#blood sugar defence

[regularhealth-fitness]

Saying Goodbye to Sugar Spikes: My Experience with Sugar Defender Supplements

For years, I struggled with maintaining healthy blood sugar levels. Afternoon crashes, constant cravings, and a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right plagued me. I tried various methods to manage it - portion control, increased exercise, even some low-carb fads - but nothing seemed to offer lasting results. Then, I discovered Sugar Defender Supplements, and let me tell you, it's been a game-changer.

Improved Blood Sugar Control

The first thing that drew me to Sugar Defender was its focus on natural ingredients. Packed with herbs like hawthorn berry, along with beneficial vitamins and minerals, the formula promised a holistic approach to blood sugar regulation. I was wary of synthetic medications and their potential side effects, so this natural composition was a big plus.

Improved Blood Sugar Control

Within a few weeks of taking Sugar Defender, I noticed a significant difference. The afternoon crashes became a thing of the past, replaced by sustained energy levels throughout the day. More importantly, my blood sugar readings, which I diligently monitored, started to stabilise. The constant spikes and dips I used to experience lessened considerably. This newfound control over my blood sugar levels was a welcome relief.

Reduced Cravings and Healthier Choices

Another remarkable benefit I experienced was a reduction in sugar cravings. Before Sugar Defender, sugary treats seemed to call my name all the time. Now, those cravings have significantly diminished. This has made it much easier to make healthier food choices – I no longer feel like I'm constantly battling my own body's desires. As a result, I've noticed a positive change in my overall diet, opting for more nutritious options that fuel my body the right way.

Enhanced Energy and Overall Well-being

Beyond blood sugar control, Sugar Defender has also impacted my energy levels. Gone are the days of feeling sluggish and drained. Now, I have a steady flow of energy that lasts throughout the day. This has translated into a more active lifestyle – I find myself wanting to get up and move more, which further contributes to my overall well-being.

A Word of Caution (and Disclaimer)

While Sugar Defender has been a fantastic addition to my health routine, it's important to remember that it's not a magic bullet. I still prioritize a healthy diet and regular exercise, and I would always recommend consulting your doctor before starting any new supplement. However, when combined with these healthy habits, Sugar Defender has made a significant positive impact on my life.

In conclusion, I highly recommend Sugar Defender Supplements to anyone looking for a natural way to manage their blood sugar levels. It has helped me achieve greater control over my health and feel more energized and in control of my body. If you're struggling with similar issues, I urge you to give Sugar Defender a try. You might be surprised at the positive results!

[chilapis]

oh by the way on the topic of laws being bullshit did you know that if you assault someone while influenced by high blood sugar you could argue the defence of, uh. Fucking insanity?

[eudemonia13]

Light in the darkness

Solomon x Reader

Light angst. W.C. 1099 Solomon thinks about his adorable aprentice as they rest beside him.

He saw light in you, passed the glimmer of sunlight on your skin as you bathed in the warm rays of your home world, passed the brilliance of neon signs and late night artificial rainbows that painted your eyes a stunning palette of colour, shades he would chase in his dreams as his subconscious processed yet another memory of you.

An abstract keepsake that he would hold onto as long as he lived. When he had long forgotten the grassy fields, the taste of salt and sugar, when the last drop of his blood had dried. When the death of the world and the collapse of the sun had claimed the last slivers of light, he would remember you.

Tucked away with all the other parts of you he held dear. His thoughts were a kaleidoscope of you. The movements, the laughter, the rhythm of your heart beating. Everything stored away in the most precious archives of his mind.

No, he saw it there in the darkest nights of the Devildom.

Bright and soft as the dawn, light that emanated from you like the warmth from your skin as he rested in your arms. It enveloped him and cast the shadows in his mind into slumber.

He loved you, he loved you in ways that felt like sparks and fire. A firework, piercing the darkness with a violence that could only be human. So fleeting, and yet you burned yourself into the entire realm's consciousness like an afterimage, trails of fading sparks that still glowed as they rained from high. A fraction of time that outshone the dim embers of eternity.

He used to sparkle, he used to glow. And he still did, the hunger in the demon’s eyes told him as much. The subtle glances the angels passed behind his back when he was once allowed entry into the Celestial realm told him as much. There was still enough left in him to want, to covet and bide their time over as turn after turn of the games they played went on.

Solomon smiled, a reflex that had rooted into him and pulled the corners of his lips into an unreadable neutrality, a defence given to him by the slow erosion of millenia uncounted. Hard learned lessons like waves rolling the sharpest rocks into smooth, flawless stones, he had lost that earnest part of him to the oceans long ago.

What he felt, the vulnerability and timid honesty of his feelings even here when he was alone with his thoughts, was too intimidating to show without a mask. So he smiled to himself in the darkness of his room.

He used to sparkle, like you did now.

Still warm, still forgiving even as beings far beyond your reach played over you like a prize, like a bet. Like you weren’t human. Still bright, still shining.

He pulled you closer, tucking his head against your shoulder as you slept, chest falling in gentle crests, like waves rolling over him with every rise and fall. Time had no hold on him, not here. Not with you.

His dearest, his confidant, his…

What was he to you? Surely, he meant at least something to you. But in a room of flushed faces, of hands reaching out to you… How close was he to your light?

A Prince, strong and unmoving to the little problems that once battered him in his youth. He was safe, he was luxury and adventure and lightheartedness, still after everything in his long, long life. Passion and elegance… And knowing you would always come second to the inevitable need of his people.

A Demon, as capable, as beautiful and loyal as he was prideful. Having made his place in the Devildom from what was once scorn and misery, but now stood as one of the most powerful and respected Devildom Elite? Who offered you seduction, and complete ownership over his heart and soul? At least… So long as you could withstand his heart being locked behind the burden of pride, and obligations that could never be put off for more than a night before he would be buried by paperwork yet again.

And his brothers, demons of high regard all their own. But he hardly needed to slander any of them to highlight their glaringly obvious shortfalls.

An Angel, kind and devoted, cunning and artful in everything he does. He was warm, and soft like spring rain, dewy and beautiful and calming to even your soul itself. He would give every part of himself to you and not ask for anything more than your happiness. And yet he was forever shadowed by the choices he had made, and had not made, and the knowledge of what would come from those fateful decisions… But truly, what could he say against Simeon? That he was bad with technology and he was afraid of the terrifying and confusing future ahead of him? Solomon knew that what his friend offered you could hardly be painted as ‘bad’ in even the harshest light.

Was that cruel of him? To weave his words and sharpen his tongue against those he has come to think of as friends? Even in the seclusion of his mind, could he take that from you? Could he appear just a little bit better, here, where none could hear him?

Solomon, the wise. Solomon, the witty sorcerer. Solomon, protector of Humanity. Solomon, who loved you with all his heart. Who had protected you when you were nothing but a defenceless human thrown to the wolves of the Devildom that first year of the exchange program. Solomon, who had risked the fate of the human realm just so that you may not hate him for the awful choice that must be made. Who had put the fate of everything he had devoted his immortal life to protecting, into your hands knowing full well that you might not choose what he would.

Solomon, who looked at you and saw everything he loved, everything he had sworn to protect and cherish deep in his heart where nothing could take it from him again.

Solomon, who loved you knowing he would lose you too.

And Solomon, the manipulative, the wolf in sheep's clothing, the untrustworthy sham of a sorcerer who used and conned anyone he could benefit from. Solomon, the human who had lost his humanity. Solomon, the liar. Solomon, the demon.

He wondered, silently. Wordlessly as his hands shook with the slightest tremble as he pulled you against him even tighter. His Light, his Truth… His Protector.

Who was he to you?

[messenger-of-babel]

Café Collision

Summary: Just a small thought of you and Jason having a first meeting when he comes to order at your café

Word Count: 1.2K

Notes: Wasn't the happiest with this one since it was just jotting rough thoughts on paper

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Thinking about… meeting Jason Todd as a meet cute café moment

He wasn't sure why he had exactly stopped into the small café. Maybe he had felt bad for the tussle he had had with Bane a week prior that had sent him crashing back first through the glass window and into the display cabinet. He wasn't the most popular vigilante in Gotham, and he guessed that was even less now that he'd come flying in to ruin people's overpriced breakfast in Upper Gotham. In his defence, if Nightwing had just taken the blow instead of summersaulting away in his flashy ass spandex, he would've had the time to brace against the full force of an angry, oversized, super steroid asshole.

maybe he would've only crashed through the window then and not the cabinet.

Now he stands in line and mumbles Dick's complicated latte order to himself, lost in trying to remember the little details. ‘To try something new,’ Dick had said, a break from the black coffee that seemed to flow like water down in the cave.

Bullshit. Jason thought to himself. Trying something new didn't mean trying it all at once.

A whole day of investigating the circumstances of Bane's breakout awaited him, and so when Dick suggested a coffee run, he had jumped at the chance to get out of the cave for the first time in days. Surely, he could remember a coffee order in return for a moment of respite? Feeling tired and overworked, he almost doesn't realise when it’s his turn to order until you wave at him.

"Sir? It's your turn to order." you try to remind him politely and his eyes snap onto your figure.

Dick's order be damned.

He feels something in his chest flutter oddly, but he tries to push it down, stepping up to the counter and pretending to scan the menu board. The additions of Dick’s order start to slip from his mental script, distracted by the faint uptick in his heart rate. He leans forward, muscles tensing under his leather jacket as he fiddles. His eyes catch yours briefly as he looks down, mouth going dry when you keep eye contact.

'Think, Jason', he tells himself.

He takes a quick breath and lets a crooked smile tick the corners of his lips upwards, forearm coming to lean on the counter. A move he had seen many times from the ineffable bachelor Bruce Wayne himself. As his eyes flick around your form discreetly, he notices a bandage on your hand that’s drumming a beat on the countertop. His awkward attempt at the playboy smile morphs into an even more awkward grimace.

Damn it, you were probably on shift the day he gave your workplace a second door.

"Are you okay sir?" you ask awkwardly, stepping back from the counter slightly. A small line has formed behind him but are yet to get upset at the time he’s taking. You’re more intrigued and slightly perturbed by the way he seems to be zoning out in front of you.

Ah yes. coffee. for Dick. What did he want again?

Dumb half-grimace-half-smirk still on his face he confidently replies. "Latte."

You’re stunned into silence. Your eyes flick over his form, still bent at an awkward angle to keep leaning on the cramped counter. His grin is boyish yet tremors at the corners, and there’s a faint sheen of panic in his eyes that scream for help. You give him a half quizzical look before moving to the till to take his order, fingers hovering above the register. "Any particular size? Any sugars or alternative milk?" you ask, hoping you can get more than the NPC response of ‘Latte.’

Jason thought for a moment, the feeling stirring again slightly as he talks to you. He was still undecided if it was sheer embarrassment or something else entirely. His ears rush and he can feel the blood run to his face.

"Uh, yeah, the tall one, or the venti, or the grande or whatever, and milk." he pauses slightly, eyebrow’s furrowing slightly.

Dick said this one was important.

"Whatever you've got is fine, and maybe…three sugars?" he says, pitch raising. Your eyebrows raise in tandem, but deftly plug the order in. "Riiight. Are you sure?" you ask, starting to get a little wary at the way his green eyes seem to be trying to catch your gaze at every minor tilt of your head.

"…yes?" came out the hesitant reply, and the half smirk he had previously buckled under the sheer weight of his grimace. There was a crashing feeling in his stomach as you shake your head softly, and he feels like everyone’s eyes are on him. He was here for coffee, why does it feel like he forgot how to be human?

The sight manages to pull a slight chuckle out of you, and you smile faintly, ringing the order up and tapping the display where the number is. You watch wordlessly as he pays with his card, and you can't help but spy the Wayne Enterprises logo on the very nice (and appearing very unused) credit card. When the payment goes through and he pockets the card again, he stands silently looking down at you, unmoving.

"Pick up counter is that way."

"Right."

He bites his cheek as he turns on his heel and goes to wait in the next line, walking a little faster than he'd like. Yeah, this feeling was definitely embarrassment.

You watch him hurry like a kicked puppy, unable to stop the grin that forms as you watch the broad form of a man scurry away with such a nervous expression. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, rocking lightly on his heels while he waits for his order.

When his order number is called, he hands over the receipt, paper worried and crumpled from his constant fiddling. With a nod to the other barista, he wraps his large hands around the warm drink, flimsy cardboard doing nothing to stop the scalding of his palms. As he leaves the store you catch his eye and send a small wave to the being who had just wandered into your work and begun acting like he'd never interacted with anything breathing oxygen before.

You turn back to serving customers, attention stolen from him before you could see the genuine smile threatening his lips to twitch upwards as he pushes the door open. His hands feel hot, but not just from the coffee. The winter air is chilly and the Gotham sky threatening to begin its daily drizzle. His pace is a little more eager than usual as he passes the boarded-up glass wall he was thrown through. He looks down to the latte in his hands, absolutely nowhere near what Dick had ordered, and lets the small smile fall across his face properly. The burning in his ears doesn’t feel as bad now that he wasn’t surrounded by people, and the soaring of his stomach starts to feel a little thrilling.

it made the oncoming day of paperwork and Dick's undoubted whining almost seem worth it.

[strawberrynightmare]

Mikey, Baji & Inupi getting whacked while they're trying to wake you up

Content warning: These take place during/after a sleepover! Tickling, something awful happens in Mikey's fic

Mikey

~Modern problems require modern solutions 🤠

~Late, late in the night, you were playing all kinds of games. Cards, truth or dare, illuminati, board games, video games, fire boy and water girl, you name it. Mikey was reaching the peak of competitiveness and you were not far behind.  

~And you would have been long knocked out had it not been for the sugar rush the two of you were on. Needless to say… the two of you were more than a bit hyperactive. 

~It was good after two am that a blood-curling crisis made its way into your blissful playtime. 

The two of you looked at each other in horror, as if to make sure you were not imagining things. But this dreadful situation went beyond human imagination. After a few minutes of deadly silence, your lover spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. 

