#i did not know before i started reading this book that it's part of a series of 90 novels and novellas about the same characters 😂

[hxney-lemcn]

Late Night Chaos — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: getting a much needed break, you find yourself getting scolded by Jimmy. you vent to Daisuke about it when he finally finishes his tasks.

tw: Jimmy 🤢

a/n: idk how to continue this, should I follow the event of the game (unbearable angst), or try and make it end happier?? If I do the second one I kinda feel like I'm ruining the point of the game tho...

wc: 1.4k

Master List

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

You had started to regret your confession already. You thought confessing was supposed to fix everything, so why did your gooey, icky feelings grow ten times worse? It was honestly comical seeing you glower everytime Daisuke gave you an ounce of affection. It even made Swansea internally chuckle at the sight. Even though it seems you were regretting all your life actions, you were honestly just trying to get used to your heart fluttering and your stomach twisting into knots. It was all odd and new, and you were a bit scared that this was all too good to be true. 

You were also trying to get used to the disgusting, adoring thoughts. You had become a lovesick fool and you weren’t sure what to make of it. You wanted to hug Daisuke? Ew. You wished to cuddle him at night? Disgusting. God forbid, you wanted to kiss him? Toss yourself in the trash. Yeah…you were struggling to accept that thinking those things were okay, and being vulnerable enough to speak your wants aloud. Daisuke, on the other hand, seemed like everything was right as rain. Like loving you came naturally to him. It made your skin crawl. 

Tilting your head back, you let the warm water drown your thoughts. Your brain wouldn’t let you catch a break, couldn’t you think about something else for a second? Like that book you’ve been reading? When you brought it with you it had been all the rage, but you can’t understand the hype. Sure you were only halfway done, but the main love interest was the worst person ever, how could anyone get behind him? He literally threatens to kill the protags family, basically kidnaps her, and you’re assuming she's going to ‘find the good in him’ and they ‘live happily ever after’. Unfortunately, you had to tough it out as you could only bring so many books for entertainment. Hopefully they turn the plot around and prove you wrong. Perhaps the protag actually fights back somehow or tricks the guy into thinking she’s fallen for him only to stab him in the back. Now that? You could get behind. 

Yeah, you need to finish that, you’ve been so preoccupied with work and Daisuke you haven't had much time for yourself. Shutting the water off, you dried yourself off and put on casual clothes. You’d finished your chores early, giving you a much needed break. Walking towards the sleeping quarters, you were simply minding your own business when a rude voice made you snap to attention. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Jimmy’s harsh voice growled out. Looking to your right, you noticed it was only the two of you in the hall, and he was glaring right at you. You blinked in confusion, not able to get a word out before he continued. “Do you know how much more shit needs to be done? Of course Anya just lets you do whatever the hell you want, huh? Good for nothing brat. I gotta get everything done around here.” 

You couldn’t stop the sneer that settled over your face, gazing at the middle aged man with disgust. Who the hell does he think he is? You had spent the most of your trip ignoring the other, you thought it was a mutual avoidance thing. You had a feeling there wasn’t much for either of you to talk about, and he seemed standoffish anyways, but this? You hadn’t expected him to lash out at you. And for getting a break of all things. And wait, not even just that, he was blaming Anya too? 

You couldn’t even defend yourself before he stormed off, grumbling about something or another. Who the hell pissed in his cheerios? Well…okay, odd encounter. You did your best to shrug it off, continuing to your room, but something was bugging you. Just what exactly made him so aggravated? Not like you actually cared, he probably deserved whatever it was if he acts like that to someone he barely knows. 

Whatever, you have a book that needs to be finished. That’s all that mattered at the moment.

…

You had become so engrossed in the story, you nearly missed the knock on your door. Glancing up, you shouted a quick come in, not wanting to lose your place. You were so close to finishing already, and the plot had picked up from where you left off. It wasn’t as bad as the start, the author had started as a cliche and averted the readers expectations, slowly turning the story into a revenge plot. Chefs kiss, seven out of ten so far, and if the ending was as good as everyone said it was, then perhaps that rating will go up.

Daisuke joined you on the bed, head popping over your shoulder and eyeing the book, “Good book?”

“Mhm,” You nodded, setting it on your lap but keeping your place with your finger. Your skin tingled as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat, but the fluttering in your stomach had dulled somewhat. That wasn’t a bad thing per say. Actually it brought you a sense of relief, you were growing used to his affection. Not taking it for granted or anything, but finding comfort in it instead of tension. To be fair, it was easier for you to accept it when it was just the two of you, no peering eyes of judgment to make you overthink your actions. Just the two of you enjoying the other’s presence. 

