging him to do the same. You two stand side by side as you both dry your hands, he looks at you wondering whatever it is that you mean .

“ I was holding you back. I still might...you're meant for greatness. I would only get in the way of that.”

He scoffed annoyed at your response. Shoyou didn't care about any of that, sure he knew some of his fans would be upset upon hearing he would be in a relationship but he doesn't care. He truly does love you and he always has. There was no way in hell be would pass up getting to follow his passion and being with you.

“ y/n I love you. more than I do anything else in this world. I can handle a little hate from some people, especially if it means I can be with you and do what I love.”

You sigh. This was a lot. You didn't want to take him away from the world or from what he loves. It would make you feel bad, not just about yourself but for him. At first you didn't get it, but now you understand. All too well unfortunately. You can't hold him back like this, not again. He'd be better off following his dreams and focusing on them rather than having to worry about you and manage himself and his goals.

You turn to him tears welling in your eyes once more, you give a wobbly smile to him one that he knew couldn't mean anything good. He sighed shakily accepting what he knew was to come. As fun as this was you both knew it wouldn't work. You loved each other too much; cared for each other too much. So much so that it held you both back.

Just as you were about to speak, about to apologize he simply pulls you into a hug. It was tight and comforting exactly what you both needed. His breathing changed as if he were trying to hold back his emotions. You kissed his cheek before letting him go telling him he should wait few before leaving after you. He agrees.

As you walked out of that bathroom you ran into a couple of people saying your goodbyes and giving your hugs to everyone and leaving.

Weeks pass and just as you thought you could get over whatever you needed to get over in order to focus on yourself. You scroll on social media to find everyone talking about ‘japanese volleyball player shoyou hinata, better known as 'ninja shoyou' from the black jackals seen leaving bathroom after another woman.’ there was a clear video showing you walking out of the bathroom fixing yourself up and saying goob ye to people and then shoyou walking out about a couple of minutes later.

Fuck

[milkteabies]

Streaming video games w/ Kenma

a/n: this is supposed to be like friends to lovers coded ok, stay w me on this, and there’s some mutual pining, and it’s steamer Kenma, alright, and also female reader

—————

“You’re really bad at this.” You snicker, sitting in the background off to the side of Kenma’s stream, messing around on your phone as Kenma debuts the game he just got.

“No backseat gaming.” He mumbles, eyes not leaving the screen as he continues to strategically mash the buttons of his controller, taking hit after hit from the boss.

You snicker again at the statement, heaving yourself up from your designated comfy seat in his streaming room, pocketing your phone in the loosely zipped up ‘Kodzuken’ jacket you worse. You stroll over to stand behind his chair, leaning against it to watch his screen as well, the flashes from his attacks reflecting across the matching blue light glasses you both wore.

Eyes glancing over to his second monitor, you see thousands of messages suddenly fly past as his chat greets you, excited to actually see you in frame

“Yes, hi chat. I’ve been here the whole time if you just got here. It’s been… 3 hours since I’ve last been fed.” You giggle as messages of admonishment sprinkle through the comments, causing Kenma to elbow your hip closest to his chair. “Do you see this, chat? This is how he treats me.”

“Quit lying to them, they’re gonna start sounding like children of divorce.” He huffs, shoulders finally relaxing when he dies to the boss again.

“Can’t believe you’d reveal the divorce like that.” You start, pointing to the screen. “Also can’t believe you’d claim to be a pro gamer when you’ve died 4 times now to the same boss.”

Kenma leans back in his chair to look up at you, exasperatedly. “You try if you think I’m so bad.” He says, holding the controller out to you.

Shaking your head, you take the still warmed plastic into your hand, sighing, “You know this isn’t gonna go well.”

Scooting back from his desk, he chuckles, “Should’ve thought about that before you started making comments. I’ll order some food while you fight for your life.”

“I’ll start crying on stream, right now.” You say, hunching over to see the screen, reloading the game at his last save just before the battle.

Kenma chuckles again, already scrolling on his phone, occasionally glancing at the monitors to make sure things are running smoothly. He scans across his video feed and he gets an eyeful of your chest, right on the screen.

Dropping his phone in his lap, he turns and quickly zips the hoodie up to your neck. “Ah! Quit it, you’re gonna mess me up!” You yelp, shouldering his hands off, eyes staying on the screen in the midst of battle, quite literally fighting for your life.

“Yeah, yeah, quit flashing my chat.” He feigns nonchalance, scrolling through the chat to delete any weird comments and ban any especially weird people with his mods.

“Ain’t no one looking at that.” You snicker, furiously mashing every button possible to dodge each attack.

“They better not be.” He mumbles, going back to ordering food, thoroughly assured you weren’t accidentally exposing yourself.

The next few minutes are quiet, only broken by the creaking of the controller from how tightly you grip it, the gentle tapping of Kenma on his phone, and occasional donation announcements. Kenma finally finished ordering the food, knowing your favorites by heart, and he takes to watching your dodge, duck, and run strategy.

“You know you’ve got to actually hit him to win, right?” He chuckles, looking away from the screen to glance at your worried face instead.

“He’s scary, okay! I’m trying to, you know… learn his attack pattern.” You defend weakly, pouting at the screen when your character takes a heavy hit, scooting over to sit on the arm rest of Kenma’s chair to truly lock in.

Kenma hums in agreement, still watching your side profile, eyes tracing the furrow in your brow and the down turn of your lips. He watches as you absentmindedly shake the controller as you attempt to attack, smiling when a piece of hair falls from behind your ear which you huff and blow at, annoyedly.

He reaches over and tucks it carefully back for you, practically melting at the little ‘thank you’ and smile you give him, handing trailing down to hover over the small of your back.

He snaps out of his daze when a donation sounds with the message, “See the way he looks at her, he’s down bad fr y’all.” Deadpanning at his camera, he fails to fight the blush that spreads over his face as you cackle.

The chat spams with similar messages, various “clipped it”-‘s flashing by as you laugh so hard, you don’t even notice that you stayed still long enough to die to the boss. Giggling, you double over, unzipping your jacket again and leaning against Kenma’s shoulder as his face continues to burn. He refocuses when you lean too far and slip off the arm rest and right into his lap.

It causes another round of laughter from you as you press a hand to Kenma’s chest, almost keeling over and slipping to the floor if he didn’t wrap his arms around your waist.

The chat shoots by a mile-a-minute, full of keyboard smashed, messages of disappointment about their own lives, and jaded comments interspersed with overwhelming excitement about “sailing ships.”

Kenma hides his face into your hair, hands squeezing your waist in embarrassment as you chide the viewers, “C’mon guys, you can’t call him out like that.” You giggle, yelping when Kenma pinches at your side. “Hey! I’m trying to help you!” You huff, turning to face him, but he just hides his face into your neck instead.