“We ran out of snacks.”

~Even though the two of you stocked up so well beforehand, it was all gone now. After some good 15 minutes of crying about it, a rock paper scissors match began. Of course, the loser had to go through the hardships of getting their ass up, dressing up, going to the nearest 24/7 convenience store and buying some more food. 

~And he lost.

~As he dragged himself through the room, you could swear it looked like he was going to his own execution. He mumbled under his breath but the two of you were so out of it, you didn’t care and he didn’t even know what he was mumbling in the first place.

~He was back pretty soon but still found you passed out on the floor of his room. Your boyfriend didn’t think much about it when he began to gently kick your side. 

“Wake up, y/n I’ve got your favourite cookies.” ~Guy who looked and sounded like a zombie

~He knelt down to unpack the two bags of snacks while continuing to nudge you with his hand. And next thing he knew was a kick to his jaw as you shifted from laying on your back to your side. 

~He blinked a few times, instinctively touched his chin, sat there for a while, then stood up to turn off the light and fell asleep next to you. 

~Via the two of you trying to figure out how he got a bruise on his jaw after you woke up. 

Baji

~Aaand he took that personally 🙄

~It was definitely not a great idea to have a sleepover at his house on a Wednesday, but he got a bit impatient. For three whole days, you listened to him complaining about not sleeping well and insisting that the cure would be you sleeping over. 

~”What is it? I’m telling you, my mom likes you anyways. And if I sleep well, my grades will be better too!”

You’ve slept well for so many years, and the good grades were never in sight.”

”That’s foul, y/n!”

~In the end you settled for a study sleepover. Instead of messing around, the plan was to study together for some time and then go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Yeah, the plan was all it was.

~You were able to go through two pages of your textbooks before getting utterly distracted and doing whatever the hell you wanted. You ended up sneaking out even before the clock struck midnight and enjoyed the city basked in the night to your heart’s content. It was heavily past 2am when you came back and it was only because it started raining.

~Soon afterwards you fell asleep cuddling into his chest with his arm around your shoulder.

~And he recklessly followed you into the land of dreams without any awareness of what was going to happen in the morning. 

~He was woken up by his mother at the usual hour. Mrs. Baji brought you two breakfast straight into his room and as he was half awake, she urged him to wake you up as well. In a half-awake state, he barely began to complain and tell her to wake you up herself before she cut him off with “I tried”.

~In his defence, he thought that shaking your arms lightly and calling out your name would be enough to wake you up. Jokes on him, you didn’t even budge. He tried everything his mother ever used on him, taking away your blanket, rubbing your back, hell, he even tried to wake you up with a kiss - nothing worked.

~He was absentmindedly poking your cheek while trying to come up with something else. All he could think of was a glass of cold water or calling his friends. It was then that he suddenly got smacked in the face with a pillow. The force of the hit was enough to have him rolling out of the bed. His traitor pillow was dropped right next to him. All you did was roll onto your side. Still asleep. 

~If his loud ‘HAA????’ didn’t manage to wake you up, you might as well have been dead. Anyways, prepare because he took that as a declaration of war. How does a sleeping person prepare for anything

~He climbed back, pushed you onto your back and began to mercilessly tickle you in all the weak spots he was aware of. He even took a feather out of his pillow and began tickling your feet and that was the final straw, for you to wake up completely disoriented, fall from the bed and instinctively kick your boyfriend off the bed. Both of you ended up on the floor, but Baji didn’t even notice that. He was too busy patting himself on the back and praising his genius for managing to wake you up.

~All while he existed there in a half-conscious state, trying to comprehend the whole situation. 

~And then he dragged you to school. You were late because waking you up almost took him a whole hour. 

~Surprisingly, he managed to take the test and actually answer enough questions for you to consider him passing it. 

~So now he has an excuse to invite you in more often. Although he did learn to only do this on weekends so that you can sleep for as long as you wish, Sleeping y/n is the one person he’s too afraid to face again.

Inupi

~Bro gave up 💀

~It happened during a sleepover. The two of you were on the couch and watching a movie late in the night. He excused himself for a while when he noticed someone koko calling him. The call lasted longer than expected and when he came back, you were already asleep.

~All he wanted was to gently wake you up by rubbing your cheek so that you could move to his bigger and more comfortable bed. Totally not because he wanted to cuddle you. Not at all. 

~But then he got smacked with a pillow you  were clutching to your chest so hard, the force made him fall backwards and land on his ass. You were still asleep as he sat there, trying to comprehend what just happened. 

~He wasn’t even sure whether you were just pretending to sleep to take the sofa or it was really just you reacting to unwanted stimuli. 

~He sighed and simply went back to his room to gather the blankets and cushions. Then, he slipped a cushion under your head, gently fixed it into a more comfortable position and wrapped you up in a blanket. After that, he just made some adjustments for himself and sat next to you, leaning his body on yours.

~This fixed the issue the two of you always had. The issue was called ‘Who takes the bed?!’. While he insisted that you should take it, you insisted that it was his bed and you were fine with the couch. But he was also fine with the couch and he couldn’t just- sleep comfortably in his warm bed and make you sleep out there. Sharing the bed felt so intimate that none of you dared to suggest it although i know some of ya simps would jump at the first gotten chance to share a bed with him

~...So the two of you are now sharing a couch, but he swore that the next time, you’re taking the bed even if he has to drag you in there himself.

[lalunanymph]

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 — g. satoru

; 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a strange man whisks you away to safety only to disappear when you least expected it

cw sugar daddy!gojo, smut (lots of it), minors shoo, 18+, barely proofread, 5.8k+ words, based on this post

; today i offer you the sugar daddy!gojo au no one asked for tomorrow who knows

You met Gojo Satoru on the last day of November. 

The streets were echoing with the sound of boots and winter shoes, a light layer of frost covering the sidewalks and naked branches above.

It had been a slow day at your izakaya, the patrons still enmeshed in their daily workload that you were forced to tick your eyes towards the old clock behind you to count down the minutes to happy hour. 

At least with some people around, you could dull the lonely throb in the middle of your chest; the one which hoped that someone would at least make some time to tell you about their day today.

As you muddled with your mundane task of wiping down some silverware, your eyes caught the faintest movement from the doorway. 

Tall, impossibly handsome and with a presence that would draw every eye on him, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he lavished in attention. You had deciphered his motive the second he swaggered to you, a cheeky smile on his pouting lips.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You scoffed, wiping down the counter. Fate had thrown you a curveball where instead of a sweet patron you could chat with, you were faced with yet another customer who couldn't keep it in his pants. Strangely enough, it was way too early in the day for them to be this bold and the man before you didn’t look the slightest bit drunk. Maybe he was a special case. 

“Is that the best you can come up with?”

“Cut me some slack, sweetheart. It’s four in the afternoon.”

“Very astute. And yet here you are, trying to disturb a woman working an honest job.” 

His eyes behind those stupid sunglasses raked up and down your figure. "Honest job? Yes. Honest woman? Not much."

You stopped your motions, fixing him with an icy glare. "And what's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means I know you're messing with someone you shouldn't, little girl."

Your blood froze over, though you didn't let him get the upper hand with your perfected poker face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

His annoying cheery smile never faltered. "Let me walk you back home."

“No thanks.”

The smile he wore was edged with a glint of something darker, a smug uptick of his jaw. “It wasn’t a request. Unless you want to wake up in another life, then be my guest!” 

He turned around, one hand in his pocket, another raised in a mockery of a wave. 

The ice in your veins solidified and you didn’t know what compelled you to falter in your resolution to trust another man when you said: “Wait.”

A soft thud of his footfall on the sticky lacquered floor seemed to echo through your blaring mind. He turned his head back slightly, and through the peek of his glasses and sharp cheekbone, you noticed how bright and blue his eyes were.

Something about the brilliant hue and the look on his face melted through the defences you held fast for the better part of your life. 

“I am… I think I am in danger. What do you know?” 

The man tilted his head to the side. It was ridiculous to trust a stranger. But, for the sake of your curiosity, you had to try. 

“Satoru,” he gave you his name with a childish wink. “Gojo Satoru. Now, about that offer to walk you home…”

Gojo’s palm was warm on your lower back, melting through the layers of your work dress and trench coat. Every hair on your body was standing on end from his touch, your throat swallowing the dryness gathering like a eulogy waiting to be expelled into the frosty thin air. 

Silently, you snuck a glance at him, bowed down by his blatant good looks. Keeping your eyes latched onto the ground, you missed the twitch in the corner of his lip, his eyelids fluttering shut, as if he could walk with his eyes closed.

“You said I was in danger?”

Even the words were hard to solidify into the real world. You cleared your throat, forcing the hoarseness through the tight pinprick of fear which clamped around your soundless despair.

“I would say it’s more than that. You’re just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Kiyosaki Kyouta. That name ring a bell?”

In the hazy recesses of your mind, you distinctly remembered a gust of hot breath on your neck, the press of a pinstripe tie against a strip of tattooed skin. 

“Vaguely,” you hummed. “What about him?” 

“Well… you really don’t know how to pick your clients, I’ll give you that,” his attempt at humour was amusing only to himself. “But, I do understand the streets of Kyoto must be dry of bastards, and you had rent to pay… wait, where was I going with this?” 

“Kiyosaki Kyouta,” you muttered impatiently. “You said that bastard’s bad news?” 

“Ah, yes!” he snapped his long fingers, and you were drawn to the clean nail beds and neat edges. 

A man who cared about his outward appearance a little too much. “Evil man. Horrible. I have a bone to pick with him, and it kinda leads to you. Might have tipped off some important people on your location. I would apologise but this is actually good news for you!

"Anyway, what do you think about moving in with me for a week?” 

Unpacking your bags as Tokyo’s skyline greeted you was not how you expected to spend your Wednesday morning. 

After your little confusing chat with Gojo, you reckoned it was safer to put your life in the hands of a man who knew the ins and outs of your client’s mysterious life than to risk it all in your cramped, unguarded apartment. 

Gojo had left you with a salute and a shit-eating grin to adjust yourself in one of his many penthouses. Emphasis on ‘many’. 

You had no idea he was this loaded, and truth be told, the idea of many yen signs attached to his name sounded intriguing. You wanted to know more about this mysterious Gojo Satoru. 

A quick Google image search gave nothing away, and even Facebook was no help in understanding the enigma who had invited you into his home to protect your life. 

One night he came back, after leaving you for two days to your own vices, and you had had enough.

“Well?” you asked with an arch of your brow, hands crossed over your chest. “Can I go home now?” 

Gojo’s lanky figure was a source of frustration for you when you had to crane your neck to look up at him. His effervescent grin at your expense was back. “Why? Missed your bed? Not as comfy as mine?” 

You knew he was taunting you—could feel it in your bones—but what you did next was irrational as anything that came before that. 

Your hand flew towards his chest, about to hit it when it stopped. Completely. In mid-air. No matter how hard you tried to push towards the broad expanse of muscle, it wouldn’t budge. 

“What the hell—?”

“It’s my cursed technique—sorry. Superpower. Do you believe in sorcerers?” 

Your mouth fell open in a disbelieving ‘O’. 

For the next hour or so, Gojo sat you down to explain about a world hidden from yours. A world of curses, secrets and jujutsu. Energy and manifestations. Fears and delusions. 

It all created what he called Curses and he was one of the strongest ones tasked to exorcise them. 

After he finished, you sat back, in a complete daze from what you had just heard.

“H-how does this link back to Kiyosaki Kyouta?” 

Your voice was hoarse, like you were on the verge of tears. Gojo offered no sympathy when he shrugged and snickered. “Kyouta is one of the bad sorcerers. I was sent to hunt him but somehow, his traces landed on you. Some whore or another who latches onto men for their money. Naturally, his co-workers want to find out where he disappeared to and the last place he ever visited was your shitty izakaya.” 

You blinked, and your chest caved in. 

“So, that’s why it’s dangerous for me to be in public?” 

“Technically speaking, you’re not even supposed to be alive. People like you—non sorcerers—aren’t allowed to know about our world. But, it’s fine. I won’t kill you and neither will the higher ups in my community. You’re just a would-be casualty that I have to keep out of harm’s way until the dust clears.”

Gojo grinned. “In the meantime, how about we get to know a little bit about each other? I know you take off clothes for a living—”

“Shut up,” you glowered hotly. “You have no idea what choices pushed me to be here.” 

“Ah, but it must be a horrible life you lived to push you into these ideals—”

“My family were religious nutjobs.” 

For the first time since you met him, Gojo Satoru was rendered speechless. The truth you held back for a good few years spilled from your lax lips, unburdened to this relative stranger who you knew nothing about. 

After you were done remembering a past tainted by a psychopathic mother, repentant father and a small town you were forced to escape from, Gojo slumped back onto the sofa, a telltale purse of concentration puckering his lips. 

“Shit,” he punctuated his succinct observation with a low whistle. You thought he would offer you sympathy, or at least a sneer of disbelief. Not— “You wanna have a drink?” 

Drinking with Gojo was an unexpected occurrence, but you figured that when it came to a man like Satoru, it was best to go with the flow rather than resist it. He could barely handle his liquor, and you were no better. Years in this seedy industry hadn’t hardened your resilience to alcohol as much as you wanted to believe, and when you slumped against his broad shoulder, he didn’t fight you off.

Gojo smelled good. Your hazy mind detected notes of citrus and the sea from his frosty white locks. 

“If I kissed you right now, would you fight me off?” 

His voice, low and a hum, pierced through your mind like a ringing gunshot. You sat up, trying to focus your glassy eyes on him.

Emboldened by the liquor, you mumbled, “Depends on how you kiss me.” 

His soft lips were on yours in a heartbeat. 

Kissing Gojo was a sensation you could not describe. Imagine riding a rollercoaster, but instead of freefalling, you were shooting straight up to the atmosphere. You kept on climbing higher and higher, until your lungs ached and your heartbeat stuttered behind your eyelids. 

