#for weeks and leaving trash everywhere

[skrunksthatwunk]

how do i tell my roommate that her cat repeatedly pissing on and destroying my things is something that people usually offer to clean or replace or apologize for instead of shrugging off

[skyeateyourdonuts]

im. filled w rage

[wall-eye]

If you annoy people for fun, don't be surprised when people don't like you

Work rant in tags. Didn't know there was a 30 tag limit lol

[umelcom]

.

[puprdou]

MITSUYA TAKASHI HEADCANONS!

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who got a tongue piercing after being dared to. he simply couldn’t let those other dumbasses underestimate his strength! once he saw you again for a date about a week after he got it, you swore you shoved his face into your groin so fucking fast after seeing it. you now don’t allow him to fuck you unless he gives you oral just for that.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who, whenever you find something you want to buy from a store, especially if it’s a plushie or a piece of clothing, refuses to let you buy them. he would rather find the exact materials to stitch and sew it together, even if it took him a whole month or longer, if it was for you.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who loves the ocean and everything in it a lot more than you’d imagine. mitsuya wasn’t particularly religious in the way most were, but you’d discovered shortly into the relationship about his love for the ocean and it’s creatures along with his deep spiritual connection with the god he worships, poseidon. apparently, rather than believing in ���jesus’, he believes in greek deities and has since he was a young child, in the religion known as hellenic polytheism.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who has a scar on his hand after a sewing fuck-up. he was making a new piece for you, his own personal model, to try on for his clothing brand. but, while sewing, you’d accidently distracted him; causing for him to accidently sew his hand. it was a disaster, but, hey, he laughs about it now and has a sexy scar on the backside of his hand from the huge scar it created from dragging along the skin. you can’t count how many times you cried saying that it was all your fault. he never blamed you for it happening, saying that it was an honest mistake and an accident, and comforted you every single time you broke down over it.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who collects shells whenever you two visit the beach, either as an offering to his god, poseidon, at his altar for him, or to keep for himself. he says that he keeps them so that when the both of you have children, whether adopted or born, he’ll paint the shells as an activity with them or incorporate them into accessories or cute baby clothing.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who takes you surfing with him everytime he goes. whether or not you’re scared, he’s always there by your side to help you if you ever fail on a wave. he always prays to poseidon before entering the water. he goes to the beach surprisingly often, multiple times a week, even.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who, speaking of the beach, once you both had grown to adults as you are now, and once his clothing brand had gone off enough for him to rely on it to get a good place, he had bought a house near the beach for the both of you to live in. the area was tropical, the beach house was large and utterly beautiful, and everything was natural. no smell of smoke or factories hurting the air, no trash thrown everywhere, it was all perfect.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who’s the kind of guy who brings home random animals. a stray dog? let’s go shopping for a collar. a tiny pig? he couldn’t just leave it there all alone. also the type of guy to go around petting and touching any animal he sees. especially when he goes diving, he loves the sharks and the dolphins the most. he has randomly taken a pet fish home before without warning btw.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who does your nails now rather than going out and paying for someone to do it. thanks to his ability to draw so well with designing, he was surprisingly fantastic at doing nail designs. never once after you discovered it have yo gone out to get your nails done instead, since they look professional with just his art on them.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who, much to your surprise, has a back tattoo in the shape of a corset, with piercings where the corset holes were in the tattoo. he got it done when he was a teen, but always hid it. draken was the only one to know about it for multiple years, aside from his family, who lives with him and saw it often in his younger years.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who will literally eat almost anything. i’m so serious about that, he could just be sitting on the couch on his phone and you would come up behind him, telling him to ’try this’, and without even asking what it is, he’ll put it in his mouth and eat it. it’s so random, but he does it anyways. oddly enough, his taste buds don’t reject most flavors, even ones that most consider gross.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who spent the day sunbathing at the beach, where he had taken mana and luna, including you, only to wake up after a nap covered in sand. he didn’t know how he didn’t wake up while they were prctcally burying him alive, but, regardless, he didn’t. you took multiple pictures that day and have one of them printed since you found his reaction cute.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who is AMAZING at photography! it came to such a huge surprise for you that he was so good at photography, but he says it was something aside from sewing that he has enjoyed since he was a child. it isn’t something he often does, especially with how busy he can be with managing his clothing brand, but if you ever need a photographer for a photoshoot, you have the perfect one right there.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who sucks so badly with mechanical things and technology that, to this day, he still goes out and writes letters to people rather than just texting most times. he rarely ever plays any online or virtual games unless you utterly beg him to. he really is like a grandpa when it comes to technology.

𝜗𝜚. MITSUYA TAKASHI: who, for your wedding, had secretly designed your wedding dress himself after proposing. it took not weeks, not a month, but months. he had to make it perfect. he kept it a secret the entire time, and never had to ask for anything as he knew your proportions and the things you wanted in the dress. after he finally showed it to you a few days before the wedding, you cried so hard, and you swore you had never cried so much before.

© 2025 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔, all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, steal or translate my works onto other social media platforms.

🏷️; @sephiquehearts | happy early birthday taka, i love you so much! ♡

[ruesol]

Push & Pull | inbox (1)

(SUKUNA X READER)

PLOT:

You often find yourself complaining to your pen pal about the annoying IT tech at your soul-sucking corporate job. If only you knew that they shared the same identity beyond the screen.

or: the “You’ve Got Mail” au

MASTERLIST

You’re a mess when you tumble out of the elevator, your feet wobbling because of the forsaken dress code for women that requires them to wear heels. The umbrella that you accidentally ripped a hole in is dripping water everywhere, because by some misfortune, you had unknowingly thrown out its cover along with the rest of your ex’s stuff that was rotting in the back of your closet. 

The price you had to pay for deep cleaning your house on a weekday was that you had to look like a complete trainwreck in front of your coworkers the next day.

Nothing seems to be going your way lately. You had accidentally added salt instead of sugar to your coffee earlier this week, had to stay past five by yourself twice in a row, and had ripped your stocking in the middle of an important meeting.

“Looking sharp,” Sukuna remarks as he walks past you with the rest of your department in tow. Shoko and Suguru throw sorry looks your way as they continue conversing with him about some show they all like. Scoffing at his attitude, you pull yourself together, throwing your broken umbrella away in a nearby trash can. You could simply buy another one at a nearby convenience store after work.

Sukuna’s attitude towards you, though? Not something that can be replaced easily. It’s been foul since you started working at the company, and you have no idea why. It’s a shame, though, if his personality were as good as his looks, you would’ve asked him out despite your lack of confidence. A man too strapping to look twice in your direction.

Your coworkers aren’t seen anywhere when you make it to your desk. You don’t blame them. There were still ten minutes till the clock struck nine, so most of them usually hung out by the IT office, which happens to be on the same floor, and right by the break room. After graduating and getting your first real job, you realized there wasn’t much difference between high school and an average corporate office. There was still a hierarchy and a system of popular kids and average Joes. A frustrating but true fact. Being a corporate slave wasn’t much different than being a loner. Well, save for the days on when you’d hang out with your coworkers after overtime.

The moment you sit, your chair lets out an odd squeak like it’s already exhausted when the day has just begun, much like you. A few heads turn, and you look down at your desk to not garner any more attention than you already have. 

You slowly blink at the email login screen, but instead of entering your password, you open an incognito window and enter an archaic website’s name.

www.anonpal.com

And instead of your company’s domain login page, your computer loads an old-fashioned website. Something like Windows XP or a government services website where the icons for options like ‘log in’ and ‘forgot password’ still had a sheen designed on them.

You enter your corny little username (orchid27–named after the first thing your eyes landed on while you were signing up) and password. You don’t realize it until your joints ache, but you were crossing your fingers, hoping that he was online for a chat, all with giddy knees bouncing with your shitty faux leather heels.

But the little grey dot next to his name lets you draw a sigh instead. So you leave him a short letter venting about the little things that make your life shittier than it already is.

———

Dear ceos4unions,

I know it’s been a week, and I’m sorry for leaving you hanging. I should’ve given you some kind of warning, but honestly, life has just been incredibly shitty to me lately. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my coworkers.

Today was just another one of those days where everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It’s the little things that tip the scale, you know? (like accidentally mixing salt instead of sugar in your coffee)

Hoping that your week isn’t soggy and is going way better than mine,

–Orchid27.

———

You had no idea who you were sending these emails to. It could be a chatbot on the site whose sole purpose was to keep it alive for all you knew, but it was cathartic to just word vomit to him. He claimed to be a man living in the same city as you. You answered your part, but refrained from going further, stating that the anonymity was comforting, to which he agreed with no protest, doing the same himself.

It felt like throwing words out into the void, knowing that nothing was going to come back to bite you over them. A sense of safety in the unknown.

You had found the website on some shady forum after your ex had left you feeling absolutely debilitated after cheating on you. Nothing gave you the same comfort you’d get when you’d see the little green dot blinking on the screen or receive a notification with a cheerful ‘You’ve got mail’ jingle. Friends had recommended different shrinks, workout classes, and whatnot, but for some strange reason, the only thing that had finally brought you out of the pits of depression was exchanging letters with a stranger.

You had a hard time trusting people. Talking about your feelings just didn’t come as easily to you anymore (not unless it was with ceos4unions). The mystery helped you cope with the fact that there wouldn’t be any consequences.

Before you know it, lunch hour rolls around. You roll your chair a few inches away from your desk, and it makes that loud creaking sound again. This time, all eyes are on you. To escape the weird stares, you trudge to the break room, where unsurprisingly, Sukuna is already slacking off.

You instantly notice his sharp gaze on you, which already makes you want to shrink into a sad little puddle on the ground. But alas, you can only feel sorry for yourself for so long, so you walk to the coffee pot for some much-needed caffeine.

“Sorry, got the last cup,” Sukuna snarked when you noticed the empty pot.

“You could’ve at least made a new one,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you open the cabinet. However, seeing that the coffee beans hadn’t been restocked was just your luck. “Are you kidding me?”

You glare at Sukuna, and he simply stares out the window. “I hope you know this breakroom is meant for the accounts department.” You know your attempt at confronting him with facts is useless. Everyone loves him too much. He makes Shoko and Suguru laugh as they share the same humor, he lends Kento his car occasionally so they get along just fine, and Choso is his best friend from college.

“Yeah, but unfortunately for you, I’m an honorary member.” He shrugs. The red coffee cup with the Zenin group logo looks comically small in his hands. All he needs is to take one big gulp, and the drink would finish.

Shoko walks in with Suguru, and they frown when they notice the empty pot. “Ugh, not now. I’m going through serious withdrawals. Feel like I could fall asleep any second,” Shoko groans as she leans on Suguru’s bicep.

“Well, Sukuna took the last cup, so what can we do?” You roll your eyes as you walk to the pantry, surprised to find that there’s only one snack left, and it just happens to be your favorite. “We’re out of snacks, too,” you point out as you tear open the packet. You feel Sukuna’s gaze flit to you, but as soon as you catch it, he looks back at Shoko.

“Well, I guess we know who we’re sending for a coffee run today,” Suguru announces with a firm tone. All three of you look at Sukuna, and he rolls his eyes.

“Fine, but I’m taking her with me,” he says as he points to you. Your eyes widen as you scoff at his condition. “And why would I join you?”

“Because I can’t carry all those drinks alone,” he says in a ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ tone.

“Really? You have all those muscles and can’t carry a few twelve-ounce cups?”

“It’s because I don’t wanna spill them, but thanks for noticing my muscles.” You want to roll your eyes back into your head as your cheeks burn with a temperature that could rival the Sun’s. “You’re paying,” you grumble.

“Of course I am. I make more than you,” he smirks as he walks out the door. You look at your phone, hoping that time has gone the least bit faster since you entered the room.

It had only been ten minutes. Down to the company cafe you go.

—

It was hard not to be the center of attention when you were standing next to Sukuna. The man was the definition of the perfect bachelor: handsome, smart, has a great income, and towering height. He had everything most men sought to achieve. You were pretty sure you’d heard a rumor going around that Sukuna owned an Aston Martin. It wouldn’t seem that hard to believe it. He looked perfectly suited to have one.

When you finally state your order to the barista, Sukuna scoffs with amusement. “Make that one 16 ounces,” he says as he hands over his card.

“What was that about?” you asked as you both walked out of the line and towards the pick-up station. You’re finally noticing a lot of things about Sukuna that you otherwise wouldn’t have cared about because you had a boyfriend before.

Like the way his glasses have an expensive brand’s monogram engraved on the temples, or how his chest slightly strains against his navy blue shirt. Unlike you, he wears a smart watch which shows that he’s already burned off a few hundred calories today. He leads a life different from yours. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like you as much as the other coworkers.

“I mean, if you’re gonna die, why not go all out?”

“I’m not as smart as you, so you’re gonna have to be a little more clear,” you sarcastically reply.

“Four pumps of syrup? Really? Does the idea of having clogged arteries turn you on or something?”

You chew the inside of your cheek before you dig your phone out of your pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sukuna asks, an amused smile on his face as he watches you closely. His gaze feels like a spotlight, making your fingers tremble as you unlock your phone.

“I’m not gonna die by your hands. I’m gonna return what I owe for the coffee.”

