#gray and white throw blanket

[danda-bear]

Contemporary Kids - Kids Room Ideas for a mid-sized contemporary boy's room renovation with a dark wood floor and a brown floor and white walls

[totheexperts]

Master in Orange County Bedroom - mid-sized modern master medium tone wood floor and gray floor bedroom idea with gray walls, a metal fireplace and a ribbon fireplace

[venidel]

Bedroom Atlanta Image of a medium-sized transitional master bedroom with a beige floor and carpeting but no fireplace

[hubrishelps]

Boston Eclectic Bedroom

Bedroom - mid-sized eclectic loft-style bedroom idea with multicolored walls and no fireplace

[readrtheme]

Transitional Family Room Los Angeles Mid-sized transitional enclosed light wood floor family room design example with white walls, a regular fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[dhikadhikadhika]

Bedroom Atlanta Image of a medium-sized transitional master bedroom with a beige floor and carpeting but no fireplace

[silly-artist]

Midcentury Bedroom - Master Example of a mid-sized 1950s master carpeted and beige floor bedroom design with beige walls and no fireplace

[reecewykes]

Large country master carpeted and gray floor bedroom photo with gray walls

[sunlightmurdock]

Can I request from the cozy list ⋆ cuddling under a blanket and ⋆ lazy days in with Jake? With a cozy vibe please and thank you.

Five More Minutes | Jake Seresin

spooktober masterlist

synopsis: Jake takes a moment to remind himself of how glad he is to be home

warnings: mentions of loneliness on deployment, i guess. Other than that, none.

Rain beats along the glass, droplets racing each other towards the wipers. There’s a lump in his throat and the finishing chords of a Red Hot Chilli Peppers song on the radio. It’s a dark and dreary late October, and there’s a lot on his mind. 

Jake Seresin has spent sixty-five percent of the last four years away from home. He’s still getting used to the routine that comes with this new assignment. Early starts, sure — but there’s security. There are days like today, where he gets to park his truck in his own damn driveway and listen to the end of his favourite song.

He scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw and looks towards the front window of his home, thinking of what he gets next. He gets to walk through his front door and follow the sound of a movie, searching room to room until he finds what he’s looking for. You.

“Well, don’t you look cozy.” 

Breaking away from the opening credits of your movie, you turn your attention to the doorway and blink. Your brows knit together as you start to feel around for your phone. He’s not due to be home for hours.  

Standing in his uniform, looking every bit as edible as he usually does, your fiancé offers you an amused smile. He raps his knuckles against the wooden doorframe as he wanders into the living room.

Droplets of rain leave spots of darkness on his khaki shirt, his hair a little damp, his boots left neatly by the front door. The rain picks up, whistling against the windows, a heavy storm rolling in from over the ocean.

You hadn’t even heard his truck pull onto the driveway over the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the TV playing.

He sees the confusion on your face.

“Got sent home. Shit weather, bunch of guys couldn’t make it in and everybody’s grounded.” His first point of call is to lean over and press his lips to your forehead, just like he had when he had left for work in the early hours of this morning, while you had still been curled up in your shared bed. 

Jake’s new assignment means that he has to be on base pretty much by the time the sun is rising. He hadn’t ever struggled to get up early, until it had meant leaving you in bed by yourself.

Smiling now, he takes advantage of the way you’re curled onto your side and smooths a hand over your ass, giving it a soft squeeze as he peeks over his shoulder towards the television.

“What are you watching?”

“Hocus Pocus. I was going to have a movie day.”

The house smells like vanilla and sugar, candles burning and casting a soft orange hue across the living room. It’s a nice day for it, and Jake can’t remember the last time he had gotten to lay around and do nothing. 

“You can still have your movie day, sweetheart.” He murmurs, patting your thigh softly as he stands back up. “You mind if I join?”

You peer up at him, brows raised. “You want to?”

“Of course I do, don’t pause the movie — I’ll be right back.”

It’s borderline unfair that he comes back in your favourite of his pairs of gray sweatpants, and the best fitting of his white t-shirts.

“Scootch.” Patting your thighs, he maneuvers over you and twists himself around until he can lay comfortably behind you. Draping one arm over your middle and the other under your head, he presses himself against your back.

You turn your face towards his outstretched wrist, breathing in the smoky scent of his lingering cologne. 

He wriggles, settling his head against the mass of throw pillows that you like to fill this couch with. It almost makes your lips quirk. He complained in the store but he seems pretty happy with them now.

He has spent plenty of time on old ships that rattle and groan, smelling like nothing but rust and harsh chemicals. Plenty of time sleeping in rooms by himself, reading every book he can get his hands on, pressing his pillow over his head to block out the sound of a dozen men snoring.

It’s easy to forget.

Since he got home, he has really thrown himself into his work. Leaving early, getting home late. Sitting in planes with the weight of the world dragging against him, or stiff office chairs, or benches in locker rooms. 

His body thanks him as he eases into all those damn throw pillows, pulling your body against him to feel your weight against his. Anchoring you to him by tightening his hold, closing his eyes — just for a moment.

“‘M glad you’re home.” Your lips brush against his wrist as his other arm gives your middle an affectionate squeeze. He watches as you adjust your blanket to cover him too, squeezing closer to fit the both of you under it. 

“Me too.” He mumbles, his throat dry. He presses a soft, slow kiss to your clothed shoulder and then rests his chin against it. 

Those scented candles flicker around him, the movie hums on, and your heart beats steadily against his chest. Man, he’s glad to be home. 

[hihomeghere]

Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Part Two of Right Person, Wrong Time

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Baptized by Fire, Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

Series masterlist

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 8.

Going down the rabbit hole that is your mirror a third time feels a little more normal. Even though traveling through it to begin with is the definition of crazy, you’ve started to get used to it. Just like the last two times you awaken to your bedroom, you feel smothered by that sensation of being forced under something heavy and lying on a fluff cloud. Your mirror ripples and gleams a bright white light that beckons you forward. 

You’re not exactly prepared for this, but you don’t have any time to. You throw off the odd feeling blankets and make your way to the mirror, which is sparkling in its usual white light. 

You take a deep dream breath to steady your nerves. You want this trip through the looking glass to be different this time. Instead of you stumbling through the mirror world completely blind, you need to go through determined to find answers. 

You’re smart enough to recognise the pattern. Whatever happens there seems to happen in your dreams, to some effect, have happened in real life. The painted roses, the cards soldiers, and Ace and Deuce, being beheaded by the Queen for breaking the rules. There’s a pattern and if it keeps up tonight, then tomorrow during the duel something is going to happen that will be similar to your dreams. 

Plus, there’s also the King of Hearts. He and Alice were the only ones who could see you so far, and Winston was the darling of the Queen. There had to be something that he knew that could help you. And if your dreams were really sending you back in time to meet them, then he had to know something that can help you. Even if it was a tiny detail, you needed to know.

Plus. If your deduction was correct, then Crowley had done jack all since you arrived to send you back home, then maybe you could find something out from someone like you. A darling that’s terrified. If it’ll lead back home, it's worth a shot, right?

Now invigorated with courage, you place your hand on the glass, and it ripples. And you’re pulled into wonderland.

You’re somewhere unfamiliar. As in it doesn’t look like the rose maze anymore. In fact, this place looks very different. 

The rose garden is beautiful, the hallway you’re in now is ominous. Even with the gaudy red hearts. The black, white and red are smothering here. The hallways narrow, but ornate. It’s covered with heart-covered and heart-shaped vases, picture frames, and statues. The hallway’s lit up by heart shaped lamps that glow gray, meant to give off light but feel the room feel so dark. The manic and exaggerated shapes and the monotony of the overwhelming crimson red makes you feel a little tremble. 

You take hesitant steps down the hall, scanning them for anything helpful or clues. 

“This is…new.” And so far what’s new makes you feel chills. “What is the mirror trying to show me n-”

A deafening roar of <Off With Their HEADS!!!> echoes through the halls and interrupts your thoughts and makes you jump in surprise. The roar makes the decor shake and rattle, some fall and shatter. 

You gulp nervously and your heart speeds up. This doesn’t feel right.

Another roar fills the air <SILENCE!!> makes you hasten your footsteps. Whatever’s happening you're missing it, and you need all the help you can get right now. 

You run down the hall to nowhere, finding no doorways, until the hall ends. It’s a single door, knee high and heart shaped. 

“How the hell am I supposed to-” Another roar fills the hall and breaks a nearby lamp. “Alright, I’m going!” You shove it open and crawl through, and it shrinks around you just to make things worse, After a mild struggle, you finally get through, something better be on the other side-

Something grabs you by the back of your pajamas, and you hauled up to be faced with the King of Hearts. 

And he looks angry. <What are you doing here?!> He whisper-yells, shaking you by your shoulders. 

“I-I-” 

You don’t get to put a word in, and shit must’ve hit the fan hard when you were gone because Winston starts ranting. <What are you, the Cheshire Cat!? You were there one moment and gone the next! I’m stressed out of my mind trying to keep a girl alive and you just keep popping up to make things even more stressful!!!> He pauses for a moment, to recollect himself, <H-How did you even get here?!>

“I used the door-” You turn and point to find no door or wall and instead find a sharp decline into a certain death behind the haphazard judge’s bench. “Nevermind” You quickly finish as you take a nervous step back from the ledge. 

<Well,  it doesn’t matter you have to->

<Winston, sweetheart, who are you speaking too?> The voice that pipes up is mockingly fond. As if they’re entertaining a child speaking to an imaginary friend. You look past Winston, to see a stout woman that looks suspiciously like the Queen of Hearts.

No seriously, her mocking, smiling face looks so punchable, that it reminds you of Riddle. A heart shaped with high cheekbones, and a glare that rivals Riddle Rosehearts, her black hair is tied up into a rose shape, slick backed, smooth and orderly. Her dress is extravagant even in the field of black and white, red undertones over taking the dress. Her crown is larger than Winston's, cementing to you that she is in charge and he’s unwillingly along for the ride.

She looks like a real person this time. Are your dreams progressing? Becoming more detailed?

Winston looks at her incredulously, you can hear him mutter, <C-Can’t you see her?...> Pointing in your direction confused. 

<There’s no one there, Winston. Are you imaging things again?> The King of Hearts spares you a conflicted look, before finally agreeing with her.

<I must be…..> He says after a few long moments.

<Of course sweetheart. How could you survive without me?> She chuckles to herself, and you feel the urge to punch someone again. 

A soft voice snaps you out of it. <Um…Your Majesty?> You finally notice Alice from her place down below. She looks a mix of exasperated, confused and terrified as she stands in the defendant’s chair. The Queen redirects her ire back to Alice as soon as she raises her voice. She screams like a banshee and roars like a violent loud animal. 

You take advantage of the noise to speak to Winston. “Winston I-”

He interrupts you, losing himself to his ramblings, <I’ve finally lost, haven’t I?> Winston laughs bitterly. <You’re not real, you’re just a figment of my imagination…>

“No. You haven’t and I’m not.” You push, desperate to make him see reason, “Alice has seen me before, I’m real!” You hurriedly whisper-yell. 

<Then if you’re real then you have to help Alice and you have to help me->

<HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TO YOU!> A cake and teapots, and all the fixing that remind you of the buffet yesterday at Heartslabyul. The Queen and nearly everyone in the room are excitedly celebrating while Winston and Alice look exasperated. Seemingly exhausted from the shenanigans that are ensuing before you.

“W-What’s happening?” You raise an eyebrow in complete confusion. Yesterday an unbirthday party made sense because it was a party at a dorm then a trial room with a death sentence. 

Winston sighs in abject misery, <A trial.  I did it to save Alice from losing her head, but this nonsense is a trial. And I thought back home was crazy.>

You perk up at his words. Back home means that he’s not from wonderland so if that’s the case…Just to be sure, you ask. “You’re not from here?”

He looks at you curiously, still halfway between believing you’re real or not, <I-I’m from London, England. I came here by accident and have been stuck here ever since.>

“You know where London is?” You feel hope bloom in your chest, “Are you from Earth?”

<Yes, but->

You interrupt him in your budding excitement, “Then you have to help me! I’m stuck here, like you and Alice!”