Even his lanky, large frame pressing you onto the carpeted floor could not bring you down from hurtling head first into his devouring kisses. Gojo mouthed hungrily at your lower lip, the slip of his warm tongue gliding along the seam of your mouth, parting it easily like water does to sugar paper. 

Nothing could keep him from coaxing you to intertwine deeper with him, but the slide of that damning tongue against yours, and the messy clash of teeth was close enough to convince you. The hot press of those large palms on the small sliver of skin exposed from your shirt riding up drove you dizzy with lust, the ache between your thighs thrumming hotly. 

Gojo was steadily leading you down a path you could not come back from. There was more at stake than your safety; your future was figuratively held in those nimble, knobbly fingers that were pale like snow and long like a talented pianist. 

He could decide when you were safe. Only he was the one you would trust with your life. 

After all, he hadn’t given you reason to doubt him.

Spreading your thighs wider to accommodate him in between them, you let him grasp your hips, tugging the elastic waistband of your shorts down. Once you were fully exposed, your cheeks warmed, and a sliver of sobriety started to encroach your consciousness. 

Those icy blue eyes were alight with a fire you had never seen before. The smooth pads of his fingers glided up your ribcage, skimming the hardness of your bra cup, implicitly asking for permission. 

Despite not knowing anything about him but his name and his terrible secret, you lifted yourself up, perching on your elbows. Gojo’s dark shades slipped down the bridge of his shapely nose, and you ignored the voice in your head to be careful when you gently pinched the wireframe of the expensive Ray Bans, carefully removing it and placing it on his coffee table. 

Finally unveiled to you with no barriers, his brilliant eyes render you speechless. You had stolen glances of them behind the dark glass, but nothing could prepare you for the brilliance of looking at them without them. 

You felt like you could drown in those baby blue depths, those thick white lashes framing his beautiful eyes tickling your bare neck. His soft kisses followed next, full of a strange restricted passion you could feel thrumming from his fingertips over your ribs as they slowly ascended up the column of your neck and towards your jaw. 

Gojo hummed, the tip of his tongue tracing your jawline with precise teasing. 

Splotches of red adorned his cheeks, giving him a certain humanness you had never noticed from this sculpture of a strange man. Something about that little blip gave way to his vulnerability, and it made your heart sing. 

Strong fingers snapped your bra off, and then your panties, and finally, you had nothing to hide yourself from his piercing blue eyes. They shone with an effervescent emotion you could not name, and your heartbeat doubled when you peered down the length of your body, noticing his cheek pressed to your pelvis. 

Gojo was a large man, though you hadn’t noticed it in the beginning. Hidden by his button down shirt, you feasted on the visual carnival of muscles rippled across his nimble body, biceps pulsing and abs undulating when he scooted down to your pelvis level. A smug grin adorned his peachy lips, and you flushed with want at the sight of him kissing your hip bone softly. 

“Cat got your tongue,” he teased. 

You pursed your lips, darting your eyes to land on a painting beside you rather than the man poised in between your thighs to pleasure you. 

“Shut up.” 

“Feisty,” Gojo drawled. “But, no matter. They’re always stubborn until they’re begging for more.”

You were about to snap that you weren’t going to stoop low enough to plead for him when you felt his mouth brushing your honeyed folds. 

There was something electrifying about Gojo Satoru. 

His movements burned through you, seared your protests off your kiss-bruised lips. You could do nothing but let him have his way with you. 

Gojo sampled you like you were a foreign dessert, taking his time to memorise your taste. 

Your fingers twisted in his silky, white locks, and he moaned deeply in appreciation when you started to tug on them. The vibrations edged your core towards a release you felt welling inside of you like a violent wave. 

No man had ever taken his time to eat you out this thoroughly—like you were worth the decadent lust you were denied from a life of selfish lovers.

Gojo Satoru was anything but selfish with you. 

Every curl of his tongue and soft moan got you higher towards that sacred spot. He was leading you straight into heaven, sparks flying off behind your tightly squeezed eyes. 

You felt his hand on your hip, massaging it lightly. 

“Don’t keep me waiting… cum for me, princess.” 

That nickname and his sultry command set off a series of fireworks down your spine. You arched your back, a scream of his name released into this echoing hall of his penthouse. 

“Gojo!” 

He laced his fingers with yours, prolonging your high by sucking hard on your clit, hard enough to leave a mark behind. 

Strong arms wrapped you to his side, and Gojo laid next to you, the stretch of his toned body melting with yours. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes crossing from the pleasure holding you in its thrumming hostage. “That was…” 

He hummed, lifting you to straddle his lap. The thick nudge of his cock brought you back to the ground, the pleasure singing in your veins rising to a crescendo. 

“So tight,” he whispered, more to himself. “I’m going to ruin you.” 

You hoped he did. You hoped he would keep that promise—forever. 

The expanse of his chest was the terrain which your hands ran over, memorising every dip and sharp jut from his defined collarbone to his washboard abs. You couldn’t keep your touch from roaming down the fine smattering of white hair leading straight to the throbbing length currently nudging past your tight opening. 

Once he settled in, a wince of pleasure overtook both your features. Gojo lolled his head to the side, cursing softly, his hair bleeding across the floor like the first fall of snow. 

In this position, he left the control entirely up to you—a first you would never expect from such a self-possessed man.

You moved in tandem to his controlled grinding. One thing led to another, and you were somehow pressed to the wall, legs wrapped around his slim waist. 

This close, you had no idea how blind you had been to his sheer size. Towering over you and easily hooking your thighs around his body, Gojo bounced you up and down his cock like you were a rag doll, drawing out your sweet moans which were like music to his ears. 

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his hoarse voice drawing you to the edge like a wave to the shore. “I feel you squeezing down on me.” 

Those prettiest blue eyes pinned your full attention onto him, and you couldn’t resist leaning forward, smushing your mouth with his in a messy attempt at a kiss. Gojo kissed you back with equal fervour, and the fever pitch lust he incited and you reacted to was reaching its peak. 

Both your bodies trembled from the onslaught of a release that shook your cores. 

Gojo slid to his knees with a low groan bringing you along with him—the strongest sorcerer in the world weakened by your perfect pussy squeezing down on him. 

You nuzzled his cheek, panting his name softly. “Gojo…”

“Satoru,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. 

You felt his fingers twist the hair at the nape of your neck, feathering soft caresses on the sensitive strip of skin with the pad of his thumb. 

“Call me Satoru.” 

Your relationship with Gojo Satoru was strange, to say the least.

After rocking your entire world that night, he disappeared the morning after. No calls, no notes.

All he left behind was his black card, and later during the afternoon, an unknown number texted you: ‘Go crazy <3’ 

So, you did. 

You bought yourself clothes, makeup, and skincare which you couldn’t previously afford with your salary as a waitress. You reasoned that if you were going to live with this unknown man for an extended period of time, you were going to make your stay as comfortable as possible.

The other sugar daddies who had treated you to a taste of luxury were faint shadows in your mind. Your entire world was consumed fully by Satoru. He was easily richer than any man who had tried to woo you. It was as if his bank account was bottomless. 

Though he had never explicitly asked you to be his sugar baby, his true intention was seen when he returned three days later, bending you over the couch until you squirted all over his picture-perfect abs. 

Later, he left yet another credit card on his flawless mahogany dining table, and this time, you had no qualms in getting yourself sets of lingerie, which you sent to that unknown number in hopes that he would see it. 

You never expected him to turn up at the door an hour later, an easy grin on his plush lips even as the veins were bulging in his forearm from his tightly clenched fists.

“Wrong number, sweetheart,” he chortled, removing the strange purple uniform he wore to reveal the white button down underneath. The material fell to the floor with a heavy thud. “That was Ijichi you were trying to seduce, but I’ll forgive you.” 

“Ijich—” 

You barely had time to utter another man’s name, not when your words were swallowed completely by his smothering kiss. 

Gojo guided you towards the table, and you realised a second too late what he was doing until your head was hanging from the edge, your mouth wide open and waiting. He removed his pants, and palmed your heavy tit with one hand. 

“Are you wearing it underneath this stupid shirt?” 

His voice was edged with something dark and demanding. You nodded, glassy eyes catching his blown-wide ones. 

Satoru didn’t waste time in removing the bothersome t-shirt you wore, revealing the silky white set you bought which matched his hair. 

“Like an angel,” he whispered, and gave you no time to reply, not when his cock was slowly easing down your throat.

You would’ve thought that sucking Satoru off like this would be demeaning, but Gojo never once made you feel like a whore for falling into your deeper instincts. You wanted to please him, and he wanted you to please him. 

It was an equal give and take that left you both shaking and slick with sweat. 

Satoru eyed your writhing body and thought that the world’s best art instalments would never do justice to the piece of poetry unfurling before him. He had seen Monet, DaVinci and Van Gogh in real life, but none of them could quite capture the euphoria of your flushed cheeks and swollen lips wrapping around his cock like a love offering. 

Without warning, he withdrew his length from your mouth, and you were straddling his lap in a blink of an eye. Satoru’s superpowers—as you liked to call them—made him faster and more nimble than any man you had ever slept with. 

Sinking you down on his cock, Gojo set a pace that rattled your teeth, leaving you like putty to his ministrations. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, muffled whines of “fuck… feel so good” bruising your skin like the marks he left on the same spot. 

You were growing delirious from the high, every sensory overload screaming out his name like a siren. 

Gojo had this uncanny ability to know your body better than you did, and you almost hated how easily it was for him to get you crumbling. As if your walls never existed in the first place, you fell for his lopsided grin and the tender way he cupped your face as he kissed you senseless. 

Your heart was a puddle right under your spread thighs, obvious for the world to see. 

Gojo Satoru had wormed himself under your skin, and he was never going to leave. 

You had to make sure of it.

“Stay tonight,” you whispered against his lips while he continued to piston his slick cock in and out of you. 

Gojo hoped you didn’t feel the tremble of his lower lip against yours. Prayed that the hitch in his breath would be taken as his orgasm quickly approaching and not as a nameless, terrifying feeling he was fighting hard to not succumb to. 

Your eyes were closed, like you were praying, though realistically, Gojo knew it was because of your impending orgasm about to drag you under. 

“Hmm,” he murmured in what he hoped was a noncommittal hum. 

Leaving you without an answer, Satoru chose to play with your clit as a means to distract you from his torn thoughts. He thumbed the greasy bud until you gasped and your back bowed, a look of painful reprieve overtaking your entire expression. 

“Satoru…” 

A sharp inhale and one quick tremble. Gojo felt you cum all over his cock. 

Your eyes drooped close, the hormones and oxytocin leaving you floating on a cloud of satisfaction that you didn’t feel him carrying you into his bedroom. 

The sensation of a warm blanket engulfing you filled your woozy mind with more cotton, and you briefly registered the feeling of someone sliding under the covers together with you. 

More warmth wrapped around you, and in a simple instant, you were fast asleep, completely unaware of Gojo’s tightening embrace as he held you close to his heart—like you would disappear the second he opened his eyes. 

You never thought Satoru would leave you, but he did. 

Where you both would frequently text and exchange memes throughout the day, everything went radio silent on an unexpected note. 

The messages you sent him wouldn’t go through, green bubbles of confusion on the screen leaving you laced with nausea for his safety. On the second day of no contact, you decided to venture out on your own. 

Satoru had never explicitly kept you under lock and key, but when he was around, you found that you didn’t want to escape his clutches. 

The outside world seemed different without him. The sun was bleached of its colour, and the trees felt fake. It was like a rendered movie your eyes were not used to. 

Everywhere you went, you hoped you would stumble into him. Down a corner of the street, past a restaurant he once told you about which served the best ramen. Your heart hummed with Gojo’s name, and yet, this empty world could not answer your wishes.

Two days turned into four, and by the fifth, a man from your past reached back to you. 

You had lived long enough in this sinful life to know when someone was done with you. Gojo Satoru had probably chewed on you long enough till your presence was tasteless to him, and had left to cleanse his palette with someone else. It wouldn’t be the first time a man has done this. 

I thought he was different. 

But, he was like every other man you had been with. They all eventually got tired of you.

A dull thrum took up space where your heart once pulsed with life. You went through the motions—fucking your ex-fling, Mori, taking his money, spending it on little niceties that brightened your day for a nanosecond before it went back to grey. 

You would never have expected the call that came exactly nineteen days after you had left Gojo’s penthouse. 

It was seven in the morning, too early for you to be awake unless you had work. The weekend was today, and you were hoping to get in your much needed eight hours of sleep, but the shrill tone of your phone would not leave you alone.

You answered it in your half-grogginess. 

“Hello?” 

“Sweetheart?” 

Just like that, the colours of the world came back to life. 

Your eyes shot wide open, a thrill of excitement and disbelief forcing you from the bed.

With your heart in your throat, you uttered the shades of a name you missed the most on your tongue. 

“S-Satoru?” 

“It’s me, gorgeous. Where are you? Why’re you not home?” 

Home. The word throbbed like a tender wound in your soul. Gojo thought you belonged in his home. 

“I’m—”

Before you could speak, the man next to you yawned loudly and pawed your ass. Ignoring your tiny yelp, he rubbed his spiky cheek against your shoulder. “Who’s that, baby?” 

Loud enough for Satoru to hear from his end. 

You held your breath the moment Gojo expelled his noisily. 

“Baby?” His voice was saccharine sweet. Deceptive. “Are you with another man?” 

“I—” 

“No, no. I understand,” you could picture his glossy lips stuck in a pout and ached to kiss him thoroughly. “I left without an explanation. I’m on my way.” 

The second his call ended, you heard a loud crack coming from the foot of your bed. Mori jerked back like a dog scalded with hot water at the sight of your previous lover’s mischievous grin. 

“Aha. Knew I would find you here,” he crowed triumphantly to you. As for the man who had warmed your bed while he was gone, Satoru faked a pout. “Aw. I think you stayed way past your welcome. You should skedaddle, don’t you think?” 