“You should read it to me, I like hearing your voice.” He murmured, nuzzling into your neck. Okay now he ruined it as it felt like sparks going off under your skin, heat crawling up your face, shoulders tensing in just the slightest. How could he say that so simply? Like it wasn’t a life changing statement? 

“O-okay,” You agreed, trying your hardest to keep your voice from wavering (and failing). Dog earring the page you left on (a crime, but you were too cheap to buy bookmarks), you turned to the first page, pausing before starting. “How was your day?” Sure, he had become more touchy after you officially started dating, but he seemed a bit more so at the moment.

“It was fine,” Daisuke shrugged, his warm breath heating your neck and causing your hair to stand on end. The fact that you were touch starved was clearly showing. “Keep messing up but that’s just normal.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it eventually,” You replied, reaching back and messing with his hair. You weren’t sure why you did it, it just seemed like the right thing to do, and the fact that he leaned into your touch seemed to validate that thought. “Being a mechanic isn’t easy, not to mention you do a lot of the electric work too.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “How was yours?”

“Not too bad,” You replied, slowly melting into the brunette’s touch. “Got done early, but…well, I guess something happened.” Daisuke hummed, waiting for you to continue. “Jimmy exploded for no reason, going off about how he’s gotta do everything around the ship.”

“Huh?” Daisuke looked confused and annoyed, pulling away slightly to share a look with you. “What about the Captain or hell, even Swansea does a lot.”

“I know right!” You exclaimed, turning around in his arms slightly, dropping the book off to the side. “Not to mention Anya’s the only one holding us all together.” 

“Exactly,” Daisuke nodded enthusiastically. “Not to mention you do all the small stuff so the others can focus on their bigger tasks. Keeping the ship running smoothly and all that.”

“You too,” argued. “You’re learning a lot every day, and sure you may mess up from time to time, but at the end of the day you’re doing a lot. And you keep the ship from being a dull, boring routine of madness.”

His smile turned tender, squeezing you gently, “You’re right, without me you’d have no one to cuddle with.” 

Once again you found yourself scowling, “You say that like it's a necessity.” It seemed you and deflection went hand in hand. 

“I dunno,” He chuckled, lucky for you he found it adorable whenever you scrunch your face like that. “I’m not sure how I survived so long without you in my arms.” 

“You’re so cheesy,” You groaned, draping your entire weight on him, the both of you falling onto the bed. 

“And you love it.”

You hated that he was right.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 3

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dub-con/ Non-con, Fingering, Murder, Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Monsterfucking, Mentions of Slavery

Your eyes were already open before the sun had spread its light across the horizon, staring up at the crimson blinds of your canopy, counting its folds. Normally, you would have slept in until nearly noon, but something at the back of your mind woke you up before the crack of dawn, and so, you heaved yourself up from bed.

The hem of the black, silk dress you had been put into last night, fell under your knees, and with each step you took, it gave a satisfying rustle.

You padded over the books, fingers hovering over the expensive leather binds, the titles and the authors’ names dusted with gold. You pulled out one and pondered over its cover, an engraving of a man in a cloak, holding a scythe with one hand. A Reaper.

You walked over to the chair next to the windows placed it down on its red cushion, for a later read, and headed towards another table, where a mirror was placed above and a litter of jewelry and ornaments rested in lofty boxes.

You took a seat positioned in front of the table and gazed upon the glistening gems in your sight. But you didn’t dare place a finger on them and went straight for the drawers instead. Upon the third one, you found scissors.

You began to hum and carefully closed it. You pulled open the first drawer, where the hair brushes were stashed, and took one. You parted your hair and the door swung open. Through the mirror, you watched John Mactavish make his way towards you with a grin.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted in a bright voice, too loud and clear to start a morning with. He wrapped his muscular arms around your frame and planted his lips on the bare skin of your nape, before taking a whiff of you. “Yer up quite early. A morning person?”

You remained silent for a moment, before shaking your head. “Not really.”

He took the brush from your hand and you didn't bother to utter a protest as he started to untangle your locks with careful strokes. “What made ye get up early?”

Oh, nothing. Just being almost fucked by monsters? You clenched your fists, holding yourself back from reaching towards the scissors to rip his throat open.