<Regardless of whether you’re real or fake, I-I can’t help you! If Mary finds out, I tried to escape again, heads will roll! >

You haul the king up by his shirt. “Would you rather be stuck here forever?! If there’s a way out, we need to take it!” You can ignore the ‘being stuck here ever since’ part for now, because if he and Alice (who are real in this world) come from Earth and know about a way back, then that means there’s a way back to your world from Twisted Wonderland. Alice goes home at the end of the story, so there is a way back home for you in this world. And you need that way out. You just need to get to it. 

<I’ll help you on one condition.>

“Anything!”

<Help Alice. I can’t let another person die.> And then he shoves you. And then you're falling. You don’t even get the opportunity to scream as you’re pushed. Falling off that deathly edge, and hitting the floor hard. 

“Ow….” Damnit Winston, if you weren’t stuck in the same situation as him, you’d curse him out

<Miss, you’re back!> You slowly open your eyes to see Alice standing over you in worry, still completely black and white. <W-Where did you come from?>

“A place like you.” Alice lights up at your words,  “How’s your trial going?” only to deflate five seconds later. 

<It doesn’t make any sense, this trial doesn’t follow any rules.> You climb to your feet brushing off the imaginary dust off your dream self. 

“No, it does.” You’re forced to admit. “They’re just horrible rules.”

<Well, this really isn’t-> Whatever justifiable statement is cut off by the Queen being undistracted by the unbirthday celebrations. 

You don’t even know what happened next. 

One moment, Alice is pointing out the Cheshire Cat, her words, on the Queen’s head, and the next the Queen is a mess of jam and her torn flag, with a new bump on her crazy head. And Alice is holding the mallet and jam when the Queen finally clears her eyes. 

Winston bangs his head on the judges bench in defeat, at the sight of the mayhem.

“OFFF with-” the Queen interrupts herself, as Alice hurriedly stuffs her face with two pieces of something you don’t recognise. Her eyes go wide for a moment, as  her muscles twitch and her body contorts in places. She then grows over a mile high. Because of how rapidly she grew, you end up on the giantess Alice’s shoulders. 

<Oh, are you alright?> Alice asks, concerned. You give her a thumbs up in reply as the nausea in your gut trembles, before giving way. Now calmed, knowing one of her few friends here are okay, Alice focuses her attention on the tyrant whose red face has gone pale. <And as for you, Your Majesty….’Your Majesty,’ indeed!> The mushroom that Alice ate causes her to grow as tall as the trial room ceiling is high. You cling to her shoulder with your nails, not wanting to fall from this height. What crack did you smoke last night to dream this? Anyway,  Alice takes her moment to finally tell off the pompous queen, with all the confidence that a seven year old can have. 

The queen shrinks back in surprise at the seven-year old’s new size, and Alice chooses this to be the time to finally tell off the tyrant. 

<Why, you’re not a queen. You’re just a fat, pompous, bad-tempered old ty…tyrant…> As if Alice couldn’t get any more unlucky, the mushroom’s magic wears off as she starts to lay down the facts. Her confidence dies as she shrinks back to size.  You tumble off of Alice’s shoulder as she shrinks smaller and smaller. And the longer she speaks, the more the Queen’s glare gets more and more murderous.

<Mmhmmhmmhmm….> You, even at this distance, can see the fear painting across the King’s face and worry on Alice’s. This isn’t good, and the longer the Queen holds that note the more grim those looks become. You embrace the shaking girl. You can hear her whimpers of ear the longer this draws out. <What were you saying, my dear?>

A cat pops onto the head of the Queen, reminding you of Chenya even with the black and white, who parrots the, now shaking, Alice’s words. <Well, she simply said that you’re a fat, pompous, bad tempered old tyrant!> The cat cackles, as the Queen’s face turns red, contrasting the black and white.

<OOOOOOFFF with her head!!!>

You watch as the card soldiers jump from their seats to descend on the two of you as Alice clings to you for dear life, as the card shoulders dive to deliver her to her death sentence. 

But before the avalanche of card soldiers obscure everything from view, you can hear the King of Hearts beg his wife and captor to spare the poor girl. <Darling she’s just a child!>

And then the world blurs.

You’re back in your bed. Alice isn’t in your arms anymore, instead it’s Grim.

Why won’t anyone stop the queen? Someone could have stopped her.

AND THEN YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOUR EXIT!! FUCK!

Great. Winston had promised to help you if you helped Alice. And now you can’t go back till you go to bed! And that’s if Alice hasn’t gone home or lost her head yet! YAY!

You groan before sitting up, not expecting the violent pain in your neck. You then hiss in pain, just barely managing to massage the flesh locked under the collar. 

What a great way to start the morning. 

But there was some good news. The tyrant queen will get called out for her tyranny. That’s something to look forward to at the duel today. Still doesn’t make you feel any better though. 

“Ugh, Great.” You rub the exhaustion out of your eyes, to be face to face with Grim. 

“Hey, ____! Ah, good, you’re already up!” 

“Didn’t exactly have the best sleep.” Maybe you should tell grim about your dreams, just in case. But that’s a later thing, “Ready to get these collars off?” 

“Yeah!”

Back at the tyrant’s castle, er, Heartslabyul, the residents have all gathered in the magical battlegrounds within the rose garden. Why someone built a magical battlefield in the middle of a flammable rose maze must have been a tyrant themselves, because why someone didn’t bring up the flammable part at some point during the dorm’s construction was a question you’re not stupid enough to come up with an answer to.

Speaking of tyrants, Riddle must have gone on a power trip stoked by his tantrum yesterday. Because the number of students wearing collars, minus or plus Ace and Deuce pick one, has to have doubled in one night. Seriously, a good quarter of the audience has to be wearing collars. 

And because of said collars, this duel is going to go south real fast. Because Riddle’s already fucking cheating with his signature spell. Seriously, magic nullification should not be allowed in duels like this but for some reason it is.

But back to the duel of the century, for just Heartslabyul. The dorm residents have been gossiping since your group’s arrival….

“Did you hear? They say someone’s challenged Dorm Leader Rosehearts to a duel!”

“Riddle Rosehearts? Seriously?! Whoever it is has gotta be outta his mind. Riddle will have his head off in five seconds flat.”

…about how stupid this decision was. You mean, you agree, but they’re the ones living under a tyrant. Have a little positivity, everyone. 

Thankfully, there are few who have held onto the aforementioned positivity. 

“Still, it’s the first challenge since Rosehearts took power. I’m pumped!” In your opinion, the dorm should be like that guy. That guy has a little faith.

Also, Trey apparently didn’t warn Cater about the duel that was probably going viral on Heartslabyul’s Magicam, because he looks completely shocked as you told him about the shit preparing to hit the fan.  “You’re saying Ace and Deuce are challenging Riddle for the dorm leader’s seat?! Please tell me you’re kidding!”

You sigh, “I’m not, Cater. Wish I was.”

“We tried to stop ‘em.” Correction, Trey. YOU tried to stop them, he sat there and did nothing like with Riddle. Seriously, the bystander effect is strong with Trey; it's like he’s afraid of saying something when he needs to. Did Riddle’s mom traumatize him too!?

Cater looks positively miserable at the revelation. “Of all the stupid ideas…I just hope this doesn’t make everything worse.”

“You and me both.” Trey agrees, but now you're both curious and concerned. Just how much worse is worse?

Crowley’s clearing of his throat silences the crowd’s chatter. Kinda concerning that he's more focused on two students dueling a dorm leader than the rampant abuse of power that’s going on in this dorm, but whatever it’s not like negligence is a crime or something. Though it probably isn’t given your experience so far. 

“We are about to commence two challenges for the dorm leader position at Heartslabyul House.” He announces as grandiose as possible. “The first challenger is Ace Trappola, the second challenger is Deuce Spade. The current housewarden they have challenged is Riddle Rosehearts.”

“Now, in accordance with the duel rules, please remove the magic-sealing collars as they would provide an unfair disadvantage.” Oh, you were waiting for that.

Riddle snaps his fingers and the collars dissolve away into sparks, leaving behind red marks around Ace and Deuce’s necks. Given Ace has been stuck in that thing for two nights you can’t imagine the relief he must feel. “Ah! FINALLY, the dumb collar is off!”

Yours and Grim’s are still on though. Oh, did he just forget that you and Grim were collateral damage to yesterday’s rampage? You can feel your rage rising. 

“Enjoy your moment of freedom. The collar will be back on soon enough.” Riddle’s cocky smirk looks so punchable, and you feel an itch in your fingers. Still cockiness might be his downfall. 

But before that…..

“Hey, Rosehearts!” You call out, “ Just to point something out,” You say as sarcastically and humorlessly as possible, “could you please remove mine and Grim’s. We’re not even in your dorm!” Riddle sighs, as if you’ve been bugging him about this for hours, before finally unlocking the literal weight around your and Grim’s necks. And you breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” The ‘Asshole’ part goes unsaid, for fear of making this worse.

Now, that the cone of shame on your neck is gone you can let them return back to the pre-duel banter. “Carry on.” You say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

Riddle hmphs, returning his focus back to his two challengers. “I could hardly believe it when I heard you two intended to duel me. Is this a joke?”

There’s a “Do I look like I’m joking?” from Ace and a “I’d never propose a duel as a joke!” from Deuce. They’re not backing down now. 

“Hmph. Have it your way. Let us get this over with.” Indeed, let’s get this over with, because you might have a room to clear out when this eventually fizzles out. That doesn’t mean you won’t cheer for Ace and Deuce, Bravery is still something to praise even if it’s on par with stupidity.

But like before, Cater intervenes when he really shouldn’t, “Uh, Riddle, what do you want to do about today's afternoon tea?”

“A foolish question. You know that the rules stipulate I take my tea everyday at 4 PM sharp.” Oh, so he’s cocky that he can finish this in, what, thirty minutes. 

“It’s just that it’s already past 3:30….”

“And you fear that I will be late? All the more reason to end this promptly.” So he’s very cocky. You can only hope it will be his downfall. 

“It appears I have little time to waste. Rather than facing my opponents in succession, I will take on both at once.” Oh. Wow, he’s…..he’s arrogant if he thinks that. Well, Ace and Deuce are probably screwed. 

The cheers of the dorm residents fill the air as stiff and empty as they were yesterday. 

“You can do it, Dorm Leader!”

“Knock ‘em dead, sir!”

You can see Trey shake his head to your  right, so he still hasn’t said anything. Coward.

“Cowards,” you hear Deuce say, and you agree, because you’re looking right at one. To say that you don’t want to hurt his feelings after a hard time, when you’re letting him force that hard time onto others is the definition of cowardice.

“Myah, I got a bad feelin’ about this.” You squeeze Grim tighter. 

“I do too, Grim.” 

“Hey, at least we got a plan!” A plan that already hangs on by a thread, Ace but you’ll accept his confidence. 

“Headmaster, please give us the signal.” Riddle’s already sure of his victory even before it starts, and he might be right, but a part of you wants him to suffer, just a little.

“When the mirror, I’ve thrown shatters upon the ground, that is your signal to begin. Ready…Go!” 

“You guys can do it!” You offer them some encouragement, but….

“OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!” You saw the way this battle ends from miles away.

If you're being generous, you’ll call that another deja vu moment. This insanity of constant ‘beheadings’ is starting to become grating. But, you hope the ending of the calling out part comes sooner rather than later. 

“That was…..fast.” You say glumly, it’s sad that they failed so quickly but at least they tried. It had to be, what, 5 seconds into the duel before the collars locked on and it was over. Saddening, upsetting but expected. 

Well, now what?

“Visualization is key to spell casting.” Crowley starts an unhelpful speech about magic. It’s not really helpful in this situation, because if Riddle has his way from now on Ace and Deuce are going to be wearing those collars till Riddle graduates. “The better you are at accurately visualizing your magic’s effect, the stronger and more precise it will be.”

“They lost in less than ten seconds, you’re not helping Crowley.” You point out the explicitly obvious, because it doesn’t fucking matter about how visualisation is important when a. They lost before they cast a single spell, and b. They can’t even use their magic to practice now. “Still, it would appear Mr.Rosehearts has finely honed his magic.” Ouch, salt in the wound. Stroke the tyrant’s ego even more too. Crowley’s just batting zero right now. 