“Wait,” Mori gruffly got up from the bed, his bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you—”

One second, he was right next to you, and the next, he was gone.

Your scream was cut short when Gojo materialised next to you, palm over your mouth to muffle your sobs. 

“Relax,” he crooned. “I just sent him to the train station… in his underwear.” You hiccuped, fixing your wide, glossy onto his smiling face, suddenly afraid. You had no idea of the extent of Satoru’s powers and you were too scared to find out. But, he never gave you any more reason to be alarmed, his genial smile never faltering. 

“I think it’s time we both went home, don’t you?” 

He lifted you into his arms like you weighed next to nothing. You blinked and your room seemed to shimmer, a creeping heat crawling all over your body. 

“Satoru—”

You barely had time to yell out his name in warning when you opened your eyes and found yourself in his living room. 

Dumbfounded, your mind pinged around like a lost signal, unable to wrap around the fact that you had basically teleported halfway across from Tokyo. Satoru set you down on your wobbly feet, and you lurched forward, palms pressed to his sturdy chest.

“Careful, pumpkin.” 

The black tee he wore stretched gloriously over his muscles, and for a split second, you took a minute to rake your eyes up and down his broader frame. 

Did Satoru start to workout while he was gone?

His biceps were thicker, and the widened frame of his body left you tethering in shock. 

There was no way a person could get this buff in such a short time. 

The Satoru before had a good amount of muscle, but the Satoru now was practically god-like. It struck a note of fear in you, one which he noticed.

“Sweetheart?” he gently coaxed, using two fingers to tip your face up to look at him. His blue eyes—shifting like the ocean—welcomed you into his waves. “It’s still me. Don’t be scared.”

Your words lodged in the back of your throat like a cough which you could never release. They itched and ached to tell him how much you missed him, but you were so very scared he would never reciprocate those feelings.

“Where did you go?” you bleated pathetically instead. “You were gone for so long.”

“It’s quite a story,” he drawled, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief though they were tempered by something else. A certain loss you could feel on the tips of your fingers when you caressed his cheeks. “I think I’ll tell you later—after I’m done fucking you.” 

He kept true to his word. 

Gojo spent the entire morning in between your legs, eating you out while you shook and moaned his name over and over again. The walls were starting to spin, the drool had long dried on your chin and he was still tonguing your folds with the precision of a master. 

Hazy-eyed and weak, you mewed his name, and Gojo allowed your fingers to tug on the roots of his hair. 

“Feeling good, baby?” 

You were too fucked out to speak, nodding instead. 

Gojo chuckled quietly to himself and removed the last article of his clothing—his black pants—to reveal his pale, beautiful cock already throbbing with anticipation. Your breath hitched when he circled the blushing tip against your needy clit, and your whine was pleasure personified the second he slid into your tight heat.

The man you so desperately wanted to belong to held you close to his chest while his large palms grasped your fleshy thighs, using them to guide you up and down his length. 

All the while your mouth was latched onto his, your whispers of his name melting into a deluge of more, more, more. Those whines would be the death of him—if Satoru had not perished in the Prison Realm, he was sure he would’ve lost his soul right in the lock-up of your arms. 

You were kissing him like your life depended on it, and maybe, just maybe, Satoru was deluded enough to believe you loved him.

It was worth a shot when he asked: “Are you mine?” 

Your answer was a teary little nod and a hiccup of his name. “Y-yours.” 

That was all the confirmation he needed. 

Satoru doubled down on his thrusts, trying to get you to that sacred place in between pleasure and overstimulation. Your legs trembled around him, and your whimpers fueled him to catch his breath, his eyes fluttering shut.

The both of you exploded in complete ecstasy, your bodies writhing on the large couch as pleasure burned through the late morning light. 

His arms were leadened weights around you, and your breath was caught in your throat when you came about to find him smiling down at you.

“What?” you tried to scowl. 

Satoru smirked, using the pad of his index finger to smoothen out the crinkle in between your brow. 

“Nothing.”

“It’s something.” 

“I told you—it’s nothing.”

You thinned your lips together to avoid a silly grin from spreading. “You are such a horrible liar.”

“Me?” he pretended to gasp, putting a hand on his pale, sweaty chest. “Ugh. You’re soooo wrong, sweetie.”

“Am I?” you challenged. 

Satoru’s grin was infectious, and you found yourself smiling dopily in response. 

“You know what, you may be right,” he admitted.

“About what?” you hummed, drawing his hand close to your lips and kissing his knuckles.

“That you’re mine.” 

You paused, and the morning sunlight twinkled in his ocean-blue eyes, skittering across the surface of your shocked expression like a ripple over crystal water. 

Here goes nothing. “And I’m yours.”

Your silence was nerve-wrecking and Satoru wished your cheek wasn’t pressed onto his chest where you could hear the maddening beat of his heart.

His thoughts came to a futile halt when you laughed—a sweet, chiming melody that was delicious than any treat he ever had in his life. Your wide and honest expression made something deep in his soul cave, and the next words you whispered kindled in him a flame for life he thought had long extinguished.

“I never got the chance to say this… but, welcome home, Satoru.” 

— feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated <33

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[justabunchofdragons]

explanations of what they all do under the cut! (information from this website) no option for no opinion because you have to have an opinion (<- my decree as pollmaster)

musculoskeletal system - mechanical support, posture and locomotion

cardiovascular system - transportation of oxygen, nutrients and hormones throughout the body and elimination of cellular metabolic waste

respiratory system - exchange of oxygen and carbon-dioxide between the body and air, acid-base balance regulation, phonation (the production of sound and speech through vocal cords).

nervous system - initiation and regulation of vital body functions, sensation and body movements.

digestive system - mechanical and chemical degradation of food with purpose of absorbing into the body and using as energy.

urinary system - filtration of blood and eliminating unnecessary compounds and waste by producing and excreting urine.

endocrine system - production of hormones in order to regulate a wide variety of bodily functions (e.g. menstrual cycle, sugar levels, etc)

lymphatic system - draining of excess tissue fluid, immune defence of the body.

reproductive system - production of reproductive cells and contribution towards the reproduction process.

integumentary system - physical protection of the body surface, sensory reception, vitamin synthesis.

[waxingrunes]

I understand if you’re too busy to answer this or don’t want to, but i was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling us some of your non-explicit headcanons or just some traits you think wolfstar have in general? Your explicit ones are sososo hot but today I'm feeling low and need some comforting. Yiur blog is just a safe space for me but I totally understand if not! I love your work <3 all my love x

There are so many nondescript hc’s I have that this has the potential to turn into a formal essay with cited sources, so I’ll go for more of a generalised dump of info I have for each in a hope that it lifts some of your fog Anon. Maybe bullet pointed because it’ll be easier to read than my usual untidy form of communication. Hope you feel lighter soon.

Sirius

• will lick a yoghurt pot if there’s no clean spoons. There’s the option to go for fruit instead, but he wants the yoghurt and by god he will get his yoghurt

• is a fucking terrible driver, gives Remus and any passenger white knuckles due to speed issues and not using a lower gear when taking corners

• is however, in complete control when on a motorcycle; very hot, very controlled and will take his passenger’s safety very seriously

• professionally trained in ballroom and ballet, the latter which he is sometimes mocked in jest for, even by Remus, until he one time caught him stretching elegantly on the floor one morning with his upper body laid flat between long, toned, wide spread legs, ‘morning moony’, a healthy blush on his cheeks

• private crier, doesn’t cry easily

• goes quiet when angry as an initial defence but it doesn’t take long for him to start dropping breadcrumbs of sarcastic comments; can also be snobby and bratty, perhaps sometimes will get nasty and direct (bringing up things he shouldn’t to score points in the heat of the moment)

• suffers immeasurable guilt (helped by the point above) but is always masking a weighted feeling of guilt no matter what he’s doing, so much so it’s manifested into quite a serious anxiety problem in the wrong crowds

• he fidgets a lot, not in a chaotic way, just always has to have his fingers busy with something

• likes the smell of gasoline

• once had to talk himself down from throwing a child in a dustbin

• loves the colour red; blood red and cherry red to be precise but secretly loves dark blue even more because it’s what looks most handsome on Remus despite him not wearing it often

• sighs a lot

• pretended he couldn’t speak English to get away with jumping a queue

• hates the smell and taste of liquorice (unless heavily strawberry/cherry/raspberry flavoured)

• on one particular messy night out he got so impatient waiting at the bar, he reached over and grabbed a discarded bottle of alcohol the server had left open and swigged it

• digs his nails into his skin when anxious and is often reminded to relax the tension in his joints

• stargazes often

• once linked his pinky finger with Remus and asked him to pinky promise not to tell anyone what he was about to tell him, since which a tradition of trust was born where Remus will offer his pinky or the last two fingers for Sirius to hold or squeeze when he’s feeling unsure in public, or in any situation where verbal reassurance isn’t appropriate

• gets a weird thrill at the sound of cork popping from a bottle

Remus

• collects beer mats and keeps them in a drawer, thinks about making them into a display

• got tired of kids playing ball against the wall of his place (after repeat offences and him asking very nicely for them to stop) one day so went out, retrieved the ball and threw it so hard against of the cars it set the alarm off

• owner of said car came running out the house and Remus blamed it on the children. Never had the same issue again

• has a wildly sweet tooth and will always drop one or two packets of sugar into any warm beverage

• stares into space and gets involuntarily caught on someone’s face one too many times which makes them uncomfortable from the ‘Death Stare’ phenomenon when in reality, he’s lost in lala land

• can cook, is actually a proficient cook, but will not cook for anyone but Sirius, James or Lily

• will crack his knuckles, wrists and neck absentmindedly, all of which makes his company squirm because it’s often very loud and ‘pop-py��� but Sirius fucking loves it

• stays very calm during an argument but can shout louder than most and when he does, ears ring from the silence that follows

• prefers tea over coffee

• will eat liquorice any time he wants to piss Sirius off

• cries more than Sirius, but still a private crier

• always has to be the old boot in Monopoly

• loves words that are vowel heavy or double voweled because those are the ones where the scraps of Sirius’ lost French accent surface the most

• has a gentle touch, is aware of his size and nature of his lycanthropy, therefore always somewhat reserved

• loves socks, has a collection of ‘dad socks’

• has the messiest writing out of all the Marauders but loves handwritten things, owns three very different fountain pens for very different purposes

• is polite, but as he’s aged doesn’t tend to ‘fake smile’ a lot, feeling no need to fill uncomfortable silences for the sake of others

• has a chair he favours and often dozes off in it. Most of the time waking up to Sirius on top of him

[cristaq]

Og pricesoap fighting Shepherd here we go!

Soap sits at a table on the shore of Barcelona on a sunny day of early summer. The heat waves that usually dominate the Iberian Peninsula are a distant thing for now, with the sea breeze making its own contribution to the pleasant weather. Even though the view is stunning, his eyes are fixed on the man sitting across the table that skims through today’s news on the phone. Even though they’ve retired for a while now, Price still likes to keep up with the world. He wears the ugliest summer vacation shirt one could buy and yet Soap can’t take his eyes off his gorgeous man.

Price raises his eyes from the phone and smiles warmly, grabbing Soap’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. Soap snaps out of his trance and realises that Price is saying something.

“I need your help, love!”

Soap shakes his head, visibly confused. What did he just say?

“Get up soldier! Wake the fuck up!”

Soap’s eyes open for real this time and he gasps for air like he’s been submerged in water for too long. The pain is excruciating and his nerves waste no time to remind him that he has a knife stuck in his abdomen. Somewhere in the distance he can hear grunts and the sounds of a fight and it’s hard to make sense of all this sensorial overload. The sand burns beneath him, his vision is unfocused and…

“Get off me… son of a bitch!”

Price? Soap lifts his head just enough to see Shepherd over Price, beating him up. The fight has a clear winner, with Price struggling to keep his guard up and defend himself against the flurry of punches. And Soap can’t move a single muscle to help. Unless… his eyes settle on the knife poking out of him.

He grabs the handle of the knife and starts pulling. The pain sends him reeling and dark corners engulf his vision.

For Ghost…

He pulls harder and blood starts bursting out of the wound. HIs arms get ever weaker but he tries to stay silent and swallow his screams.

For Roach…

Price’s defence gets obliterated due to exhaustion. Shepherd is restless and keeps on hitting him.

For you, love…

Soap manages to fully pull out the knife but can’t keep his voice down anymore.  He shouts in pain when the blade leaves his body, making Shepherd turn around towards him.

Soap grabs the knife by the blade and aims for Shepherd’s head, or at least he tries to. His vision is blurry, his movements shaky but something inside his soul is desperate to stay alive and to save Price.

He swings his arm forward, keeping his wrist straight, and lets go of the knife.

For myself. See you in hell.

The knife connects with Shepherd’s eye and the impact throws his head backwards. He falls flat on the ground, right next to Price. Soap lets out a relieved sigh and rests his head back on the sand, his body capable of taking only so much. He screams for Price’s name but there is no response. Tears start forming behind his closed eyelids.

Now, where were we? Ah, Barcelona…

“Soap?! Stay with me, love! Come on, please, I beg you!”

Soap slips in and out of consciousness. Is that the sound of a helicopter or the waves?

“Nikolai! Help me out!”

Hmmm… definitely the waves.

“Stay with me, you muppet!”

The waiter brings two coffees to their table. Black for Soap and milk and sugar for Price. He always had a sweet tooth, not many people know that.

“I am getting you out, I swear.”

Price takes a sip of the coffee. “Good throw by the way. That was the most impressive stunt you’ve ever pulled.”

Soap laughs and squeezes back his lover’s hand. “Someone had to save your sorry ass.”

“I love you…”

“Think you can survive this? Live another day?”

Soap sips his own coffee. It has a strange, metallic taste.

“For you? Anything.”