You giggle at the feeling of his hair tickling your neck and smooth it back with a free hand, your other wrapping around his neck as you shift to sit more comfortably. “Sorry chat, he’s outta commission.”

Before you can say much more, Kenma’s phone vibrates with the notification of the foods arrival, which he takes as the perfect reason to call it a night. “Alright chat, we made pretty good progress in the game, and our food’s here, so I’ll end the stream here for tonight.” He slips into creator mode, and you offer a giggly goodbye as he ends the stream.

As soon as the video shuts off, you’re pulling out your phone to find the clip of the donation comment. But Kenma knows you, and knows what you’re going to find, and quickly wrestles your phone out of your hand, trapping your wrists in one hand while he holds your phone in the other, far away from you.

“Kenma!” You whine, wriggling in your spot. “I wasn’t doing nothing! You’re so mean.” You glower at him, more joke than anything as your jacket slips off your shoulder from the movement.

Kenma roles his eyes, stuffing your phone into his pocket as he almost presses your foreheads together, mumbling, “I could be meaner.”

Suddenly flustered, you lean back, turning your head away as you stammer, “The cameras are off now, you know, you don’t need to be going that far.”

“You think it’s a joke?” He murmurs, pulling you closer by your still captures wrists, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek.

“It…Isn’t it?”

“Never was.” He whispers, leaning forward to press his lips to your exposed shoulder, making you squeal at the contact.

You can feel Kenma smile against your skin as you squirm more. “You need to be serious with me right now, or I’m going to freak out.”

“I’ve been serious since we met in high school.”

You pull your wrists away from his now relenting grasp and press a hand the bottom half of your face, squealing into your palm. Kenma laughs at the sound, but you press your other hand against his face to block the view of your embarrassment.

Kenma opens his mouth, probably to offer some cheeky comment, but before he can say anything, you cup his cheeks and pull him in to press your lips together. Your eyes fall shut as you lean into him, his reaction buffering slightly before he takes the action in stride, wrapping an arm around your waist and the other splaying his palm in the middle of your upper back to press you as close as possible.

You hardly feel like you’re breathing with how much you’re focused on the feeling of how chapped yet soft Kenma’s lips are.

After what feels like an eternity of being lost in each other, you two finally part, breathing deeply with equally apparent flushes on your cheeks, be it from lack of air or an abundance of excitement.

Your thumb strokes his cheek tenderly as his arm reaches over your hips to pull you closer and higher on his lap. Kenma’s eyes are lidded as he gazes at you adoringly, leaning in again to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Before things can escalate again, you press a hand over his mouth, giggling when he kisses your palm instead. ��Before we start again, I really am hungry.” You whisper.

Kenma groans as he wills himself up, leaving both of your phones on his desk, setting you to stand but keeping an arm around your waist to trail closely behind while you go to gather the food. He puts on a movie in the living room as you set up the food, and quickly pulls you back into his lap when you attempt to sit on the couch.

“You’re not going to eat?” You ask as you gather a few items onto your plate, already taking a bite.

“In a minute.” Kenma murmurs, cheek pressed against your shoulder as he curls around you, thoroughly content.

You two spend the rest of the night squished together on the couch, hardly leaving each other’s grasp as you fall asleep to some random movie on auto play. Unknown to either of you, both your phones have been absolutely blowing up with mentions as the clip of ‘calling Kenma out’ started trending all over the internet.

—————

a/n: this is probably wildly ooc, but it’s too cute ok, I’m a sucker for yearning and being down bad

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy II

an art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU...

II.

-It takes about three classes for you to finally relax around Professor Wick. You still feel his eyes upon you when you pose, but he does not make you feel uncomfortable. In fact…he is painfully proper with you. As he should be, of course, but sometimes, late at night when you are kept awake by your thoughts of him…you wish he would be just a tad forward. It's unseemly, what you would let that sweet man get away with. Therein lies the conundrum, you suppose. If he made a pass at you…he wouldn't be so sweet. 

-One day you are making your rounds during the break, when you happen to notice Professor Wick was drawing at his desk along with the students. You were in a reclining pose, feigning sleep. The way he drew you…you know better than to think you could possibly look so alluring in real life, but there is something in the varied weight of his lines, the soft shading. Somehow he configured the shadows of the background to suggest wings folded over your supine nude form. 

You've never really liked your body. Well…who does like themselves, truly? But modeling in the classroom, seeing your flesh turned into art, has helped you find a confidence, or at least an acceptance, you didn't have before. Wick’s rendition goes beyond all that, though. You can't let this go to your head. It’s too much. “I hope…you don't mind.”

Again, he's crept up on you without a sound, and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

Clutching your heart, you look back at him. 

“No…I…it’s beautiful.”

You don't know where you get the courage to meet his high-polished onyx gaze, but you feel something inside you implode…then melt. 

“You're beautiful, y/n.”

You have no idea that this is the first time he's drawn anyone besides his wife, since she passed. 

You stand like this in agonizing stasis, close, but not touching, for you don't know how long. You're not sure what might have happened, given enough time, but some of the students return to class, and the moment is broken. You don’t know if you're disappointed, or relieved. 

-You don't know why it's taken you this long, but you finally look up “John Wick+artist”. What you find takes your breath away. Yes, he's a skilled draughtsman. And a painter. And sometimes he combines all these things with bookbinding. 

He's incredible. 

His paintings are dark, with a touch of fantasy, evoking grisly folktales and the old masters in his play of light and shadows. He uses perspective and foreshortening to explore the human body in exciting new ways. He made his name with a series of ethereal ballet dancers in precarious situations. Later, he only painted his wife, Helen. She was a photographer, and in a snap of them with cheeks pressed together they seem impossibly happy. You see that she succumbed to a terminal illness two years ago.

The art world has not heard from John Wick since. 

You do not know this man, really, but you cry for him all the same. 

-You have no idea, how you move him. It's not just that he's seeing you naked on a regular basis, though that does not help. It's the flash of your eyes across the room, your smile and your laughter as you joke around with the students while they draw you as God made you. There is a light in you that he cannot turn away from, perhaps because he has lived in darkness for so long. He craves you– and he knows he shouldn't.  He traces your form with charcoal on paper, and he tells himself that that will have to do. 

He looks you up too. 

He finds your little miniature paintings on your social media, your digital portfolio for all to see. You make tiny eclectic diorama scenes you cook up with a 5/0 brush, sometimes you add moving parts and teeny dolls with teenier twee companions. Polly Pocket never had a pet opossum…poor girl. Your diminutive pieces hint at a longing for the enchantment of childhood lost, and maybe a cozy home that feels whole, if not strange to an outsider’s eye.

He notices you have not created anything you feel like sharing lately. He wonders if you are ok. The answer amongst the creatively inclined is usually not. But if you are not happy…you hide it well. 

He senses there is a well of strength in you that he wishes he could drown himself in. 