“I’ll just return the money to you. I can’t let the golden opportunity go,” he teases, and for a second, you feel like you see his canines grow, turning his smile into a wolfish grin. His eyes habitually fixate on you like you’re his prey. You don’t need your anxiety adding on to it by staring at him continuously, so you turn away, choosing to stare at the barista who was now making your drink. One pump, two pumps, three pumps, four pumps. All the syrup dripping down the walls of the plastic cup had quickly pooled at the bottom.

“Whatever. I’ve had a shitty week so I deserve at least one good thing,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him.

It was not like making conversation with him had any real direction at all. For him, it was always about running in circles or catching you at dead ends. For you, it was all about getting him off your tail, like holding your pigtails together so the bully wouldn’t tug on them during recess.

When you both go upstairs, all your coworkers are overjoyed to see the drinks in his hand (turns out the fucker can hold the drinks by himself). You quietly grab your drink as you shuffle away to your desk, the ache in your back decreasing by an increment when you get back into your bubble.

When Sukuna gets together with your coworkers, the group is bound to get loud. You look over your shoulder and notice just how much he preens when he gets attention. You think of him as a pompous peacock, trying to do odd mating dances to attract his mate, and snicker to yourself.

And once again, you notice that he is the complete opposite of you. No wonder you both butt heads so much.

–

Your superior had dumped a few last-minute reports on your head right when you were finally looking forward to getting out of your tight work clothes. When the files hit your desk, you wish to hurl them at his head instead, but instead, you smile because the extra overtime pay would really help you.

Also, because you’re still new at the company, you couldn’t get too comfortable with refusing extra work when you were just a rookie.

You go to the washroom to freshen up before leaving. The veins in your eyes were getting more prominent by the hour, and you needed a splash of cold water to give you that last bit of energy to put yourself through the gruesome hour-long train ride back home. You want to shriek at the sight in the mirror–unkempt hair, eye bags, and dry skin. It’s hard to be kind to yourself when life keeps kicking you in the gut with different problems like student loans, high rent, and the indignation of taking public transport. Add a shitty coworker to the mix and you’ve hit the jackpot for modern day struggles.

You think the day cannot get worse when you see heavy rain blurring the view outside, but when you walk to your desk, you’re surprised to find an umbrella sitting on your desk. There’s not a drop of water on it, like it had been drying since the morning. You assume that possibly one of your coworkers might have left it, but the thought is diminished when you remember that Nanami and Choso carpool, and Suguru and Shoko have their own cars.

Maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying that life can be kind after all. So you silence all doubts and click the ground-level button in the elevator, with a new umbrella in hand.

TAGLIST : @numblytemporary @sttaejoon-blog @gojoscumsluttt @lik0 @sukubusss @cherryredkissez @fushiguroooozzz @curlsnchxos @toffeebrat @lazypostfandomer @ttrinity @abbyy54 @poopooindamouf @veluoriaaa

[heeluvv]

SEE ME NOW.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ stalker! sim jaeyun x reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ dubcon, gore (?), p in v, unprotected sex, mean jake, dom jake, degradation kink, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

it starts small. subtle things. things you could brush off if you weren’t paying attention.

a missing sock. a door you swore you locked, just slightly ajar when you wake up. the nagging sensation that something in your room has been touched, moved, rearranged—so minuscule it feels ridiculous to mention. but still, the feeling lingers, sinking into your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.

then you start seeing things that shouldn’t be there.

a smudge of fingerprints on your bedroom window—too high up for you to have left them. a shadow in the corner of your eye that vanishes when you turn. at first, you tell yourself it’s nothing. paranoia. a trick of the mind.

until the first package arrives.

it’s small, wrapped neatly in brown paper, sitting on your doorstep like some forgotten gift. no name. no return address. just waiting. you hesitate before picking it up, a chill creeping down your spine, but curiosity wins. the twine is stiff, rough beneath your fingers as you pull it apart, and the paper peels away like dead skin.

inside, a finger. severed at the knuckle, the nail still painted that soft pink you recognize from earlier that day.

your stomach twists violently. your vision blurs at the edges, breath coming in ragged gasps as you fumble with the tiny note tucked beneath it. the handwriting is sharp, aggressive, like the words were carved rather than written.

“you let her touch you. so i took care of it.”

the world tilts. nausea rises in your throat. you know whose finger this is.

you saw her today. your coworker, yuri. the one who smiled too much, who laughed at all your jokes, who reached out—just once—to brush something off your sleeve.

you gag and drop the box, stumbling back, your pulse hammering in your ears. hands shaking, you grab your phone, fingers slipping over the screen as you try to dial, try to call for help—

but when you look down again, the box is gone.

the doorstep is empty. the blood is gone.

like it was never there at all.

the police don’t believe you.

of course, they don’t.

there’s no package. no finger. no proof.

the officer’s eyes flicker with barely restrained amusement as you try to explain, as you insist that it was real. that you saw it, that you touched it. but there’s nothing. no camera footage. no signs of a break-in.

“maybe you should get some rest,” they say.

you stop sleeping after that.

but the packages don’t stop.

the next one comes a week later. you don’t open it. you can’t. but the smell seeps through the paper—raw and metallic, thick enough to make your head spin.

you know what’s inside before you even see the note.

“he liked talking to you. not anymore.”

your hands tremble as you shove it into the trash, as you tell yourself to move, to leave, to run—but where?

he is everywhere.

you feel him in the spaces between your ribs, in the silence of your empty apartment, in the weight of your own shadow stretching long against the pavement.

you try to be careful after that. you stop talking to people. stop making eye contact. stop leaving your house unless you absolutely have to.

but he still finds ways to remind you that you’re his.

a handprint smeared against your mirror in the dead of night.

your window left cracked open, letting in the scent of something dark and decayed.

your bed, once familiar, feeling wrong when you wake up—like someone else has been there.

like someone else has been laying beside you.

and then, one night, he lets you see him.

it happens so fast you barely register it at first.

the door clicks shut behind you, the sound too controlled, too deliberate. the air shifts, thickening, suffocating, pressing against your skin like unseen hands. you know you’re not alone before you even turn.

but when you do—

he’s there.

standing in your bedroom doorway, head tilted, lips curled into a lazy, almost bored smirk.

your heart seizes, a strangled sound catching in your throat. his presence is wrong—he should not be here, he should not be here—but he is. perfectly at ease, as if he’s always belonged in this space.

as if he’s been here before.

your voice is barely a whisper. “how did you get in?”

jake laughs. soft. amused. like the answer should be obvious.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking a step closer, slow and unhurried, his eyes never leaving yours. “i’ve always been here.”

the floor feels unsteady beneath you. you stagger back, reaching blindly, fingers closing around the nearest object—a lamp, small and fragile in your grip, but the only weapon you have.

he sees it. of course, he does.

his smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something hungry.

“oh, baby,” he drawls, low and taunting, “do you really think that’s going to stop me?”

and then he moves.

his hand finds your throat with terrifying ease, fingers wrapping around the fragile column like they were always meant to be there. rough, calloused palms pressing in, tightening, cutting off the air before you can even think to take a breath. panic surges, a white-hot wave that makes your body jerk involuntarily, makes your hands scramble against his arm, nails digging in, desperate to loosen the crushing grip—

but it’s useless. he’s stronger. he always has been.

your mouth parts, a choked gasp slipping out, but there’s nothing—no relief, no air, just the slow, suffocating burn creeping up your throat. your chest heaves, lungs straining, a frantic, instinctual attempt to pull in oxygen that never comes. black spots bloom at the edges of your vision, and you realize, distantly, he’s enjoying this.

his other hand moves, slow, deliberate. reaching into his pocket, fingers brushing against the worn handle of something sharp—something deadly.

a knife.

the gleam of the blade catches the dim light as he pulls it free, the cool metal glinting with cruel intent. your body jerks again, a useless attempt to get away, but the grip around your throat only tightens, an amused hum vibrating in his chest.

“shhh, baby,” jake coos, voice deceptively soft, “you’re shaking.”

you are. trembling beneath him, limbs twitching as every nerve in your body screams at you to run, fight, escape—but you can’t. you can’t even move.

the knife touches your cheek, the first press so light it’s almost a caress. cold steel kissing burning skin. he drags it down slowly, tracing the delicate curve with the kind of care that makes your stomach turn, like he’s savoring every second.

a choked whimper escapes you, your body thrashing in his hold, but it only makes him chuckle. the sound is low, indulgent, mocking.

“you’re so fucking stupid sometimes, baby...”

his grip on your throat eases just enough to let you suck in a ragged breath, lungs screaming for air, but before you can even process the relief, the knife presses harder. not enough to cut—not yet—but enough to make his intent clear.

his eyes darken, gaze drinking in the panic spilling across your features, the tears clinging to your lashes, the helpless tremble of your body beneath his. his smirk is lazy, taunting, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he tilts his head.

“you never learn, do you?”

his fingers flex around your throat again, testing, controlling. the knife tilts, pressing just a little deeper—just enough to break the skin. a thin line of warmth trickles down your cheek, slow and deliberate, as he watches with the kind of fascination that makes your stomach lurch.

you try to whimper, beg, plead— but all that comes out is a strangled, broken sound.

he laughs again, soft and cruel.

“that’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting the knife, watching as more red beads at the surface. “you’ll learn eventually.”

“one way or another.”

the blade presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt, its edge cold, unforgiving. you flinch, body instinctively trying to curl away, but there’s nowhere to go—nowhere to hide from him.

his breath is steady, unhurried, as he drags the knife downward, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of your body with cruel precision.

"should we take this off?" he murmurs, but the question is meaningless. a formality. he doesn’t wait for an answer—he never does.

with one sharp flick of his wrist, the fabric gives way beneath the blade, splitting open like fragile paper, exposing your skin to the cool air. the ruined pieces of your shirt hang limply, a useless barrier between you and him.

he exhales softly, like he’s savoring the moment, his free hand brushing over your newly exposed flesh with an almost reverent touch.

"i've waited for this, baby..." his voice is low, thick with something dark, something possessive.

he leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear before his tongue flicks out, warm and wet, lapping at the tears streaking down your cheek.

you whimper, the sound involuntary, humiliating. your body betrays you in ways you don’t understand, don’t want to understand. your pulse pounds beneath his fingers, a frantic, desperate rhythm, but your limbs feel useless, heavy, caught in the sickening haze of fear and something worse—something you refuse to name.

you should feel disgusted. terrified. and you do. but you also feel something else. something undeniable, something that twists deep in your stomach and pools lower, something that makes your thighs press together instinctively.

he notices. of course, he does.

his smirk is lazy, amused, like he’s already won.

"you can’t hide from me," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the fresh cut of fabric, dipping lower, teasing, toying. "i feel you, sweetheart."

his hand presses against your lower stomach, fingers splayed, possessive.

"i always do."

your body reacts before your mind can catch up. heat coils, shame burning through you just as fiercely as fear, because no matter how much you try to deny it—

you’re his.

and he’s going to make sure you never forget it.

without hesitation, he forces you down onto the mattress, the weight of his body pressing into yours, trapping you beneath him like prey caught in the jaws of a predator. his breath, hot and ragged, fans across your skin as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth sinking in without mercy. the sharp sting tears a cry from your throat, but it only seems to spur him on, his mouth latching onto the delicate flesh, sucking, biting, marking. pain and heat blend together, leaving behind cruel bruises that will linger for days.

the knife he once held, gleaming and sharp, now lies abandoned on the floor, forgotten in favor of something far more brutal. both of his hands, large and calloused, clamp around your wrists, pinning them above your head with an unforgiving grip. you struggle, but it's useless—his strength easily overpowers your feeble attempts to break free.

"s-stop... please s-stop..." your voice trembles, choked with sobs, eyes brimming with tears that spill down your cheeks. the words come out weak, broken, barely above a whisper. you twist and writhe beneath him, desperate to shake him off, but every movement only seems to make him tighten his hold, his body pressing down harder.

shame creeps into your veins like poison when a sound betrays you—a soft, involuntary moan slipping past your lips at the way his mouth works against your neck. his touch is cruel, unrelenting, yet something about it ignites a twisted sensation deep inside you, something you don't want to acknowledge. you hate it. you hate him. but your body, treacherous and weak, reacts in ways you can't control.

his lips curl against your skin, a low chuckle vibrating in his throat. he knows. he feels it. and he revels in it.

"that's more like it," he murmurs, voice dripping with sadistic amusement, his grip on your wrists tightening until it hurts. "go on, beg some more. let's see how much you really want me to stop."

the words make your stomach twist in horror, but it's already too late. you've given him exactly what he wanted—a reason to keep going.

his hands fumble urgently with your pants, tugging them down along with your panties in a rough, impatient motion. he parts your thighs, a low groan escaping his lips as he reveals your most intimate place.