“Myah…They didn’t stand a chance.” Grim bemoans at the loss. 

You sigh, “Well at least they tried….” it wasn’t really an attempt even but at the very least. You force a smile on your face as you approach your two friends, “You guys did your best, or were going to your best..” You add unhelpfully, before giving them each a gentle smile. . You might have to just let them stay it seems.

Ace opens his mouth to reply but someone else does to add their unhelpful commentary. “Hardly. They didn’t even last five seconds.” You can hear Ace and Deuce growl as you turn to face the cocky tyrant. 

 That cocky, self-righteous brat keeps adding his unwanted opinion. “That was all you had, and still you thought to challenge me? You must be utterly humiliated.”

You glare at him, “You won already. Stop rubbing it in.”

Riddle’s too high on his high horse to seem to be aware of what happens below. “I guess my mother was right. A man who cannot follow rules is a man who cannot achieve anything.” You’re going to put a knife between that woman’s eyes if you ever meet up. Mommy undearest’s parenting has screwed him up so much that he’s doing the same thing to the people he lives with.

If Ace or Deuce actually won this battle he probably would have been run out of the dorm.

“Tch…We agree that rules should be followed. But forcing others to follow nonsensical rules like the ones you’ve enacted is tyranny!” 

“Then you agree that breaking the rules is wrong. And in this dorm, I AM the rules.” Is…is he serious? Did he miss the second part of Deuce’s sentence? “Therefore, those who cannot abide by my decisions deserve not the heads they use to complain!”

You had enough of this.

You’ve bit your tongue bloody, thanks to this brat’s tyranny.  You've been inconvenienced again and again because of his pretentious and frankly ridiculous rules.

 Screw manners, screw survival, and screw this red-haired little absolutist pain the ass! “But that’s not right! You can’t just use the rules to do whatever you please!” You yell in fury. 

“I am the one who decides what is wrong and right-”

You cut him off. “And you’re also a pain in the neck and the ass, that pretends he’s the perfect student that can do no wrong, because mommy said so!” His eyes widen in shock as you finally, finally go off the leash you tethered to yourself this entire time. And you’re not done. “How can you be so blinded by your own delusions that you can’t even see how unreasonable it is to follow, frankly, the most STUPID of rules!?!” You can feel your cheeks warming and the blood in your ears roaring in boiling hot fury. You can feel someone try to calm your rage with a hand, Deuce’s, on your shoulder. You’re pissed and tired and angry and what does he do?

He continues talking like you didn’t say anything. “If there were no penalties, no one would follow the rules.” You;re going to punch him. 

“You!-” What he says next cuts your thoughts and words off completely.

“What sort of pitiful education have you received, that you cannot follow such simple rules? Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. As a result…you lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It’s quite sad.”

You blink, taken aback. The rage in you is stunned into pacification. 

He did not. 

He did not just say that about you.

“You-” You can’t even string your thoughts together completely stunned. You can forgive someone being unreasonableYou feel something different from rage, something stronger, boiling inside you. 

“You little…” Deuce releases you, prepared to pummel the tyrant into the ground but…..

“You shut your spoiled little mouth!” Ace dashes forward fist raised and-

He punches Riddle clean across the face. 

Hard enough to knock Riddle off his feet. Ace quite literally beat Deuce to the punch. 

So many voices speak up in shock and surprise at Riddle, the untouchable dorm leader, finally eating his just desserts. Right in the face too.

You don’t say anything, staring at what’s about to unfold, with a blank expression.

“That’s all I can take. Forget Riddle. Forget the duel. I’m done.” Just like Alice in your dreams last night, calls out the now stunned red sovereign.

“That hurt! You…p-punched me?!” Riddle’s genuinely stunned. Is stunned by his house of cards finally starting to collapse around him? You can’t bring yourself to care. 

Ace spits some facts. 

“Kids aren’t trophies for their parents to flaunt. And the accomplishments of a child aren’t determined by the worth of their parents. It’s  not your parents’ fault you became a tyrant -or anyone else’s. You’ve been here a year and haven’t even made a friend who will tell you you’re outta line. And that’s on you.”

“What are you even talking about?” 

“Yeah, maybe you had some rigid upbringing from a relentless helicopter-mom. Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can’t you think for yourself? You call yourself the ‘red sovereign’. You’re just a baby who’s good at magic.”

“Baby…? Did you just call me a ‘baby’?! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about anything!” But despite the honest truths that Ace is trying to make the pretentious tyrant hear for what has to be the first time in his life, Riddle refuses to listen.

“Nope, sure don’t. And I don’t need to. Your attitude tells me all I need to know- that you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!” Ace doesn’t let up on the lecture Riddle probably needed to hear last year. 

Riddle’s face is starting to turn pink from his blind anger. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP! My mother was right! And that means I’m right too!” Riddle practically roars in anger. He’s shaking from barely repressed rage. 

Trey steps between them to prevent what has to be a near disaster, trying to pacify the screaming tyrant. “Riddle, calm down. The duel is already over.”

“Mr. Clover is correct.” Crowley  The challenger has been disqualified due to physical violence. If you do not cease your conflict now, I’ll have you written up for breaking school rules!” But even with the threat of breaking his own personal rules and being a rule breaker himself doesn’t soothe his rage. It doesn’t matter here anyway, because as long as no one is willing to stand up to-

“Ace is right, though! I’ve had enough of Riddle!” A voice in the crowd shouts, and he throws something small aimed directly at Riddle’s head.

An egg cracks in Riddle’s hair. Egg goop trails down his face. You fight back a laugh with all your willpower. Well, color you impressed. The card soldiers aren't completely useless, brain dead drones. 

For half a second everyone is frozen solid. And then the egg practically cooks on Riddle’s face as he searches for the offender, completely infuriated. “Who did that? Who threw that egg?!”

And this time, the silence feels both suffocating and glorious. At least the cowards have finally stood up for themselves, at least a little. Unfortunately Riddle, instead of taking the obvious hint the egg to the face was, he laughs. And it’s not a composed one.

“Heh heh…Ah ha ha ha!”  It’s an insane one.

Riddle snaps at all of the now cowering dorm students“You say YOU’RE fed up?! I’M the one who’s fed up with all of YOU!” 

“No matter how strict I am, no matter how many heads I remove, you keep breaking the rules! All any of you care about is doing what YOU want to do! If the guilty party won’t come forward, then I’ll pass judgment on all of you!”

“Clearly, none of you value your heads! OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!!!” Like a tyrant gone wild, collars lock on to every single one of the residents' necks, save Trey and Cater, sealing off their magic.  You’re getting real tired of hearing that. 

The Heartslabyul residents scatter like headless, heh pun unintended but fitting, chickens. “Bwaaah! Let’s get out of here!” “Urrrgh!” 

Riddle, reassured that his tyranny will last,  shoves past Ace to rub in his ‘victory’ to Ace.“How do you like that, hm? Now no one can do a thing to me! Do you see now? My strict adherence to the rules was clearly the correct path!”

Crowley still does nothing to calm, or now that Riddle’s actually broken some rules, to punish Riddle for this insanity. “Cease this improper behavior now, Mr. Rosehearts. I expect better from you!”

“Crowley, could you maybe actually do something!?!” You finally point out the utter stupidity of him not doing anything while Riddle literally abuses his power. 

“Uh…Trey, if he keeps using his spell…This could get ugly, fast!” You barely hear Cater over the chaos.

Trey does, still trying to separate the fuming  Riddle away from Ace and a catastrophe. “Riddle, stop this!”

Ace might be perspective but he’s incapable of reading the room when shit really starts to go bad. “Wow, way to totally prove me wrong here, pal! I call you a baby and you immediately throw a temper tantrum!”

Riddle’s face goes deep crimson. “Retract your comment immediately, or I shall skewer you where you stand!” He yells. 

This might not be good.

Ace doesn’t let up “No way. I ain’t retraction’ squat.”

Face red, eyes full of rage and mania, Riddle’s reached the point of fury where words are impossible and yells of anger are the only sounds that can be made. “YEEEAAARGH!!!”

“Dude, this is bad! You’ve G-2-G, now!” You feel a hand on your wrist, Cater's, dragging you away from the rampaging tyrant.

And then you're blinded by the debris.The earth shakes for too long as the rose bushes are yanked out of the earth, the fragile yet heavy bushes floating high in the air. Ripped up from their earth , roots and all, and float in mid-air. The roses and their thorny brambles writhe under Riddle’s magic.

Debris and dirt float through the air, alongside the rose bushes. 

“W…Whoa…” You take a nervous step back, “Shit.” 

“The rose trees! They’re floating!”

“This is some serious magic!”

The roses and their brambles might not be the strongest weapon, but Riddle’s magical strength is powerful, as you watch the roses and branches become arrows, perfect for tearing flesh from bone and crushing the rest. 

“Mighty roses, tear this brute to pieces!” Riddle yells, completely blinded at his anger. The roses, thorns and all fly like arrows aimed directly at Ace. A deadly shot, if it lands.

“Ace! MOVE!” You dash forward, but a pair of arms are around your waist holding you back from the barrage of arrows aimed at your friend. You look around frantically and you see who’s stopping you from helping the first friend you made here. It’s Deuce. When did he get next to you? Nevermind. “Lemme go! Ace needs help!” 

Deuce shakes his head with a remorseful expression. “I can’t let you get hurt!”

Since you can’t get to Ace, “Crowley! DO something!” You yell at the Headmaster who’s done jack diddly since Riddle’s tantrum progressed into hemorrhage. All he’s done here is politely ask Riddle to stop, and Ace might actually die if Riddle keeps at this. 

“Cease and desist at once!” Crowley doesn’t do anything, but yells at him to stop, and Riddle’s already too angry to listen.

But it’s too late for any one to push Ace out of the way, 

“ACE!” You can’t even shut your eyes as the roses and brambles come down. You take back every thing you’ve ever said about Ace, and this world if it means you don’t witness him being killed….

…..By playing cards?

Instead of roses and their thorns tearing Ace to shreds….playing cards fall from the sky.

“Huh? I’m still alive?” Ace is as stunned as you and everyone else here. 

Deuce is probably as stunned as you, because his arms go limp, and you practically tackle Ace, “Are you okay!?” Your arms and legs are jelly from adrenaline, but you manage to stumble over and check him over with trembling hands. 

“Y-Yeah,”He answers and you sigh in clear relief.  What’s with all these playing cards?”

“All the rose trees turned into cards?” Deuce is right, All the roses and their brambles are gone. Instead it’s all playing cards. And nothing more. How did that even happen?!

Wait. Deja vu again, this keeps happening. Cards falling against an innocent. But there’s no time for that. 

Because Riddle’s face is murderous, and his grip on his magical staff is so tight it could have snapped in half. He raises it again, prepared to recast as “Why didn’t you-”

Deuce dives in between you and Ace, to act as human shield but Trey stops him, shielding you all from Riddle’s view. “Riddle, stop this right now!” Oh, so NOW Trey decides enough is enough, murder was the last straw. Wonderful. 

“Wait, is that Trey’s ‘Paint the Roses’?! But…how?!” You can hear a confused Cater, and thank goodness, because Trey saved Ace’s life. 

“All the magic sealin’ collars are gone!” Grim’s right, You didn’t even notice in the mayhem. Ace and Deuce, and probably all the Heartslabyul residents, all have their magic-sealing collars removed. 

“What did I tell you? My magic can overwrite characteristics for a short time. So I used it to make ‘Riddle’s magic’ into ‘my magic’.” Trey’s explanation lets you breathe a sigh of genuine relief. At least now, Riddle is defenseless.

“You can do that? That’s some kinda loophole!” And a lucky loophole to test on someone about to die.

Meanwhile in Crazy town, Riddle’s discovered his magic’s no longer his own. “N-no…Off with their heads! I SAID, off with their heads!” Every attempt Riddle makes to cut off everyone’s magic just causes more and more playing cards to fly out. But depending on how short the time Trey’s magic can work, that might not be for long. Especially with how many times Riddle tries recasting. 