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map

pinterest board/ photo credits

[softlypaintedseafoam]

your love, like birth and death

synopsis. in which you hope a misguided prince realizes his affection for you is misplaced gratitude for you saving his life. a smitten prince can only propose once more.

pairing. gojou satoru x f!reader

word count. 3.1k | masterlist

content warning. faerie au, seelie prince!gojou, banshee!reader (afab), mentions of pregnancy, descriptions of blood and injuries, mutual pining but gojou's love is heavier, almost kisses

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

another repost of a favorite fic of mine to finally get something on the jjk masterlist i have set up. the title comes from a nizar qabbani poem, one of my favorites. anyone who knows me knows banshees are one of my favorite faeries, so this was a very fun piece for me to write!

This Court is dyed in the colors of Life, you note this particular morning.

Of course, this is something you’ve noted every morning since you’d been brought to this palace nearly a month ago. Yet you aren’t tired of noting it; the Court you have found yourself in is beautiful. From the ledge you lean against, it almost feels like you can see everything in Faerie.

You see the royal gardens, a mass of long grasses and moss dotted by colorful wild blooms. Overgrown and yet each flower seems right where it is supposed to be.

Beyond the walls of the castle, you see stretches and stretches of blue spruces and just beyond that a lake that almost seems purple. If this were a palace in Unseelie territory, you might have thought a kelpie lived in it.

Across the courtyard, souls living and deceased move as if in a dance. The living with their duties for the day, unaware of their ghoulish companions drifting about. Some have the ever permanent dribble of poisoned wines falling from their lips, others’ have blood seeping into their clothes from their torsos and others are missing limbs although they find no difficult in moving.

The sight of death faeries is one that gruesome. A mixture of life and death, the path you folk walk on until you return to nothing.

Neat yet unkempt, wild yet tame, expected yet unexpected ー that is the beauty of Faerie you’ve grown accustomed to in the centuries since your creation.

A beauty you rarely have the opportunity to appreciate when you often find yourself in the realm of humans, heralding death.

You wonder how much time has passed there since you’ve come to the Court of Reckoning. All while the skies have lost the traces of violet, peach and marigold that painted the dawn skies and have begun settling into a lovely shade of pastel blue. 

“I see I’ve finally found you,” when you look over your shoulder, it’s one of the prince’s advisors that greets you. The one with the long raven-black hair and brown eyes that remind you of humus-rich soil. You see the makings of a black tail with a tuft of fur peeking from his cloak and believe him to be some sort of phouka. “I almost thought for a moment our honored guest had disappeared,” his voice is light and airy, but he seems relieved to an extent. “I’m glad my concerns were proven untrue. Satoru would be quite unmanageable if that were the case.”

You shake your head, smiling politely, “I enjoy watching dawn turn into morning.” You look at the large bouquet in the phouka’s hands ー an assortment of lavender roses, baby’s breath and ferns.

“Our prince is too busy to deliver these himself this morning,” Suguru explains once they’ve caught your eye. You make sure to not let your fingers brush against one another when you reach for the blooms carefully. “Love at first sight, purity and fascination it is supposed to symbolize,” the advisor recounts the meaning of each bloom dutifully. He’s exasperated, you can tell. “Do you like them?”

“Yes, they’re quite lovely,” you believe so truly. Everyday since your arrival to the palace, the prince has had bouquet after bouquet gifted to you. Even if he cannot deliver them himself. “As were the rest I’ve received.”

“I’ve never seen Satoru so smitten,” you avoid the phouka’s gaze. “You should have met him when we were younger. He was adamant that he’d never be besotted with anyone lest he become a fool.” There’s a light pause as Suguru recalls the evening Satoru brought you to this palace. You who are cloaked in death and all of her colors. “Look at him now. He’s certainly caused a stir in his insistence you’ll be his queen. He’s a charming fool, though, I am sure.”

You prefer to think of the prince as a ridiculous fool but you cannot deny that he is charming. Dangerously so. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought him to be a gancanagh, a love-talker.

“Please marry me,” came the soft request as sky blue eyes stared into your very being. “And I’ll love you more faithfully than any man, fae or otherwise.”

You try not to remember the way your chest clenched in surprise. How you were so surprised it almost felt like your skin had warmed. It’s best not to focus on that memory at all.

It’s a ridiculous notion, a seelie prince in love with a banshee.

“The prince is simply confusing gratitude with love,” you return Suguru’s gaze with a polite smile. You hope he believes you. “He’ll realize that soon and I will leave this place.” You know that will bring palace staff a great sense of peace. If there is one thing you’ve learned in your long life as a banshee it is that even if the Folk spurn mortals and their blink-of-an-eye lifespans, there are many things faeries and humans have in common.

A fear of death is certainly one of them.

As such, to the vast majority of faeriekind, Death Folk like yourself are not looked upon favorably. Banshee and dullahans alike, you’re more like pests in their eyes. 

You banshee women who scream and keen if death is near. 

The dullahans who hear those screams and arrive when that final hour has approached.

Yes, you know how death fae are viewed. You’ve heard the whispers in the palace, how you are an omen of malevolence to come. That your kind are like roaches. Should one appear, others will soon follow suit.

This is why you’ve come to appreciate this private ledge on the castle walls that receives less foot traffic than the rest. You’d rather the staff of the palace have peace of mind in your absence while you live in the palace even if their prince insists you can venture the halls as much as you’d like.

Once the promised revel he hopes to throw in your honor comes to pass, you know the prince will lose his interest in you. Then you will leave and continue about your existence until you fade into nothing but a vague memory in his subconscious.

That’s what you truly hope when you see the prince in question later on in the day for lunch in the garden.

How his eyes light up and he stands to his feet as Cypress, a lovely pixie tasked with being your attendant, announces your arrival. How he doesn’t even wait for you to reach the table before he comes to meet you. You are unused to being treated like royalty and yet their prince insists that you are. “You won’t believe how the old hags go on and on,” he sighs, remnants of annoyance dancing in his tone but his voice is soft with you. Cypress takes the dismissal in stride. “I couldn’t even come see you for breakfast. Did you like the flowers?”

He wraps your hands in his own large palms, seemingly unaffected by your corpse-cold skin, as he has done every time you’ve met since your arrival. “Yes, they were beautiful,” your smile is small and doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You hope this ridiculous yet charming fool realizes that loving one such as yourself is more trouble than good. That his love truly is just misplaced gratitude. “You really don’t have to send me flowers every morning.”

The prince disregards your words the way water rolls off the back of a duck, “next time I’ll bring you the flowers myself.” He guides you to the table filled to the brim with food you aren’t accustomed to eating. “Will you tell me your favorites finally? I’ve been going out on a limb with my guesses.”