“Hmm, I get it.” He swiped your hair to the side. “Living with monsters and all, now.” He put down the brush and rested his chin on your shoulder, once again wrapping his arms around you. “But of all things, ya should be glad we are the ones who got ya.”

He gently placed his fingers on your chin, angling your head for more access to your neck, where he began to dust your skin kisses. Whilst his hand hovered over the strap of your dress, slowly pulling it down. Then, he stopped and clicked his tongue.

“Really, Ghost?” The incubus groaned and placed his forehead on your shoulder.

In the mirror’s reflection, you watched Simon shrug and turn away, just like he did last night before you had dinner.

“Breakfast is being served, and I'm not going to tell the servants to save some more for you,” the Wraith proclaimed.

You didn't know why he kept interrupting his brothers, but you were a bit thankful for that.

With no time and consideration to change into a different dress before breakfast, you were dragged by the incubus to their dining hall. By the time you arrived, no thanks to the winding corridors and hallways of the fortress, you just wished to sit down and sleep on the table.

The dragon and the siren were already seated across one another in a long dining table, where food had been placed. They looked over their shoulders as you sauntered in with the Wraith and Incubus, and both smiled at you.

Mactavish guided you towards the seat at the end of the table, which you knew by reading books was supposedly the seat of the highest person in a castle. But when you frowned at him in confusion, he merely nodded and forced you to sit down. Then, he took his own seat next to Kyle, and Simon next to Price.

“Are you supposed to not say anything to your husbands on this lovely morning?” Price spoke up, his chest puffing out through his deep v-neck shirt.

Your eyes went back and forth between the four of them and knitted your brows deeper. “Good Morning?” you offered them, unsure of what the dragon wanted, but that was what people would usually say to other people at this early hour.

“You speak as though that wasn't a custom to everyone,” he huffed, angling his head to the side.

“Because I've got no one to say that greeting to,” you muttered and lowered your gaze, eyeing the perfectly grilled meat in front of you. You gulped.

“You have us now,” Kyle claimed in a silvery voice.

You snapped your head in his way, captured by his words. To someone who had been deprived of other people's presence and touch, a siren who was as alluring as his voice was dangerous.

But he . . . spoke of the truth. Even the incubus did.

A shelter above your head to shield you from what was to come, a lovely room where you can sleep instead of an old mattress infested of insects, and more than sufficient amount of meal to fill your stomach.

Other females would kill to be in your position.

Have you truly been lucky to be in their arms?

No.

No, it was the Siren’s song working through your mind again.

Do not fall for it.

Do not drown in it.

“While we're at it,” Price’s deep voice burned through the veil of thoughts unrolling in your head, and you met his eyes, currently in the shade of blue. “Don't you have another thing to do for your husbands after saying good morning?”

Once again, you went into a spiral of thoughts, your mind going through the books and stories of women you have read throughout your life. But all of it was the tales of their suffering.

Was this lizard mocking you even after knowing you didn't know shit about having partners?

You stared at him for a good minute till your gaze drifted down to his lips, and he smirked his sharp fang flashing.

Why was this guy so hold-up with fcking old traditions of humans that had been under the land a long time ago?

You fought back the grimace threatening to appear on your face and slowly rose from your seat. You walked over him as his eyes trailed over your body, before settling back to your face.

You reached to his face, hand trembling as you leaned down. You lowered your lashes and placed a kiss on his lips, at the same time you felt his hand circling your waist.

“Gracing us with a gorgeous view, aren't we?” He questioned when you pulled away and his eyes fell on your nipples firm under the thin silk dress.

“Kyle dressed me up on this,” you said and removed your hand from his face, but he was quick to grab your wrist. He placed it over his mouth, dusting your palm with kisses.

“Can't blame myself for having good fashion.” The Siren shrugged. “That said, where's my kiss?”

Price let you go as if permitting you to go. You shot him a glance and left his side, skipping over to Kyle. Repeating the same actions as you did for the dragon, you left him with a smile when you went to the incubus by his side, who seemed to be more eager than the other two.

Mactavish pushed himself closer to you kissing as soon as your skins met, but soon pulled away. Then your eyes met the Wraith’s.

Simon, a monster of a few words, and seemingly the least interested in you.

“Well, I'm waiting,” he said, his eyes narrowing. Under his mask, you knew he was smiling.

Maybe, he was as needy as his brothers, but he just didn't show it. Nevertheless, as you came closer to him, your heart thumped, fearing what he would look like under his mask.

He reached out a hand to you, which you took hesitantly, and with your other hand, you reached up to his face but hovered over the fabric.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he ordered, and with a finger, you pulled it down.