Trey finally puts his foot down. “Riddle, stop. Can’t you see how you look right now?”

You can’t believe that this is what it took to finally open the eyes of the residents. Ace nearly being murdered because Riddle’s ego got bruised. At least now, their eyes have been opened to the true extent of Riddle’s cruelty. 

Which they decide to vocalize in the presence of the tyrant with the bruised ego. They’re not very smart. are they? 

“He…he was really gonna do it!” “He is completely out of control.” “He’s like some kinda monster!”

Thankfully, and unfortunately, Riddle isn’t focused on that. Instead, he’s more concerned with the fact that his magic isn’t his anymore. And Trey is the reason. “What? Was my magic overwritten by yours? Does that mean your signature spell is stronger than mine?!” He demands, turning on the only one who ever really defended him in his madness. 

“Of course it doesn’t. Riddle, take a deep breath and listen to us.” Trey tries to reason, but it’s too late for Riddle to be reasonable, with him already lost in the throes of his anger.

You start to feel a chill up your spine, like back in the mines with that monster. But why are you-

Still completely unreasonable, Riddle’s still deaf to Trey's words, “Are YOU going to tell me that I’m wrong too? After all I’ve done to protect the rule of law?! Do you know how much I’ve suffered for this?! I…I refuse to believe this!” That chill gets worse, and the ominous and malicious feeling you’re getting from Riddle gets worse. Something much darker. A line of dark blood drips from Riddle’s nose. Wait, that’s not blood. Blood isn’t….black.

You might be angry about earlier, but unlike Riddle, you haven’t lost your wits. You can tell when things are nose-diving into a downward spiral at terminal velocity. Because the longer Riddle spits his mad ravings, the more of that black stuff comes out.

You normally wouldn’t do this, mostly because you want to punch the bastard. But that inky stuff has to be a bad omen. “Riddle, you need to calm down.” You try to soothe the raging beast, even though you’re sure that this is a bad idea. “You don’t want to be a rulebreaker, right? So just calm down and we’ll talk this out.”

“Wha-OW!” Ace looks at you as if you’d gone insane too, but you elbowed him harshly in the gut. 

Riddle’s angry glare falls on you. And you could see the veins starting to twitch under his skin. If he gets any more angry, then he might have a stroke. “ I! AM NOT! A RULE BREAKER!” He yells, his own rage leaving him breathless. “AND YOU! OF ALL PEOPLE! HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT!”

“I’m just trying to calm you down, you don’t really want to break the rules by hurting anyone, do you?” You hope he doesn’t actually want to hurt anyone. Plus, you’re really not ready to witness someone’s death. 

Riddle’s face is so red, it looks like it might explode. And his glare could kill you and cook the remains with how fiery it is. 

He snaps, his voice laden with venom. 

“YOU! DARLINGS LIKE YOU! ARE WHY WE NEED THE RULES! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT TO ME!”

…..What.

Did he just- 

No way, he just did. He did. 

Shit. Shit...SHIT. 

FUCK YOU, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS!

You did NOT go through all that shit for him to reveal it to everyone here in a fit of rage. No fuck him, fuck this, whatever shit he has going on can wait because you need this bastard’s neck to be the other way round. 

You feel fire burn under your skin. You’re gonna-

“Wait, wha-” You hear , and you don’t even have the ability to freeze up in terror. Because you gotta disperse the potential nightmare of Ace and Deuce finding out. Even if they don’t believe him, the doubt will remain. So you’re basically fried. 

“It’s nothing!” You frantically yell to cut off whatever Ace or  Deuce were going to say as fast as you can as you feel your heart speed up in total panic.  You’ll be lucky if they think this is a psychotic rambling of a raging tyrant. This just keeps getting worse and worse for you. 

If Riddle doesn’t get killed in this madness, then he owes you an apology and you owe him a big, fat fist to the face. 

Meanwhile as you prepare for your own mental breakdown, Crowley maintains his complete and utter uselessness, even though he probably has the power to stop this. “Cease immediately, Mr. Rosehearts! Any further attempt to use magic will leave your magestone completely tainted with blot!”

What is blot?! 

And why is Riddle-

“But….I’m right! I’M the one who’s right! There is NO! POSSIBLE! ALTERNATIVE!” Thick, black inky substance  comes out of his eyes and ears. 

“Riddle, stop!” Trey’s words can’t pull Riddle out of his madness and likely never will. 

Because all that black ink dripping out of nearly every pore, staining his skin and clothes, pools around him for only a few seconds. Before it engulfs him, swallowing him whole. 

And like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a horrific butterfly…..

…..he comes out a monster.

Like a horrible chrysalis bursting open, Riddle comes out changed. 

His skin is so pallid, the color could have been mistaken for bone. A red flame is positioned over his right eye, glowing an unnatural color. The ink that bleed out of his skin sticks to his arm and face like tar. And most identifiably, he’s dressed like the Queen of Hearts. Sort of, if she was beheaded and her body was thrown in her beloved rose garden to be torn apart by the hedgehogs. (A fitting fate in your eyes)

The tyrant has changed to match his predecessor, both over-controlling monsters. 

But that’s not the most terrifying part of it. 

There’s also the giant hulking beast tethered to Riddle’s back.  And that’s the most defining feature. Because that thing matches your dreams of the Queen of Hearts. The monster is dressed in a dress nearly identical to the one from your second dream. She’s even carrying a rose bush, torn from another world’s ground.

This is not good. And you’re suddenly very afraid of what will happen next.

The possessed? Riddle cackles, “You are fools to defy me! You are not welcome in my world. In my world, I am the law. I am order made manifest!” His voice is warped and distorted as if someone otherworldly is speaking through him.

“The only response I will accept from you is ‘Yes, Dorm Leader Riddle.’ All who defy me will lose their heads! Ah ha ha ha HA!” 

“Dear me, what have I done? I’ve allowed a student to overblot in my presence!” What the fuck is overblot!?

“Crowley? What the HELL is overblot!?” You demand an explanation to this madness, because Riddle is both a monster, and has a massive monster connected to his spine. Seriously, what the shit is this!?!

“Overblot is a dangerous condition that mages must avoid at all costs. At the moment, he is overcome by negative energy and has lost control of his magic and emotions.”

“Okay but what does that mean?!” 

“Please explain!”

“To put it in layman’s terms, he’s in evil berserker mode!”

“If he keeps releasing magical energy, we could be looking at a loss of life here- his included.” 

“WHAT!” You feel your eye twitch, “CROWLEY! WHY DIDN’T YA JUST TELL ME ALL THIS SHIT WHEN I GOT HERE!!” It can’t be that hard, can it? How hard is it to give the unfortunate transfer student from another world or dimension a simple crash-course of ‘hey, here’s some things you should know about our world!’, for crap’s sake. 

“Ms. ____-” 

“Nevermind, Crowley! We’ll deal with the evil giant monster thing now, I’ll freak out later!” And freak out you will. Riddle outed you, overblotted and could kill someone or multiple someones if this shit goes south. Forget punching him, you’re going to beat him so bad that smug arrogant face of his will be unrecognizable when you're done with him.You are fucking tired of this shit already, and when you think it’s bad it just gets worse.

“Yes! The well-being of my students is my top priority. Therefore, I must evacuate them immediately.”

“Y-You’re not staying?”. You say weakly. Was the bar for headmaster requirements in hell? Yes, there is a giant monster/dorm leader attacking the running and hiding Heartslabyul residents but this is a MAGIC school for shit’s sake. “No, but as for Mr.Rosehearts, we must restore his consciousness before his magical energy runs dry.” Damnit Crowley! “For as bad as losing him would be, there are scenarios that are far worse…” WHAT’S WORSE?!?!

“Listen well: I need all of you to seek help from the other housewardens and members of faculty.” But how the hell are going to all evacuate and summon the other housewardens if Riddle is-

While the exposition dump was happening, the beast behind Riddle follows his body movements, and still fueled by all the anger that caused this whole mess to start in the first place, raises the rose bush like a club, prepared to strike down one of the unfortunate Heartslabyul students.

Ace and Deuce finally allowed to use their magic, do what they’ve wanted to do since yesterday. Strike the pretentious dorm leader down.

“HIIYAH! TAKE THAT!” A strong magical gust knocks the beast’s weapon away from its original target. And annoys the furious Riddle. 

“Huh!? Trey, Cater and Crowley look and sound bewildered at the attack, but you feel a rush of pride. 

“I summon thee, cauldron!” Deuce takes advantage of Riddle’s change in focus to strike. With his infamous cauldron spell. Riddle manages to dodge it, but at least he’s not attacking the students any more!

“MYAH!” Grim leaps out of your arms to join the attacks, sending a wave of blue fire along with Ace and Deuce’s own attacks. 

Now even more pissed ( a surprise to be honest) Riddle fumes at their lack of submission. “What do you fools think you’re doing?”

“Um, hello?! 911? We’ve got an idiot emergency!” Cater’s internet talk doesn’t fade in times of high stress.

Grim, acting unlike his usual selfish self, actually points out the most frightening part of this, “You DID hear that part about how reeeal bad things are happenin’ with him, right?!”

“That’s why we need to stop him now! I don’t want that on my conscience!” Yah, Riddle straight up sucks but risking the deaths of others to save yourself from certain death is cowardly, and unlike the rampager, you’re not a hypocrite. 

“And I’m not givin’ up till I hear him say, ‘I was wrong and I’m sorry.’”

You’re convinced, “Yeah, he owes me an apology for the shit he put me through!!”

“All right, let’s do this. I can overwrite his magic for a little longer. In the meantime, do what you can! Headmage, please evacuate the other students!”

“Wait! This is dangerous!”

“Are you S-R-S, Trey? You can’t beat Riddle!”

“So what, you’re not even gonna fight unless you KNOW you can win?”

“Yeah, he’s right. That’s weak.”

“This is the only way we can think of to snap him out of this!”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose him. There’re too many things I’ve left unsaid.”

“We just have to do this, whatever it takes!” You might not be able to do magic, but you’ll help….somehow. 

“Ugh, I do NOT like or subscribe to this, but fine!”

Ngh…I’ll be back as soon as I’ve gotten the students to safety. Stand firm until then!”

“Such defiance, from every last one of you! I shall take all of your heads!”

“Riddle’s body can’t take much more of this. We need to stop him before it’s too late!”

Things are going…..well enough. 

Because how in every layer of hell can you describe this? At all? It’s not everyday that you watch a magician go into berserker mode and try to kill his ‘underlings’ or really equals he’s un/knowingly been abusing for who knows how long?

Here’s the good news. 

Trey’s magic makes the fight easier for them. Replacing Riddle’s UM makes the battle actually possible. 

Cater’s Spilt Card, makes the perfect distraction ones, that he can use as human shields as Riddle strikes.

Even Ace, Deuce and Grim’s inexperience manages to turn the tide. Wind, cauldrons and fire join a barrage of more sophisticated and more complicated spells of the third-years is the perfect combination of brute strength and complicated strategy. 

But here’s the bad news. 

Riddle’s fast. Very fast. 

For every one spell the others cast, Riddle can cast two. and moves twice as fast to replace every one Trey replaces. Which should be impossible with all of his magical energy and life force being drained away but it seems whether he’s a horrific monster or a tyrannical dictator, he’s still a magical prodigy.

What your friends need is a distraction. And they need one fast. And while you might not have magic, you’re not completely powerless here. 

Why? 

Because Riddle’s earlier pique was kind enough to dislodge plenty of stones that once were the floor of the battle ground. Small and light enough for you to carry. Large and heavy enough to leave a nasty bruise or a nice headache.

All you hope is that you have good aim. Because this better land right in the face. 

Even with the hail of magic sending wind, ice, fire, cauldrons and other magical bursts in Riddle’s direction, you’re safely hidden in the background and the beast attached to him is otherwise preoccupied with the aforementioned magic, so it’s easy to sneak away. 

You wrap your hand around one of the loose stones of the destroyed battlegrounds, and sneak behind the bushes till you’re a good distance away from the others with a broad distance away from him and that monster. “Hey Rosehearts!” You yell.

He turns to you with a death glare that could actually cut off your head. But as soon as his gaze has fallen on you, you throw the stone as hard as you can.