“My tastes in flowers are unique, to say the least,” maybe it’s your nature, but your favorites tend to circle around the prevailing theme of your kind. Lavender to give the dead peace in passing on, calendula for blessing and love. Dandelions in the seed head stage were quite popular with ghost children, still finding them just as amusing as they did when they were alive. “The flowers you send me are more than enough.” The prince pouts but he decides to let you skirt around his request once more. You bring focus back to the spread, “it looks like you’ve demanded everything in the kitchen.”

There are strawberry-and-whipped cream filled pastries, cold cut platters and buttery biscuits to name a few things. The tip of the iceberg of everything on the table.

“I wanted to make sure our bases were covered,” the prince grins, teeth as white as his hair. “I hope you like lavender chamomile, that’s today’s tea. I’ve never had it before.” He drops cube after cube of sugar into his cup, drizzles the contents with honey before finally pouring in a splash of cream.

You take your tea plain and enjoy the gentle fragrance. Lavender buds are just barely visible below the tea’s surface. You close your eyes as the flavor hits your tongue. It tastes as wonderful as it smells. “Yes, this is quite nice. I really like it.”

“Should we have it for tomorrow as well?” He’s too eager to curry your favor.

You open your eyes to dissuade him but your attention is instead drawn to a headless hob nearing your table. You’ve seen this hob before, skirting about the palace bitterly as he carries his head in his hands much like a dullahan. He’s old, even by fae standards, with a long beard. There’s no question as to how the man died, beheading. You hope it was quick.

His beady eyes glare at you with a quiet rage similar to how most fae spirits do. You wonder how long he has been like this, refusing to board the carriage of any dullahan that may come to collect him and bring him to the Otherworld.

You personally believe that faeries leave behind ghosts more than humans do.

It’s why you’ve often seen ghosts from a distance at revels, dancing from dawn til dusk even if they will not be perceived by the living. Even if they can no longer don the fancy dresswear they were able to dress in.

Time and time again, they will do this. Staunchly refusing death even after they’re already in its hold.

“Oh, is there a ghost with us?” The prince notes how your eyes dart between him and the space he perceives as empty. “What’s it saying?”

“Tell this lout that I sooner hope his rule is contemptuous and brings the Court to ruin!” The hob’s head seethes. “That his many days are fraught with danger! Gakuganji is my name and this is the curse I cast upon him!”

Folk can’t lie, but you you prefer not to relay the bitter message. “He hopes your rule is one that is,” you lick your lips and raise your cup to your lips. “Filled with exciting thrills,” not an exact lie. Perhaps to this radical prince, those sorts of threats are exciting. “He says his name is Gakuganji.”

“Exciting thrills, you say?” The prince barks in amusement, shoulders shaking with his laughter. “That doesn’t sound like the traitorous scoundrel I know. You don’t have to lie, he’s probably cursing me and my bloodline for generations to come as we speak.” The hob growls at the lackadaisical nonchalance of the elf. But it seems he has had his fill as he stomps off before he can hear more insult to his person.

“Gakuganji has lost his touch even in death,” the prince’s amused chuckles turn into light sighs “You wouldn’t have liked him very much when he was alive,” you’re sure you can agree with that much of the prince’s words. Gakuganji, as you now know him, has been one of the more unpleasant spirits in the palace. “He was very stuck in his ways. What’s it like, seeing ghosts all the time?”

Normal?

You can’t quite remember what it was like when you were a newly-made banshee and everything was new. Nor can you remember the life you once led as a human. You simply remember your death was a terrible, terrible thing. “It’s as normal to me as it’s normal for you not to see them,” you set your cup down. “If someone asked you what’s it like to see the blue sky everyday, it would be a strange question, correct?”

The prince takes in your words thoughtfully, not slighted in the least. “I guess that’s true,” he nods to himself. “I just wondered if it was something that took some getting used to.” The prince removes his darkened spectacles from the bridge of his nose. “I told you before I have pretty good eyes. I’m able to perceive a lot of things no one else can from mana to the shape of one’s soul. But the spirits of the deceased are exceptions to my eyes, it seems.”

“Your Highness,” you begin.

“Satoru,” the prince corrects you swiftly.

“Your Highness,” you insist. This boundary you won’t cross for yourself. “I’m not sure it’s really wise for you to tell me about your eyes. I’m not a member of this family or your closest allies.”

“But you will be,” he tells you as if he’s simply remarking on how pleasant the weather is. “I will become king of this Court and you’ll be by my side as my queen.” You’re quite sure that if his mother, the High Queen, has anything to say about it, she’d sooner relinquish her throne to a random nixie than allow a banshee to wed her son. “I trust you as much as I trust Suguru or Nanami.”

You wish he wouldn’t.

A Seelie prince and his banshee queen? That sounds like the start to a ballad meant to insult him.

It’s misplaced gratitude, not love. That’s what this prince feels for you. You tell him as such once again as you have everyday since you were brought here. “You’ll realize that soon, maybe even before the revel you plan for me,” you whisper ー no, you pray. “There will be another you yearn for and you’ll realize the difference.”

The prince will fall deeply, truly, unapologetically in love with someone and he’ll discover the truth.

Perhaps it will be a lake maiden of Spring whose dreadlocks drip with water droplets that fall onto dewy cinnamon-brown skin. Who sings of the beautiful red and pink of the roses and of love.

Or maybe it will be a selkie man who doesn’t mind living far from the sea as he’s brought a love as deep as the ocean along with him. Whose coat is donned in scars and scratches from battles past, a reflection of his form as a seal.

Or maybe he can grow enraptured with his phouka advisor whom he trusts more than anyone in this life.

Someone dyed in Life’s colors.

Someone beautiful.

When that time comes, you’ll be happy for him. Maybe then the ache that resonates through your heart and bones will end.

The prince isn’t the only fool here, you admit reluctantly. You’re just as much, if not more so. But this feeling will come to pass, “this is just gratitude. Fascination. Not love.”

“You think I don’t love you?” The prince asks quietly, resting his chin on his palm as he looks at you. He says he has good eyes, he wonder what you look like to him through them. You who once was dyed in Life’s colors but have since become painted over by Death’s brush.

Death folk with death folk.

Life folk with life folk.

“I know you don’t,” he can’t. You can’t allow either of yourselves to do so. “A banshee by your side as queen,” you want it sound ridiculous to both of your ears. “It’s absurd.”

There are no rules that state your union is forbidden, this you know. But the laws of nature are simple. Life and Death co-exist separately, unable to exist without one another. But there has never been a tale where the two joined together as one.

Maybe you’re just too scared to be the first.

“I want the woman that I love by my side as queen,” the prince replies smoothly. “Your species is of little importance to me. All that matters is that my love is returned in full. Please, allow me to be yours,” he reaches for your hand once more, stepping out of his chair in favor of sitting on bended knee. “More than anyone has or ever will, I love you. This is an unwavering truth.”