"oh fuck, baby…" he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he presses his mouth to your core. loud, uncontrollable moans escape you, your body trembling from the sudden, relentless pace he sets.

his tongue explores you, harsh and hungry, savoring your taste as he grunts against you, the vibrations sending cold shivers up your spine. "p-please… uh--n-no.." you stammer, but your moans betray your true feelings. you surrender, giving in to the futility of resistance. your body revels in his dominance, his control sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"fuck, baby, you taste so fucking good," he whispers, his voice a raspy growl against your flesh.

his tongue embarks on a sinuous journey along the quivering walls of your most intimate sanctum, his hand slowly relinquishing its vice-like grip on your wrist only to plunge his fingers into your depths. the intrusion sends a wave of sensation crashing through you, drawing a raw, primal scream from your lips as your back arches sharply off the mattress, every nerve ending alight with a bewildering mix of pain and pleasure. it's overwhelming, a tempest of sensation that leaves you confused, torn between the ecstasy and the agony, unable to discern what you truly feel. Your moans morph into loud, desperate sobs as you writhe beneath him, your body a canvas of conflicting emotions. "please!" you cry out, a futile plea for mercy or release—you no longer know.

"shut the fuck up, and take what i give you," he growls, his fingers increasing their relentless pace as he withdraws his touch from your body. his eyes, dark and predatory, meet your gaze, now glazed and unfocused from the onslaught of sensation. a harsh, mocking chuckle escapes his lips, his fingers never ceasing their brutal rhythm. "so fucking stupid, look at you. wanted me to stop earlier, only to be begging for more now, huh whore?" he taunts, his fingers delving deeper, reaching places within you that ache and throb, making it increasingly difficult for you to endure. your legs curl up to your chest in a futile attempt to protect yourself, but his pace does not decrease, his assault on your senses unyielding and merciless.

the tension in your body builds as you clench desperately on his finger, the coil in your stomach tightening like a vice with each passing moment. you're balancing on the precipice, the sensation overwhelming, your eyes rolling back as your body begins to tremble from the exhilarating high that's agonizingly close. but just as you're about to tumble over the edge, he cruelly withdraws his fingers, leaving you hollow and aching. a whine escapes your lips, a primal sound born of frustration and longing, but he merely tsks, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "bitches like you get told when to cum."

he fumbles with his pants, the sound of his zipper cutting through the air like a knife. he drags them down slowly, hissing as the cold air kisses the heated skin of his thick, hard cock. ropes of precum slide down his impressive length, glistening in the dim light. he leans down, his shaft sliding up and down your slick, eager flesh, but never quite entering. you can feel the heat of him, the pulse of his arousal, and it's maddening. his hand finds your throat, his grip firm, commanding. "beg for it, whore," he growls, his voice a dark, intoxicating whisper. "tell me you want it."

your voice is barely a whisper, your words broken and stuttering from the harsh grip on your neck. "p-please… i-i w-want… more…" you manage to gasp out, your eyes watering, your body trembling. he bites his lip harshly, his eyes flashing with lust and dominance as he enters you in one harsh, brutal thrust. his grip on your neck tightens as he holds himself up, his hips moving like a piston, each thrust hard and unyielding. he throws his head back, a guttural "oh fuck!" tearing from his lips, his body glistening with sweat, his eyes wild and feral.

your body convulses with each powerful thrust, spine arching, shoulders grinding against the headboard. a symphony of creaks and groans escapes the aged wood, but you're lost in a haze of sensation, too far gone to heed the bed's protests or make him stop. your body quivers beneath him, lungs burning as his relentless rhythm robs you of breath. he doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps he just doesn't care, lost as he is in his primal dance. his guttural moans and grunts fill the air, head thrown back, tendons taut in his neck, as he ravages you with a brutal, almost punishing, pace.

abruptly, his movements still. strong arms lift you effortlessly, your body slick with sweat, and he slams you against the cold windowpane. the glass shudders under the impact, but holds, and any fear of it shattering is swiftly eclipsed by the feel of him invading you once more, harsh and demanding. a loud sob wrenches from your throat as his hand finds its way back to your neck, fingers pressing firmly into your flesh.

"you like it baby, don't you?" he growls, his breath hot on your ear, his voice a low, taunting rumble. he thrusts deeper from this new angle, his body claiming yours with a savage intensity. "fucking you here, against the window, for all the world to see. so everyone knows you're mine." his words are a dark, possessive spell, casting a sinister shadow over your writhing, entwined forms.

the notion that you would one day find yourself entwined in a carnal embrace with your stalker was utterly foreign, completely outside the realm of your wildest imaginings. fear should be coursing through your veins, every instinct screaming for you to flee, to break free from his grasp. but you know, with a cold and heavy certainty, that escape is an illusion. there's no turning back now, no retracing your steps. his grunts, primal and guttural, crescendo into loud, echoing moans, his head draped heavily on your neck as he continues his relentless, brutal rhythm.

"you're going to cum when i tell you to," he commands, feeling your body tensing, teetering on the precipice of release. but you're not sure you can hold back the flood any longer. the sensation of his thick, hard cock driving so deep into you, striking that secret, sweet spot with every merciless thrust, is overwhelming. it's a storm building, a wave crashing, and when it breaks, it's cataclysmic. you feel it coming, and it's too late to stop. you explode around him, your screams filling the room, raw and ragged, your body convulsing violently with an orgasm that feels like it's tearing you apart.

"fucking whore," he growls, his voice a low, menacing rumble, his hips never pausing, never slowing. "you wanted to cum? now you're never going to stop." his relentless abuse continues, unabated, a storm of sensation that shows no sign of ending.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ might not be everyone's cup of tea but it's mine so idc, hope you enjoyed!!

[freakmcnastyy]

Welcome home

Geum Seongjae x f!reader Pt.2

Summary: After the breakup, the reader ends up owing Seongjae a debt—and he’s more than happy to use it as a chance to get his revenge.

Note: Inspired by an anon request!!

Pt.1 / Pt.2

⸻

It had been two weeks since you and him broke up.

Or… did you even break up? You weren’t sure anymore.

He never came back home that night.

Didn’t even text. So you lost your temper and blocked him—everywhere.

He never cared much anyway. If he really wanted to, he’d come find you.

But he didn’t.

So now, here you were, wandering aimlessly down a random street.

It was night. Cold. And you were bored. That’s why you went out.

The problem was: you were in Union's territory.

The air here tasted like him—like power, like filth, like ownership.

You pulled your hood over your head.

You didn’t want to walk through this part of town. Not anymore.

Just as you turned the corner—

Five men appeared. Slit eyes, cigarette smoke, loud laughter echoing off the pavement.

One of them tilted his head with a greasy grin.

Even his teeth looked like they smelled.

“Well, well, ain’t this a surprise. Seongjae’s ex-wife… right?”

You frowned, couldn’t hold back.

“Ex-girlfriend,” you corrected.

He laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Girlfriend. Same shit, right?”

Then the bulky one stepped forward—probably their leader.

He took off his beanie, squinted at you.

“Heard somethin’… You been talkin’ shit about Union, right? Spilling our name to the streets?”

Your pupils widened. Shit.

“What? No—I didn’t—”

Didn’t even get to finish.

“Cut the crap,” one of them barked. “You lose your damn mind after leaving Seongjae? Don’t tell me you actually think you matter now.”

You didn’t answer.

Maybe you did get a little bold. But something about them—it reeked of him.

Same rot. Same poison.

One of them shoved you back by the shoulder.

“Who the hell do you think you are talkin’ about us, huh? You breathe here ‘cause we let you. Got that?”

“So what if I said somethin’? Everyone already knows you’re trash.”

One of them laughed, but it wasn’t a fun laugh. It was dark. Rotten.

And then it started.

The first punch landed on your right cheek.

Second—a kick straight to your stomach.

You fought back. You tried.

But it was five-on-one.

Everything Seongjae ever taught you was useless now.

One of them snatched your phone.

“That all there is to the whole ‘strong woman’ act?” someone whispered in your ear.

When your knees hit the ground, everything went quiet.

Only one of them—sly-looking, probably the slickest of the group—leaned in and said:

“There’s a way to fix your little mistake.”

“You’re gonna join Union.”

You froze.

Even the wind paused.

“What…?”

“Guess what, sweetheart—your ex sent us. Looks like he still knows exactly where you’ll be, and when.”

You felt your stomach churn.

So he planned this.

He was watching.

He let this happen to you?

Their smirks got wider. One of them handed your phone back.

It wasn’t a gesture of kindness—just a symbol.

Welcome to the family.

⸻

They grabbed your arm.

You were still breathing hard.

Your legs had stopped shaking, but the nausea sat heavy in your gut.

You didn’t say anything.

Wouldn’t have mattered if you did.

They dragged you off the street like a stray dog—into a rusted metal door.

The light inside was dim. The air smelled damp.

But the place was buzzing—not with life, but with crime.

And then you saw him.

Papers scattered on the table, bikes lined up around the walls…

And on the couch—feet on the table, cigarette in hand—Seongjae.

Shoulders relaxed, smile filthy.

He saw you. Moved his cigarette with his lips. Slowly dropped his foot off the table.

Without looking, he gestured to the men. “Leave us.”

No words needed. They just left. Door clicked shut.

He stepped toward you.

That smile? Wider.

“Welcome home, baby. Long time no see.”

The cigarette still hung from his lips. Ash about to fall, but he didn’t care.

He never cared—except when it came to you.

“I heard��” he said, blowing smoke from his nose,

“…you tried to out us. That mad at me, huh?”

You didn’t move. Breath short.

But your voice, somehow, found its way out:

“You were the one who left me alone in that house.”

He paused. His brow twitched—but the smile didn’t fade.

“And you were the one who blocked me—everywhere.

Remember? Insta, Kakao, even wiped my name from your bank info.”

You swallowed. Yeah, you did.

Because staying would’ve broken you.

You didn’t speak for a moment. Then finally:

“What do you want from me?”

This time, you didn’t look away.

Seongjae rolled the cigarette between his fingers.

That smirk of his… yeah, it was back.

He thought it was funny.

“You know… when you’re about to pull off a heist…”

“…you need to distract the owner.”

You got it.

Didn’t need the details.

One look in his eyes—his intent burned straight into your brain.

“Flirt,” he said.

“Pull attention. Not too much—some eyes, some words. That’s enough.”

You felt your blood boil.

It hit like a punch to the gut.

He was gonna use you as bait.

“And if I don’t?”

Your voice was low. But firm. You weren’t begging. You had pride left. A little.

Seongjae’s smile vanished. He squinted.

Dropped the cigarette. Crushed it under his shoe.

Then he leaned in.

That voice—sweet and venomous—hit your ears:

“You know how much I love you.”

“But you also know how much I hate betrayal.”

“You tried to expose me. Got loud with my men.

Now you stand here, acting tough?”

Your throat dried up. Your eyes narrowed.

“If you don’t pay for what you did… I’ll ruin you.”

“And I can. ‘Cause I still know you better than anyone.”

Silence.

He just looked at you.

In his kingdom, and you?

His prisoner.

⸻

11 PM.

Back alley.

Motorbikes lined up, still warm. Headlights off, but engines recently killed.

You’re waiting by the wall.

Black leather jacket. Tight jeans. Hair down.

Lipstick a little smudged—but that’s a weapon too.

You don’t need to try hard.

You step onto the stage and the game begins.

Target’s locked.

Some guy from another crew. Tipsy. Weak spot? Women.

Perfect.

You walk out.

Pretending to talk on the phone. Laughing fake laughs.

Then—oops—you bump into him by the bike.

“Oh, my bad,” you say sweetly.

He looks at you. Scans you up and down.

His brain’s buffering. GPU’s overheating.

You know exactly where his eyes are stuck.

“You ride bikes?” you ask, tapping the seat.

“Yeah… way better than cars,” he mutters, eyes glassy.

“You into bikes too?”

You smile. Step closer.

Another step.

Then—smooth but firm—you pin him gently against the wall.

Your eyes catch his like a snare.

“Mhm… isn’t it kinda hot when a guy knows how to ride a bike?”

you whisper, voice soft as air, sharp as a blade.

He holds his breath.

Hands raised, like he’s already caught.

You haven’t even touched him yet.

Hands in your jacket pockets, but your stare pierces him.

“You hang around here often?”

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other again…”

He swallows hard.

Eyes wide, full of butterflies.

“Uh… can I maybe get your number? Like for a coffee—”

Before he even finishes, you’re already handing him a note.

A fake number scribbled on paper.

“Call me,” you say.

Then wink. Turn around. Walk away—fast.

Because in the back alley… another guy’s already hotwired the bike.

Gone.

The guy leans on the wall, still drunk on your scent.

Feels like your hands are still on his jacket.

Then—

The bike engine screams.

He snaps out of it.

Looks around.

Bike’s gone.

Mouth open. Eyes wide.

“What the FUCK?!”

He looks down at the paper.

Dials the number.

“The number you have dialed is not in service…”

⸻

You’ve turned the corner. Walking alone.

Night breeze whips your hair across your face—but you don’t care.

You still smell like that guy—but your mind’s elsewhere.

Just as you turn another corner—

A shadow steps out from the dark.

Seongjae.

Lighting a cigarette, flipping the lighter in his hand.

He scans you—but his eyes already know what you did.

“Damn,” he says.

“Didn’t know your charm worked on other guys too.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

Hands in pockets.

“Jealous?” you fire back, deadpan.

He meets your eyes.

A beat. Then he shrugs.

“Nah,” he says.

“Business is business. So what if you pinned him to a wall or kissed him. We got the goods. We win.”