It hits him square in the forehead. 

Riddle doesn’t even have the time to cry out in pain, as he and the phantom monster stumble back, dazed.

“HA! Take that you controlling bastard!” Sure, you’re saving his life in the process, but considering he just outed you, kicking his ass through this is actually one hell of a relief.

Everyone takes advantage of the distraction you made to send another barrage of magic against Riddle. Still dazed from your strike to his head, probably combined with the damage the overblot was taking on his body, he’s much slower. 

So now, every strike lands without fail, and Riddle barely has time to retaliate now. And that changes the tide of the battle. 

With every new strike, the monster’s body starts to distort and parts of its body start to writhe and twist. The darkness glowing underneath starts to distort and warp. The roots holding it to Riddle's body start to sever. The monster’s distorted roars start to soften, turning weaker. 

“Is it over?” You ask. You feel safe enough to go closer, now that the monster’s body starts to sway and collapse. Riddle looks like he’s about to pass out. “Is he going to die?”

“He better not. He still needs to apologize to me!” Ace 

You sigh in relief for half a second. And the blot around Riddle swarms him. 

You don’t know what switched on within you. You hate this guy. You want to see him suffer a little, or more specifically a lot.

“Henchman!” 

So you don’t know why you ran when you did, or why you grabbed Riddle’s wrist like a vice right before his body disappeared into the mess of dark ink. You grabbed on as tight as you can,  just as the monster finally burst. 

Thick ink, scalding hot like Riddle’s burning rage, hits your skin and burns your face. You scream in reflex, and your mouth burns from the hot, bitter ink entering it. You choke on the blot. It burns. It coats you, covers you, drowns you and your vision swims. But your grip doesn’t let up. 

“_____!!!” You hear many voices screaming your name. But you can’t see them. The burning black ink falls like rain, obscuring your friends from view.

All you can feel is that overwhelmingly painful and smothering burn of the ink…but the last thing your senses pick up on before you pass out isn’t the burn on your skin, the bitterness in your mouth, or the voices of your friends.

It’s a voice.

“I…was wrong?! But that’s…impossible…”

A sad, anguished voice. The sad, anguished voice of Riddle Rosehearts.

“Isn’t it….Mother?”

[fear-is-truth]

How would Patrick react to you getting pregnant?

getting knocked up by patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; unplanned pregnancy (duh), intrusive thoughts, suggestive, not proofread at all

a/n: i finished writing this then forgot about its existence lol. anyways, safe sex is important !!

if you’re already married:

patrick’s reaction to the pregnancy would be shaped by his obsession with image. being 27 and married, he’d likely face pressure from his colleagues. he’s the quintessential wall street yuppie: the suit, the power, the status. kids? they’re just another box to check for the perfect american dream.

he’d flip from denial to forced enthusiasm, playing the role of the expectant father. he’d talk about starting a college fund, buying a bigger apartment, even hiring the best nanny money can buy. it wouldn’t be about the baby itself, though—it’s about appearances. patrick would treat the pregnancy like he treats his designer wardrobe: another accessory to show off.

in private, he’d still be unraveling. he’d resent the disruption to his routine, the messiness a baby would bring. but he’d also feel trapped. divorce or walking away isn’t an option—how would that look? his friends are your friends, after all. patrick would pour his insecurities into overcompensation, obsessively showering you with gifts and planning every detail of your life.

but behind closed doors, he would remain emotionally unavailable most of the time. he’d throw himself into his work, his gym routine, anything to avoid facing the reality of impending fatherhood.

he’d have a mental meltdown over your body changing—obsessing over how “the weight is distributed” while simultaneously marveling (inappropriately) at how your chest looks fuller. (“…better than any breast implants”), the way your skin glows, but also how your clothes fit differently. he doesn’t even try to hide his vanity. “you’re still beautiful, obviously,” he adds quickly, “but maybe we should talk to a trainer after the baby is born. just to make sure you bounce back quickly.”

he’d absolutely flip between moments of pathetic awkwardness and his usual cold arrogance. for example, he’d randomly caress your growing belly, but then suddenly blurt out “your… tits looks great, but do stretch marks happen to everyone?”

he’s constantly offering unsolicited opinions about your diet and fitness routine. he’s the husband who insists you on buying expensive organic groceries and then criticises you for craving something as mundane as ice cream. but when you do cry about it (because hormones), he panics and makes the whole situation awkward.

if you dare deny him sex because of pregnancy hormones, patrick would sulk like a child. but then quickly bounce back to showering you with gifts to stay on your good side.

patrick’s jealousy of your attention is borderline absurd. he starts competing with the baby before it’s even born, constantly reminding you of his accomplishments.

maternal clothes for you are only the best—chanel, hermès, and gucci maternity collections. he refuses to let you look frumpy. if you wear anything “off-brand,” he’ll throw passive-aggressive comments like “are you trying to look like a suburban soccer mom?”. also, he’d browse catalogs and stores for gucci, armani and burberry baby clothes.

the nursery is black & white and minimalist—think pristine white walls, sleek italian furniture, and splashes of gray for “warmth.” no toys that clash with the aesthetic. he insists on vitra rocking chairs, fendi baby blankets, and a custom crib.

patrick spends hours making sure the initials won’t spell something embarrassing and that the full name looks good on a business card.

he’d pick out names that scream “old money”. for boys: theodore, alexander, nathaniel. for girls: charlotte, victoria, isabelle, madeleine, genevieve, anastasia.

his obsession with control would bleed into the smallest details. he’d blast his favorite music at your presence—huey lewis & the news, whitney houston, or talking heads—arguing it’s “good for the baby’s development,” while monologuing about how these artists represent true genius.

he’d talk to your stomach, but awkwardly, fumbling over words in his usual detached, overly-rehearsed way: “your dad’s a very successful man, you know… i hope you inherit my bone structure.”

if it’s an unplanned pregnancy:

if you’re not married, holy shit… the stakes are different, but patrick’s reaction is just as selfish. first of all, the pregnancy is absolutely. his. fucking. fault. patrick hates wearing condoms (would sometimes straight up lie about wearing one) and he always tells you that nothing “bad” will happen—until it does.

his immediate response would be to downplay the situation. “are you sure?” he’d ask flatly, trying to buy time. his inner monologue would be a chaotic swirl of paranoia and blame—his mind races with possibilities: is this some gold-digging ploy? a mistake? could it even be his? and he even has the audacity to ask “are you sure it’s mine?”

the next stage would be denial. patrick doesn’t deal well with reality when it doesn’t serve him. he’d try to act as though nothing has changed, refusing to acknowledge the pregnancy in conversation. he might even subtly suggest that “it’s early days, we don’t have to make any decisions yet,” thinly veiling his hope that you’ll take care of it and spare him the inconvenience. but when it becomes clear that you’re keeping the baby, his panic would fucking escalate.

he might lash out, picking fights over nothing or disappearing for hours at a time to “work late” (read: spiral into his usual vices—drugs, violence, torturing sex workers).

he’d start compensating in weird ways. he’d lavish you with gifts—jewelry, designer clothes, a bigger apartment—anything to make you think he’s excited, supportive even. they’re attempts to placate you, to make the problem go away without addressing it.

in private, patrick would unravel. his inner monologue would become a torrent of rage, fear, and morbid fantasies. he’d think about running away, faking his own death, or worse—doing something drastic to ensure the pregnancy never reaches full term.

the idea of fatherhood would gnaw at him. as a child of divorce, patrick is deeply insecure, and the thought of raising a child dredges up unresolved feelings about his own father. the self-loathing buried under his narcissism rearing its head. he’d compare himself to his colleagues and realise that many of them already have kids—or at least talk about starting families. peer pressure.

this sense of competition would push him to overcompensate. he’d brag about how “ready” he is, throwing money at every conceivable solution: top-tier obstetricians, prenatal yoga classes, nursery designers. he’d try to mold himself into the perfect father-to-be, but only because he wants to win.

but patrick being patrick, his selfishness bleeds through. he bitches about your mood swings—“it’s like living with a completely different person”—but also refuses to acknowledge his role in them.

he spends hours staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if fatherhood will make him less attractive. he starts paying extra attention to his skincare routine, convinced that stress is causing him to wrinkle.

[s4kura-tr3]

Snow day

Summary: the JJK men have a day off from work because of the snow

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo satoru

The snow is falling thick and fast outside your window when you wake up, a rare silence blanketing the usual city chaos. You squint at your phone, scrolling past a string of notifications until one catches your eye—work is canceled. A snow day. You barely have time to process this before the bed dips beside you.

“Guess who doesn’t have to be an adult today?” Gojo’s voice is smug, even as his arms wrap lazily around you from behind. His hair’s a mess of white, almost blending into the snowstorm outside, and his grin is somehow brighter than the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

You mumble something about wanting to sleep in, but Gojo has other plans. “Oh no, no, no, no,” he says dramatically, tugging the blankets away. “We’ve been granted a day of pure, unadulterated freedom! This calls for celebration. Come on, lazybones, get up!”

Despite your groans, you’re soon bundled up in layers and dragged outside. The cold bites at your nose, but the sight of Gojo spinning in the falling snow—arms outstretched, head tilted back like a kid seeing snow for the first time—melts your initial reluctance.

The day unfolds with Gojo’s chaotic energy as the driving force. First, a snowball fight. It starts off tame until he begins bending the rules, using his Infinity to block your throws and conjuring impossibly large snowballs that he somehow claims are “fair game.” You manage to catch him off guard, pelting him square in the back, and he dramatically collapses into the snow like he’s been mortally wounded.

Then comes the snowman-building competition, which quickly devolves into Gojo attempting to sabotage your progress while insisting his lopsided creation has “character.” By the time you both admit defeat, your cheeks are flushed and your gloves are soaked through.

Back inside, the warmth is heavenly, and Gojo insists on making hot cocoa. It’s overly sweet—because, of course, he dumps half a bag of marshmallows into your cup—but it’s perfect. You curl up on the couch together under a blanket, your feet tangled as you watch the snow continue to fall outside.

“Days like this are rare,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “We should make it snow more often.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his absurdity, but you can’t deny it—you wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

Geto Suguru

The morning starts with an unusual stillness. You’re lying in bed, half-buried under the warmth of the blankets, when you notice the faint blue-gray light filtering through the curtains. Snow. Lots of it. You reach for your phone and find the notification waiting: work is canceled. You sigh in relief, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Beside you, Geto stirs, his long, dark hair spilling over the pillow. He opens his eyes just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling on his lips. “What’s got you smiling?” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

“Snow day,” you reply, tilting your phone to show him the screen.

He hums, eyes closing again as he pulls you closer. “Then there’s no reason to get up, is there?”

For a while, neither of you moves. His steady breathing and the muffled quiet of the snow make it easy to stay curled up together, his arms wrapped loosely around you. Eventually, though, the outside world calls. “We should do something,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Something like breakfast?” he offers, his voice teasing.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen, where Geto puts together a simple but satisfying breakfast. He moves with an easy confidence, brushing his hair into a loose bun as he hands you a steaming mug of tea. The two of you eat by the window, watching the snow drift lazily to the ground.

Afterward, Geto pulls on a coat and convinces you to do the same. “Come on,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go see what it’s like out there.”

The streets are quiet and blanketed in pristine white. The city feels transformed, the usual chaos muted by the snow. Geto leads you to a nearby park, where the two of you walk along the snow-covered paths, your boots crunching softly with each step.

At one point, he stops to brush the snow from a bench and gestures for you to sit. “Stay there,” he says with a small smile, before gathering an armful of snow and rolling it into a ball. You watch as he builds a snowman with meticulous care, crafting its features with the same precision he brings to everything.

When he steps back to admire his work, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s… interesting,” you say, noting the lopsided grin he’s given it.

“Artistic,” he corrects with mock seriousness, his dark eyes gleaming.

You join him in the snowman-making endeavor, and before long, you’re laughing and throwing snow at each other. Geto isn’t one to start a snowball fight, but he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate when you toss a handful of snow at his back. His throws are deliberate, always landing close enough to make you yelp but never enough to truly soak you.