You blink at his features. It was perfectly normal. Good-looking, as much as you hated to admit it, like every single one of them There were a few signs of scars but not a spot of rotting on his face, despite being a wraith.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you planted your lips on him, stopping him from uttering a word.

He was a high-ranked wraith, that was the only answer to his perfect body.

You later learned, during their not-so-late self-introductions over breakfast that he was a Duke, the incubus and the siren were nobles, and their acting leader was the sovereign of dragons.

The crown felt heavy and yet, at the same time, it felt like nothing but a feather on your head. You were not suited to be a Queen, a Duchess, or any sort of nobility. A slave were meant to be underneath their feet, not someone who would sit on the throne.

You removed the ornament adorning your head and placed it down on the table, meeting Jonathan's eyes on the mirror's reflection.

His eyes flashed gold, his round pupils turning thin and his grip on your shoulders tightening. “Why'd you remove it?”

“Get yourself a Queen, not a slave,” you imposed, watching his brows knit, “Have some . . .” you trailed off as his hands went down to your breast and waist. “Have some dignity,” you finished.

“You are my woman.” He kissed your shoulder, bare from the off-shoulder dress you had changed into, but it was also dangerously low on the chest, giving him access to easily strip it off you.

He pulled the neckline down under your breasts as he sucked on your neck, his fangs grazing your skin, and pinched your nipple. “My wife.”

You gripped his arm, trying to pull it away from you, but he only strengthened his hold on you, eliciting a cry of pain from you. “I just got dressed—”

“And who gave you those dresses, hm?” He twisted the sensitive bud and you clawed on his arm, wincing at the discomfort.

“I did not ask for it!” You shouted at him and he grabbed your jaw, making you face your reflection. Your visage flashed red at your sight and on your neck, you could see his eyes changing back to gold.

“Really?” He swiped the boxes of jewelry and the crown off the table, and flipped you over, heaving you onto the surface. He forced your legs open wide and leaned down.

“Jonathan,” you begged just as he kissed your folds through the thin fabric of your undergarment. You bit back a moan when he ran his tongue over. “S-stop.”

Yet, he continued, ripping your panties off with his fangs.

“I said, stop!” You pulled on his hair, making him stop and look up at you through his lashes. You flinched at his gaze that seemed to have imprisoned the purgatory, ready to unleash its flame to burn you alive. You pulled your hand back, but he was quick to catch it.

He placed a kiss on your knuckles and his horns sprouted from his forehead. “You deserve only the best, my Queen.”

Price had you holding onto one of his horns. He slurped at your cunt with thirst as he gripped your thighs, his claws digging into your skin through every lap. His beard was drenched, soaked in the flavor of your slick, and each time his nose hit your clit, he would feel you flinch. His breath as he chuckled fanned your sex, now diving to the sensitive bud, his tongue dragging it into circles.

It was hard to breathe from the stimulation, your body felt like it was set on fire as Price continued his overwhelming abuse. “Stop, please, please,” you cried, feeling the sting of his claws on your trembling thighs.

“You're dripping wet and you want me to stop?” A laugh once again escaped his lips. He removed his grip on your thigh only to place his fingers onto your drenched folds.

Your breath hitched and you grabbed his wrist, shaking your head. “Not the claws.”

“Why not?” He raised a brow.

“It—it will hurt,” you told him in a low voice and gulped when he didn't utter an answer. “Please, Jonathan.”

“Fine,” he scoffed, finding himself frowning at the sound of his name from your mouth, and felt his cock twitch under his pants, already painfully hard.

His claws retracted in a blink and his fingers quickly traced up to the hood of your clit and once again, circled the nub. This time, as compensation, you hold onto his muscled shoulder, and as though he understood it as permission, his fingers moved in further and dipped into your flittering hole without warning.

He picked up the rhythm and before you could clamp your hand over your mouth to hold back the moan, he wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

Your moan rose, became more hectic, and he drank them all as he worked on your clit with his thumb.

The noises that echoed around the room were pure filth, and you hated every single second of it. But you couldn't deny the pleasure he was giving you. So, you wrapped your arms around his neck, closed your eyes, and bucked your hips on his hands.

Jonathan smiled at the kiss.