He laughs. Your eyes lock.

The cold silence between you screams a thousand words.

He narrows his gaze.

“Lucky you owe us,” he says.

“Now we get to use you like a free pawn.”

Your chest burns—but you don’t show it.

You’re not that girl anymore.

Not just someone’s ex.

You’re something else now.

And this war?

You’re in it.

⸻

Two—maybe three—weeks passed like that.

Mission after mission… sometimes it was a motorcycle, sometimes a wallet, sometimes just distracting someone long enough to turn their back.

You couldn’t even tell what time it was anymore, what day, who you were even talking to.

And Seongjae.

He was always somewhere in the corner.

Sometimes he’d show up to mock you, sometimes throw in a “Nice job, I guess,” but there was always that sarcastic smirk on his face.

You didn’t fall into bed each night—you collapsed.

Whatever you used to be, you weren’t anymore. But nobody could tell what you’d become either.

And then one day… it went wrong.

It was someone else’s mission you stepped in for.

But a cop had been tracking the past few incidents—and you got caught.

Your passport, your ID, your school records… everything was now stuck on government screens.

You found yourself inside a police station—gray walls, dim lights, and a silence that scraped your nerves raw.

Your hands were shaking.

You didn’t know why, or for who, you ended up like this.

The only thing you did know: you’d already lost your freedom.

This… was just the final blow.

Then someone walked in.

Those familiar footsteps.

Those heavy-ass steps.

And that cursed Seongjae.

No cigarette this time.

Just the sound of cash rustling in an envelope from his pocket, silencing the officers inside.

And then…

Without saying a word, he grabbed your arm.

“Move.”

He dragged you out—hard.

You didn’t even say anything at first.

Under a streetlamp, on the freezing pavement, your held-back tears choked you like a lump in your throat.

And then… you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Enough!” you shouted.

“That’s enough. I’m tired!”

He stopped for a second. Caught off guard.

But you were already crying.

“Why are you doing this? Do you like watching me fall apart?

You’re the reason we broke up, so why are you taking your anger out on me?”

Your tears, your voice, your nose—everything blurred into one.

“Just let me go, Seongjae. I swear… I’m in pain.”

You wiped your eyes with shaky hands, but it felt like the more you wiped, the more tears spilled out.

Because everything you’d been holding in… was finally pouring out.

He was silent.

Looking at you—but for the first time, he looked wrecked on the inside too.

Because seeing you like this… was new to him.

You were always the strong one.

The one who stood up to everyone—even him.

But now, here you were, breaking down right in front of him.

And he just stood there.

Said nothing.

Because he didn’t know what to feel anymore either.

But one thing was clear—he pulled you out of that mess with his own hands.

“It’s over,” he said.

“You’re done with all this.

Everything I did… was just to keep you close. But I messed up.”

⸻

That night… you kept crying.

Your hands were trembling as you covered your face.

But he… didn’t leave.

For the first time… he stayed.

Didn’t say a word. Didn’t touch you.

But the way his eyes looked at you…

It was like they whispered Stay.

Like they whispered Forgive me.

And you…

For the first time in a long time, felt safe next to him.

Because he was tired too.

That night, both of you realized—hurting each other, holding onto pride, chasing revenge… none of it led anywhere.

The next morning…

Your doorbell rang.

When you opened it, he was standing there—holding a small bag.

You looked at it.

Your heart was still cracked.

But there was something in Seongjae’s eyes:

Regret.

Hope.

And clearly—love.

“I’m staying. I’m not gonna vanish into thin air again, or come home with blood all over me.

But this time—you’re staying too.

That’s my only condition.”

“I promise. I’m not leaving this time,” he said.

And then…

He held you.

For the first time, like he meant it.

Like you were his.

And life…

For once, smiled at two broken people.

There was no more war.

No more gangs.

No more hate.

Just you two.

Finally.

[seat-safety-switch]

Are you now, or have you ever, been a member of the American Horticultural Society? If you answered in the affirmative to this question, there are several detectives down at the station who would like to talk with you about your activities over the last few weeks. Don't worry, I'm no snitch: I just want my shitboxes back.

Gardeners are nothing if not resourceful. If you go into a good-sized suburban backyard garden, you'll see trash cans getting used to protect plants. Old lawnmower-struck hose irrigating tender veggies. And CD-ROMs dangling everywhere, to alternatingly antagonize and beguile the crows into not eating all the cucumbers this year. I admire this kind of waste-not-have-not mentality, but sometimes it goes a little bit too far.

A couple months ago, there were some rumblings about "guerrilla gardeners." These rogue seedsfolx would roam the countryside, eyes peeled for opportunity to plant a garden on land they don't own. Upon finding old abandoned lots, sun-bleached traffic islands, and unattended flower beds, they would strike, stuffing innocent lands with their ovules. Soon, a gorgeous garden of hardy plants would be in that place. Pissed off the bylaw officers, who now had to deal with the beauteous, chaotic bounty of nature, rather than dead, brown grass when it came time to mow. I thought this was pretty funny, until it happened to me.

Do you know why they tell you not to leave your dog inside a car? Because it gets really hot inside a car. Sun goes into the windows, but the heat can't escape. We call this a "greenhouse effect." Do you know what else has a greenhouse effect? Fucking greenhouses do. One morning, I came out to my yard full of several dozen non-operable, shit-box automobiles to find that someone had jimmied the locks on each and every one of them. On the seats? Plants. Some were exotic hothouse varieties. Some were simply pretty flowers. And they were all growing strong, fed by the sunlight through the greasy windows, the controlled drip of rainwater through the rust holes in the roof, the iron-rich powder on the seats, and the humid rainforest atmosphere of my cars' interior. What was this town coming to?

I cleared this out, of course, placing the plants gently outside, where they belonged. Soon, even more exotic varietals of botanist-lust found their way into the cars to replace them. If I turned my back for a weekend, I'd be chopping a strange kind of vine that even Wikipedia says "I dunno" about. The local bylaw officer noticed, too, while trying to do one of her routine sweeps to see if she could get me on a technicality. Seeing the work of the guerrilla gardeners enraged her so much that I don't think she even noticed I started parking the Viscount in the neighbour's swimming pool to keep the interior safe from all but water lilies.

[lmvari]

⟳ 28. LOOP

There was something about the enigma that was Kuni that drew you in.

You didn’t know it then. Not really.

Not when the music thudded too loudly and the bar was crowded with mutual friends and familiar faces. But you knew of him. Everyone kind of did.

You’d seen him around before. At parties, in passing. Always somewhere on the periphery. Never smiling. Never staying too long. You remembered the way Lumi once whispered something about him being “a mess, but not in a fun way.” The one who fooled around just long enough to get under someone’s skin and then disappeared before it got too real. 

There were stories. Girls who swore he meant something with the way he touched them, only to be left on read a week later. Some called him a heartbreaker. Others called him worse. But even then, none of that scared you. There was something about him that stood out. A quiet, sharp-edged, magnetic in a way you couldn’t quite explain. 

You never got the chance to approach him in the past, never crossed paths close enough to say more than a word or two. Despite how your friends knew him fairly well, he always felt just out of reach. A familiar stranger in the same circles, orbiting close but never quite touching yours.

So when you spotted him alone at a bar, you didn’t hesitate.

You could’ve walked past. You should’ve walked past. 

But you didn’t.

Being in the list of Kuni’s infamous one-night stands wasn’t your plan. You simply wanted to befriend him. Get to know him. 

When you woke up the morning after, your first instinct was to leave. That’s how it usually goes. But something stopped you.

Because when you blinked awake, head still pounding from the alcohol and sleep clinging to your limbs, you saw him.

He wasn’t asleep. He was trembling.

Bare shoulders hunched as if caving in on himself, hands curled into the sheets. Whispering things under his breath, like a nightmare was still holding him hostage. You caught bits and pieces through the haze.

“Don’t leave,” “don’t go,” “not again.”

You froze.

It wasn’t directed at you; you knew that. Your first thought was to give him space. You weren’t supposed to care. Why would you? Strictly speaking, you just met him. 

But something about that moment—seeing him look so small, so ruined, like he was breaking in silence—dug into you. When you stepped out of his room, the state of his apartment only made it worse.

It was a mess. Not in the careless, student-living kind of way. It was a lonely kind of mess. Dirt clothes scattered everywhere, trash ignored, dishes crusted over. Like no one had taken care of him in a while. Like he’d stopped trying.

So you stayed. Even when he pushed you away.

You wondered about him. 

What his nightmare was about. Why he looked so hollow that night—sweaty, trembling, whispering don’t leave me as if the words were the only thing keeping him tethered. You surmised that it’s probably why he did what he did. Why the rumors followed him like shadows. It all seemed like a way to cope, a response to some unnamed trauma. You didn’t pity him, but you understood, in a distant, unspoken way.

Still, you concluded that it wasn’t your business. He made it clear what this was. A one-time thing. And honestly, you were more than fine with that. Made peace with it. You never planned to come back, anyway.

Until you realized your ring was gone.

A matching one with Lumi, something stupid and sentimental, but it mattered to you. You remembered taking it off before cooking and leaving it by the stove. You could’ve asked Lumi to get it back from Ajax, maybe spin some lie about it. But then she’d ask questions. And it wasn’t ideal if someone found out you slept with him. So you showed up at his apartment again, unannounced, three days later.

When he opened the door, he looked like hell.

Eyes rimmed red, hair messy, a half-empty glass of whiskey dangling from his hand. It was early evening, not yet dark, but the apartment already smelled of liquor. 

After what felt like an eternity of snide remarks, you finally retrieved your ring. It was exactly where you left it, like it had been waiting.

You told yourself you’d leave right after. You really meant to. Then the storm hit. Heavy rain, sudden and loud, made leaving impossible. You inevitably stayed. And then things escalated.

There was something in the way he looked at you. Hungry, unfocused, touched by liquor and loneliness. You knew it was the alcohol. You knew better.

But still, something in you responded. You teased him, riled him up, leaned in a little too close, maybe a little too smug. Perhaps it was pride, the way the heartbreaker looked at you like that for a second time.

And so, you ended up in his bed. Again.

Lumi found out you slept with him more than once. You had told her. She was worried. She knew what he was like. You defended yourself, got into an argument with her. You knew deep down she was right, but at that time, you thought she didn’t understand.

So you got drunk.

Stumbled your way to his apartment, heart loud in your chest, pride drowned in liquor. You kissed him first. Touched him first. Pushed yourself into his world like you belonged there.

When he didn’t stop you, when he let you in like it was natural, that’s when something truly began.

You were tipsy, yes, but not oblivious. You knew this was dangerous. Knew the way he looked at people and left them cold the next day. 

But maybe that was the thrill. The delusion that you wouldn’t get burned. That you could keep it casual. That you were different.

You asked him, once, why he did it, why he slept around, why he never let anyone close. He shut you out. Stayed quiet. Guarded. But that only made you want to understand him more.

So it happened again.

Then again.

Again and again and again and again—

And without warning, you were too far gone, crossed too many lines, to say it was the last.

The early morning glow creeps in through the half-open blinds, casting soft lines across the sheets. The world is quiet. Too quiet. For a second, it feels like you’re stuck, caught between a dream and the kind of memory that never leaves gently.

You blink against the light, your head pounding dully, the remnants of last night scattered across your thoughts like broken glass. You shift under the covers. The fabric is familiar. One that you’ve slept on, God knows how many times. So is the soft rise and fall of the body beside you.

Your breath catches.

It’s Kuni.

He’s asleep, turned slightly away, hair a mess, lips parted just enough to give away the rhythm of his breathing.

Your heart stutters. That’s when everything from last night came crashing down again.

Ven’s party. Kaz. The dance floor.

The kiss.

The press of his mouth against yours—messy, desperate, like you were both seconds from falling apart. You remember the way his hand curled around the back of your neck, how the world faded around the heat of it. Then… nothing.

Everything else is blank. Just the kiss. And now this.

You’re wearing one of his shirts. Your fit from last night nowhere to be found. The weight of implication settles on your chest like a stone.

Your head spins, and you can’t tell if it’s from the hangover or from trying to process everything at once.

Did something happen? Did you let it?

Fuck.

It’s happening again.

Tears well up in your eyes, breathing heavily, shaking. You don’t wait anymore. You slip out of bed in silence, careful not to wake him. The floor is cold under your bare feet. The heavy feeling in your chest is unrelenting as it grows. Your fingers shake as you grab your things and step out the door without looking back. 

You feel sick to your stomach.

Because somehow, in ways you’ll never understand, you always finds a way to drag yourself back to the same loop, the same bed, no matter how hard you try to escape it.

When Kuni woke up, it was the same cruel déjà vu.

He’s still alone. He still had a nightmare.