Eventually, the cold drives you both back inside. Geto sets about making hot chocolate, insisting on doing it properly—none of that instant stuff. The scent of melting chocolate fills the apartment as you wrap yourself in a blanket, watching him work with quiet appreciation.

When he finally hands you a mug, he sits beside you on the couch, pulling the blanket around the both of you. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence makes everything else fade away.

“You know,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we should have more days like this. Just us. No work, no distractions.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Agreed.”

The rest of the day passes in cozy contentment, the snowstorm outside making your shared warmth feel all the more precious.

Nanami Kento

You wake up to the soft patter of snow against the window and the unmistakable stillness that only comes with a snowstorm. For once, your alarm isn’t the thing pulling you from sleep. Instead, it’s Nanami gently nudging your shoulder.

“It’s snowing,” he says quietly, his voice low and even. “And work is canceled.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his usual crisp manner, though his tie is noticeably absent. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other resting on your shoulder.

You groan, rolling onto your side. “So why are you up already?”

“Old habits,” he replies with a faint smile. “But since we have the day off, I thought I’d make us breakfast.”

The promise of food is enough to pull you out of bed. By the time you join him in the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet fills the air. Nanami is at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of precision he applies to everything. He hands you a plate as soon as you sit down, topped with golden pancakes and fresh fruit.

“Fancy,” you tease, drizzling syrup over the stack.

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” he replies simply, though there’s a softness to his tone.

After breakfast, the two of you linger at the table, sipping coffee and watching the snow pile up outside the window. It’s peaceful, and for once, there’s no rush to go anywhere or do anything.

When you suggest going outside, Nanami raises an eyebrow. “You know it’s freezing, right?”

“Exactly,” you say with a grin. “That’s what makes it fun.”

It takes some convincing, but eventually, he relents. Bundled up in scarves and gloves, the two of you step into the snow-covered streets. The neighborhood is quiet, and the fresh snowfall makes everything look almost magical.

Nanami is hesitant at first, but he humors you when you start gathering snow for a snowman. He helps you pack the snow into firm, perfect spheres, muttering something about “structural integrity” that makes you laugh. When it’s done, you declare it a masterpiece, though Nanami gives it a critical once-over.

“It’s lopsided,” he points out, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You stick your tongue out at him, and just when you think he’s about to argue further, he surprises you by scooping up a handful of snow and lightly tossing it at your shoulder.

“Did you just—?”

Before you can finish, another snowball lands near your feet. Nanami is already walking away, but you catch the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You started this,” you say, gathering your own ammunition.

The snowball fight that follows is short-lived but full of laughter, and by the time you both head back inside, your cheeks are flushed from the cold and exertion.

Nanami insists you warm up properly, so he brews a fresh pot of tea while you change into dry clothes. The two of you settle onto the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket, with steaming mugs in hand.

And for the rest of the day, you enjoy the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the world outside forgotten in favor of the warmth you share.

Toji fushiguro

The day starts with the sound of excited little footsteps racing down the hallway. You barely have time to register the noise before Megumi bursts into your room, his cheeks pink with excitement and his hair sticking up more than usual.

“It snowed!” he announces, pulling at the blankets. “A lot! Come look!”

You groan softly, still half-asleep, but the sound rouses Toji, who’s sprawled beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist. He opens one eye, glancing at Megumi with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“It’s too early for this, kid,” Toji grumbles, though there’s no real bite to his tone.

“It’s not!” Megumi insists, tugging harder at the covers. “You promised we could go outside if it snowed!”

Toji sighs dramatically but finally sits up, ruffling Megumi’s already-messy hair. “Alright, alright. Go get dressed. And wear that coat I got you, not the thin one.”

Megumi bolts from the room, and you chuckle as you sit up, stretching. “Looks like you’re on snow-duty today.”

“Not just me,” Toji says, smirking as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re in this too.”

After breakfast—a quick affair of toast and hot chocolate, because Megumi can’t sit still long enough for anything else—you all bundle up and head outside. The snow is pristine and untouched, and Megumi’s eyes light up as he surveys the sparkling white blanket covering the yard.

Toji starts off by helping Megumi build a snowman, though his version involves packing the snow so tightly it could probably survive a hurricane. Megumi insists on adding little twigs for arms and a crooked smile, and when you laugh at the result, Toji smirks. “It’s got character,” he says, echoing Megumi’s words.

Once the snowman is done, Toji takes it upon himself to teach Megumi the “art” of snowball throwing. He crouches low, showing him how to pack the snow just right. Of course, the first snowball Megumi throws hits you square in the arm, earning a triumphant cheer from the little boy and a low chuckle from Toji.

“You’re supposed to aim for me, kid,” Toji says, scooping up a snowball of his own.

But instead of throwing it at Megumi, he tosses it gently at you, a teasing smirk on his face. “Gotta defend yourself, sweetheart.”

What follows is a chaotic snowball fight, with Megumi enthusiastically teaming up with Toji against you. You hold your own for a while, but eventually, Toji sneaks up behind you and lifts you off the ground, giving Megumi the perfect shot. Both of them laugh as you pretend to be defeated, and Toji sets you down with a satisfied grin.

Eventually, the cold starts to seep in, and you all head back inside. Toji insists on making something warm, so while he heats up soup in the kitchen, you help Megumi out of his snow-soaked layers and wrap him in a cozy blanket.

The rest of the day is spent in comfortable warmth. Megumi curls up on the couch between you and Toji, his head resting on your arm as the three of you watch a movie together. Toji’s hand rests lazily on your leg, his thumb rubbing small circles absentmindedly.

As the snow continues to fall outside, you glance over at the two of them—Megumi, fighting to keep his eyes open, and Toji, looking more at peace than you’ve seen in a while.

Sukuna Ryomen

The snow falls steadily outside the wooden shutters of your Heian-era home, blanketing the courtyard in pristine white. You watch from the veranda, wrapped in layers of silk, as the delicate flakes settle on the trees and roof tiles. The world feels quieter, slower—a rare reprieve from the usual hum of life.

Behind you, Sukuna lounges lazily against the wooden frame of the door, his dual eyes watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He’s draped in his usual attire, though he’s added a thick haori over it, more for style than warmth. The cold never seems to bother him, but you’ve noticed he enjoys the aesthetic of snow days as much as you do.

“You’ve been staring out there for an eternity,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “What’s so fascinating about frozen water?”

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Don’t you think?”

He snorts, pushing himself to his feet with a grace that belies his size and presence. “Peaceful isn’t exactly my style.” But he steps onto the veranda anyway, his sharp gaze sweeping across the snowy courtyard.

You stand together for a moment, watching the snow fall in companionable silence. Then, without warning, Sukuna smirks. “Let’s see how long your ‘peaceful’ moment lasts.”

Before you can react, he’s scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at you, the cold shock of it catching you entirely off guard. You gasp, stumbling back, and he laughs—a deep, rich sound that echoes through the still air.

“Did you just—?” you sputter, brushing snow from your sleeve.

“Of course I did,” he says, entirely unapologetic. “What will you do about it?”

Your reply is swift: you gather a handful of snow and toss it back, aiming for his shoulder. He doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him as his grin widens. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

The courtyard quickly becomes your battlefield, snowballs flying back and forth as Sukuna alternates between playful teasing and outright mockery of your aim. When you manage to land one squarely on his chest, his expression flickers with surprise before morphing into approval. “Not bad,” he concedes, though his retaliation is immediate—a perfectly formed snowball that sends you running for cover.

Eventually, the game winds down, and Sukuna strides over to where you’ve taken refuge beneath a snow-covered tree. His hands are empty now, though his smirk remains firmly in place. “Had enough?”

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your chilled face, “you still choose to stay.”

He pulls you back inside, where the warmth of the brazier offers relief from the cold. Sukuna settles beside you, pouring tea with surprising care, his claws handling the delicate porcelain with ease. He hands you a cup, watching as you sip, your hands still trembling slightly from the cold.

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you say, echoing his earlier words, “you still choose to stay.”

For a moment, his expression softens, the corners of his mouth lifting in something almost resembling a smile. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence fills the room, chasing away the chill of winter.

Megumi Fushiguro

The soft glow of morning light filters through your window, accompanied by the faint sound of snow tapping against the glass. You stir, glancing outside to find the world covered in a thick, pristine blanket of snow. The usual chaos of the city seems muted, as if the snow itself has called for a pause.

Megumi is already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the heater, a book balanced in his hands. He glances up when he notices you stirring.

“Snow day,” he says simply, his tone calm but his gaze lingering on the window.

You sit up, stretching with a small smile. “Guess we’re both stuck inside today.”

He hums, turning his attention back to his book, though you catch the faintest flicker of interest in his expression.

After a quick breakfast, you’re the first to suggest stepping outside. “We should enjoy it while it’s fresh,” you say, tugging on your coat.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s freezing, right?”

“All the more reason to appreciate it,” you counter, grabbing his scarf and tossing it to him. “Come on, I’ll even let you stay grumpy about it.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulls on his coat and follows you out. The cold air nips at your cheeks as you step into the snow-covered yard, your boots crunching softly with each step. Megumi’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and his dark hair is dusted with snowflakes almost instantly.

“You know,” you say, bending down to gather a handful of snow, “you could try to have a little fun.”

He glances at you, unimpressed, until you toss the snow at him, the powdery flurry landing harmlessly on his arm. He blinks at you, his expression unreadable.

“That’s how you want to do this?” he asks, his tone flat.

You grin. “Absolutely.”

What follows is a snowball fight you’ll remember for a long time. Megumi, true to form, doesn’t hold back once he decides to participate. His throws are calculated and precise, leaving you scrambling for cover more often than not. You manage to land a few hits of your own, but his sharp reflexes make him a formidable opponent.

At one point, you’re hiding behind a tree, trying to catch your breath, when you hear him approach. Before you can react, a snowball lands squarely on your back.

“You’re predictable,” he says, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And you’re annoying,” you shoot back, though you’re smiling, too.

Eventually, the two of you call a truce, retreating to the house to warm up. Megumi sets a pot of tea on the stove while you drape a blanket over your shoulders, both of you still laughing softly from the morning’s antics.

The rest of the day passes in quiet comfort. You sit by the window, sipping tea and watching the snow continue to fall. Megumi joins you, his book in hand, though he seems more interested in the view than the pages.

“You’re not bad at snowball fights,” you remark after a while, breaking the silence.

He glances at you, his expression neutral but his tone light. “And you’re not bad at being a target.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice makes you smile.

Yuji Itadori

The morning starts with Yuji shaking you awake, his excitement barely contained. His grin is as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“Wake up!” he says, his voice bubbling with energy. “It snowed overnight! Like, a lot!”

You groan, trying to pull the blanket over your head, but he’s persistent, tugging it away and practically bouncing on the bed. “Come on, you can’t waste a snow day! We have to go outside!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and soon enough, you’re bundled up and stepping out into the winter wonderland. The world feels quieter, softer, as if the snow has wrapped everything in a cozy, white blanket.

Yuji immediately runs into the snow, stomping around like a little kid, his breath fogging up in the cold air. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, spinning in a circle and throwing his arms out wide.

You laugh, watching him with fond amusement. “You act like you’ve never seen snow before.”

“Not like this!” he says, already scooping up a handful to pack into a snowball. “Besides, it’s more fun when you have someone to share it with.”

Before you can respond, the snowball hits you gently on the arm. You gape at him, feigning shock. “Did you just throw snow at me?”

He grins, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What? It was an accident!”

“Accident, huh?” You bend down to grab your own snowball, and his eyes widen.

“Wait—no, no, no!” he laughs, dodging as you throw it at him.

What starts as a simple snowball fight quickly turns into an all-out war. Yuji is surprisingly agile, darting behind trees and ducking under cover with ease, but you manage to land a few hits. His laughter echoes through the air, warm and infectious, as the two of you chase each other around the yard.

At one point, you trip and fall into a soft pile of snow, and before you can get up, Yuji flops down beside you, both of you breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he says, brushing snow off his coat.

“And you’re too competitive,” you reply, nudging him playfully.

He sits up, gazing out at the snowy expanse with a soft smile. “This is nice,” he says after a moment. “Spending time like this, with you. Feels… peaceful.”