[soraviie]

chasing after you.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation

━ about: dynamics in order: Joon - one-night stand + enemies to lovers, Yoongi - neighbours with a bit of a bad boy influence, Jin - sort of arranged marriage au, Hoseok - exes to lovers, Jimin - sugar daddy/fake dating au, Taehyung - tease x anger issues/clingy + tsundere/f2l, Jungkook - bodyguard x ward

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: "Aw, fuck, who invited that guy?" you growled, whilst rolling your eyes at the corner where Namjoon had been so precariously sat like an asshole. You hated everything about him - the smug smile, the cocky tone of his voice, the winks he threw your way. Kim Namjoon was nothing but a sure way to get your blood pressure up and stay that way all through the night.

"Probably one of his fri- Shit! He's coming this way!" as your friend dipped over the bar and away into the crowd, courageous as ever, you snatched your drink partially pondering about throwing it into his face.

"You look lonely," he cooed with that shit-eating grin that you had wanted to smack away since the first meeting. And maybe to kiss but he didn't need to know that. "Why don't I keep you company?"

"Keep company with your left hand like you usually do," you yelled over the music.

"Well it does pair well with certain memories of you," he smirked and you groaned in disgust.

A misguided February 14th evening could lead to many foul things - unexpected pregnancy, STDs, Kim Namjoon having the delusional idea that you liked him.

Frankly, you'd rather endure a yeast infection than have this 6 feet fuckboy in the disguise of a pacifistic art lover keep chasing you every night out. More than once you wanted to slap your younger self only to come to their defence over and over again.

Namjoon was big. Big man. Big muscles. Big...well you get it.

And that may have made you a little bit stupid once! But not twice.

Yes.

"I can't stand you," you sneered at him with the most contempt you could possibly muster

"Sit on my lap then, baby."

You took a long swig to finish your drink, sliding it across the bartop and walking backwards, you levelled him down with a:

"You'd only cream your jeans, caveman."

"That's possible," he reckoned with a soft smile watching you mingle with the dancing crowd.

And for a while, it all went well, you'd find someone to at least waste some time with only for them to suddenly start sprinting away for their lives. You frowned after them, coming to a screeching halt in the fun.

Did your breath smell or something?

Taken with dancing, you hadn't noticed the broad-chested giant charging forth, smoke practically fuming from his nostril as his eyes glinted devilishly when tracking down the opponent. As the music changed, you found your waist circled by a shovel-sized palm.

"You really have no luck out here. You keep on being stuck with lil' old me," he whispered in your ear, causing long trails of goosebumps where his breath landed and you elbowed him, hard, in the gut.

He didn't even seem to mind.

"I don't know who you think you are Kim Namjoon but I will never-!"

"Oh, how you hate me," he lets out a burst of raspy laughter, head thrown back on the pillow, pulling you closer as much as he can despite you both being considerably sweaty.

"S-shut up," you grunt back, thighs aching but just a little bit more and you'll be in your happy place even if it was with this obnoxious gym rat. "You're just a cock on legs to me."

"Oh, for sure," he smirks and then prompts himself upwards to bite on your neck. "But you might think of screaming a tad quieter if you want to be really convincing."

It's a sick sense of deja-vu to wake up sore and aching all over in a sun-filled room overstuffed with cacti and a very soft blanket. The bed was empty and as you clamber to the toilet wearing a shirt found on the floor, struggling to walk, you stumble upon him in the kitchen - Cheshire grin spread all over his lips.

"Good morning," Namjoon greets. "You want some eggs, babe?"

YOONGI: His eyes track your movement as though it's dazed him and it's in moments like these you wish he was a criminal or something, a certified member of a mafia. A flag touch redder.

Stay away from Min Yoongi, they said, he's trouble but what to do when he doesn't stay away from you?

"So a kitten does come out to play," he purrs pressing one of those veiny palms against the elevator doors, halting it in its tracks and climbing in. You roll your eyes and straighten your back to appear more threatening. Yoongi, of course, couldn't give less of a shit.

"You're one to speak," you counter. "The most walking you do is through your apartment. It's like a herd of elephants."

"Well then don't listen in on what I do, you little pervert," he smirks, pressing the 8 on the elevator and it jerkily moves through the floors, reminding you once again to be grateful for life.

"Give it here," without waiting for a reply, he grabs the hold of your bags and goes straight to your apartment doors. Once inside he makes himself right at home, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"What are we eating?" he questions gruffly, examining the produce with no small amount of judgment.

"You're speaking French now?" you push him away, relinquishing the rightful ownership of a pair of avocados you bought. "Whose "we"?"

He doesn't bother gracing it with a comment as anyhow a doorbell rings and you see his tongue poke against the cheek.

"Who the hell are you?" he questions sharply and you peer into the doorway.

"Oh, hello," you greet your coworker with a reserved smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, what are you doing here?" Yoongi echoes, placing his hand above your head and on the very edge of the door.

"Just interested if you're going to the uh... team bonding activities," he replies, fretfully glancing at Yoongi.

"Ignore him, I do," you smirk up at Yoongi. "And-"

"She has plans," Yoongi interrupts, pushing you back into the kitchen with his palm against your back.

"Oh, okay," your coworker stutters awkwardly, trying to lean in somehow. "See you around?"

"No," Yoongi cheerfully replies and smacks the door right into his face.

"You're such a dick," you groan.

"Did you have plans?" he asks with a teasing lilt, voice dropping nearly an octave lower. "And are you going to lie that it wasn't with me?"

"My jumbo-sized Charmander plushie and I are doing well on our own," you point at him with a packet of tomatoes. "Where you fit into the equation is a mystery."

"I'll tell you where I can fit," he laughed, wagging his eyebrows.

"No, no, goodbye," you wrinkle your nose in disgust, pushing his still laughing back out of the door. "Leave."

"Wait, what if I need some sugar?" he objects and you furrow your eyebrows, glaring up at him in suspicion.

"Do you?"

"No," he shrugs carelessly. "But what if."

"Begone, demon," you push against him harder but he seems to only enjoy it.

"Come to my game. It's right across the street in that park. I need a good luck charm."

"Will you be throwing a ball in your face? If no, then I'm not interested."

As you slam the door shut there still comes a raspy whine.

"Come on, short ass, come."

And if you do happen to drop by the nearest park with its shitty basketball court it's because you have nothing better to do and you needed some ice cream. Yoongi, uncharacteristically brazen for him, smirks at then winks in the middle of the game.

And promptly receives a ball to the face.

JIN: "Eat more garlic!"

"Straighten your hair with an iron!"

"Belch really, really loudly!"

You try to recall all of your friends' sage advice whilst pacifying your nerves. Being late nearly an hour didn't sit well with you but this guy was...determined. Insanely determined. So the ends justify the means.

When at last you arrive at the three Michelin star restaurant it's an hour later than what your family had set and you're wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Your face may burn with shame at such a display but certainly, this would beat this broad-shouldered man off the path. This was beyond and above rude. You're already prepared to be yelled at, scorned and insulted but Seokjin merely blooms into an eager smile. Doesn't even blink twice at your choice of wear.

He dismisses the host with a polite nod and pulls a chair out.

"Hello, _________," he greets innocently. "Traffic is hell, right."

There was no traffic and he knew it only making excuses to achieve whatever nefarious goal he had set out to.

"Just give him a chance," your mother pleaded over the phone. "He's been asking about you forever. Please, he's rich and handsome, what's not to like."

What's not to like? Well, probably something. Kim Seokjin in your mind had always stood as that annoying guy who'd dropped a water bomb on your head when you were about to take the most glorious profile picture ever. Spinning in overlapping social circles, you'd seen too much of him growing up and had to endure several of your friends flailing over him especially when the pool season began. He was like a jar of honey to their fly status. And as such only a tar in your own pot of sweetness.

He was old. You had not exactly a criminal age difference but still more than 2 years. He was a creep, you firmly plant that idea into the recesses of your mind.

Why oh why, was he so insistent on asking about you?

"Good idea," he praises, pointing at your outfit. "It's best to be comfortable. I should have done that as well, this is quite uncomfortable," he waves a disappointed hand over the blue three-piece suit.

The waiter along with the menu serves you a freshly plucked side eye.

"Yeah, that's why I did it," dryly you mutter back, hiding behind the menu.

Think, think, think, what else turns off snooty men?

"Fucking shit," you cry out to your own amazement. "These prices are ridiculous. I'm not paying for this!"

"That's fine," Jin shrugs with that seemingly permanently etched expression of a tender smile. "I invited you here, I'll pay."

You groan.

"I'll fart," you threaten.

He shrugs and gracefully pours you a glass of wine.

"Everyone does that. It's a part of life."

You slobber your dinner up like a beast.

"Hmm, you're making the meal look more delicious," he nods.

And not even when you "accidentally" spill a mango sauce on his pants worth more than your apartment, does he weigh the thought of becoming angry in his mind.

"Ah, it's a perfect colour now," he merely congratulates with a jubilant cry and you let your head fall on the table with a thud, only it hits his palm as he had stretched it out at the last second.

"Are you insane?" you breathe out in sheer desperation. "Why are you not running over the hills?"

"Do you really think I can't see that you're doing this on purpose?" he smirks in amusement, over the rim of the wine glass. "We've known each other for a while, I know you better than that."

"Exactly!" you yell before falling into a hush as numerous daggers shoot your way. "You know me! As the annoying friend of your cousin! Why are you asking after me all of a sudden?! What joke are you playing?"

"Well, first of all," Jin corrects all too self-congratulatory. "I've never thought you were annoying. Maybe except when you were like 14 but who isn't the worst person in the world at that age? And secondly," his ears abruptly turn quite pink and he lets the wine glass rest on the table, nervously fiddling with its stem. "I asked for you because as you may know your mother is quite eagerly seeking various wedlock opportunities. For you specifically."

That makes you groan only louder.

"Don't remind me. So, so what? You want to get married to me?" you snort at the idea but then, for the first time ever, Jin is not laughing.

"Yes," he says dead serious.

"Wait, is this a prank?" you glance all around in an attempt to find the hidden cameras. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"I'm pulling no legs. What a weird thing to do," Jin muses and you narrow him down.

"Don't joke. It's not funny. Say "got you" or something. You can't be serious?!"

"Listen, ___________, I've liked you for a while now. I wanted to ask you before you began university but then you brought Jae home and..."

"Jae? Jin, that was...that was five years ago! You couldn't have liked me for five years?"

He averts his eyes and sips on his champagne. Even his neck is red.

"Five years?" you cry out. "And you kept quiet?!"

"Well, I told you now!" he objects with some indignation but even more of a burning shame. "All you need to do is to decide what you're going to do. 'Cause I'll accept you as you are, belching, sweatpant wearing and all. Even if you straighten your hair with an iron."

For a second you sit still and stupefied on this ridiculously over-padded chair ad then you feel yourself match the heat blooming on his face.

"You know Giulia?" you ask, downing the entire wine while desperately trying not to smile at the soft amusement in his eyes.

"Of course, I know Giulia," Jin chuckles self-consciously. "Who do you think gave me the genius advice of this stuffy suit?"

HOSEOK: You should have known from the start that this would lead to nothing good. What else could wait for you at the end of the nondescript hallways of conference rooms? One thing you didn't expect however was the loathsome face of your ex-boyfriend. Hoseok was sitting already by the table, beautiful as ever, leg nervously bouncing against the floor and treacherously a click of a lock snapping in its place echoes behind you.

He springs up from the seat, nervously glancing at where you tried to somehow break through the door. Or the wall, whichever came first.

"Oh, hell no," you growled, nails scraping against the doorknob. The betraying Brutus of a friend he had bribed to text you to come here will find an egg on their window for sure.

"_____________, please, let's just talk," he pleads. "Just let...let me explain."

"I don't want to hear any explanation," you hissed, turning to glare at him. From the way his eyebrows sloped, you could tell he was deadset serious but then it comes too clearly back into your mind.

That you were weird, not his type, that he doesn't understand you. But instead of simply crying about it you left. To cry about it in your own space. And also then turn incredibly bitter over it.

"I just meant that..."

"That I'm a freak? Yeah, I got it," you snarled before yanking harder on the knob. "Open the damn door!"

"No. If you're going to leave then please do the courtesy of letting me memorize your face."

You close your eyes, steeling your resolve. Don't give in, you reminded yourself, not after a whole year of hunkering through yet another heartbreak. Hoseok was just like the rest. Taking weirdness in all the things you liked, that you were. Why should you ever change for anyone else?

"It's been a year," you note sternly, having slid on the floor. He's also there, watching away from the small distance with a crease of a frown between his brows.

"Exactly. This year was one of the worst I've ever had," he confesses, supposedly earnestly. "I admit the things that I said were wrong but I did not mean it like that!"

"________________ is just a bit weird. You know the people I used to date, there's a bit of a difference, softly said," you quote him word for word. "And you said that to someone else! You opened your mouth, said that shit and thought it was okay!"

The sun behind the window had nearly slipped over the horizon and the office space was illuminated with a soft orange glow.

"You know the first time I met you, that was a lie," he mutters into the air. No one had come to open the door despite you nearly beating it off the hinges.

"Oh, that too was a lie, wonderful," you groaned, rolling your eyes but Hoseok remains sitting sadly by, occasionally passively twirling his shoe laces.

"I actually went past you on the street. Remember the crossroad by that small confectionery?"

You did remember. You lived right above it for a while, making your hair smell perpetually of candy for half a year.

"I...I got lost around there and walked past you, and you were sort of listening to your headphones, not looking around. I remember," he chuckled as though taken by an old memory. "You wore that knitted jumper that kept falling off your shoulder, the faded beige one and I just...I was so jealous of you, you were so carefree."

You glanced at him surprised. As far as you knew the first time Hoseok and you met was at a graduation gathering, a friend of a friend sort of a situation. And as you sat there, enjoying your barbecue by the side, wondering whether to dip your ketchup-stained hand in some weed brownies, he came up to you with the brightest smile, talking as though he knew you. Guess he did then know you.