Except this time, you didn’t stay.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE hello rlly late update hi

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia @ssetsuka @strwbrrybbpop @sesamemin @blvdmrcnry @aspinny @jiminscarmex @sammybeefangirls @lxkeeeeee @yu-yumii @linasxoxo @quiet-place-for-thoughts @randomhumans-blog @aaudreys @lesbi-snail @jayzioxx @meowpmzai @s-f-rants @cosmic-rainestorm @honey-and-sweetdreams @vincelikestomince @mono-dontidae @simeonmybabygirlicious @gugumioooo [50/50]

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

[444eggnog]

The Unexpected Plus One

✍︎: here’s part 2 to “A Sin With My Name On It”. i remember writing this and thinking of turning it into a full-on series. maybe i will if i ever have the time and patience, but for now this is where i’m leaving their love story hehe, sorry for the cliffhanger! i still hope you enjoy this short reunion. ♡ one more and my drafts will be swept clean!

masterlist ! ☻

content: flirty banter, tension, humor, and Lando sulking late at night

pairing: dj!lando x reader

wc: 3.8k

When destiny itself pulls you back together, you’re forced to just say “fuck it.”

Breakups were supposed to feel like freedom.

But all she felt was stupid.

Stupid for staying so long. For ignoring every red flag until they bled together like watercolors left out in the rain.

She didn't want to admit she was hurting, but she was.

So when her friend group staged an intervention, code for get dressed, we’re going out and you don’t get a say, she didn’t fight it.

She needed to get out of her head.

Max said he had a friend tagging along. The more the merrier, he insisted.

She didn’t expect it to be him.

Lando fucking Norris.

The same Lando who a few weeks ago had her pressed up against the steering wheel of his car, her dress hitched up, their breathing ragged, frantic hands everywhere.

No numbers exchanged. No goodbyes. Just a mess of heat and mistakes.

And they’d never seen each other again.

Until now.

She froze halfway through ordering her drink when she saw him appear beside Max.

Oh. Shit.

He saw her, too. Instant recognition lit in his eyes, followed by the barest flicker of surprise before he schooled his expression into something cool.

“Hey! This is my mate Lando,” Max announced, clueless. “Lando, Y/N.”

Lando’s gaze met hers, unreadable.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, voice annoyingly even.

She forced a smile that felt too tight.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

She took his hand, shook it. Ignored the prickle of memory, the ghost of his fingers bruising her thighs.

He let go first, clearing his throat as Max turned to order drinks.

“Come on!” Max said, waving the bartender over. “Tonight’s on me. We’re celebrating Y/N being single again!”

Lando blinked.

Single?

He hadn’t known.

Lando’s brain short-circuited for half a second.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew the old boyfriend was trash. Had seen it with his own eyes, that night she’d been outside the club yelling at the asshole before storming off with him instead.

But hearing it confirmed?

That did something to him.

He’d tried so hard to be casual. Act like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks wondering where she was. Whether she’d gone back to him. Whether he was the asshole who’d broken up a relationship or the one who just gave her an excuse to finally walk away.

Now he had his answer.

She was single.

His fingers drummed against his glass, trying to look bored while his pulse thrummed in his ears.

Careful.

Don’t get stupid about this.

He wasn’t the type to get stupid over a girl.

But then again, he also wasn’t the type to scroll her ancient Instagram photos like a pathetic creep.

He risked a glance at her.

She was turned toward Max, pretending to laugh at something he said, but she didn’t look relaxed. Her spine was too straight. Fingers too tight around her glass.

Yeah. She heard it, too.

He swallowed and forced a smirk when she flicked her eyes his way.

Single.

Okay.

The night went on.

Shots lined up. Beers drained. The group relaxed, loosened up, forgot the reason they’d dragged her out in the first place.

He didn’t forget.

He watched her try. Watched her plaster on that effortless smile, the one that hid the tired behind her eyes.

And then her friend slid up next to him.

Meg? Meggy? Magui?

Lando forgot which one she introduced herself as because he was too busy clocking the way she pressed her arm to his.

“So. Lando, right? Max says you’re a DJ? That’s hot.”

He snorted. “It’s… loud.”

She laughed too hard.

He glanced over her head. Caught Y/N watching.

She blinked once, expression flat, before deliberately looking away.

He had to bite back a grin.

Interesting.

“Seriously though,” Magui whispered, “you’re really cute. And I bet you’re, like, so fun.”

He shifted, uncomfortable. Not my type.

Not tonight.

Not when the only girl he wanted to be pressed against was currently pretending she hadn’t seen any of that.

He extricated himself politely.

“Sorry, gonna go get another drink.”

He left Magui pouting at the table.

When he reached the bar, he let out a slow breath.

Fuck.

He was being obvious.

He didn’t care.

He ordered himself another beer.

And when he turned back, he scanned the table.

There was an empty space beside Y/N now.

There was a bigger, open spot on the other side, right beside Magui, who gave him a little wave.

But he ignored it.

He walked straight over and dropped into the empty seat next to Y/N.

Didn’t even try to hide it.

And when he caught the group of guys at the next table eyeing her like she was dessert, he casually stretched his arm along the back of the booth behind her.

Possessive as fuck.

Didn’t say anything about it.

Didn’t need to.

He just leaned back, sipped his beer, and pretended not to notice the way she stiffened and tried not to smile.

─── 🏁

She refused to look at him when he returned from the bar.

But then she felt it.

Movement beside her.

She blinked.

The empty seat was suddenly filled.

Him.

Right there.

Sitting so close their arms brushed.

She didn’t dare turn her head.

But her fingers curled tighter around her glass.

And then she felt it.

His arm.

Sliding casually along the back of the booth.

Behind her.

She went stiff.

Heat prickled at the back of her neck.

What the fuck are you doing?

She tried so hard not to react.

Not to let her stupid mouth curl into a smile.

Because she’d seen the table of guys watching her, too.

Seen Lando clock them and then stake his claim without saying a single word.

Possessive asshole.

But god.

It worked.

Her shoulders dropped a fraction.

She didn’t lean into him.

But she didn’t move away either.

“Hey.”

Lando leaned a little closer, like it was just casual. Like his arm wasn’t resting comfortably behind her, like he wasn’t holding back a smirk every time she shifted in her seat.

She glanced at him. “Hey,” she said, with a half-smile.

He kept his voice low. “So… how’ve you been?”

She gave him a slow blink, amused. “You’re not seriously asking me that.”

“Well, I mean…” he scratched the side of his neck, shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

She hummed, turning her glass in her hand. “Wasn’t about you.”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Did you guys break up because… of…”

She snorted. “Oh, God. No.”

He looked surprised. She gave him a tired smile.

“I just couldn’t take him anymore. You open a man’s phone expecting Spotify and find a full folder of tits. Nudes. Women from all over. One of them even included her foot in the photo like it was dessert.”

“Damn.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Damn.”

As if they hadn’t practically done the same thing. In person. In his fucking car.

Lando cleared his throat and looked away, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Across the table, Max watched them.

The way her body leaned ever so slightly in his direction. The way Lando’s arm was slung across the booth like it had been there a million times before.

The way they spoke, not like strangers. Not like friends.

Like people with history.

Wait.

It clicked.

Last week.

Lando asking him randomly, “What does it mean if you hook up with someone once but you can’t stop thinking about them?”

Max, laughing, calling it a one-night stand. Lando groaning, “No, mate, forget it. You’re no help.”

And the other day. Lando lying on his couch, scrolling on some girl’s Instagram, brows furrowed, totally zoned out.

Max hadn’t thought much of it. Because Lando was… well. Lando. A DJ. A serial flirt.

But now?

Now he couldn’t remember the last time his mate actually talked about hooking up with someone new.

It had been weeks. Maybe more.

Max was so deep in his mental spiral that he barely registered Pietra sliding into the booth beside him.

She nudged his arm. “Do you think Magui should go for Lando?” she asked, half-whispered, teasing.

Max, without thinking, muttered, “Yeah, sure.”

He didn’t even process the words.

He was still watching Lando.

Still trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

He kept watching them.

He didn’t even try to be subtle about it anymore.

Lando leaning in close, head ducked so he could say something only she could hear.

Her face softened. She nodded.

Max’s eyes narrowed.

What the fuck is he saying to her?

He tried to read Lando’s lips.

Was that…

“I’ll fuck you later”?

Max’s eyes went comically wide.

Jesus Christ.

Are they for real?

He blinked, shook his head.

Lando slipped out of the booth, standing up straight and stretching his arms like nothing was happening.

He gave her one last glance, smirked, then walked toward the bar.

Max glanced back at her.

She was watching Lando go, chin resting in her hand.

Max clenched his jaw.

Unbelievable.

He muttered something under his breath and shoved himself out of the booth, following Lando to the bar.

─── 🏁 What actually happened

Lando leaned in, his voice pitched low so only she could hear.

“Hey.”

She turned to look at him, eyebrow raised.

“Want another drink?”

She blinked. Smiled a little, surprised.

“Oh.” She glanced at her empty glass. “Yeah. Sure.”

He nodded, still too close.

“I’ll be back, okay?”

She gave a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

He didn’t move for a second.

Just watched her eyes.

Then finally straightened, giving her that infuriating smirk before sliding out of the booth.

She watched him go, fingers absently tracing the rim of her glass.

Her heart thumped harder than she wanted to admit.

─── 🏁

Max stomped after Lando, muttering under his breath the whole way.

I’ll fuck you later?

Jesus Christ.

In the middle of the booth, at a table with all our friends? This guy’s got the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

He watched Lando lean casually against the bar, chatting up the bartender about drink specials like he didn’t just whisper something absolutely obscene two seconds ago.

Max squinted.

Look at him.

Picture of innocence.

Fucking liar.

He sidled up next to Lando, arms crossed.

“You good?” he asked, way too pointedly.

Lando glanced over, eyebrows up.

“Yeah?”

Max lowered his voice, conspiratorial.

“Mate. I know what you said back there.”

Lando blinked at him, puzzled.

“…What?”

Max’s eyes narrowed further.

Don’t play dumb.

“I saw you. Leaning in all close. Whispering your dirty little secrets.”

Lando barked out a laugh, genuine confusion written all over his face.

“Dirty secrets? The fuck are you on about?”

Max leaned even closer, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper.

“I’ll fuck you later,” he mimicked with ridiculous dramatic emphasis, complete with finger quotes.

Lando’s jaw dropped.

“What the—”

He slapped the bar in disbelief.

“Bro. I literally asked if she wanted another drink.”

Max paused.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“…Oh.”

Lando shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“You’re fucking insane.”

Max rubbed a hand over his face.

“My bad. I just—”

He glanced back over his shoulder at her in the booth.

She was watching them, chin propped on her hand, looking way too comfortable for Max’s liking.

He sighed.

Goddamn it. This is a mess.

He side-eyed Lando again, grumbling.

“Still suspicious though.”

Lando raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Max huffed.

“Because she smiled. That’s why.”

Lando just smirked, signaling the bartender for two more drinks.

“Yeah. She did, didn’t she.”

Max threw his hands in the air.

“Unbelievable.”

─── 🏁

He set the drink down in front of her with a flourish, the condensation already beading on the glass.

“Told you I’d be back.”

She picked it up, swirling the ice before taking a sip. “How generous. Who do I thank for this? You or Max for paying you to babysit me?”

He snorted, leaning in closer until his voice dropped just enough that Max would have to strain to hear.

“Speaking of Max,” he murmured, amusement flickering in those annoyingly pretty green eyes. “You know what he told me at the bar?”

She lifted a brow, playing it cool even as she tilted her head toward him. 

“He thinks I’m gonna fuck you later.”

She choked a laugh into her glass, setting it down with a clink. “Oh my God. He said that?”

Lando’s grin widened. “Not in so many words. But he’s convinced. Kept eyeing me like I was about to drag you to the back alley.”

She flicked her eyes toward Max, who was already watching them like a hawk, suspicion painted all over his face.

“Poor guy’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then she shifted, leaning just enough into Lando’s space that Max’s gaze visibly sharpened. She dropped her voice to match his, sugar-sweet and saccharine.

“Well. Should we give him a show?”

Lando didn’t miss a beat. He draped his arm along the back of the booth, fingers brushing her shoulder lightly. “Might as well. Wouldn’t want him to feel left out.”

She tried to keep her face straight but failed, biting back a smirk as she pressed closer, all performative innocence. “He’s totally buying this.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

They both chanced a look at Max, who was looking absolutely scandalized.

She turned back to Lando, eyes dancing. “We’re terrible.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, letting his fingers play with the ends of her hair, “I’m having a blast.”

Her lips twitched as she fought not to grin. “You’re impossible.”

He was still playing with her hair, smirking at Max’s increasingly horrified expression.

“You love it,” he teased again, voice dropping low enough that only she could hear.

She rolled her eyes, but her voice was softer now. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He shifted closer, his knee brushing hers beneath the table. “Oh, I’m not. I’m just very… observant.”

“Observant, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“So what are you observing now?”

His gaze flicked to her mouth, lingering there for half a second too long. “That you’re about two seconds away from kissing me.”

She inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing even as her lips curved in challenge. “Bold of you.”

“True though,” he murmured, leaning in.

She didn’t move back. Not even a little. Her eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes and back again, and god, there was heat there.

They were so close they were breathing the same air. His hand had dropped from the back of the booth to rest lightly on her waist.

He tilted his head. She parted her lips.

Almost.

So close.

Then—

“AHA!”

Max’s voice practically cracked across the table.

They both jumped like they’d been caught making out behind the school shed.

Lando’s hand flew off her waist so fast he almost elbowed the guy next to him.

She jerked back, eyes wide, cheeks burning red.