Women were easy to get, was what he might be thinking, and that was the reaction you wanted.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Comment if you want to be on the taglist

Taglist: @cringeycookies, @sunndust, @noonespecial475, @spooky-skeletonie, @casualunknownrunaway, @lialucis, @tanaari, @mc-cos-charm, @demonic-bird, @thriving-n-jiving, @teenagellamaangel, @nightriver99

[s-che]

a game where we hurt each other

Last month, I played perhaps the most intense TTRPG session of my life as part of the Dream Library’s discussion of Bluebeard’s Bride, a game of “feminist horror” (more on this later) published by Magpie in a gorgeous print edition. Over the course of the month of October my guest lecturer/collaborator @marvelousmsmolly I collectively hosted three sessions of what was by far the most challenging game the Dream Library has ever discussed. 

We came to Bluebeard as the second part of our fall semester covering games of intimacy and monstrosity — a unit which began in September with Avery Alder’s Monsterhearts 2 and is continuing this month with Vampire: The Masquerade (If you want to get in on the VTM discussion and future semesters, please, come join). Both Molly and I suspected that Bluebeard was going to be both a quieter month and a riskier text — but opted to play through it anyway, albeit with some tools in place to make sure everyone knew what they were getting into with a book that doesn’t pull many punches. And with all that, the first two sessions went... fine? We had some lumpy pacing, some conflicting styles of play, some questions about how a game that really seems to encourage player bleed can possibly be played online, but for the most part things were fine. Not great, not bad — not worth the anxiety we’d had about them.

And “fine,” of course, doesn’t make for interesting conversations, so Molly and I took a step back. We talked about what was going wrong: a sense that neither of us quite felt comfortable hitting hard enough, even though we asked players ahead of time and at the start of sessions to tell us what was off the table. A frustration that player choice had trended towards the Bride as a detective/hero and not someone embodied in a world of horror. A confusion — once again — over what it means to “shiver with terror” in a discord call with some friends online. Out of that conversation came a new idea: rather than two more one-shots, Molly took some time to charge up a spirit bomb and put together some more formal prep, then recruited a group she felt could get together for a more curated experience. She wrote up her own excellent thoughts on what went down — along with a lot of session details — but you’ll have to join the Dream Library for that. 

The result of all that curation and preparation was that on October 23rd a group of four trans women — Molly, @jdragsky, our friend Mars, and I — sat down to play Bluebeard’s Bride knowing exactly what we were in for. We would be playing a transfem Bride, Bluebeard would be cis, and we would be hitting transfem-specific horror as hard as we possibly could. 

I’m going to quote from Molly’s reflection, where she wrote:

“Another really great aspect of running this game for this table is there was such a clear feeling that we all understood, wordlessly, what was going on... There are some moments in Allison Rumfitt’s gothic horror novel ‘Tell Me I’m Worthless’ where it felt like the author, a trans woman, was dropping phrases knowing exactly how her transfem audience would react... This had a twofold effect of both giving the players a chilling moment but also, a very brief but appropriate separation between fiction and player where could all grimace and be together in that discomfort before pushing on. People knew what I was doing. The problem with the original game is it doesn’t really want to discuss the politics of what “feminine horror” means. Because of this you’re really lacking some focus. I think a table of cis women could actually play bluebeard’s bride in the way we did last night and have it hit hard for them if they approached it correctly, I don’t think our experience was uniquely elevated by our trans reading, however that was one of several tools we used for that elevation.”

Setting aside the strengths and weaknesses of the original text, that sense of shared experience was key to our game and key to allowing us to hit — and get hit — really hard and trust that our coplayers were there with us. Compared to our earlier efforts (prioritizing safety by taking things off the table via lines/veils) tightening the topical scope from an ambiguous “feminist horror” to a specific transfeminist horror in the context of a chaser bf, in the context of an economic disparity, in the context of the medical pressures of transition in the contemporary U.K. allowed Molly, our lovely host, to hurt us knowing that we were all in it together and choosing to play this game. It transformed the horror from an obstacle in an adventure game into a thing we were seeking out: a pleasure/pain we asked to feel. 

In a games discourse that is — understandably — interested in protections which might be implemented anywhere, including at cons and home tables with much less of an art-and-politics interest, safety tools are often thought about as a negative thing, a preemptive cutting away of all the things which might end up hurting us. I think that’s part of why people can have a hard time filling out a lines/veils list in advance of a session. What are all the things in the world I’m sensitive to? What are all the contexts in which I’m sensitive to them? Good sensitive or bad sensitive? Sensitive enough to cause a scene? Sensitive enough to make it off the table? 