"And the next day I went there again. I didn't even know why but I just did and you were there again. And I kept returning," he smiled at the ground but it quickly vanished. "Every day for a month before I met you at that gathering. Sometimes you were there, a lot of times - not but when you did it lit up my entire day. I didn't know how to approach you though, it's not a thing you do in the middle of the street, you know?"

"No," you affirm faintly.

"And when you left..." Hoseok winced at the mere mention of it. "I still kept going back," his breath was nothing more than a whisper stained with regret. The look in his eyes was downright depressing and you wondered if he had roamed around bearing the same heavy chip that you had. "And our favourite cafe. And your favourite park spot. I was there like...like a ghost lingering in your presence."

"But why did you say then that I was weird?" you sniffled, letting, for the joke of your own mental stability, some of that defence down. Attempting to look at Hoseok without the veil of contempt you've draped over him for a year. Dragging yourself back from hell was hard, dragging yourself from hell when thrust there by the one person you thought wouldn't do that - even harder. But by peeling off at least one cover, you saw many wonderful memories behind it, as slightly tainted as they were.

"I don't know," he groaned, hiding his face in the palm of his hands. "I was stupid. I meant in my heart that you were unlike anyone I've been with before. Not bad but different. And, yes, sometimes I don't understand you but I want to," he rouses to look into your eyes across the room. "I want to. And even if I never fully understand, I would like to make you feel heard and stand by your side nonetheless."

You stare into the sun to avoid crying. Stupid thought as no one ever stared into this glowing orb of light hanging in the sky in order to not get misty-eyed.

"What I said there was, I admit, crass. I was scared because I...with you I don't want to leave. I don't want to call quits when it becomes uncomfortable or becomes uneasy, I want us to grow together. And that scares me because, for the first time, I can really truly get hurt," he exhaled a heavy sigh, voice growing strained. "So when you left, no explanation, just gone in the wind..." he glimpsed over the horizon. "Anyway, I recognise me cornering you like this is wrong but...if you ran away because you felt unloved, I just wanted to show that I'd be chasing after."

Hoseok wiped at his eyes and briskly got up.

"But if you didn't and don't want me, I'll open the doors," from the pocket of his jeans, he fished out a glinting silver key. "I really just wanted to memorize you for as long as I could. I'm sorry."

He opens the doors and you called out -

"Hoseok!"

JIMIN: The phone kept ringing. You'd put it on mute but even so the bright light of the flashing screen stirred you awake and after a brief wrangle of putting the chip bowl actually on the table nearby, kicking your leg free from the grasp of the blanket, you simply watched it ring. After eventually growing into silence, it went to the 45 unanswered calls like the rest. You sighed turned to your side and slid the eye mask over the face, trying to somehow coerce yourself into immediate and indisputable slumber.

This was just the outward manifestation of his bruised ego, nothing more. You don't think anyone had ever rejected Park Jimin so this must be a new, unfamiliar feeling, one he'll get over in time and then maybe even laugh about it years down the line.

I mean, come on, you thought to yourself cutting the words like bloodied post-it notes in your own mind. There's no such thing as a rich handsome guy genuinely falling for someone so...

The disgusting words sprung too freely on the tip of your tongue so you settle for normal. To not at least give into self-hatred so easy. Such was the plot of romantic dramas and fantasies hence why it was fiction. Rich, beautiful people went for other rich beautiful people, normal folks went for normal folks. Dogs did not mix with chickens or pandas with capybaras. It was simply nonsense.

But as you close your eyes, the memories make it harder to be as clinically objective. All too well, you remember. His hands on your face, grasping as though he feared you would leave.

"Why don't you ever believe me?" he asked with heated desperation. "Nothing I say is ever good enough. Nothing is trustworthy!"

You tried to pry him gently away.

"Because how can I believe you? Look at yourself and look at me. This is not even opposites it's...unfathomables!"

You wished partially that he'd go to the good old Mr Park of the beginning, one who'd walked up to you in a cafe and asked if for a fair amount of money you'd be willing to answer his phone and pretend to be his girlfriend. And since the sum he called out was the rate of an onerous monthly rent, you'd plastered the sweetest voice you could in a matter of seconds with no questions asked.

When thinking of all the troubles when he approached you again, completely by accident, you had thought to yourself jail, assault, violence, even cannibalism for good measure, who knew what kind of sicko this stranger could be, but never you considered you'd be scared by the simple fact that he was in love with you. He had been cold, rude and brusque at the start and you had been fine with that, your "job" was to sometimes go to family dinners and lie which while not moral was not a crime.

Only then he invited to accompany him to his office, then to trips, then to movies and then one day you wake up in your bed and Mr Park, once a cold and resigned man, drenched in his own riches, is now making pancakes on your old stovetop and smiles the kindest smile you'd ever seen and asks if you slept well.

How could it not be a scary sight?

"I love you!" he shook you by the shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but as if trying to shake the bad thoughts out. "But you hate yourself! And you never listen!"

"They'll think I'm a gold-digger!" you cried. Just looking around his apartment made you sick. You couldn't even afford his carpet. How could he love someone with whom he shared so little with? He had never known the feeling of counting one's last money to afford bread or not buying something out of impulse. And you had never known the etiquette of polite brutality, of caring about who sits where because one word spoken at the wrong crowd table could destroy your entire livelihood. Love didn't change two profoundly different experiences.

"They don't think that!" he argued. "My parents wanted me to be with someone-"

"Poor?" you interrupted finally wrenching yourself free. Why was he so cruelly saying these things? He will just make you love him and then dump you with nary concern. Like others and then in time you will always think that you should have known better. Should have gotten rid of those rose-tinted glasses sooner not when they're smashed in shatters on the cold concrete.

"No!" Jimin immediately counters. "Of a different social circle! And even if they did, I don't care!"

"But the press-!"

"I don't care!"

"The rest of your relatives and friends-!"

"I don't care!" he yelled back, ripping at his hair, faint tears lingering in his eyes. "What will it take for you to believe me?! Please, why don't you believe me?"

"I can't!" you shrieked back in a sob. "Because better you not love me at all than fall out of it after some time! I don't want to be loved! I don't want to trust! I just want to be alone!"

Alone is what you were now but it felt no better.

"It will," you calmed yourself aloud. "Give it some time and your life will return to how it was."

Boring. Monotone. A single actor performing the most dreadful play to an audience of no spectators. You sniffled punching the pillow. Stupid Park Jimin waltzing into your life and making you think you were not the person you saw in your mind. That you were better. But how can you be when you're always "you"? A nameless face in the crowd, a cog in the machine.

No one, really.

As a sudden hand wraps around your waist, you scream and nearly punch the lights out of the affectionate attacker before in the faint streetlight streaming through the windows you recognized Jimin's eyes.

"How did you get in here?" you rustled in indignation.

"I had a key made. Remember? So I could greet you at home after work," he explained sternly.

"Well, you can't be here now-" you tried to argue, even push him out if needed, but he grasped at your legs and wrestled you to sit atop of him. You always fretted you were too heavy but he never objected.

"I'll leave if you order me to leave. Say those exact words: "Jimin, I want you to leave and never return back."

"I want to be alone," you muttered out of force of habit playing with the neck of his shirt.

"It's not the same," he cupped your cheek. "Until you tell me to piss off in my face, I'll keep chasing you every time you run. You think no one would? I will. Over and over again."

Your lip wobbled.

"It's ungrateful work," you breathed as he tugged you closer into a hug, gently swaying from left to right.

"Not to me."

TAEHYUNG: It takes thirty minutes for your aunt, a known stick in the mud, to go from screaming why was there a whole ass adult man traipsing in the apartment her niece should keep an eye on, to peacefully discussing the best nut selection over the kitchen table with eagerly listening Taehyung on the other side.

You were 35% convinced he knew how to do magic, and 65% convinced he was magic. And if he feasibly could he would live in your asshole. And the worst of all you can't get rid of him.

Well no, the worst of all you don't want to.

Coming from a rough environment, no matter how you slice or dice it, that leaves its own impression upon the mind. Yours being - people leave, people lie, people bad. It was easy to go through life, more than two decades of them in selective solitude, having friends but never letting them too close in and soon after they would stop even being friends. It was easy and predictable and while no one cared for you, you had to care for no one, could go where you wanted, how and when you wanted and fully enjoy doing what you liked.

And then this curly-headed now human reincarnated tiger-bear hybrid showed up. Literally dropping out of nowhere whilst still in university, pointing a finger of his frankly too large of a hand at you and then basically saying: "I want that one, that one's mine". Actually no, he did say exactly those words as you remember faintly chucking a dictionary of law at his head, thinking he'll abduct you or something.

And that's how six years later you were moved in. And he had invaded every part of your life, with his kind words, sopping eyes and chiselled chin.

As Taehyung slowly drifted to sleep, eyes falling heavier, his hand is intertwined with yours. And as you'll go to sleep yourself, despite him having his own bed, inexplicably you'll wake up with his breath against the back of your head.

Which was strange you know. You don't even remember agreeing to be friends with him. But steady as a clockwork, lo' and behold, at two in the morning, Taehyung's thigh squirms in between yours and he sighs in content.

Bizarre to say the least.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asks in wonder, poking his very shirtless body through the crack in the bathroom doors, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Out?"

"Wait, lemme comme with."

"Can I go out on my own? As the big girl that I am?" you huffed dryly, brows furrowed.

"No," he replied with a smile. Then you walk side by side you glare at your hands, swaying together in the warm air.

"A crazy question, one I'm just putting out there, will you ever...leave?" you ask with a faint frown. There might just be this...supposition, guesswork if you will, in your mind that it might just be that somehow you're...Taehyung's partner now.

"Hmm," he makes an act of pondering it out. "No, no, I don't think I will. Unless you kick me out."

Kick him out. Why didn't you? When previous lovers threw fits about Taehyung always being near, you parted with them with nary of guilt because they were...not your rock. Your rock and safe space had become this strange, occasionally vampiric-looking, a cardigan-loving friend of yours. But he never vocalized it. Or so you thought. He was always teasing you about being hard of emotional hearing, now that you thought about it.

You halted in the middle of the sidewalk and he turns to glimpse at you, curious.

"Taehyung...are you...in love with me?"

Astonishingly, he bursts into a peal of laughter.

"I have been for years now," he chuckles light-heartedly. "Though thank you for finally noticing."

"Wh-why didn't you say something? Anything?"

An expression of deep fondness settles on his face and it warms you like the late summer sun.

"I say "I love you" every day, dumbass. I've chased after you for like six years now. Oh, god," he gasps, sounding suddenly absolutely horrified. "Six years of my life wasted chasing after your stupid head. Oh, I'm an idiot."

"So a moron for a moron, a match made in lower intelligence," you grumble and he snorts at it, crossing the distance once more. When he takes your hand it feels weird for a second. But only for one. You ask yourself what will change and realize - not much.

"That we are Mrs Kim," he coos with a broad grin. "Great! Now I can show you the plans for our shared tombstone I sketched back in the university!"

JUNGKOOK: "He's...will he be staring like that for the entire evening?" your friend asks timidly, voice nearly overshadowed even by the pleasant music of the brunch place. You glimpse over your shoulder to find him aimlessly lounging around. When meeting your gaze, his lips, almost involuntary, spread into a wide grin as his nose scrunches in a manner that is inappropriate for any self-respecting bodyguard. He at least gathers that and sobers with a stern cough.

"Yeah, he's just...my...finance manager," lamely, you trail off but at least they believe it. Considering the last three months it wasn't that believable.

"In a twist of miraculous fate, a poor vintage boutique worker becomes the sole inheritor of the Durhanan Estate," she quotes with a mysterious smile and you squirm awkwardly as you always did when it was bought up. Six years of lawsuits had rendered the luck into a frenzied fever dream one you thought would never come to fruition. Even when the final decision was laid to rest and the lawyers of your great-grandfather popped their champagnes with cheery eyes it all felt so distant. Like a different life. That feeling, you find out, never left.

"Yeah, it's...crazy," you chuckled self-consciously.

"So is the old house haunted?" she questions leaning over the table with keen interest, though every once in a while her gaze does stray worryingly to where Jungkook was standing.

"It's just creepy. It's big...and old," you confess perhaps colouring it with hues too bold, knowing only the answer such as this would satisfy her interest. It was old and entirely too big (who needed thirty-four rooms) but with Jungkook it was less lonely, less of a ghost house and more of a...

No, it's stupid, don't say it, you think to yourself.

"So now that you're rich," she throws a not-so-small of judgemental look over the crystal glass of mimosa. "Will you be forgetting all about us?"

"No," you assure her. "This means nothing. It's just a change of...housing."

But she only scoffs in reply. You think you might not have your best friend much longer.

"You look unhappy," Jungkook reckons quietly, whilst driving back to the Durhanan estate. A nearly 300-year chateau hidden within an unnamed forest deep in the countryside. Once the chief story of the local children's ghost tales and now - your home.

Of sorts.

"I'm just tired," you deny, peering into the rolling landscape of the wilting greenery. A rougher hand suddenly rests atop of yours, stopping them from ripping the skin around the fingernails. Your face swelters with heat and you gently remove his palm.

You were his boss and this was...this was not appropriate.

But Jungkook has other ideas and despite there being thirty-four rooms and whooping nine acres of gardens there's hardly any escape from him.

"My lady, oh, my lady," he calls across the gravel path leading down into the overgrown, ivy-ridden paths. He runs up to you and then gently tucks the bloom of one of the wild roses ravaging the grounds behind your ear. He tries to suppress the smirk on his face and narrows his eyes against the glaring sun.

"You're...you," he stutters. "You doing anything special, tonight?"

You don't quite know why but that question, posed so innocently and presumably out of a need to start a conversation, makes you laugh. It was only you two here, no wifi, piss-poor electricity and the nearest town, a village actually, was thirty-minute drive away and the only thing interesting there was a two-room corner shop.

"Wondering whether we're going to be killed by demons, yes," you laughed lightly.

"I was just wondering whether we could bust out the old reliable solitaire in the library?"