The blood of the love-talker must run through his veins. Why else do you feel like this? Your desire for this prince will eat away at you until you become undone and return to nothing. “You’re a prince. It’s the duty of the royal family to provide heirs,” even the smallest sprite knows this to be fact. “Are you asking me to stay with you and have them?”

“Please have my children,” azure stares seriously into your pale eyes that were once [color] when you were human.

Your skin feels warm at his unabashed request.

Gojou Satoru has no shame, that you have become sure of in the near month of knowing one another.

He had no shame when he asked you to be his bride when you first met.

There was no shame to be found when he insisted that you stay in the palace as an honored guest he owes his life to.

Nor is there any shame to be found in him now when he cups your cheek in his furnace hot hands to guide your lips down to his, long white lashes fluttering shut.

I shouldn’t, your mind screeches at you. I shouldn’t allow us to get even one millimeter closer. Yet you make no move to do so as your lips are just barely touching whenー

“Your Highness, your mother is requesting you,” Nanami’s mild-mannered drawl saves you at the last minute.

You jerk back into your chair in relief, heart pounding. You aren’t able to make eye contact with anyone, least of all the overworked horned elf-kobold hybrid brought to receive the Gojou heir.

The prince clicks his tongue in annoyance, glaring over his shoulder at the advisor, “she can’t wait? We haven’t even begun eating yet.”

Nanami looks just as annoyed to be there, “the faster you heed her call, the quicker you can go back to fawning after the object of your desires.” He tells his prince. “And the faster I can get back to resting.”

The prince with snow-white hair clicks his tongue once more, but he doesn’t argue against it. He turns to you regretfully, “I’ll have to leave again. Perhaps we’ll have more time together at dinner,” you hope the wait for dinner is longer still. You know the prince hopes the time passes as quickly as he can blink.

Warm lips press against the back of your hand, lingering for five seconds longer than they should.

The bones of your hands ache.

[zznblr]

I’ve got a request, telling Yeonjun how handsome he is.

His lips, his smile, his face, his body, sigh……

[9:35pm] 𐙚 c.yj

ʚ♡⃛ɞ request | there's nothing you love more than making out with yeonjun ୨୧ yeonjun x fem!reader • suggestive • established relationship • 839 words reblogs n comments appreciated :)

in your eyes, yeonjun is always prettier when you haven’t seen him in a while. and yes, some might argue that a week isn’t that long but it truly does feel like forever to you when it comes to your boyfriend.

you’re standing giddily outside his front door, waiting, your hands stuffed in your coat pockets to stop yourself from pressing on his doorbell like a freak.

when he finally opens the door, you pounce on him, nearly knocking him over. you smother his face with kisses, eliciting a chuckle from him. “i missed you too,” he kisses you slowly and softly.

yeonjun pulls you inside, protecting you from the cold january air. he takes off your coat and your hat, hanging them on the coat rack by the door. he guides you towards the living room, where he as a whole spread of your favorite snacks laid out for your movie night. he turns off the overhead light while you make your way to the couch. when yeonjun returns to you, you scooch closer to him, to the point where you are practically sitting on him with how close your bodies are. if it was even possible, he pulls you closer to him and drapes a blanket over your bodies before pressing play on the movie.

you are barely paying attention to the film. you’ve seen it a million and ten times; you could quote every line in it. and besides, you had something far more interesting to look at. your eyes are glued onto yeonjun’s face. you eye him intently, taking in every part of him – the movie flaring on the lens of his thin frame glasses; the way his nose crinkles and his brows furrow every time there is something slightly repulsive on the screen; his pink lips falling back into their resting pout afterwards.

“are you going to keep staring at me, or are you actually going to watch the movie?” yeonjun pulls you out of your trance, not even taking his eyes off the screen.

“i’ve seen it before.” you reply, offhandedly.

he finally turns to face you. “but, you picked this movie.” he sighs, reaching over for the remote control on the coffee table. he pauses the film. “we can watch something else if you—” he stops mid sentence as you climb onto his lap, straddling him. “w-what are you doing?”

“you’re so pretty, you know?” you reach up to cup his face with both your hands. your thumb brushes over the plump skin of his cheeks. “so so pretty,” you continue; it’s almost like you are in a daze.

“thank you,” yeonjun chuckles. he wraps his arms around your waist as you settle in place.

you pull his face closer to yours, so that your foreheads meet. yeonjun cautiously closes the tiny gap between the two of you as he draws in for a kiss. his fingertips softly brush against your back. you run your tongue along his bottom lip and you can taste the butter from the popcorn that he was eating earlier. yeonjun’s lips part and you slip your tongue into his mouth.

your better senses are being slowly but surely defeated as you succumb to the sweetness of the kiss. yeonjun pulls back for just a short moment to catch his breath, and you can’t help but let out a whine of displeasure. you quickly close the distance between the two of you that he had so cruelly created.

your lips meet his once more while you pull yourself tighter against him. yeonjun’s hands trail down your back, slipping underneath your t-shirt. he tightens his grip on you, his nails sinking into your skin.

if you could, your lips would be attached to yeonjun’s for the rest of your life. you find it to be some sort of cosmic injustice that you can’t live off of him because by the way you are devouring his face, he seems like the only adequate source of sustenance for you. and even sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. no matter how much he gives you, you always want more – more love, more closeness, more yeonjun. 

you are completely and absolutely obsessed with the way he kisses you. it’s filled with passion and lust and affection and gentleness and love.

love.

so much love. the same way you are captivated by yeonjun and his taste and his touch and his presence, he too is enamored by you and you can tell by the way he holds you closer to him and caresses you softly. you can tell by the way he is the person that could ever make you feel like your body is on fire. he knows every part of your body like he was the one who designed it. he knows just what to do and where to touch to make you lose your mind.

at last, you pull away from the kiss, your lips still touching. “god, i love you.” your breath ghosts against yeonjun’s lips.

“i love you too.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan howlett being gross please 🙏🙏

I so badly wanted to answer this all day but I was busy so thanks for your patience!! I may end up writing an actual drabble of him being nasty BUT since it's 10 and I need to be up by 5 am tomorrow I'm gonna give some headcanons out to keep you freaks (lovingly)(im a freak too otherwise i wouldn't be writing this) satisfied. Love you guys <3

if there's anything specific you want me to talk about, feel free to send an ask!

(logan judging me for putting his nastiness out there)

NSFW stuff under the cut. Beware. some of it's gross. :)

Lets start with what I said in that one post

Yes, Logan would fuck himself in every part of you if you let him

personally not big on anal myself but if you guys are down for that, he would definitely like to try it.