In place of that — and in a table with a really remarkable amount of trust — this final Bluebeard session leaned in, hard, to the things that hurt us. That was the game. Molly wrote a lot about kink in her reflection, and I think she was right to do that. The point of the game was to hurt each other and to feel, and it was a better game for keeping that in mind. It was an actual horror game, and not just a game with horror aesthetics. I agree with Molly that there was nothing essential about having an all-transfem table — I think what we did could be done by anyone, even with the base Bluebeard’s Bride. What was essential was having a table where we all trusted each other enough to play a hurting game and to know that we were there on purpose. It elevated Bluebeard’s Bride into a really fascinating, messy experience — one I can’t wait to play again.

[l1v1ngd3dgrrl]

Talkin' In your sleep [Daisuke x Reader]

AN: this is my first smut, so if it seems like I don't know what I'm doing I probably don't lmao (please forgive me if it's bad!) I'm kinda testing the waters a bit. Dorky guys that are sweethearts in bed just raaaghh. Love 'em.Y/n (you) and Daisuke are in their early 20's. Personally I imagine them being like 22 but anywhere from 20-23 is fine too. Implied Fem reader, but no real gender specific pronouns or language is used..I may have gone a lil crazy

MDNI divider is from cafekitsune

Word Count: 2617

CW(S): Somewhat of a slow burn, Wet dreaming, oral sex (male receiving), semi-public (oral) sex?, cum swallowing.

Being the two last minute additions to the Tulpar, you and Daisuke never got proper rooms. Both of you simply had makeshift beds in the Lounge area. The beds in question being just a couple of spare blankets laid out for cushioning. They weren't comfortable by any means.

Anya, being the kind soul she was, had offered to take two of the cots from the infirmary and lay them down on the floor for the both of you, which y'all declined politely opting to tough out this journey.

This was one of those nights where you mentally kicked yourself for declining Anya's offer. Surely the cheap, almost tarp like feeling of the mattress was better than laying down on metal with nothing more than a blanket and pillow. If anything you'd kick the person back at Headquarters who insisted that you two should go on this trip. Who in the hell sends six people on a ship only designed with four crew members in mind?

One of the few good things to come out of it was your friendship with Daisuke, being the two youngest crewmates you spent quite a bit of time together when you were able too. Nights like these you would often chat quietly about random things. Life back home, menial tasks you had to do that day, stuff like that.

Currently you lay awake staring at the ceiling. Trying to will yourself to fall asleep. Daisuke had passed out hours before, even though he was right there beside you, you missed his company. Swansea had him do some particularly heavy work today, so as soon as his head hit the pillow he was out. His soft snoring being the only thing breaking the eerie silence of space.

Not wanting to lay on the floor for much longer you got up quietly and made your way to one of the couches. If you were going to be awake you were at least going to be comfortable.

You sat down and rubbed your hands over your face, sighing quietly. You never really had trouble sleeping as bad back home than you did here. The soft blue glow of the night screen covered nearly the whole room, Possibly another contributing factor to your restlessness.

Damn you and your lack of planning Pony Express!

Part of you wanted to go check the medicine cabinet in Anya's office to see if there were any sleeping pills. That would require waking her up for something you didn't even know was on the ship.

With not much else to do you you grabbed your book that was sitting on the coffee table, the same one you had read at least 3 times since departure. The cover was starting to bend from how much it's been read. In your sleep deprived state you weren't able to focus on a single thing the characters in the book were saying despite having read it enough to have the plot memorized.

After about 20 minutes the silence was broken by Daisuke stirring in his sleep and groaning something incoherent. The sudden noise in the otherwise quiet ship made you jump slightly. You turned your head to look over at him to see if he had gotten up.

His form was still in bed, seemingly sleeping soundly.

"Daisuke?" You called out to him, voice barely above a whisper. "You up?"

no response.

Shrugging you returned back to your book. As you continued to read the plot made less sense to you, eyes growing heavy. You quietly rejoiced and closed the book, sluggishly making your way back to your bed and pulling the covers over your body.

You shimmied around to make yourself as comfortable as possible and exhaled quietly. Sleep soon drifting over you.

The slumber was short lived as Daisuke starting shifting around again. He was mumbling incoherently a bit louder this time. Thinking he was just having a bad dream you tried to ignore him, making a half minded mental note to ask if he was fine in the morning. Once again your eyes closed and you tried to fall back asleep.

"mmmf-fuck." came a soft gasp from your crewmate.

what the fuck?

Eyes now wide open you roll over and turn to look at him.