You sigh but it falls more endeared than annoyed.

"Jungkook, stop trying to seduce me."

At first, his face seems to be crestfallen only for a cheeky smirk to appear.

"Trying?" he echoed and slightly leaned into you. A gust of sharp wind broke through the gardens and in sync you glanced at the sky above your heads. A cluster of dark clouds was gathering in the south.

"Let's go in," he urges softly but his body standing behind you flames your back.

A thunder was ripping outside like something crazy, rattling the panes of the window so hard you fretted they would shatter at some point. And the house screamed. Every breeze of the wind seemed to tear into the old floorboards as though they were alive.

Ghosts are not real, ghosts are not real, ghosts are not-

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

You screamed your lungs out, lunging towards the golden candelabra perched on the bedside table.

"You're alright? Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice swims through the dark and you exhale in loud relief.

"Do not! Scare me like that!"

After a moment and a creak of the old floor comes a bashful.

"Sorry."

Another crack of lightning. In the brief flash, you see him standing, unsure but not leaving. It was a bodyguard's duty to protect and he always took his duty quite seriously. Even if this duty was simply to protect you from any unwanted journalists and stalkers where there was none leaving him practically with nothing to do.

"Should I stay here? Protect you...from the storm?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"The storm? That is-"

CRACK!

"Yes, please and thank you," you whimper and not even a second later, the side of your bed dips.

Crickets might as well be chirping at the moment.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" he offers, sweetly, oh so sweetly as if he wasn't a little demon wearing a cheap halo. But still, the house continues its wail. How many lives had been lost in these walls? What stories did they tell?

You didn't want to know and so you agree but as he takes your palm, your hand lands on a very firm set of muscles.

"Jungkook, please retake 9th-grade biology, your six-pack is not a hand."

"It emits the same level of comfort."

He trails your hand higher, over his pecks and lands right on his heart. It drums like a fevered bird underneath your fingertips.

"Why are you so nervous?" you hum and he rolls on his side and settles himself onto the pillow.

"Because I like you. And you like me. Even if you pretend that you don't."

"It's really not ap-"

"Appropriate?" he finishes and then tugs his hands over your waist pulling you closer. "Perhaps not but you know what happens in the spooky old mansion, stays in the spooky old mansion."

His warm palm cups your cheek, stroking it with a dizzied smile.

"And if it doesn't, I'm a really good runner, so you can scurry all you like," a pause. His hand presses you even closer.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[suggs444]

Snitch Part 2: Mark Hoffman x Reader

Synopsis: You know his secret. He knows you know. Erikson and Perez suspect him. What extent are you willing to go to protect him? Takes place during Saw 6.

TW: swearing, k1lling, guns, blood, violence, sexual themes.

Gif by evilvvithin

..

Strahm wasn’t the only one who had suspected Mark. Erikson and Perez are acting blatantly obvious that they suspect your partner. They were loose ends.

You and Mark were on duty when Erikson interrupted, Perez trailing beside him.

“Detectives.” He greets, nodding.

You hear Mark inhale deeply. He’s treading on thin ice.

“We’ve got news back on the Seth Baxter tape.”

“Oh?” Mark says, his tone low.

“Someone’s descrambling the tape as we speak,” Perez says, hands on her hips. You notice how she’s looking at Mark with caution. They must know.

“They’ve called us in.” She continues, looking to you. You play it cool and nod.

Erikson nods, “This is our smoking gun,” he says enthusiastically, backing up toward the door. You and Mark stand side by side.

“You guys are coming aren’t you?” He says, opening the door.

Mark stiffens. You look at him, then back at Erikson. Don’t look suspicious. You nod,

“Of course.”

..

The tension in the room was unbearable. A lady sat at a large desk trying to descramble the tape. Perez stood by the door, Erikson next to the desk. Mark was pacing. You felt ill. He was acting too obvious.

You walked to the coffee table, pouring him a cup to calm him.

This is it.

You think.

You won’t see him again. You both knew whose voice it was. It was Marks. Your partners. Your lovers.

Your heart sank low in your chest. The anxiety riveting. The thought of seeing him in cuffs. The thought of not holding him again. The idea was unbearable. You could sob if it wasn’t for the current situation.

You exhale, handing Mark the cup of steaming black coffee. No sugars, no milk. Just how he liked it.

“Thanks,” He gruffs.

You nod.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Perez starts. You clench your jaw.

“What’s that?” Mark says.

“Strahm’s motivation. We were partners for five years and he never indicated signs of psychosis.”

Mark is quiet. You can tell he’s trying to figure out what to do or say.

“You never can tell when someone’s sinking on the inside.” You speak up, coming to Marks defence. His gaze whips to you. He seems surprised that you were helping him. But his eyes are acknowledging and grateful. You stare down Perez, feeling defensive of your partner.

She looks visibly irritated.

“There is an alternative,” Erikson perks up, walking to Mark. You were still staring at Perez before you snapped out of it. This was a part of you that you hadn’t realised was there. A careless part. A part that didn’t care for consequence. That would go to extents for Mark. The tension in the room was bearing down on you so strongly that you feel like you could snap.

Perez peered at you suspiciously before side stepping and drawing her attention to Mark and Erikson. You also listened in, crossing your arms. Though you kept a close eye on Perez.

“Say Strahm killed Seth Baxter specifically to set you up as an accomplice to Jigsaw.” Erikson said to Mark, approaching him.

“Okay,” Mark said, turning to place his coffee down. You could tell some weight lifted from him. You couldn’t deny that you signed of relief.

“But there’s a problem with that though.” Erikson finished.

Shit.

You saw all relief slip from Mark’s face.

Perez shifts. Your eyes snap to her, then back to Erikson. Anxiety stirring red hot in your stomach and blazing your face. It felt like an unattended adrenaline ready to burst of you.

“On further analysis of Strahm's fingerprints, it was found that the uric acid levels and the Eccrine gland residue were inconsistent for an individual with an active epidural metabolism.” He remarks and you feel yourself sweating. Your throat runs dry.

“In other words?” Mark replies, turning to pick his coffee up but quickly glancing to meet your eyes before turning back to Erikson. You took that as a heads up.

Your anxiety bubbles to it’s limit.

“In other words, when he left his fingerprints on the latest victims, Strahm was already dead!”

Right now you’re feeling helpless.

Mark’s voice comes through on the computer. Clear as day. You stumble back a bit, mouth dropping as you all turn to stare at the monitor.

“There it is!” The lady at the desk exclaims.

It’s not even a second before Mark drew his pocket knife and sliced it up the side of Erikson’s throat.

Despite being on his side, you still gasped - stumbling backward till your back hit the wall, eyes blown as you watched the scene unfold.

The man you loved was a true killer.

Your head snaps to Perez and she looks to you. She pulls her gun, but Mark turned, lashing his boiling coffee in her face. She exclaimed, stumbling backward into the wall.

Mark then grabs a screwdriver as Erikson topples over to the ground, and he stabs it into the electrical circuit - plunging the room into a deep red hue.

You try to move but the speed of Mark’s rampage stills you. Shocked by his capabilities. It isn’t till you see Perez aim her gun toward Mark that your adrenaline kicks in. You run at her and seize her wrists as you try to steer her aim. You both thrash against each other as she pulls the trigger multiple times. You look at Mark. He was using the other woman as a human fucking shield.

You sneered, eventually managing to overpower Perez as you lifted the butt of the gun to hit her in the face. Once, and then again. This allowing Mark to get close. Perez stumbled back and so did you as Mark seized her, instantly plunging his knife in her stomach.

He stabbed once, retracted the blade and then thrusted it back in with just as much force.

“Who else knows about me?” He presses, quite casually despite the atrocity he had just committed.

Perez pants helplessly. Heroic till the end, you think.

“Who else fucking knows about me?” He repeats, more aggressively and impatiently as he twists the knife causing Perez to whimper.

You can only watch.

Your eyes flickering to Erikson as he still wriggled on the ground.

“Everyone.” Perez manages to say, her voice strained through the pain.

“You lie,” Mark seethes through his teeth,

“You fucking lie.”

He stabs her once more.

You saw the life leave her eyes as she slipped down the wall. Leaving a smear of blood.

The room was silent now.

Only the heavy sounds of Mark’s pants.

You stare at him. Watching how his chest rises and falls with such ferocity. You couldn’t process what you just saw, and the fact that you actually helped. You helped.

Holy fuck. You helped him.

The revelation washes over you enormously like a tidal. So extreme and overwhelming. You lean against the wall for leverage but it’s hopeless as your legs give out beneath you, causing you to slide your back down the wall as you crumble.

Your ears ring, and your face welling with an unbearable heat.

Marks quick to your aid. At your side faster than you can blink. Cradling your face as he pulls your head up to look at him. You feel limp in his hold.

You can only stare at him.

His lips crash into yours in an instant. The blood on his face retracting onto your own skin as he does. He tastes like copper. He’s harsh and firm and it only lasts a second before he pulls away - his grip on your face merciless.

“That’s for having my back.” He gruffs, patting your cheek.

..

[synthleeius]

august slipped away (into a moment of time)

taylor swift reference sorry im unoriginal

i am so sorry for this btw this is mt first time writing for tighnari if it doesnt sound like him at all do not continue to read it and hold it against me forever 😁🫶😋😝

lee!aether

ler!tighnari

(theres not alot of tickling but um. 💔)

Tighnari sighed as he looked at the other, who was currently laid out on the small cot they kept in the infirmary. He thanked the archons that Collei had found the well-known Traveller on the paths of the forest momentarily after he had passed out. He was waiting for him to awake before he did any serious examinations, but from what he saw from glancing along the vital areas he could say with confidence he’ll be fine. (Atleast, that's what he told a worried Collei..)

His ears straightened up immediately when he heard Aether stirr, his eyes fluttering half open with a groan. He moved to sit up, too quickly he may add, pressing a hand to his temple.

Tighnari stood up and moved over to his side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to steady the fragile figure. “Hey, easy..” he murmured soothingly, his voice filled with concern. “Collei tells me you took quite a fall. Are you dizzy at all?”

Aether paused for a second, processing the recent events. “..um, a bit, I think?"

The fox thought for a moment, before reaching for the cup of water he had prepared when the other was brought in. “Here, take a sip. It’ll help with the lingering dizziness.”

“Thanks..” The blonde spoke, taking the glass with both hands in fear it’ll spill. He took a slow sip, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes. Tighnari nodded, taking the glass back with ease. “Now.. more importantly, do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah, it.. just..- sorry.” He chuckled, trying to speak and form his thoughts into words at the same time. He was still adjusting, after all. “I was looking for materials, these flowers. I think I just stood up too fast, and I started to see black dots.. yknow?”

Tighnari listened attentively, his brows furrowing with concern as he pieced together what happened. “Hm.. I’ve heard that a few times, actually. Well.. that isn’t surprising, because I assure you I’ve heard it all.”

Aether laughed softly, “I’m sure you have, ‘nari.” As he was talking, he shifted himself to sit facing the other.

“But.. It sounds like you're describing a combination of a sudden change of position and low blood sugar. Can I ask the last time you’ve eaten?”

“I-.. huh.” He began to speak before cutting himself off, thinking for a moment. “Yesterday.. midday-ish?”

Tighnari sighed, his ears twitching. “Now, that plays a part of the problem. You have to make sure you're taking care of yourself before you go out on your adventures, or things like this happen.”

“In my defence, I wasn’t ad-.. Okay, okay.” He paused when he looked up to see Tighnari staring at him with a specific look, putting his hands up in defence.

“So, what now? You’ve given me your little lecture, I'm not dizzy anymore.. I can go, right?” He said as he let his arms fall to his sides, leaning forward a bit.

“Hah, funny.” Tighnari half-scoffed, standing up straight before continuing. “I still have to make sure you're completely okay, physically. It's one of the many, many rules here.”

“Is that necessary? I mean.. aren’t you a botanist?” Aether tilted his head in confusion, a part of him trying to convince Tighnari to forget about the technicalities.

“Oh trust me, I know.” He huffed, turning to pick up a piece of paper behind him. “I majored in botany, and helping people grow a brain is not my area of expertise.”

“Rude, but fair.” Is all he replied with, watching as the fox turned back around with the said paper in his hands as he skimmed the information. “So.. You fell, which means I have to check your head, and limbs. Fun, right?”

“I’m ecstatic right now, can’t you tell?” Aether said in a deadpanned tone, glancing off for a second before returning his attention to the other. “Yeah? Well, maybe It’ll convince you to take better care of yourself.”

“Okay.. tilt your head down for me.” Not giving him a chance to reply to his comment, he carded a hand through the other hand in search of any dried blood or cuts. “A headache is to be expected.. but are you experiencing any other sort of pain?”

“Not really.” He shifted slightly, but stayed mostly still. “If you mess my hair up, you're redoing it.”

Tighnari simply laughed at his comment, rolling his eyes. “Uhuh..” However, Aether barely heard him and was more focused on his hand. The soft touch travelled to the back of his head, dangerously close to the back of his neck. In response, his back tensed up as he tilted his head back up. “Sohorry- it just felt weird.”

The other looked at him with a knowing look, a smug smile forming on his face. “Just weird?” He asked, before picking up the paper again and jotting something down. “Mhm.”

“I’m sure.. put your arms out.” Aether did as he was told, holding his arms out with his wrists facing up. “Any pain?”

“No- ow!” He yelped, pulling his arm back as soon as Tighnari began gently squeezing starting from the top. “Okay, a little pain.."

“Hm..” He hummed, inspecting the area. “It’s only a bruise, no need to fret.”

“I wasn’t, you just scared the shit out of me-hah! - Nahari!” He yelped as he felt a hand squeeze his side, jolting back. “Watch your language, I’m not sure where Collei is.”

“Obviously not here- wait! Sorry, I'm sohorry!” he gasped as the hand inched closer again, causing him to giggle in anticipation.

“That's what I thought. Now, stay still. You're squirming a awful lot for somebody who wants this over and done with.” Tighnari said smugly, continuing down his arms before leading them to lay down to his torso.