I think it's less of getting himself off or being attracted to it, like your elbow or knees

its more of being able to claim you more ways than one, his animalistic instinct REALLY kicks in on this. Scents probably play a part on this

IF you let him do the things he wants, you're gonna get treated SO GOOD afterwards, believe me. Satisfying his urges in the weird ways he gets em? You're an actual fucking angel to him

I've mentioned foot jobs before. I think honestly the foot job is probably what started this whole thing. It's a body part he never considered getting off from. It's until you guys were in your bedroom, hes walking around naked fresh from the shower and you get playful, reaching your feet out and messing with his cock. He was surprised how hard it made him and then when he cums he's like... "Now what else can I get off on?"

I almost mentioned scents. Logans so big on scents yall we established this. You smelling like him, him smelling like you.

When you're a little more settled in your relationship, he may start making comments on how good you smell after workouts, sex, etc. Its the pheromones man

You don't think much until you catch him straight up inhaling your workout clothes one day

He's a bit flustered over it

claims he didn't know what he was doing (he did) and that he was just getting ready to do laundry (he was not) (he went straight to your laundry with the goal of smelling that shit)

PANTY SNIFFER

Loves your panties and bras the most. Definitely will keep your used panties here and there. he does it discreetly, confidently. He's not so ashamed for you to find him sniffing your panties.

Nasty making out. big fan of this

he wants you both practically drooling into each other. can and will spit in your mouth and wants you to do the same

will make out with you with his cum in your mouth. He doesn't like his cum it's just the fact of it's you mixed with him.

He'll love it if you have each others essence and make out like that too.

It's not every time but sometimes he'll just get these urges to make you both messy as hell. spit and cum, hickeys, scratches etc etc

I've also said this before but period sex period sex period sex

He does not fucking care

Makes him a lil wild actually. Might scare you a bit.

If you initially don't want to do it, he'll leave it alone and eventually get needy enough he'll find excuses and then he founds out sex can help relieve periods and he's like

"I'm just tryna make you feel better baby"

When you finally give in his ecstatic

he will def be careful though. He truly doesn't want to hurt you. He's just a needy lil thing for you

Eating. you. out on your period.

I know, it's gross. But so is he.

The first happens on accident. He tastes it while eating you out and immediately recognizes it. he doesn't stop and doesn't tell you

You realize it when he finishes and looks up and his face is covered in blood

quite frankly you're horrified

he didn't care. just goes and washes himself up and you as well.

You're gonna need to change the sheets though. Logans a messy eater

He will eat and drink food from your mouth

you're telling him "oh Lo! Try this pie its SO good-" as you put the fork in your mouth and you're about to give him a piece and feed it to him and he insteads grabs you by the back of your neck and sticks his tongue in your mouth and tastes it that way

It shocks you (and turns you on)

"Yeah baby, it is good." he chuckles as he smacks his lips and walks away leaving you dumbfounded and a bit horny

(you're just like)

will get so nasty about fucking you too like the dirty talking

"Your pussy so fucking tight and wet. Sucking me in and everything."

"You fucking love how I taste don't you? All that cum and sweat. dirty girl."

"my cum tastes good in you baby"

"cmon, taste how good you are darling"

Ive mentioned about him going into a trance after he cums on you

he's cummed inside you and now staring at it leaks out of you

he's pushing it back in and trying to keep it all in you

doesn't even hear you whining over it

he starts spreading it all over you. it just looks so good painted on your pretty pussy

like i said this man adores you and that means ALL of you

will drool during sex

you're just going at it and you guys hit a point where your mindless and fucking

you feel so good and he can't even think straight. acting purely on instinct and you feel his drool on your back. You look back and his mouth is hanging open and his eyes shut and he's thrusting into you over and over, completely contorted in pleasure

lets talk a little about some other stuff

logan keeps up his hygiene of course. brushes teeth. washes his ass. he may consider himself an animal but he's not gonna let himself go. he IS from the 1800s yknow

but he runs like a heater and can and will sweat

esp with all those fucking layers

sweaty dick and balls. nuff said. hope you enjoy that

his natural musk is strong as hell. honestly though to you it'll smell really really good

leaks a lot of precum when he's horny.

his hairs insane though. So much hair. Its' gonna get in your mouth

actually even if hes groomed it's still gonna get in your mouth. he has a lot of hair

Enjoy nasty logan! <3

[ju-berry]

FANFICTION Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Fly, Eagles, Fly

The scent of pizza and beer filled the air as Melissa Schemmenti’s house was packed with friends and family, all gathered to watch the Super Bowl. You, Abbott Elementary’s new Brazilian teacher, were the only one who didn’t fully understand American football, but honestly? That didn’t matter.

Your focus was elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone.

Melissa.

The redhead sat on the couch, wearing a vintage Eagles jersey, her hair down, her expression fierce and determined as she watched the game. You had gotten used to her passionate nature in everyday life, but seeing her like this—so completely immersed—was a new, mesmerizing experience.

Ever since you started this secret relationship, moments like these were your favorite. Small windows where you could exchange subtle touches, lingering glances, and teasing smiles without raising suspicion.

And tonight would be no different.

You adjusted yourself on the couch, sitting beside her, your leg brushing against hers. Melissa didn’t take her eyes off the screen, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

— “Having fun, Brazilian?” she asked, still focused on the game.

— “More than I expected,” you replied with a grin.

She chuckled, taking a sip of her beer.

— “Bet it’s more because of me than the game.”

You didn’t confirm, but you didn’t deny it either.

As the game went on, Melissa became more and more invested. Every time the Eagles made a play, she gestured, cursed, and cheered. Sometimes, she’d clutch her own face, looking ready to have a breakdown right there.

At one point, you decided to tease her. Leaning in close, you whispered into her ear:

— “You look really sexy when you’re this into it.”

She turned to you for a brief second, green eyes flickering between amusement and something deeper.

— “Don’t distract me now, babe, or I’ll kick you out,” she joked, though the twitch of her lips betrayed her smile.

— “Oh, really?” you challenged, letting your hand rest lightly on her thigh.

She swallowed, but quickly refocused on the game. You bit your lip to keep from laughing. In the end, her love for the Eagles truly outweighed any distraction.

The Final Play

The game was in its final moments, and the Eagles were just inches away from victory. The tension in the room was suffocating, everyone completely glued to the screen. Melissa was at the edge of the couch, nails digging into her knee.

Even without understanding all the rules, you could feel how much this moment meant.

And then it happened.

The whistle blew. The game was over.

The Philadelphia Eagles were Super Bowl champions.

For a second, there was silence.

Then the entire house erupted.

Melissa jumped up from the couch, arms in the air, practically glowing with excitement.

— “OH MY GOD, YES!” she screamed, spinning in place, her face lit up with pure joy.

You smiled, ready to celebrate discreetly, but before you could react, Melissa turned, and without a second thought, ran straight to you, pulling you into a tight hug.

You barely had time to process it before her arms wrapped around you, her body warm and pressed against yours.

— “You’re my lucky charm, you know that?” Melissa murmured against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. — “Now every Eagles game, we’re watching together.”