Max was pointing at them triumphantly. “I FUCKING KNEW IT. I KNEW SOMETHING WAS GOING ON.”

Lando sputtered. “Mate, what? No. Chill.”

She covered her face with one hand. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t you ‘oh my god’ me!” Max was half-laughing, half-accusing. “I saw it. I saw everything!”

Lando tried to recover, running a hand through his hair. “Max, seriously. We were just—”

“Just about to swallow each other’s faces? Yeah, I bet.”

She let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

Max was way too proud of himself. He was leaning back in the booth, arms crossed, with this shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he said, voice low but taunting. “I saw you two. Practically nose to nose.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”

Max scoffed. “Oh, please. You leaned in like you were about to read her fucking soul.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “Max. Shut up.”

“No, no, let’s talk about it.” Max’s grin widened. 

Lando sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, man.”

“You,” Max turned to her. “Don’t act innocent. You weren’t exactly pulling away.”

She wanted to melt under the table. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He mimicked them both dramatically, leaning forward across the booth. “ ‘Oh hi. Yeah. Let’s share a secret. Let’s—’ ”

“Max.” Lando’s voice was a low warning.

“It wasn’t anything.” 

“Yeah right.” Max snorted. “Look at you two. You’re basically spooning from across the table.”

That made her snort unexpectedly, and she had to hide her grin behind her glass.

But Max wasn’t done. He got a little too excited, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis.

That was apparently the last straw. A bouncer walked over, eyeing them carefully. “Is everything okay here?”

Max blinked at the giant looming over them. “What?”

“Sir, you need to keep it down.”

Lando sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “We’re good. He’s just,” He gestured vaguely at Max. “like this.”

Pietra showed up out of nowhere, clearly dragged over by the commotion. “Max,” she said sharply, giving him the look. “Stop it. You’re scaring the bouncer.”

“You look like you’re about to get thrown out,” Pietra muttered, grabbing his arm.

Max squawked. “What? I’m fine.”

“Let’s just calm down,” the bouncer said, sounding very done with all of them.

The bouncer looked at Max one more time, shook his head, and walked off.

Pietra sighed, sinking into the booth next to Max. “You’re a menace.”

Max shrugged smugly. “I’m just observant.” He turned to Lando and her with an unholy gleam in his eye. “Anyway. Where were we? Oh right, are you two gonna make out now or later?”

Lando just groaned, leaning back against the seat in defeat.

He didn’t dare look at her again for a solid minute, because every time he did he remembered how close her mouth had been, how easy it would have been to just close the distance.

And she didn’t look at him either.

Because she was still trying to figure out why the fuck she hadn’t pulled away.

─── 🏁

Magui was watching Lando, he looked like he was doing math in his head, complicated, torturous math.

She nudged him.

“You okay?”

He blinked at her, trying to shake it off. “Yeah. Yeah, all good.”

She clearly didn’t believe him. “Come on. You’re so tense you’re gonna snap in half. Dance with me.”

“I don’t really—”

“Come on.”

Before he could protest, she’d already slid out of the booth and grabbed his hand, tugging him onto the floor.

He cast a desperate glance back over his shoulder.

And there she was. Y/N. Leaning back against the leather seat, watching.

He caught her eye. Gave her the most obvious help me look he could manage.

She just smirked and shrugged. Your fight, man.

He mouthed “Seriously?” at her.

She just raised a brow, leaning forward like she was settling in for the show.

He turned back, resigned, letting Magui pull him in closer on the floor.

Magui was all smiles, all chatter, clearly oblivious to how rigid he was. He half-danced, half-shuffled, trying not to look like a total asshole but refusing to do anything that would suggest he was enjoying it.

Every few seconds he’d glance over at the booth, only to see Y/N still lounging there, drink in hand, pretending to talk to Max but clearly laughing at him.

She thinks this is fucking hilarious.

Great. Awesome. Glad someone’s having fun.

─── 🏁

Later that night.

He didn’t even get a proper goodbye in. She’d left with Max and Pietra while he was still disentangling himself from Magui’s polite thanks and hugs.

By the time he got home, it was nearly 2 a.m.

He kicked his sneakers off so hard they hit the wall. Threw his keys onto the kitchen counter and missed.

Finally he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, fists balled in the sheets.

Fucking hell.

He turned over, punched his pillow.

Was that even flirting? Is she just playing? Am I fucking imagining all of this?

He groaned.

She literally shrugged at me. Like I was an idiot for needing her help.

He shut his eyes, jaw clenched.

God, she’s so fucking,

He kicked the blanket off.

infuriating.

He lay on his bed like a man defeated.

Pillows thrown. Blanket kicked. Socks half-off. Shirt still clinging to his back with sweat from the dance floor and frustration.

Why didn’t I just ask for her number?

He groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face.

Idiot. Fucking idiot.

He flopped to one side, curling up like he’d just been denied the one thing he wanted most in the world, which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth.

It’s not that deep, man. Just a girl. Just a number. You’ve gotten numbers before.

But it didn’t feel like that.

It didn’t feel like just a number.

He turned to his side, staring at the wall like it had betrayed him.

I just… wanted to talk to her. Properly. Not in a booth, not with Max watching, not with Magui trying to salsa three inches from my face.

His mouth twisted into a miserable frown. Actual, physical sulking.

He flipped onto his back again and let out a dramatic sigh.

This is pathetic. You're pathetic. You're literally acting like a four-year-old who dropped his ice cream.

He picked up his phone, stared at the lock screen. Didn’t unlock it. Just stared.

I could've texted her goodnight. Or asked if she got home safe. Or maybe, I don't know. Just said something dumb. But something.

Then came the soft, childlike whimper. Not real crying but close.

“I just wanted her number,” he whined into the silence, face buried into his pillow. “Is that so much to ask?”

He sighed. Rolled again, snatched his phone off the bed. Then because he truly had no dignity left, he opened Spotify.

And hit play.

Bonnie Tyler’s voice filled the room.

"Turn around…"

He didn’t even try to be subtle.

"Every now and then I fall apart…"

He sang. Loudly. Off-key.

"AND I NEED YOU NOW TONIGHT, AND I NEED YOU MORE THAN EVER!"

He flung an arm across his forehead like some tragic Victorian heroine.

"And if you’ll only hold me tight…"

He paused to sniff dramatically, wiping at an imaginary tear.

Fucking hell.

This is ridiculous. You’re literally serenading your bedroom over a girl you haven’t even texted.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About her.

And about the fact that now, instead of sleeping like any normal human being, he was stuck here singing power ballads to no one, wishing she were there to hear it.

But he didn’t stop the song.

Because at least Bonnie Tyler got it.

─── 🏁

part 3 👀

[rueclfer]

heyy there can i request some more touya headcannons? i really enjoy your way of picturing him because it’s just so canon and he’s kinda a lovely dick y’know. whatever comes to ur mind. thank u so much!!

weelll since you gave me so much freedom here r some touya as a housemate hcs ANNDD a moodboard bc i enjoy the visualization <3 since we talked abt this the other day too !! (i yapped so hard here sry sry this is so indulgent)

bakugou's and sero's version too hehe

housemates // touya todoroki

touya hates the idea of living with a complete stranger or one of his siblings, so what other option does he have other than forcing his best friend (crush) on a lease with him?

the newfound freedom definitely puts him on his ass for a few weeks. barely sleeps. eats like shit. trash is scattered everywhere. several unpacked boxes. it stays like this until fuyumi comes over to check our the place and gives you two a hard scolding to get your shit together.

more often than not, you'd end up waking up on the couch with your legs sprawled out across his lap and his upper half leaned over the couch arm rest in deep sleep. staying up so late was probably one of his favorite things about living together. being able to talk as loud as you wanted, watch movies late into the night, look over the city from your balcony- he found solitude in existing with you.

if he wasn't already codependent before moving in together, just know his ass will be GLUED TO YOU. you'd be doing work in your room and he'd barge in and flop down on your bed without a word. maybe he'd gotten a bit too comfortable.

if he's feeling extra annoying that day, he'd bring in his guitar and amp and keep asking you to rate his riffs until you entirely give up on work and give him some attention.

is it obvious his love language is quality time? not only that, gift giving too. he's like a fucking crow.

"look what i found. it's a rock. for you."

makes him soooo giddy to see your display of the rocks, feathers, and dried up flowers he picked up for you on his walk. sometimes you'd come home and there'd be a new addition to the ever growing collection.

ofc you'd return the energy in a different way. touya will not cook for himself. ever. he eats like shit as an internal rebellion against the healthy diet he was forced upon as a kid, but you will not allow that boy to rot himself from the inside out!! he can expect several tupperwares of portioned out meals with notes attached to the lids if you know he'd be home all day by himself.

"to t <3. if you don't eat every last bite i'll find out and it'll hurt my feelings and i might combust into flames or something idk don't risk it!"

i can also imagine him holding back tears whenever you ever come into his room to hand him a bowl of cut up fruit. the first time you do it he'd be speechless like jaw dropped taken aback. has he ever felt love like this??? i think not.

despite all of the kind gestures, he's still touya todoroki. hides your keys if you annoyed him that morning by rushing him in the bathroom and makes you a few minutes late to class/work. chronic door slammer. pisses with the door wide open. no sense of privacy and do not gaf to knock. always locking himself out -> i feel strongly about this like imagine coming home after a long day and he's sitting out in the hallway with a pouty face waiting for you hehehe.

i don't think he'd realize this crush until a few months after you've moved in together. how could he when you two practically already act and bicker like an old married couple?

yes- peanut butter belongs in the fridge. no- it doesn't. stop leaving your socks everywhere. you forget to flush again. stop slamming the doors. you ate my chips, didn't you? don't lie. did you really need to put the mugs up that high? (he does it on purpose, and tightens the lid to every jar too.)

it wasn't until one late evening when he comes home to find you frantically mixing a doughy substance in a large metal bowl. you never bake, but you have your own oven now, so why not?

"god, finally. help me, my arms hurt." you groan, shoving the bowl in his hands. "i think i fucked up."

he sees the hurricane aftermath of your kitchen- flour everywhere, egg shells left on the counter, every single jar imaginable opened and scattered around. he could be teasing you about the mess, but god you looked so beautiful with that stupid wrinkle in between your eyebrows as you read over the recipe, and the streaks of flour across your pant leg from wiping your hands, and the way you swipe away the stray pieces of hair falling in your face with the back of your hand- oh fuck.

he thinks he's falling in love with you.

he swallows it, but he starts acting kinda weird around the apartment.

like he's.... avoiding you?

living with his best friend whom he just so happens to develop a crush for, would eat him alive. he locks himself in his room and chain smoke out his window while he's stressing the fuck out. he told you he'd stop smoking, but he's sure you'd understand the need for it right now. he hopes you can't smell it.

i also think he'd be a stress cleaner lmaaoo he cannot sit still with his thoughts for too long, so the headphones are ON and blasting and he'll definitely use that as a scapegoat + the loud ass vacuum for ignoring you if you try to talk to him while he's on this cleaning frenzy.

you think he's sick LMAO imagine the pain he feels when you come knocking on his door and calling out that you're leaving a bowl of soup and cough medicine outside his door for him. he doesn't tell you that yeah he's sick but *not in that way*

lovesick. that boy is lovesick!!!!!!

how do you avoid your housemate while you figure out how to control your feelings?

he confesses via note that he leaves on the kitchen counter. really simple tbh nothing too extravagant, but he signs off by telling you that he's staying crashing at fuyumi's for a couple days.

you text him a string of obscenities to get his ass back home and he does (he's scared of you).

he CAANNOOTT talk about his feelings in an adult way. he is sitting on the complete opposite side of the couch, twiddling his thumbs, and staring down at his feet like a child while you reread his confession note out loud to him. you find his discomfort hilarious but endearing. he finds you unbearably insufferable.

jesus the amount of times in that apartment where he would storm off to his room whenever you two got in an argument or you pissed him off...old habits die hard, you guess, because this isn't the todoroki household anymore and you aren't scared to lose that deposit and kick a door down.

once you corner him and get him to open up about his feelings the air in the room suddenly shift!! the clouds are clearing and the sun is shining woooowww look at what good communication can do.

sharing an apartment with your BOYFRIEND is no different than sharing one with your best friend. i think he'd like to keep your separate bedrooms to have your own space, but you'll rarely sleep apart.

so! many! new! traditions!

helping him dye his hair on the first saturday of every month. biweekly horror movie marathons. counting the communal piggy bank ever couple months. trying new takeout spots until you find THE spot for every category- chinese, pizza, ramen, etc etc.

and finally, an everlasting mark on your first apartment together: a small carved out heart around your initials left on the inner corner of a kitchen cabinet done with his pocket knife on a random weekday evening while you two are cooking dinner together.

-

touya tag: @moonchild701 @kaldurahms-lover @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37 @ggriwm

[humaling]

a cat(s) between us — finnick odair

summary: you moved to district four for a fresh start, and it seems your cat did too.

word count: 2.2k

author's note: alternate au where finnick and reader are cat parents and everlark as their cats!!! (i forgot to mention lol) had this cute idea when i woke up so why not write it out!

“Thanks for helping me move in, Haymitch.”