You smile, leaning into his shoulder. “It is. Even with you pelting me with snowballs.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Hey, you started it.”

The rest of the day is spent in a mix of playful chaos and quiet moments. Yuji insists on building the “ultimate snowman,” which ends up being a slightly lopsided creation with a goofy face that makes both of you laugh. You take breaks to warm up inside with hot chocolate, sitting by the window and watching the snow fall in comfortable silence.

By the time evening comes, you’re curled up on the couch together, a shared blanket draped over both of you. Yuji’s head rests against yours, his usual boundless energy replaced by a quiet contentment.

[mamaagirlbehindyouu]

Fake Dating, Real Feelings Pt.1

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 925

Summary: Your friend Tara invites you to a party, but she has an ulterior motive. (This chapter is mainly build-up to what I’ll be writing in later parts, so if you don’t like slow burns then you may want to wait for later chapters to be released to begin reading <3.)

Warning: A little bit toxic (but will get better in later chapters!!)

A/N: This chapter is kinda ass ngl but more parts will come out later w/ more fluff-heavy chapters (and potentially smut)

You sat in bed, propped up on two pillows, scrolling on your laptop. It was finals season- meaning you were now starting the 9 page term paper that was due tomorrow at 12pm. It wasn’t ideal, but you had enough time to where you were still putting off writing your paper. You weren’t writing your essay on your laptop, you were scrolling through Pinterest.

That was, of course, until you got a text from someone. Picking up your phone to see who the message was from, you instinctively kicked your feet when you saw the name of who it was from. Tara. Your friend tara. The friend you just so happened to have a massive thing for.

Shutting your laptop and properly sitting up, you unlocked your phone to read the message from her.

Tara: Hey, you up?

You stared at the message for a moment, contemplating whether or not to reply. It was already 9:30, you could just leave Tara on delivered and lie tomorrow that you had had an “early night”. After all, your paper needed to get done and you could tell from the nature of Tara’s text that she either wanted to go somewhere or do something.

Yeah right, that would take more self control than you had.

Y/n: Ofc, what’s up?

Immediately after sending the text, you were met with a “Read 9:36 PM”. You watched the gray bubbles dance on your phone screen, before they disappeared and re-appeared.

Tara: Last time I’ll ask this, I swear

Tara: Will you come to a party with me tn? I want to show up like 10:30 😊

You groaned, staring at your phone again before replying. This wasn’t an infrequent request from Tara by any means- she always needs a DD considering the fact that she seems to love getting wasted. With time, the request had become more and more of a chore as she seemed to get drunker and drunker at each party you took her to. Going to parties with Tara wasn’t fun anymore, but you knew she would just find someone else to go with her if you said no and you didn’t want that.

Y/n: I’ll be there in 30.

Throwing your blankets off and setting your laptop on the nightstand, you got up, walking over to the closet. Why did you always go along with whatever Tara wanted? Well, the answer to that was obvious, but you would rather die than admit your feelings for Tara were getting serious.

After throwing on a black miniskirt and tank with a jacket on top and some boots you got into your car and began the drive to Tara’s house. This was a drive you knew all too well, and not for good reason.

When you got to Tara’s house the front door was already open, with just the screen door shut and Tara visible and sitting on the stairs. She was wearing flare jeans and a ribbed blue henley with some white Converse. You couldn’t explain how, but Tara always seemed to make the most basic of outfits come off as breathtaking. Maybe her face card was enough of an accessory.

Spotting you from where she sat on the stairs, Tara leapt up and smiled, waving her hands at you. She opened the screen door, squealing.

“Y/n! You came! Thank you so much!”

Tara’s joy was always infectious, making you forget your original reservations about that night. A smile spread across your own face as you waved back awkwardly, unsure of what to do whenever Tara’s attention was fully on you.

“Of course I did,”

You said, unaware of how un-enthusiastic you came across. You were always excited to see Tara, but being around her often made you feel awkward, frequently making it seem like you have a lackluster temperament.

“Could you act any less excited to see me?”

Tara teased as she held open the screen door for you, allowing you to enter her home.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to speak, but Tara cut you off, noticing how you seemed genuinely apologetic.

“No, I was joking. It’s okay, y/n/n,” she reassured you, offering another smile.

You smiled back and nodded in agreement, not wanting to say anything else about the matter, still embarrassed about the interaction. Tara led you up to her bedroom (not that you were unfamiliar with it).

“I just need to do my makeup real quick and then we can leave,” Tara assured you, aware that it was getting closer and closer to 10:30.

“‘real quick?’” you laughed. “Since when do you do your makeup ‘real quick’?”

“Hey, last time you came over I did my makeup in ten minutes, max- That’s, like, record time for me,” Tara defended herself, raising her hands in the air, primer in hand.

“It was more like half an hour, not ten minutes,” you corrected her as she rolled her eyes. “And why’d you invite me this time? Or was it just to be your designated driver again?” you half-called Tara out, passing it off as a joke, as you took in her features, taking advantage of the fact that she was preoccupied. You loved all of Tara’s features, but her eyes were definitely at the top of the list. How could anyone not love them?

“About that..” Tara said, stopping her makeup application, making an uncomfortable face. “I kind of need you to pretend like you’re dating me.” Suddenly, you were snapped out of your thoughts.

Pt. 2??

Photo Creds: miaolliez and geminiprinc3ss on Pinterest

[spencereidluver]

F is for First Date

september 15, 2008

summary: You and Spencer go on your first date to a little coffee shop before work. You convince him to try your coffee, and he finds he enjoys it.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none. just fluff and spencer being a gentleman

You roll over in your bed, throwing the covers off of your body. It was hot. Why was it so hot? You look over to your alarm cock: 8:03 a.m. You were running late. 45 minutes late, actually. Luckily, your apartment is only a few blocks away from the office, however, you typically left at 8:10. That left you 7 minutes to do your normal hour long routine.

You quickly jump up from your bed, letting the blankets fall wherever they pleased. Honestly, what’s the point in making the bed? You’re just going to tear it apart in your sleep tonight, anyways. You jog slightly to your bathroom, grabbing your hairbrush and multitasking as you did your morning pee. You brushed your teeth in record time, definitely not two minutes, but at least the morning breath was gone.

You went back to your room, slipping off your flannel pajama pants and gray “Harvard” shirt. You didn’t go to Harvard. You just liked the oversized shirt. 

You grabbed a nude-toned bra out of your dresser and clasped it behind your back. You slid a white lace top over your head and threw a tan fuzzy cardigan on. You put a pair of dark tights on and pulled a dark brown leather miniskirt over them, tucking the white top in. You slid on thick white socks on, ones that ended at your mid-shin, and put on a pair of black converse. 

Good enough, you thought to yourself, not bothering to put on makeup. You planned to stay in the office today. No meetings, and pray to god no cases. You just wanted a chill day.

You left your apartment at 8:15, not much later than you normally did, you’d just have to take out the coffee stop this morning. 

______

You nearly drop your bag as you’re rushing through the parking lot, trying desperately to enter the building before 8:30. Not only were you up late this morning, but traffic was a bitch. It wouldn’t be a big deal if you were a few minutes late, however you’ve been petulant in your 9 months and don’t plan to start truancy now. 

Of course, Derek, who 9 times out of 10 is fashionablly late, sees you speed walking through the parking lot.

“Hey Sweetheart, what are you doing in so late?” He jokingly cat-calls you through the lot.

“Slept late,” You respond in a yell, not slowing your step at all.

“Aw, baby needs her beauty sleep?” “Something like that.”

You rush into the building, crossing through the glass doors of the BAU office right as the clock struck 8:30, Derek somehow a full two minutes behind you. You walk over to your desk and place your knitted tote bag filled with personal items on the ground beneath you. Sitting in your chair, you plop the stack of paperwork in front of you, and look at the man across from you.

“Morning, Spence,” You say as you open the file.

“Goodmorning, y/n. How was your morning?” He asks curiously. 

“Well, I overslept and didn’t have time for a coffee stop, but luckily I was having a good hair day so it doesn’t matter. How about you?”

“Well I couldn’t even tell. You look great. My morning was alright. I got my coffee.” He mockingly takes a big sip before standing up and excusing himself. 

You didn’t know where he was going, though you had enough paperwork to let it pass through your mind. You quickly began scribbling through the papers and placing files where they needed to go. You forgot how messy you’d left your desk Friday when you returned from a case. You were in a big hurry to leave and go to dinner with the team, you just threw everything from the case on your desk and scrammed. It wasn’t a big deal though, it was just easy, boring paperwork. 

Spencer returned a few minutes later with a coffee cup in hand. He approached your desk. “Hey, y/n,” he says, you move your attention from the paperwork to him towering over you. “I made you a coffee. I um, I put two sugars in it, I hope that’s alright, I’ve seen you drink it like that before and-”

“It’s perfect, Spence, thank you.” You say, taking the cup as he hands it down to you.

He hurries to his chair and hides his face. You curiously turned the cup around. There, you saw the inscription of his homely handwriting. “y/n: do you want to go out for coffee tomorrow morning before work? -Spence.” 

You smiled, and went to look up at him, but he instinctively scurried away. Though, he’d left his half drank cup of coffee on his desk. You walk over to his, and flop down in his chair, it almost swallowing you whole as the leather back had fitted to his broader shoulders. You grab the coffee and a Sharpie marker from his pencil cup. “Spence: of course I do… 7:30? <3”

You get up and return to your  desk, almost on cue, Spencer returns. You were unsure of where he came from, though it didn’t matter. He sat at his desk, and you nodded your head to the cup. He looked confused for a brief second, before bringing it to his eyes to read it. 

He looked up and smiled at you. “ 7:30 sounds great, I’ll meet you there,” he says.

“Okay! I’m parking here and walking, if you wish to join,” you say, taking a sip of the special made coffee. It was no different than how you normally made it, but it tasted special because of who made it.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot here, then. How’s that?” “That’s perfect, Spence.”

You return to your paperwork, unable to hide the smile on your face. You’d waited so long for this moment, you couldn’t believe it was finally happening. You caught Spencer smiling a few times as well. You wondered how long he’d wanted to ask you out. You’ve found Spencer attractive since the day you started working here. You were so beyond ecstatic something was finally happening between the two of you. 

You finished your coffee quickly. It was the best coffee you have ever tasted. You thought briefly for a second, before going to the kitchen to clean the styrofoam cup out. You made sure it was no longer sticky or had any coffee residue before drying it completely and taking it back to your desk. You open the small pencil drawer of your desk and pull out four sticky notes. Notes Spencer had left you in the past few weeks. You placed the four notes in the cup and placed a new lid on it. Putting the cup in the side drawer, you smiled to yourself. You’ve kept every note Spencer has ever given you. And you don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

_____

‘7:28,’ the clock on the dash of your car read. You looked in your rearview mirror at the road behind you. There was Spencer in his old man car. You’d been early, nervous about your date, though you knew it would go good. You wore a fitted white turtleneck with a knitted tank top sweater vest of different shades of brown on top. You paired this with a khaki skirt and the same pair of black converse. You realized this was a very Spencer-esque outfit, and it was quite possible you and him could have nearly the exact same outfit on today.

Luckily, Spencer picked from the other side of his closet this morning. He approached you wearing dark brown slacks and black converse as well. He had his satchel pulled over his waist, drawing attention to the way he swayed as he walked. He had a dark, though not as dark as his pants, sweater that was open, and underneath was a collared off-white shirt and a diagonally striped tie. His left hand rested on his satchel, and his right was hidden behind his back. He did his little hoppy jog to your car, you having opened the door, grabbing your knitted tote bag, and beginning to make your way around to him.

“Good morning, y/n,” he says as he reaches you. 

“Hi, Spence,” You didn’t know why, but you were suddenly very shy. Maybe because this was a “formal date,” but you’d been on friend dates with Spencer so many times before. 

Spencer was clearly nervous too, though less than you. His hand from behind his back made itself known, in his fist was a single red rose. “I um, I got this for you. I know it’s only one, but I actually saw a flower patch on my way here and I didn’t want to take them all.” He was rambling.