“Everything seems okay.. Can you stand?” He moved back so the traveller could get up, watching as he stood with ease. “Hm.. No, don't think so.” Aether replied, looking at Tighnari with a faked look of confusion.

“You're hilarious.” All the other said in response, rolling his eyes half-heartedly. “I know, right? Am I as funny as Cyno, Tighnari?”

“hah.. you're just as immature as he can be, Aether.”

“But you still laughed~” Aether teased, crossing his arms over his chest with that stupid, smug smile on his face.

“I can think of a couple of ways to make you join me.” He said in a calm and collected tone, watching as the other stuttered slightly at his words. “Oh, so now you're a comedian?”

“Did you think that I’m joking?” Tighnari looked up with that glint in his eyes, before writing a few more things down that Aether couldn’t be bothered to snoop at.

“Annd.. done. You're free to go.”

“..What?”

“I said you're done. Apologies for holding you up.” He said, folding the paper and setting it on the chair. “But you said that-..”

“What? Were you expecting something, perhaps?” Aether huffed under his breath, glancing away momentarily to collect himself. “Tighnari.”

With a laugh, Tighnari rolled his eyes and took a step closer. “I’m kidding, I'm kidding.. come here."

“..Stop looking at me like that.” He replied but still took a step forward. “Well, you just asked me to tickle you, so I have to look at you some way.”

“I did nohot-!” He yelped softly when he felt sharp nails scratching up his hips, unfortunately Tighnari was careful not to dig into him.. which in response just produced a barely-there tingling sensation.

He flinched forward, deciding if he was gonna end up falling over he’d drag the fox down with him. After jolting into the other’s hold, he pressed his face into hiding. this is his fault after all. Him and his stupid nails, and smug smile.. Aether was gonna get him back, just.. not right now. Convenient, right?

“Don't deny it,” He laughed softly at Aether’s attempt, pressing his thumb into the back of his ribs as his fingers wiggled into the front of the bones. “You definitely did.”

“Thahats- nohot fair! Yohour a liar! Lying!” He wailed, his frantic giggled morphing into intoxicating laughter at the change of spots. “No need to be so defensive.. Laughing is good for you, actually. When you laugh, it relieves your stress re-”

“I dohohon’t cahahare!” Aether cut him off, his hands finding Tighnari’s wrists and holding them in place. Tighnari simply sighed, before moving his nails to spider down his stomach. The movement resulted in a sudden cackle, ceasing any backtalk entirely.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted..” He said with a tone of fake annoyance, before continuing to speak on the matter. It only lasted a minute, maybe two, before Aether pushed at his chest as hard as he could in his position.

“so- oh, hello again. What's so funny?” He asked with a knowing tone, stilling his hands momentarily. “I.. hahahahate yohohou..” He giggles, taking in heavy breaths of air.

“I’m sure you do.” Tighnari chuckled, “but here you are."

“sahahadly, yes.” He sighed happily, his relief cut off before the soft touch started up again and scribbled along his mid-back and up his spine.

The gentle sensation sent shivers through his body, rocking himself left to right slightly to try and rid of them. "yohohour nails ahare hohorible, by the wahay."

"For you, maybe. I can see why, it would be a lot bearable if they were shorter." Tighnari assessed, drawing soft circles with his fingertips.

"noho shihit," Aether replied sassily, but his rapid giggling made sure it came off with no ill intent.

Soon enough the fingers came to a stop, replaced with a palm rubbing the ghost tickles away. "Hm.. Well, I can't let you laugh too hard.. you could get lightheaded. You've had enough, surely?"

"yohour cruehehel.. yes."

[ange-fou]

WOMEN

Take a self-defence class. Take a first-aid class. Stock up on contraceptives. Get tested. Get vaccinated. Quit smoking. Quit drinking. Start lifting weights. Start running. 

Learn DIY. Learn to drive. Learn to dance. Learn to swim. Learn to code. Learn Spanish. Learn Arabic. Learn Mandarin. Learn Russian. Learn a sign language. Learn to fly. Learn to fall.

Save money. Pay off your debts. Read more. Update your contacts. Change your passwords. Make sure you have a valid and up-to-date passport. Put your affairs in order. Give away or sell all the stuff you don’t need. Volunteer. Be honest. Be brave. Hold hands. Stay woke.

Don’t spend your money (or time or energy) on assholes or companies with asshole policies or asshole CEOs. Don’t buy junk you don’t need.

Know your area. Know your history. Know your rights. Know your government. Know the law. Know the world. Know your body. 

Ask questions. Ask for help. Ask for a raise. Take notes.

If you see injustice, speak up. Speak out. 

Think intersectional. Examine your privileges.

Talk to other women. Talk to girls. Listen. Try not to judge. Plant seeds. Build things. Make stuff. Break shit. Fix shit. Do not be afraid.

Eat vegetables. Grow vegetables. Avoid junk food. Learn to cook. Add less sugar. Add less salt. Eat less meat. Drink more water. Give blood. Join the organ donor register. Cycle. Recycle. Compost. Insulate. Donate. Meditate. Rest. Walk, stretch, move. Breathe deep and slow.

Write emails, write letters, send postcards, sign petitions, register to vote. VOTE. Hold your representatives to account. Know their names, know their numbers, know their policies and personalities. Run for office.

Remember you are not alone. Ever. You have mothers and sisters and daughters and wives and nieces and cousins and grandmothers and aunts and friends and allies all over the world, rooting for you, cheering you on and wishing you well.

As long as you have breath in your body you have power. Use it. Do not be silent. Do not be silenced. Speak, shout, stomp, scream. Do not believe anyone who tries to tell you that you have no voice. You have a voice. You have many voices. Within each of you a choir of angels. Sing.

[shes-some-other-where]

The Cursebreaker and the Crown (June of Doom 2024) Masterlist

(in progress)

Major content warnings: royalty whump, ladywhump, dudewhump, noncon/SA, suicidal ideation + suicide attempt

The night the royal family fell

A silent scream —Day 1, 2, & 7: “Help me.” | Nightmare

What savagery is this? — Day 3, 6, 13, 22: “Well, well, well…” | Hiding | Ambushed | Flinch | “Wait!” | Poison | Bedridden

A bitter magic, a curse — Day 6, 13, 22: Broken Promise | Sacrifice | Poison | Bedridden

Trapped — Day 10, 12, 17: Fear | Dehydration | Struggle

Mark my words — Day 10, 12, 17: “Can you hear me?” | Fear | “You don’t want to do that.” | Struggle | Grief

One grievous mistake — Day 9, 12, 25: “I made a mistake.” | Acceptance | “I can’t stand seeing you like this.” | Guilt

To spit on your kindness and mercy — Day 9, 12: “I made a mistake.” | Accident | Acceptance | “I can’t stand seeing you like this.” | Grief

Where does your loyalty lie now? — Day 9, 24, 25: Blame | “Let’s get you cleaned up.” | Guilt | Failure

Five years later

Violet, ochre, and rose — Day 4, 23: “Does that hurt?” | Punishment | Rules

Docile as a lamb — Day 5: “It’s not as bad as it looks.” | Bite

The weight of guilt — Day 16: “At least it can’t get any worse.” (1/3)

The unmistakable sapor of a curse — Day 16: “At least it can’t get any worse.” (2/3)

Blood-red lips and blush-dusted cheeks — Day 16: “At least it can’t get any worse.” (3/3)

A very interesting companion — Day 16, alt prompt: Secret | Setback | “Who did this to you?”

Lurid yellow, sinister black — Day 14, 23: “What were you thinking?” | You’re doing great.”

A wolf in sheep's clothing — Day 14, 23: “What were you thinking?” | Surrender | Outmatched | Trembling | Rules |

Yes, Your Highness — Day 8, 26, alt prompt: “This is your last chance.” | “Don’t lie to me.” | Rage | Choke | “Don’t make me say it again.”

Deadness where there had before been life — Day 6, 11: “We’re out of time.” | Collapse

Light yet glowing in the sky — Day 3, 11, 18, 20: Stalking | “I can handle it.” | Scrape | “I’m fine.” | “We’re out of time.”

Burnt sugar and rotting flesh — Day 3, 10, 18, 19: Ambushed | Self-defence | “This can’t be happening!”

A curse that needs breaking — Day 8, 18, 27, 28, alt prompt: Chair | Headache | “Or what?” | Defiance | Gag | “You poor thing.”

Threads of sorrow and screams —Day 2, 10, 13, 24, 29: Made to Watch | “Can you hear me?” | Fear | Adrenaline | Blankets | Delirium

Wet-paper petals — Day 19, 21, 27, 28, 29: “This can’t be happening!” | Sobbing | Dissociation | Stairs | Display | Last Resort | Numb | Gag | “I’m so cold.”

A man or a monster? — Day 15, 28, 30: Rescue | Presumed Dead | “Say something.” | Shock

Bleeding, fraying edges — Day 15, 28: “Get me out of here!” | Rescue | Gag

title forthcoming — Day 15, 28, 30: Rescue | Presumed Dead | “Say something.” | “Breathe, damn you!” | Shock |

title forthcoming — alt prompts: “Please don’t leave me.” | “I’m not okay.”

[froggibus]

I love your writing, especially your overwatch stuff!!! The lack of ashe content is 😭 tho, do you have anything in the works? If not maybe could we get a story that's ashe x f! reader or ashe x cassidy pretty please? 🙈

"You Scared?" - Ashe

Pairing: Ashe x reader

Genre: fluff?

Word Count: 700

Summary: Ashe comes over to watch horror movies and comforts you when you're scared

CW: horror movies + horror movie tropes, reader is kind of a scaredy cat ngl, first kiss, cuddling, just soft stuff

im negl i struggled with this omg. i love ashe but writing her is kinda hard for me cause i don't regularly hc her as anything! but honestly i loved writing this and i really like trying to challenge myself to do better. thank you for requesting <3 hopefully this makes up for the tragic lack of ashe content

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A blood curdling scream sounds from the tv. You flinch, drawing your knees closer into your chest and the blanket farther around your shoulders. The scream rings in your ears, a chill lurks on the back of your neck. 

Ashe scoffs, taking a sip of her wine. “You scared?”

“Pft—me? Scared?” You try to match her teasing tone, but your voice is shaky. 

In your defence, the movie is scary. A teenager being stalked by a masked killer, a call from the killer coming from inside the house? It sets your nerves on fire. 

Of course, not as much as the woman sitting across from you on the couch. Her red eyes ghosting over you are enough to make your heart race and palms sweat. 

“It’s written all over your face, sugar.”

Your face heats up at her words. “This is just my…movie watching face.”

“Right,” red irises roll behind black eyeliner. “Well, don’t worry, doll. Nobody’s gonna hurt you with me around.”

Your mouth feels dry, and your words fail you. You nod to her, hoping she can’t hear the pounding of your heart in your chest. You force yourself to focus back on the movie and the woman getting crushed by a garage door. 

While your eyes focus on the screen, Ashe focuses on you. The way your nose scrunches up at the blood and gore is so cute that she can’t seem to look away. You look so small and fragile curled up in a ball on her couch. 

Nothing like the people she’s used to—the rugged men that man her crew, the conniving women that run with her gang. No, you’re something else entirely. Something softer. Something that she needs more than anything right now. 

Your shoulders relax when the killing's done, focusing on a dorky kid who likes movies instead. You feel like you can breathe again and take your eyes off of the screen for the first time in a while. 

You look up just to see Ashe staring at you. “What?” You ask. 

“Just admiring the view,” she smirks. 

“Yeah? Do you like it when I’m scared?”

The white-haired woman sips her wine, muttering under her breath, “only cause you look so damn cute.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Only cause you look so damn cute.”

Her words take you aback. She’s always been blunt, speaking her mind. But you never thought—never considered—she’d be interested in you. You can feel heat spreading up your neck. 

She laughs. “Cat got your tongue?” 

You bite your lip and nod, worried anything you say now will just come out as a high pitched squeak or an incomprehensible jumble of words. 

She leans forwards suddenly, fingers ghosting across your cheek. She leans in, lips hovering just above yours. “It’d be a shame to let such a pretty mouth go to waste.”

She closes the gap between you. Her lips are warm and soft, red lipstick smearing onto your lips, marking you as hers. She runs her hand up your cheek, up your temple, and into your hair. Her touch is so gentle, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

You’re too flustered to speak when she pulls away. Her taste lingers on your tongue and all you want is more. She’s smiling at you, taking in the awestruck look on your face.

Before either of you can say anything, another scream from the TV fills the room. You flinch at the sudden noise, your shoulders crinkling together. 

“Come here,” she says, opening up her arms to you. “Sit with me, I’ll protect you.”

You scooch across the couch until you’re pressed against her, one arm on either side of you and your head on her chest. She’s so warm and her arms are so strong that you can’t help but feel safe with her. 

The movie isn’t so scary after that.

[drmajalis]

What can Replikas taste, if anything? Well, humans evolved five senses of taste for various reasons, iirc, we taste salt, sugar, and savoury because we need salts, glucose, and lipids for our metabolic processes, we taste bitter things as a defence mechanism against poisons, jury's out on sourness but I like the idea it's to find vitamin C. Replikas have oxidant blood, which is capital-b Bitter, my idea is they can't taste it so the act of drinking stuff like peroxide becomes more palatable. I doubt they need lipids or vitamin C, so we take out savoury and sour, which just leaves salty (for salts/electrolytes) and sweet (for glucose/carbohydrates fuel for the body). This has thus given me the funny idea of Elster absolutely horrifying Ariane with how much sugar she puts in her coffee.

"…Is this amount not normal?"

"Elster, you're drinking a cup of sugar with coffee added." Or maybe she cracks open some salt packets to put in it and freaks Ariane out even more. And of course, there's then the possibility of Ariane using bioresonance to impart the sensation of other flavours open Elster. Just random thoughts as I muse on "how human are Replikas?"