In the soft blue glow you could see his hair was splayed across his pillow, auburn and blonde strands going every which way. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as if he was concentrating on something, Mouth slightly agape and his breathing coming out in huffs.

Another quiet moan from him made your face heat up and it clicked instantly. You weren't hearing things-it was indeed a moan.

What little sleep you did have now left your body almost instantly, a conflicted feeling taking its place.

Letting him be and acting like you didn't hear him react to whatever dream he was having was an option, you could even wake him and lie that he was snoring too loud and it was disturbing you. Both options left you feeling awkward.

A slightly louder more clear moan left his lips, "y/n please."

Your skin felt hot after hearing that, the way he said your name was doing things to you and it felt like your brain was short circuiting.

Now you didn't exactly hate the idea that Daisuke was dreaming about you, quite the opposite actually. You weren't afraid to admit that you thought Daisuke was attractive. You just never acted on it because of the whole co-workers thing. Pony Express never really made an official rule against it so who knows, maybe something to look foreword to in the future.

Unfortunately for him, you were gonna have to cut his dream short. You quietly made your way over to his bed and knelt down beside him. Placing a hand on his shoulder you shook him slightly.

"Daisuke-Daisuke hey."

He woke up with a groan and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah?"

You pulled your hand back. "Hey sorry- listen you were being a little loud and I wanna sleep."

Daisuke sat up and stretched his arms out in front of him joints cracking slightly, hair still messy from sleep. "m'sorry-Loud?" he asked groggily. You nodded "Yeah, you were making noises."

"Noises?"

You tried to quickly come up with some excuse, but Daisuke caught on to what you really meant almost instantly. His eyes widened once he realized and buried his face in his hands. "Dude y/n I'm so sorry." With a groan he pulled his hands away and sighed. "I'm really sorry-I'll go sleep in the utility room or something."

"You don't have to be sorry." You said quietly. "I'm not like, upset or anything."

Daisuke finally glanced over at you, eyes meeting yours expectantly "You're not?"

"I'm just curious I guess." In a sudden burst of confidence you slid your hand over his. "I kinda wanna know what you were dreaming about."

Daisuke paused for a moment and sucked his cheeks in and nodded. "Well uh, I was dreaming about you-God this is embarrassing."

You began to rub circles over his hand with your thumb, a way to silently offer him reassurance.

"I was dreaming that we were back home and I had invited you over- one thing lead to another and you were giving me head." He stated a full blown blush now covering his face.

You could feel your face heating up as well, no doubt sporting a blush of your own. For the second time that night you made another daring move.

"I can make that happen."

"What?"

"I said I can make that happen, If you're up for it." you repeated gazing into his eyes.

Daisuke stared at you wordlessly for a moment, caught off guard by your suggestion. "I mean yeah-yeah I'm down..Wouldn't we get caught though?"

He had somewhat of a fair point, but then again everyone was asleep. The walls were pretty thick so unless he started screeching like a banshee the likely hood of being caught was slim.

"Are you able to keep it down?"

"I think so?"

"Then what is there to worry about?" You gave him a soft smile. He gave you a sleepy grin of his own. "Alright, I guess we're doing this?" He turned his torso towards you and searched your face intently. You leaned in slowly and pressed your lips against his.

The kisses started off slow, just chaste pecks here and there. It felt like you had a flurry of butterflies in your stomach after each one. Daisuke moved his hands to your back, slowly trailing his fingers down towards your hips as the kisses began to deepen.

Both of you pulled away briefly panting slightly. Daisuke was the first one to move back in for the kiss. He moved one of his hands and placed it behind your head, keeping the other one at the small of your back. You let out a contented sigh into the kiss, trailing one of your hands up is leg slowly.

He jumped slightly, letting out a surprised noise. You chuckled and pulled away from the kiss. Lips slightly puffy. "Sorry did I scare you?"

"You caught me off guard." He said. He threw the blanket off of himself and grabbed your hand and placed it on his erection. You gave it a brief squeeze which caused him to hiss his breath. Unsure if that had hurt him or not you opted to just run your hand over the bulge and locking eyes with him.

He stared back at you, dark brown eyes filled with lust. Closing his eyes he bridged the gap between the two of you with sloppy kisses. You continued palming him through his sleep pants alternating between rougher and softer movements to gauge and see what he likes best.

After a particularly rough rub he let out a similar moan like he had done while he was dreaming. You felt those butterflies from earlier return.