Your heart pounded at the unexpected confession.

— “So, does this mean I’m officially part of the Schemmenti family tradition?” you teased, trying to mask how much those words meant to you.

— “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve been part of it for a while,” Melissa replied before capturing your lips in a quick kiss.

It was brief, stolen in the middle of all the chaos, but it still made your stomach flip.

You only pulled apart when someone shouted:

— “HEY! You two, come celebrate with us!”

Melissa laughed and grabbed your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, no longer caring about hiding anything.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the curious looks, not the fact that your relationship had been a secret until now.

What mattered was that you were here, together, celebrating.

And that you would never miss an Eagles game again.

[kashverse]

based off of this request ☆ kunafamily masterlist

ah, marriage. truly a blessing, a union of souls, a sacred bond forged through love and commitment.

or whatever.

because there is nothing beautiful about it when your twelve-year-old daughter stomps into the house, still in her dusty-ass middle school uniform, drops her backpack by the door with the weight of a woman who has seen the horrors of war, and announces—

“mama. papa. i am getting married.”

...

there is a silence. a deafening, suffocating, air-sucked-out-of-the-room silence. the only sound is the low hum of the AC and the softest shuffle of mr. pickles, your ancient maine coon, who, for the first time in what seems like eons, flops in front of babykuna’s feet. a humble offering. a plea for mercy. baby the tabby? he lets out a single, horrified, “YEEEOOOWWWWWL—” like he has just witnessed a first-degree felony right before his very eyes.

you? you’re laughing. not because it’s funny, but because your brain is short-circuiting. “babe,” you choke, eyes darting to sukuna, who has gone uncharacteristically still. you swear you can hear the windows error sound effect echoing inside his head. but he blinks, snaps out of it, and suddenly—

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MARRIED?”

you jolt, clutching your chest. “sukuna, for the love of god, inside voice.” but he is hyperventilating. actually hyperventilating.

he stumbles forward like a man on his last legs, dropping to his knees so that he is face-to-face with babykuna. “baby,” he starts, voice tight, shaking, the desperation of a father who has just been emotionally gutted. “marriage is a big deal. are you sure about this?” 

babykuna, bless her obnoxiously stubborn heart, crosses her arms.

“yes.”

sukuna visibly deflates. “but—but why?” he croaks, rubbing his face as if this is causing him physical pain. “what happened to all the other snot-nosed brats?”

babykuna huffs. “they were gross, papa.”

“EXACTLY.” he seethes. “they’re all gross! including this one!”

“nuh-uh. he’s different.”

sukuna looks like he’s about to throw up. he grips her little shoulders, voice dropping to a low, grave whisper.

“listen, babygirl. i will give you anything. anything you want. you want another cat? i’ll get you another cat. you want half of my company shares? done. a custom labubu line with your name on it? consider it already in production.”

babykuna’s brows knit, lips pursed in deep thought. there’s hope. hope that maybe, the dreaded king of the corporate world will win this negotiation. but then—

“no.”

babykuna stomps off to her room.

and as she marches away, victorious, baby the tabby lets out a final, gut-wrenching shriek, a soulful cry that echoes down the halls like the mourning of a thousand fallen soldiers. mr. pickles lets out a deep, ancient sigh, the kind only a being who has lived through generations of turmoil can muster.

and sukuna? he just slumps to the floor, lifeless, broken, defeated.

“i’ve lost her,” he whispers, staring blankly ahead. “i’ve fucking lost her.”

you pat his head. “there, there. at least she didn’t pick a finance bro.”

the next day, there is a shift in the air. you sense it first, the way the walls seem to breathe easier, the way the atmosphere in the sukuna household isn’t shrouded in impending doom. and then you see it.

babykuna walks in, her steps just a bit heavier, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. mr. pickles, who has been mourning nonstop since yesterday, immediately flops next to her feet, a slow, dramatic descent that speaks volumes.

please, his weary, ancient eyes seem to say. do not get rid of me when you are married.

baby the tabby, however, is far less sentimental. he doesn’t even look at her. doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. babykuna notices.

“baby,” she calls. baby the tabby flicks his tail and turns away. the ultimate betrayal. she frowns, drops her backpack on the floor, and then—

“i’m not getting married anymore.”

silence.

mr. pickles exhales a long, tired sigh, as if the very gods have heard his prayers. baby the tabby, however? ecstatic.

he springs onto babykuna like he’s just won the lottery, tackling her to the sofa and kneading her chest with such fiery, unbridled passion you fear he might actually give himself a heart attack. but the real show? sukuna.

because the moment those words leave babykuna’s mouth, he goes dead still. and then, slowly, so slowly, he turns to you with the wide, gleeful, demented grin of a man who has just cheated death. “babe,” he breathes. “call a baker.”

“...a baker?”

he nods, eyes gleaming.

“i’m getting a cake.”

you blink. “for...?”

“us.”

he grips your shoulders, voice thick with emotion.

“a congratulations cake. for us. we fucking did it.”

[agirlandherquill]

a little update straight from freshly dried ink

goodness me it's been a long time since i've been on writeblr - since early January I believe, and yes, it has been a long time, but I can tell you all now, with a great, big, stupidly wide smile on my face - that my time has been spent on important things, i've not just forgotten about Tumblr and let my blog go to waste (hell would freeze over before I ever let that happen),

my past month has been spent on things i couldn't update anybody about until they were done - and i can finally tell the wonderful world of writeblr that ruin's reprisal is done! final proofreads are complete (yes it did take me a long, long time to get through, but hey, juggling writing and life - especially at the start of semester 2 at uni - is an impressive skill i've been working on ever since I first found myself trying to write and I'm still learning the balance, even after years in the making) and i've got a fully finished off draft, if i can even call it that anymore, sitting in my files, and it's a day I never did think I'd get to, not considering this book has been around four years in the making, but I did it! it's done!

and another little update - truths, my little story I started on the 1st day of the year, ended up being around 3/4 complete by the end of January, which I'm very shocked about - I never thought I'd have it in me to create this story so quickly, and now that the week I took off writing it to focus solely on proofreading ruin's reprisal has finally paid off, I can get back to it! and i truly cannot wait to share more of truths and a few other things I have in store (which I'm not sharing quite yet, dear reader, you'll have to wait, but not for long, I give you my word)

but, to focus on the main point to this post - ruin's reprisal is done, which means... (insert drumroll if you will) i get to move onto the very final, polishing details - coming up with a blurb (the BANE of my existence), and more exciting things too! such as announcing a release date (soon, but tbd. ((deadlines be forgiving))) and creating a cover! (which I am both very much looking forward to and am equally terrified about) but for now, I can leave you all with a few stats about the book! Ruin's Reprisal is composed of 220,354 words, 566 pages, and 42 chapters (plus a bonus one i'm very excited about including since it's a glimpse at another character's pov during a very crucial scene - you'll understand come release, trust me :)) and who knows, there may be a little game full of teasers up my sleeve, we shall see, but for now, thank you for being a part of this journey and keeping my writing going writeblr, it means more than I could ever say to do it justice - keep writing and i'll speak to you all soon! ~ A Girl and Her Quill

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :) p.p.s im finally getting around to updating it, so bear with me :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

@riveriafalll @lead-to-code @casualsuitturtle @floweryprosegarden @joeys-piano

@catwingsathena @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @anaisbebe

@drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @tiredpapergirl @pastelpinkhobbies @a-mimsy-borogove @the-letterbox-archives @corinneglass @darkluminosity @kuebiko-writing

[leighsartworks216]

"Tell me, doc. Way out here, you see that many patients?"