“I love it, it’s perfect.” You grab the rose from his hand, letting your fingers run over the petals. They were smooth. He could see you were trying not to touch the stem too much, as you were trying not to touch the thorns. 

“I picked all the thorns off so you didn’t hurt yourself. I don’t have any water for it or anything…”

You examined the stem. You saw all the spots where thorns once laid. He was so sweet. Not only did he make a stop to pick you a rose, but he also safety coded it. You were going to keep this rose forever. You knew it. You planned on pressing the flowers once you got home from work that night. Maybe you could keep the petals in the “note drawer,” or maybe you could start a new drawer..

“Spencer, hey, I love it okay. Thank you.” You slid the stem of the rose between two knits of your bag, it poking inside and the flower on the outside like a pin. You saw Spencer smile. He was proud of himself. 

The two of you began to walk through the parking lot. Spencer paid careful attention to your feet, matching his gate exactly with yours. As you neared the end of the parking lot, reaching the sidewalk next to a fairly busy street, you felt a hand gently brush your waist. Spencer switched sides, him now being on the side adjacent to the road. First flowers, and now this? This boy was a true gentleman.

You smiled to yourself. Technically, the date hadn’t even begun yet, but you were already certain you wanted a relationship to blossom from this. You looked to the man to your left, the sun in a position to hit against his face in a way that made him look like an angel. You couldn’t help yourself. You reached over and took hold of his hand. He jumped slightly, before gripping a little too tight. He looked down at you and smiled. 

“You’re so pretty, y/n,” Spencer said. He’d been waiting what seemed like years- though only 9 months- to tell you that. You didn’t know where Spencer learned how to flirt, but frankly you didn’t care. You really liked this side of him.

“I think you’re pretty too, Spence.” You said. He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Wow.

______

The coffee shop made itself known once you reached the top of a hill. The natural brick on the outside makes it look homey. It was about a 10 minute walk from the parking lot of the BAU, but Spencer and you were agents. You made the walk take a total of eight minutes. Speed walking isn’t a training module for the FBI, though it is definitely learned, and quickly. 

Spencer opened the door and allowed for you to enter first. Yet another gentlemanly move today. The smell of coffee filled your noses. It reminded you of Spencer. He always had coffee breath, yet not the nasty kind. He always seemed to smell so wonderful.

“Hello,” the barista at the counter cheerfully said as you and Spencer entered the small building. The two of you approached her. “What can I get for you guys today?”

You order your regular and Spencer orders a black coffee with a LOT of sugar. You retrieve the coffees from the pick up area and sit at a raised table in the corner next to a window.

“Why do you like black coffee?” you ask him. 

“I’m not sure. I always drank it when I was growing up and throughout college… and honestly, I’ve never tried it any other way.” He responded, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Really?” you said surprised. “With how much coffee you drink, I’m surprised you haven’t ventured into new territory even once.”

“Not once.” He took another sip. You noticed him kicking his feet beneath the table.

“Do you want to try a sip of mine?”

He smiled, crinkling his nose up. “Sure, do you want to try mine?”

“I guess I’ll give it a shot, though I will say I’m not the biggest fan of black coffee, so don’t be mad if I don’t like it.”

“I can’t promise anything, I can’t even say I’m going to like your girly drink.” He was teasing.

“I’ll tell you what Spence. You like my coffee and I’ll buy you a croissant. I like your coffee, you buy me a croissant. Deal?”

“It’s a deal, y/l/n.”

You switched cups. He gave it a sniff before popping open the lid to see inside. Tensley, he took a sip. You saw his eyes bulge. Licking his lips as he brought the cup down, he wrinkled his nose once again. He brought the cup back up, taking another sip. 

“You know what, I think you owe me a croissant.”

You smiled at  him, before taking a sip of his old man coffee, you cocked your head to the side. 

“You don’t like it, do you?” He laughed. 

You quickly sat the cup down and jumped up from your seat. You walked up to the counter, and ordered one regular croissant. Returning to the table with the plastic container in hand, you tossed in down in front of him. 

He opened the container, and tore a piece of the pastry off. He took a bite, and attempted to slide the container to you. In the process, it collided with his cup of coffee which was still situated on your side, causing it to spill all over your blouse. 

“Oh my god, y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, at least it wasn’t hot anymore.” You reach for the few napkins on the table, trying to dry yourself off despite knowing it wouldn’t do anything.

You were giggling, but Spencer didn’t find this one bit funny. He felt awful. You began to attempt wiping the table with the napkins, but were stopped by Spencer’s hand grabbing your damp-sleeved arm. 

“Hey, don’t worry about the table. I got it.” He gets up to go get napkins from the counter, before stopping in his tracks. He turns around and comes back to you, sitting in the chair using the sleeve of your sweater to stop the liquid from pouring onto your skirt and the ground. “Y/n, do you want to wear my sweater?”

This takes you a bit off guard. For a second, you forget your soaking wet with warm coffee. Your voice catches in your throat as you try to speak, but Spencer is already unbuttoning the two fastened buttons and sliding the sweater off his shoulders.

“You can go to the bathroom and change. I’ve got the mess, okay?” He hands you the sweater and makes room for you to move around him. You rush to the bathroom, trying not to leave a trail of coffee droplets through the lobby.

Turning into a stall, you immediately begin taking your sweater and white shirt off, tossing white one in the small garbage can. There was no way you’d be able to get the coffee stains out, and plus, the shirt was only $4 on sale at WalMart. Only left in your wire bra, you slip the brown sweater on. You button it all the way up, but as it’s a men’s sweater, it’s a little more of a V-neck than you’d like, especially since you were going to work soon. You tucked one side of the sweater into your skirt, letting the other side hang over to create dimension in your outfit and make it less simple. You toss your damp sweater vest over your shoulder and exit the bathroom.

Spencer was waiting for you when you came out. He’d gotten the mess cleaned up and was ready to leave. He grabs your hand, leading you outside the doors to begin your walk back to work. 

_____

next chapter: G is for Girlfriend

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____

a/n: sorry it took so long on this chapter, i've been pretty busy. hopefully i can get the next few out quickly as i hope to release part m (the christmas themed) on christmas day.

_____

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[airbendertendou]

bts ft tokyorev !! jus something small to get me back into posting <3

[including : mikey, kokonoi, mitsuya, inupi + yuzuha]

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— MiKEY! ♥︎ "me from the moon, you from the stars."

there you were again, as you always were. sipping from the sweetest drink you could stand, lips pursed around the straw. as you watched everyone else, mikey watched you.

this is where he first saw you before, too. before kazutora - before kanto - before all the tragedy. when he was still lingering on the cusp of sanity, mikey spotted you.

things were different now - he was different now. a nudge to his arm - takemichi nods in your direction with his chin. "now's your chance. like you always wanted."

a deep breath, and then he's standing in front of you. blinking at the stark white boots in your vision, you gaze up. like a halo, the sun shines around him, bouncing off of the grin mikey sends your way. you gulp down your drink, "sano. hello."

mikey's breath hitches in his throat as he stumbles out his own greeting. "what are you thinking about right now?"

you were starstuck, truthfully, seeing the boy you wanted to talk to for ages standing in front of you. you couldn't say that, though - it'd be embarrassing to admit your bashfulness of him.

"right now?" you purse your lips again and mikey hopes you don't see the trickle of color on his cheeks. "that... you look nice when you smile, sano."

"mikey," he corrects you. with another deep breath, he takes a seat to your left. "call me mikey. i'll call you [first name]."

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— KOKONOi! ♥︎ "all i know is how to love you."

being related to sanzu came with strange rules. you always had to stick by his side - always had to reassure him you were safe and happy. why he chose you and not senju - why he forbid you from speaking with takeomi - you'd never know.

maybe it had something to do with mikey preferring you over them as well.

whatever it was, it led you here. in a stormy, darkened apartment as your brother went in search of the haitani's. mikey was peering outside of the window longingly - he did that a lot, these days.

"want something to drink?" the voice causes you to stiffen, chills covering every inch of you. kokonoi glances your way, "it's chilly in here. want something warm?"

your body was on fire the longer he kept his attention on you, actually. shaking your head, you look down to break his gaze from you. koko shrugs as he stands, "suit yourself. want somethin', boss?"

everything after that echoes. being around kokonoi hajime was the biggest obstacle you've faced. seeing him around town was bad enough. now that he was at your brothers side? you were going to scream.

a steaming, pastel mug is held in front of you. koko sips from his own charcoal gray cup. "your fingers are shaking, liar."

gulping, your shaking fingers take the mug from koko with a shy, quiet thank you. even though he's still looking out of the window, you can see a smirk on mikey's face in the reflection. you wanted to throw the stupid mug his way.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— MiTSUYA! ♥︎ "i want the you that wants me again."

a stalemate. that's where your relationship curently fell. he spent more time at work than with you - more time with everyone else. biting your lip to prevent tears, you dial his number again.

"i can't really talk right now," mitsuya says instead of a greeting. you remember when he would grin down at the phone when you called. remember when he would all you cutesy, almost cringey pet-names so often you'd forget your own name. he lets out a sigh, "did you need something?"

you forget everything you'd prepared to say. every accusation ; every fear ; every inch of begging to get him to stay. your lips part, "should we end it here?"

"huh?"

you look around the house you'd created together. the pictures you'd taken, the couch cushions and blankets you bought together. half-empty candles that hadn't been lit in months. your bottom lip wobbles as you speak through tears. "should we break up? this relationship doesn't seem happy anymore."

mitsuya stays silent. that seemingly answers for him. you nod slowly, wiping the tears that have trickled down your cheeks. "okay. i'll have my things packed before you're back." whenever that will be.

"don't," he sounds out of breath. mitsuya heaves in a breath that sounds like a sob. he lets out a cough, rustling in the background that he speaks over. "don't say that. don't do that. i'm- i'm coming home, okay? stay right there."

you decide over the dial tone if you'd still be home or not when he arrives.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— iNUPi! ♥︎ "just one day, just one day."

jade eyes trail after you endlessly. you nod along to the beat of the song you're listening to, dusting here and there. catching his reflection in the tv, you smirk. "when you volunteered to help, seishu, i didn't think you'd mean just sitting there."

blinking, inupi shrugs as if he wasn't just imagining a sweet, domestic life with you. "you won't let me help."

you turn with a crinkled nose, "you don't clean things right!"

"that's not possible." his voice trails off so he can watch you again. your hips are movng to the music now as you shrug him off. inupi sighs, his chin falling to his hand as he gazes lovingly.

he could see it now. you'd both be a little older, in an apartment that didn't quite fit two people. you'd share the bathroom and the bed, helping wash each other's face and sharing soap when you ran out. you'd make dinner and breakfast together to complain about work or talk about the wild dreams he knew you had.

it was something he did and would probably always yearn for.

a press to his cheek causes his entire face to flame. you tap his nose with a mischiveous grin, going back to your cleaning. a galnce to your mirror shows a sticky residue on his cheek - one that matched the lipgloss you were wearing.

inupi blinks, "did you kiss me?"

"maybe!"

he springs up from his seat within a second as your laughter rings around the room. his own smile covers his face as he chases you. "shouldn't i reciprocate it? hey, get back here!"

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— YUZUHA! ♥︎ "to see you? to meet you?"

passing letters through her younger brother, secrets pressed in places you both passed - that was how you spoke with her now. since taiju knew - once he figured it out - he forbade his sister from any and every relationship.

especially if it was with you.

hakkai pants as he stops in front of you, creamsicle envelope in his hand. you could already smell yuzuha's perfume wafting from it - could envision the kiss marks she'd left on the pages. hakkai places his hands on his hips, "this is exhausting, you know?"

you glare his way, "tell your stupid brother to give yuzuha her phone back."

"you tell him!" hakkai looks around with wide, terrified eyes. "don't call him stupid, though."

scoffing, you peel the letter from his sweaty palms. "i'll end him if i need to. he's never met a scorned, pissed off lover before."

hakkai shivers, taking a miniscule step back away from you. "...you could take him, probably."

you dismiss him with a grin, ready to read every word yuzuha couldn't say to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა 💌 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

this was so fun i luv writing to music <3 thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! if you’d like to be tagged, untagged in any tokyorev content, let me know ♥︎

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