You offer the gruff old man a cold glass of water. The long-haired blond places the last box on the ground beside your black leather couch with a huff, then grabs the glass from your hand and downs it in a single gulp.

“As long as you deliver me that tray of Budweisers, we’re good,” Haymitch retorts, setting the empty glass on the coffee table before straightening to his full height.

A car honks outside. You peek through the door and spot a yellow cab parked out front—your ride for Haymitch to the train station.

“Don’t call me again, kiddo,” he says, patting your shoulder before heading out the door and across the lawn.

“Can’t promise that!” you laugh after him.

Haymitch was your father’s closest friend before he passed. He helped with the funeral six months ago—and more than that, he helped you survive it. Losing your father, the only family you had left in District 12, nearly broke you. Your mother had died years ago, and she’d been estranged from her own family after marrying your dad, who never had much money. Still, that didn’t stop her from leaving everything behind to build a new life with him. She died not long after giving birth to you, so you never really got to know her—or remember her face very well.

You watch the cab disappear down the road. Leaning against the doorframe, you glance up at the sky, where the sun is beginning to set in a wash of pink and orange. Tomorrow marks a new beginning. A new job. A new town. You moved to District 4 for a fresh start and for the ocean—a change of scenery, a slower rhythm of life, and the hope that the sound of waves might quiet the parts of your grief that still echo too loud.

District 12 had become too heavy. Every corner reminded you of what you’d lost. You knew if you stayed any longer, you’d sink into the same dull grayness that swallowed your old house.

A soft purr pulls you out of your thoughts. You look down to find your Bombay cat perched by your feet, staring up at you with the prettiest pair of round gray eyes.

A smile tugs at your lips. “Why hello there, Katniss,” you murmur, crouching down to gently scratch the top of her head.

She purrs louder, eyes fluttering shut as she melts into the affection. You found Katniss a year ago in District 12, rummaging for scraps near a pile of trash bags. She was tiny then—frail, starving, barely surviving. You scooped her up on impulse, even though she clawed at your hands in a panic. Your dad scolded you all the way to the hospital to get a rabies shot, but he helped you care for her anyway.

It took weeks for Katniss to warm up to you. But once she did, she never left your side. She followed you everywhere, curled up beside you on cold nights, and always pawed at your legs for playtime.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” you whisper again, standing and closing the front door behind you as you walk deeper into the house, Katniss trotting close behind.

~

A week has passed since you moved into your new home in District 4, and though the unfamiliarity still clings to the edges of your day, you’ve started to carve out small routines—quiet little acts that help make this place yours. Like mornings spent in your backyard, barefoot in the grass, with soil caked under your fingernails and the sun warm on your skin.

Today is no different. The late afternoon air is thick with the scent of sea salt and hibiscus, warm but softened by a gentle coastal breeze that stirs your hair and rustles the leaves. The sky is clear except for a few soft clouds drifting slowly past like idle daydreams. You kneel in the middle of your small garden plot, surrounded by budding herb plants and half-buried packets of seeds. Sweat clings lightly to the back of your neck, but it feels earned, grounding.

Katniss sits a few feet away, lounging in a sliver of shade cast by the whitewashed fence. Her sleek black coat gleams in the sun, and her gray eyes are narrowed, lazily tracking a bee as it floats by. Every so often, she lifts a paw and bats at the fluttering petals of a primrose, but mostly, she’s just watching—quiet, content, and still.

You hum softly as you dig your hands into the soil, easing in a row of basil sprouts. There’s something peaceful about this rhythm: dig, plant, pat, water. It reminds you of simpler days with your dad, back when he used to tend the tiny garden outside your old home with rough, patient hands and a coffee mug balanced on a brick.

You glance over your shoulder. Katniss is no longer in the shade.

At first, you don’t think much of it. Maybe she’s wandered back inside—she gets like that sometimes, disappearing for a while only to reappear curled up in a sunbeam by the window. She’s had enough sun, you think. It’s been a long afternoon.

You wipe your hands on the thighs of your jeans and rise to your feet, squinting toward the back door. No sign of her. The wind picks up a little, carrying the faint sound of a bird chirping from the distance and the soft creak of a neighboring clothesline swinging lazily in the breeze.

Then you hear it—a soft meow and a rustle. a soft scuttle in the hedges on the other side of your yard.

Then you hear it—a rustle. A soft scuffle in the hedges along the side of your yard. You pause, brushing the dirt from your palms as you tilt your head, curious.

And that’s when you see her.

Katniss, perched delicately atop the fence separating your yard from the one next door. Her tail flicks once, then again, before she leaps down with silent precision into the other side.

You blink.

“Katniss?”

There’s no response. Just the rustle of low foliage and a blur of black fur disappearing into your neighbor’s garden.

You hesitate, lips parting slightly in surprise—but not alarm. Somehow, it feels intentional. Like she knows exactly where she’s going.

You pause at the fence, fingers brushing the warm wood as you listen. For a few seconds, there's nothing—just the distant crash of waves, the whisper of leaves trembling in the sea breeze, and somewhere, the rhythmic chirp of a cicada deep in the garden brush.

Then you hear it.

A low, warning hiss.

Your stomach tightens.

You know that hiss. Sharp, clipped, pulled from deep in Katniss’s chest. She only makes that sound when she's uncomfortable—cornered, or suspicious. She’s not an easy cat to ruffle, but when she’s had enough, she doesn’t hold back.

Your body moves before you even finish the thought. You round the fence gate and step into the neighboring yard—uneven patches of sun-washed grass, wild lavender bushes humming with bees, and in the center of it all, a blur of movement.

Katniss is crouched low near a rosemary shrub, tail lashing behind her in slow, aggravated flicks. In front of her sits a fluffy ragdoll cat, broad-faced and thick-furred with soft reddish-orange points at his ears, nose, and tail. His blue eyes are wide and guileless, and even from a distance, he looks utterly unbothered—like he’s just asked her to be best friends and is waiting patiently for her answer.

She hisses again. Louder this time.

“Katniss!” you call gently, but it’s no use—her body is all tension, ears back, fur puffing at her shoulders.

Then you hear a voice behind the lavender bush—smooth, low, warm with the faintest undercurrent of amusement.

“Whoa, easy there. Pretty boy just wants to say hi.”

The leaves part as someone emerges from the shade, brushing a hand through the tall stems. He steps into view, cradling the ragdoll cat in his arms like it’s second nature—strong forearms wrapped securely under the cat’s body, one hand resting gently on the soft fur of its chest. He’s barefoot on the grass, sun-tanned, sea-washed. Tousled bronze hair curls damply around his temples like he’d just come from the water, and there's something relaxed about the way he moves—like he was built to be barefoot and glowing in the sun.

He looks up at you, a flicker of surprise passing over his face. “Sorry about that,” he says with an easy grin. “Peeta gets a little too friendly sometimes.”

You blink, caught off guard—not just by the fact that you’re standing in a stranger’s yard or that your cat just hissed at his, but by him. The way the light hits him. The way his grin doesn’t feel practiced.

“Oh—no, no, it’s fine,” you manage, taking a step forward. “Katniss isn’t… really good with strangers.”

He glances down at the black blur still crouched by the rosemary. “Well, that makes two of you.”

You laugh softly, surprised by it—and so is he, judging by the glance he gives you. Peeta lets out a quiet, confused meow in his arms, nuzzling at his chest like he still hasn’t understood why this new friend doesn’t like him.

“She’ll warm up,” you say, watching as Katniss slowly retreats a few feet, now eyeing both cats and humans with an irritated flick of her ears.

“I’m Finnick,” he offers. His voice isn’t just smooth—it’s sun-warmed and open in a way that makes your skin feel oddly aware of itself. “Peeta’s mine. Apparently, he has no boundaries.”

You smile. “I’m just next door. I moved in last week. That one’s mine.” You gesture toward Katniss, who is still very much pretending not to be interested but hasn’t left. “She has too many boundaries.”

He chuckles, soft and low. “Maybe they’ll meet in the middle.”

You glance at him. There’s a tiny freckle on his cheekbone, right beneath his left eye, and something about it makes your breath catch—like you’ve seen it before in a dream. Or like maybe you were always meant to notice it.

Your fingers brush absently against your jeans, still damp with garden soil, and you nod.

“Maybe.”

The breeze picks up, rustling through the lavender again. Katniss, without looking, circles once—then settles by your feet, pawing at your jeans.

Her way of saying: carry me.

You stoop instinctively, scooping her up into your arms. She makes a disgruntled little noise but doesn’t resist, curling herself into your chest like she belongs there.

Finnick watches with a half-smile, shifting Peeta’s weight in his arms. The ragdoll blinks up at Katniss from the crook of his elbow, purring softly.

“Well,” Finnick says, tipping his head, “looks like they’ve declared a ceasefire. At least for today.”

You laugh, adjusting your hold on Katniss as her claws knead gently into the fabric of your shirt. “We’ll take the small wins.”

He flashes a grin. “Let me know if she tries to climb the fence again. Or if she hisses at him. Or if she files a restraining order.”

You raise an eyebrow, already turning toward your gate. “So… basically I’ll be talking to you a lot.”

He winks—an easy, flickering thing that makes your stomach twist in the strangest, most pleasant way. “That’s the idea.”

You don’t look back until you’re halfway through the garden again, Katniss warm and weighty in your arms. When you do glance over your shoulder, Finnick’s still standing there in the sun-dappled grass, Peeta draped lazily across his chest, like something out of a hazy daydream.

You slip through the gate. Close it softly.

The moment you step back into the house, the air feels cooler—sharper. You lean your back against the door and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your heart is pounding.

Not just fast—loud, like it’s echoing in your ears, making your skin buzz beneath your shirt. Katniss stirs in your arms, ears twitching slightly, as if she feels it too.

You blink, looking down at her.

“You’re warm,” you whisper, holding her a little tighter than you mean to. “Or maybe I am.”

She meows once, unimpressed. Her nose bumps lightly against your chin.

You smile, shifting her weight as you pad barefoot into the living room. “So. You made an enemy and a friend today,” you murmur, brushing a stray leaf from her fur. “That’s kind of your thing, huh?”

Katniss makes a small, grumbling sound, already wriggling to be let down. She leaps from your arms, lands softly on the hardwood, and pads toward the living room like nothing happened—as if she didn’t just hiss at a stranger, slip into someone else’s yard, or throw you into the kind of interaction that leaves you flushed and vaguely off balance.

You stand there for a moment. Not doing anything. Just listening to the hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of waves, and the pulse in your own ears that refuses to quiet down.

Katniss hops onto the windowsill, tail curling once before she settles, eyes trained on the backyard. Watching.

You follow her gaze but say nothing.

Maybe you’re just tired. Maybe it’s the sun. Maybe it’s something you’ll figure out tomorrow.

But still, you stay there with her a little longer than necessary, staring out at nothing in particular, heart still a little too loud in the silence.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dating Bang Chan

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warning/s: mdni, mentions of insecurities

a/n: i had a stressful week and this was just sitting in my drafts. this is just a collection of random thoughts i had bcs i'm soft for chan♡ 

(i'll probably do this for every member eventually)

Chan is such a sweetheart. Expect to be hugged and pulled into his lap all the freaking time. He needs to have his hands on you somehow no matter where you are or what you're doing. Chan will give you a back hug and then pull you into him, burying his face in your hair. He loves skinship like that especially with people who bring him comfort like you do.

Chan is the type of boyfriend who will always ask if you're hungry, thirsty or cold and if you need anything at all he will stop what he was doing and get it for you. He always wants you to feel comfortable.

He is also very playful and will tease you all the time. I also feel like he is that type of boyfriend that will swoop you up and put you over his shoulders all the damn time especially while you're doing something just to get a rise out of you. He will laugh cutely as you trash around and yell at him to 'put you down or else' but you both know you're laughing too.

You become so close to his mother and sister, and you and Hannah team up to tease him together. Berry also adores you and always runs to you whenever you visit. Chan will playfully pout and sulk, saying that 'his family replaced him' but he is actually so thrilled that you get along.

He daydreams a lot about your future together, imagines you two getting married and starting a family and it makes him all giddy and giggly. Some things he's too shy to say to you directly so he puts them in songs that he writes for you.

Chan will watch every movie and listen to every song you recommend him. He wants to know what you like and why you like it so send him cute songs and tell him that they made you think of him.

Late night adventures. Driving around aimlessly as you listen to music, getting something to eat from a convenience store or a gas station. He pulls up somewhere secluded where you have the perfect view of the city. You eat, talk and look at the stars together. Kisses are shared, hands are roaming and pretty soon you end up in the backseat of the car.

Chan will take you out to dinner, bring you flowers, take you out to the arcade, to an ice cream date, to the beach, everywhere and anywhere, he just wants you to have fun together. But he will also enjoy a quiet night at home, while he works on his laptop and you're cuddled up to him reading a book.

He always puts you first, your needs above his so you have to scold him when he tells you he forgot to eat dinner. You bring him food to the studio and he's happy to see you but sad that he made you upset. You tell him you'll forgive him if he eats everything you brought him and he happily will.

Arguments with Chan would probably mostly happen when he's sleep deprived because he gets snappy then. His voice raises a little (not on purpose) but as soon as he sees tears forming in your eyes he will start apologizing. You tell him you need a few moments and obviously he does too, so he leaves to another room to cool off a little. When he comes back out, you two sit down and talk it out. You never want to go to bed angry or without resolving a fight.