"A fair few. Travelers, rangers, a few sheriffs wanting to keep something hidden from their wife's doctor. My clinic is well stocked for everyone."

"Is that why there're toys in here?"

Zayne chuckles. "Yes. I have a few young patients that need extra comfort during their exams. A few even ask for me to 'kiss it better' when they get a cut or a shot."

Sylus watches the doctor grab a roll of bandages with a slight grin. This strange man and his little clinic that never turns away anyone who needs help - even an outlaw gunslinger like him. It's no wonder trouble seems to keep away. Dr. Li is too valuable to risk losing, to those on either side of the law.

Scarred hands wrap the bandages around his bicep fluidly, keeping out the risk of infection. His fingers move with ease as he ties the ends together, securing it. Before he can move away, Sylus nudges his arm toward him.

"Kiss it better, doc?"

Zayne looks at him for a moment, calculating, carefully neutral. But he knows better. He can see the flicker in his eyes of something wild. The way his Adam's apple bobs with a swallow. The shift of his fingers as they wrap around his arm to hold him in place.

Green eyes look at his handiwork as Zayne leans down. His lips barely ghost over the spot he'd stitched up moments earlier. But they linger. A second too long, too improper, before his eyes lift, peering over the rim of his glasses up at Sylus's face.

Sylus swallows, then. His heart races. With the way Zayne's fingers slip down his arm to rest on his wrist, he can feel it, too.

He tilts his head slightly, exposing the small bandage on his forehead. "And here, too," he says, though it comes out like a rough whisper.

He swears he sees Zayne's lips twitch as he stands straight. The doctor steps calmly between the outlaw's spread legs. His hand comes up, fingers brushing Sylus's bangs aside, thumb pulling on the skin beside the scratch.

Sylus can smell the sweet tinge of mint when Zayne presses a kiss over the spot. His eyes close without meaning to, soaking in the strange affection. He misses it when he pulls away. Red eyes open half-way to look at his face, so close.

Without prompting, Zayne's hand slips down to hold his jaw, angling his head to the side. Sylus grips the edge of the table. Tries to remember to breathe normally when Zayne's face approaches, green eye staring knowingly as he kisses the slight cut on his cheek.

He starts to pull away, and Sylus's heart leaps. It's the same feeling as being in a stand-off: facing down your opponent, hand over your hip, counting down the elongates seconds, never truly knowing if this will be your last duel, or if you'll live to see another day. It's the same weightlessness as drawing your gun from your holster. That moment, when the shots ring out, and you wait for the pain. The same knowing that you can't throw away your shot, because that would only mean dying.

He turns his head quickly, grabs the doctor's collar, closes that last forbidden gap. Catches his mouth with his.

He tastes sweet. So sweet. His lips are so soft against his chapped ones, rough from living out on the road. He waits for the pain. For the bullet to tear through his clothes, his skin; to lodge into his heart and kill him. But it never comes.

Zayne holds him like some precious thing as he eagerly kisses him deeper, steps closer. The breathiness between each kiss goes to his head, stealing all conscious thought except the need to be closer, to hold him tight, to press his tongue into the seam of his lips.

Sylus grabs his hip, pulls him until the clasps of their pants rub against each other. He groans as their tongues meet, taste, lick up every sinful sound they share between them.

It's a mystery how long they lose themselves in each other before they finally pull away, chests heaving with breaths and saliva connecting their mouths. Zayne is beautifully disheveled. His hair is wild, eyes dark at the same time they shine with some unknown emotion. Sylus is no better. Face flush and lips swollen. They stay there, foreheads pressed together, as they slowly come back to earth.

Zayne is the first to speak, planting another light kiss over his cheek. "Do you feel better now?"

Sylus chuckles airily. He can't stop glancing at his lips. Those perfect lips. "Starting to, doc," he breathes. He draws him back into another kiss, speaking into his mouth with a salacious grin. "Starting to."

LADS as a Western but I'm only thinking about Sylus as an outlaw on the run and he's injured after a run in with the law and Zayne is an ask-no-questions doctor willing to patch him up. He recognizes Sylus's face from the posters, of course he does, but Sylus doesn't go for anyone that doesn't deserve it, so he doesn't care.

And anyway just thinking about that bond of Sylus showing up and Zayne patching him up and maybe the first couple times Sylus has his gun at the ready just in case, but now he doesn't even think about his gun when he steps into the clinic. The intimacy of stitching up wounds. Zayne carefully pulling a bullet from Sylus and dryly joking about keeping it as a souvenir to remind him how mortal he really is.

And then they kiss. And fuck nasty in that slowly unrepressing homosexual way

[rottengurlz]

“Sometimes I dream about you. I memorize every detail of your face like a prayer. Those moments seem so real that I grieve whenever I wake up and your spot next to me is cold. Why did you beg me to kill you? I would’ve stopped. Even in death I cannot escape you. I’m not sure I want to even if I was begging for it.”

w/ @kashisun !! (happy birthday 😭)

[seaofreverie]

I knew about the post concert depression but no one told me about the post concert constant feeling of AAAAAAAAAHHH that lasts days and makes everything much more bearable and beautiful and some sort of ethereal type of hope is restored into the world, or maybe it's just the "seeing your favourite band after first thinking that it would never happen and later spending many months waiting for it all the while fearing that it wouldn't happen after all because of circumstances outside my control or feeling like it was too beautiful and wonderful to be true so ofc it wouldn't come true" part of it all

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

I want to be more authentic on my other social media platforms too, where irl people know me.

But I have such an intense fear of being perceived I sit. For 3 hours. On a post before posting it 😭😭 I literally just stare at it and have an anxiety attack lol.

And even then sometimes I end up deleting it.

Even though I only do it for myself and nobody really cares it's still ajajaja hard.

But I want people to see me more than a shallow human lol

And maybe, even if only one person likes my "true" self, then I'd be happy 🥲

But what if they bully me more ahhah I already am not the most well liked 🥲🥲🥲🥲

THOUGHTS GO AWAY lol 😭