No matter if you live together or you're sleeping over at each other's places you can forget about personal space. When you go to bed at night, Chan will cling onto you, he will pull you into him and hold you tight. Good luck on trying to move until the morning. Showers together because why wouldn't you wanna save water?

Absolute gentleman. Will open doors for you, move your chair, help you put your jacket on, you'll never have to carry anything heavy. He knows you can do it but he just wants to treat you like the queen you are and you better indulge him or he will sulk.

Sometimes, Chan feels insecure and nothing can make him feel better than your arms around him, his head on your chest as you gently tell him about everything you love and admire about him. He's used to always being alert and taking care of others so he'd love for you to take care of him sometimes like that, baby him a little, it lights his heart up.

Little moments when he's concentrated on something or lost in his own little world always make you gush at him and your camera is full of his cute moments, when he realizes you're filming him, he gets shy and you capture his sweet smile and cute giggles.

This man will also never give you room to doubt yourself. He will remind you every single day how much he loves you and respects you. How beautiful you are to him, every single part of you, every scar, stretchmark, anything you're insecure about he'll give extra kisses and caresses to that part of you just so you start loving yourself more.

Back hugs. Back hugs. BACK HUGS. FOREHEAD KISSES. HAND HOLDING. THIGH SQUEEZING.

Make him sleep please! He needs to rest and often pulls all-nighters but if you offer him cuddles he can't say no, he has to join you in bed.

You wear matching bracelets!🥺 And they're ones that you make by yourselves with cute colorful beads and maybe your initials and it's just so adorable!

Random cuteness agression moments where Chan can't contain all the love he has for you so he attacks you with kisses all over your face. You squeal and you both end up giggling and play-fighting. Will also tickle you every chance he gets. You're never safe from Chan the tickle monster. (He just loves touching you and loves seeing you laugh, deal with it.)

Okay but your mom will love him so much. He's the type of boyfriend that will treat your mom like his own. Anything she needs help with, he will help no questions asked. She's already calling him her son-in-law.

You need help fixing something around the house? Chan is your man. Just imagine those arms of his as he's working on something, wearing just a tanktop. (😩)

You can talk to him about anything really, he loves to listen to you ramble about your friends or work, sometimes he starts teasing you in the middle of your rambling, repeating what you're saying or reacting dramatically. You smack his thigh or arm and whine that he's not taking it seriously. He just laughs at you and promises to listen seriously with a goofy face.

But when it comes to actual serious issues, you can really rely on Chan. He will hold your hand and caress you as you tell him your worries. He'll listen without interrupting, letting you vent to him. When you're done he will do everything he can to comfort you, motivate you, make you feel better, help you get through whatever you're struggling with.

Talks about you all the time, he's so proud to be yours and he's just infatuated with you. Giggles to himself when he thinks about you. He just adores you so much.

[thesvnandthemooon]

short n’ sweet au

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

natasha romanoff x fem!reader, college!au

cute headcanons bc i can’t stop thinking about them

• nat watching you take off your makeup. every night, without fail, she’ll sit on the edge of the bathtub and watch you (once niko is born, she’ll obviously hold him in her lap so he can watch his mommy too <3)

• nat will adjust your necklaces/straps/rings/whatever just to have an excuse to touch you

• pinky promises!! always holding out her pinky for you to intertwine it with yours

• natasha doesn’t get nervous often, but when she does, it’s adorable. she’ll grab your hand and play with your fingers, twist your rings and massage your palms. if there’s a sharpie nearby, she’ll draw little shapes and hearts, too (and a dick, just to add the cherry on top)

• your legs/heels are killing you? she’s definitely carrying you on her back, especially after a long night out and especially once you’re pregnant. the best part is that it doesn’t even faze her. you’re tiny compared to her, so she can easily carry you around. and if you want to sit on her shoulders? hell yeah. she’s used to the feeling of your thighs around her head anyway

• also defo picks you up and puts you on random surfaces. the kitchen counter, the table, the sink in the university’s bathroom. she doesn’t even know why, she just does it

• pulling nat in by her jersey when she gets jealous and watching her melt into a fucking puddle like yes she’s an actual softie <3

• sitting/napping between her legs when she’s playing video games and noticing how her voice gets softer when you doze off. she’ll still trash talk her teammates but at least she won’t wake you doing it

• sleeping in just her letter jacket. literally nothing else. just the jacket. and it kills her

• lipstick smudges everywhere. her neck, jaw, abs, thighs. pressing your lips against every part of her body until she’s breathless and so hard she can’t form a single coherent sentence

• biting her bottom lip while kissing just to hear her moan. bonus points if you’re grabbing the front of whatever she’s wearing

• nat kissing you while you’re in the middle of talking, but especially if you’re rambling or close to starting a fight. yes, she can end a fight that hasn’t even started

+ pregnancy/baby bonus 🍼

• nat kissing your cramping legs and massaging them and actually feeling so so bad

• nat cannot cook. like, at all. but when everything was making you nauseous during the first few weeks of pregnancy and you couldn’t eat anything without throwing it back up? she was in the kitchen all the time, trying new recipes, swapping ingredients, perfecting the seasoning, until she found a food that was safe

• kissing your belly pre-basketball game for good luck 😭 and if she feels the baby move, it’s basically guaranteed they’ll win

• using nat as your personal heater and her being more than happy to let you do it

• nat downloading a contraction timer app but panicking and pressing the wrong buttons when you’re in labor

• you leaving lipstick kisses on niko’s cheeks because it’s adorable (and nat wondering why the fuck you’re painting her son)

• natasha carrying niko around like he’s a football. not because she doesn’t know how to properly carry him, but because she thinks it’s funny

• bringing him to practice and games and nat carrying him onto court. her teammates love him and always give him little high-fives (even if nat has to help him with those)

• you told natasha not to swear around the baby. she forgets every time, though. you get mad every time as well. especially when your toddler drops the f-bomb one day

• nat definitely talks shit about other babies at least once, even if you tell her not to do that (though you can’t really disagree when she says: “ours is cuter”)

• her lifting him into the air like simba (picture cam from modern family but less dramatic)

• niko helping you get ready once he’s older: pretending to put your lipstick on you, holding your jewelry…and being all like “mama pretty” (the baby fever oml)

• he’s a mini-nat and it shows. putting his hands on his hips, raising one eyebrow, saying “watch it” when he’s mad at someone

• matching jerseys!!

[crheativity]

Hello there! I came across your blog and enjoyed reading your post about the Overblot Squad Plushie Parts. I was wondering if you would consider writing a Part 3 where the Squad discovers that their plushies have been stolen. It turns out that the culprits are their Vice Dorm Wardens - either Kalim (since Jamil is Vice Dorm Warden) or Ace (since Trey wouldn't do that). I'm curious to know how the Overblot Boys would react to this situation. Have a pleasant day/night!

SUMMARY: Someone took the Overblot Squad’s plushies! How do they react?

WARNINGS: T*cked in Riddle’s section, sorry if Malleus’ wasn’t that good, writing his was really tricky.

COMMENTS: Hehehehe as soon as I read this my immediate reaction was “oh they’re screwed.” 

Part one - Prefect making the Overblot Squad plushies of their respective Seven member - can be found here. Part two - Prefect making the plushies clothes and accessories - can be found here.

He. Is. Ticked. ALL of Heartslabyul is on lockdown until he finds whichever culprit was bold enough to steal something from him! And stealing something that his beloved made from him? Heads are going to roll.

Riddle literally stops people from leaving Heartslabyul and searches every room himself. He, unsurprisingly, finds plenty of contraband, but doesn’t find his beloved plushy anywhere. He’s almost in tears. He really doesn’t want to tell you he lost it, but all hope seems to be lost-

That is, until Ace hands back the plushy with a sheepish apology. He explains that he had to drop something off in Riddle’s room and accidentally knocked the toy into the trash can. He stole it to clean it and was gonna sneak it back. He didn’t think Riddle would notice that quickly!

Ace still loses his head, but only for a week instead of a month, since he had good intentions. Riddle remains snippy at Ace for months afterwards, though.

Walking into his room, Leona realises that something is wrong. You - or at least, the plush you made for him - is missing. He spends around an hour searching his room for it and ends up being extremely irritated when all traces of it are gone. He doesn’t want to admit to his dorm members that he actually misses it, so he tries to sleep without it for a couple of days.

This makes him even more irritated.

Eventually, he wears himself down enough to ask Ruggie what had happened to it. Ruggie groans and explains that the smell of you coming from the plush and accessories was waaay too much for any normal beastman, and that he (along with other Savannaclaw members) had gotten fed up with it and hidden them.

Leona offers Ruggie 2,000 thaumarks to return them. Ruggie doesn’t think twice. 

Azul is sobbing ALL DAY. He is INCONSOLABLE. Octavinelle is getting embarrassed at the fact that their dorm leader - the best and brightest among them - is an uncontrollable mess over the fact that his toy is missing. But what can he do? That’s his best friend, gone! He’s looked everywhere and he can’t find it! What will his Angelfish say? He can’t bear to imagine the look on your face when he tells you he lost it!

He literally pays people to help him find the toy, yet no matter how much money he throws at them and no matter how hard they look, it’s just gone. It’s almost like someone stole it… no, he can’t think like that. If someone really did steal it, he’d probably never get it back! He just wants to hide in an octopus pot.

The Tweels are torn between thinking it’s hilarious and wanting Azul to shut up already. Eventually, Jade returns the plush, explaining that he thought it was fascinating and wanted to study it closer, yet didn’t think Azul would agree. (He also wanted to see Azul’s reaction to his favourite plushy being missing.) Azul is in TEARS of RELIEF and hugging that plushy. He refuses to let it out of his sight anymore. It will go with him (almost) everywhere. Floyd thinks the whole situation is hilarious and will NOT stop teasing him about it.

Jamil at first doesn’t seem like he’s phased. However, those who know him notice the ticks; the muscles in his face twitching with annoyance whenever he’s asked to do anything and the sarcastic comments he often thinks and not says become mutters under his breath instead. He becomes a lot more aggressive in his tasks - forgoing the typical, painstaking care he usually takes for finishing his tasks quickly and shutting everyone out.

He remains this way for several days. People start to get vibes from him and avoid him, which annoys him even more. He just can’t get it out of his head. Why is he so annoyed? Is it because every time he thinks of the missing doll, he thinks of you, upset at him for losing it (whether you actually are or not)? …maybe. He won’t let himself admit it either way. 

A couple of days later, Jamil finds the doll - sitting on Kalim’s bed. He’s immediately interrogating Kalim. Kalim happily explains that in trying to help out Jamil, he decided to try and help clean his room. He knows that the doll means a lot to Jamil, so he wanted to get it cleaned for him! Jamil appreciates it but he’s also this close to losing his temper. Please, just, next time, tell him first, okay? sheesh.

Vil is going to lose his mind. His doll has gone missing. He cannot find it anywhere. He’s already torn apart his room at least three times and called every single studio he’s done a photoshoot in or acted for in the past two months, asking if anyone had seen it. Yet no traces have been found. He has a headache. 

On top of that, Rook has been acting particularly frustrating recently - constantly checking up on his mood and popping out of the most random places. It’s almost as though the universe has coordinated this on purpose.

Wait.

Upon confronting Rook, Vil finds out that his theory was correct; Rook did in fact steal the plush. Apparently, he’d “wanted to see the beauty of Vil’s yearning for the precious thing his beloved made for him,” and so he’d hidden it for a while. Vil’s this close to shaking him by the shoulders, but at least he’s got the plush back.

Pookie? Pookie is missing! Uh oh, that ain’t good. He’s gotta find him, quick. The gacha banners are about to change and he already pre-farmed the mats needed for the character he wants. How’s he supposed to hit those 0.6% odds while without the Little Guy?

He’s tearing apart his room, trying to find the skrunkly before server reset. There’s no way he would’ve taken the toy outside to touch grass, right??? So it’s gotta be in here. Except it’s nowhere to be found. 

He’s about to give in to some totally cringe behaviour - going and looking for it outside - when Ortho shows up, holding the marketable plushie. Idia is snatching it from Ortho and spinning it around the room before flopping on his bed, before realising how cringe he just was. At least he can do his gacha rolls now?

(Ortho’s really confused. He just took it to wash. Did he do something wrong-? Oh well, as long as his brother’s happy now)

As soon as Malleus discovers the plush toy is missing, the rain starts. As he continues to look and ask around for it and doesn’t find it, the rain gets worse. Eventually, NRC has a full-blown hurricane on its hands. 

The weather stays like this for a good two days. Classes have been cancelled as asking students to walk across campus in that much of a downpour would lead to a school-wide riot. And Malleus is still sulking in the corner about his missing plushie.

That is, until a sheepish Lilia surprises Malleus with the plush. He explains that it must’ve fallen in with the laundry and gone through the wash. Since the weather has been so erratic lately, it had to go through the dryer too rather than be dried by the sun, which is why no one noticed where it was for so long.

The rain instantly clears. Malleus hugs his plush and decides to take her to visit you. All is right in the world again. 

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