"I don't think I can wait any longer." He groaned as he pulled away. Agreeing with that sentiment you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and sleep pants and pulled them down. After some shimmying and tugging of the fabric his erection sprang up, tip covered in pre.

You ghosted your fingers along his shaft experimentally, drawing a soft gasp from him. "This is okay right?" You asked softly as you gathered some of the pre from his tip and slid it down the rest of his shaft.

"Yeah-f-fuck yeah it's okay."

You began to move your hand more purposefully now, tightening your grip as you reached the base. Daisuke let out a moan of approval, letting his head fall back. You repeated the movement listening to his huffs.

"Faster please." he managed to get out.

Wordlessly you began to move your hand faster, the sound of the slick seeming to echo off of the walls. Daisuke bit his lip and groaned.

You made a mental note of this moment, storing it for later use. Who knew watching him try and remain quiet could be so attractive? You'd like to have him return the favor at some point, but for now this was about him.

You felt him twitch in your palm and his hand shot up and grasped your wrist firmly. "Too much?"

He shook his head. "I didn't want to cum just yet."

You giggled and glanced towards his face and his dick. You scooted a bit further down and bent over so your face was right in line with it. You gave his tip a quick kiss, The flavor of his pre mildly salty but not unpleasant. You gave it a few more chaste kisses then enveloped the tip into your mouth fully.

Daisuke gasped and quickly moved a hand into your hair. Fingers gently weaving themselves between your locs.

You pulled off and bobbed your head again taking him a bit further into your mouth. Each time you moved his fingers tightened slightly. You let out a contended hum and continued bobbing your head.

Daisuke was panting, soft calls of your name between breaths encouraged you to keep going. His eyes were squeezed tight skin flushed and hot. Sweat beginning to bead on his skin causing some of his hair to stick to his forehead. It was a little hard to see him from the angle you're at, but what you did see of him looked like a work of art. This really wasn't helping your little blooming crush on him.

You went down further, nose touching the base of his cock and swirling your tongue as you moved back up. The whine that came out of Daisuke's mouth went straight to your core. He sounded quite angelic.

He shifted his hips slightly and tugged your hair. "I'm so close please." he whispered. You continued to bob your head, the occasional thrust of Daisuke's hips making your pace falter slightly.

After a few more times of you bobbing up and down he let out a strangled moan and came in your mouth. You slowed your movements, helping him ride out his orgasm. Once you were sure he was finished you swallowed. You noticed the slight artificial sweet taste that it had, a side affect of his bad habit of sneaking sweetener packets.

You wiped the corners of your mouth and sat up. Daisuke was catching his breath, looking at you like you had hung to the moon. He motioned for you to come closer, pulling you in to a kiss. "Thank you that was like, really awesome."

You snorted and pecked him on the cheek. "yeah that was fun" You brushed a strand of his hair away from his forehead. "Did you wanna do it again sometime?" Daisuke smiled at you and nodded. "hell yeah. I'd really like that."

You cleared your throat and yawned. "We should get cleaned up and go to bed." Daisuke had already began to pull his boxers and sleep pants back up. You were getting ready to go back to your bed before Daisuke held you by the wrist. "Wait don't leave yet stay here."

Confused you sat in place watching as he got up to the vending machine in the corner of the lounge. He punched in a few numbers and you heard the thump of something falling. Both of you winced at how loud it was. He returned with a water bottle in hand. He opened the cap and handed it to you with a boyish grin on his face. "I wish I could do a lot more but this is all I can do for you right now."

You took the bottle with a smile. It was a sweet gesture. You thanked him and drank. The two of you sat talking for a bit until you both couldn't stay awake. Eventually you both made your way to your respective beds and fell asleep.

Maybe this was the start of a new nighttime habit between you two.

[taylor-titmouse]

r/l monroe @petitemortality's latest sexy short, Bodysnatched, is out! this one's a really funny halloween monster mash romp. You Will Love The Cryptlord. you can also get it as part of a 3 book $7 bundle for this weekend! meatheads and lucky little lunatics are also Very Very Good. great picks for a horny post-weenie weekend.

anyway it's process time!

THUMBNAILS

the prompt: "cover concept: the body of this stitched together monster girl, but with the titties and genital region cut out as missing jigsaw pieces. maybe some classic halloween monster hands (werewolf, dracula etc.) grabbing at her?"

so i just Didn't do the puzzle pieces or monster hands at first because i was worried it would end up too busy, and presented those b/w thumbs first with a cloth/tearing theme. this is because before starting i'd asked him if dolly was a patchwork doll or human skin type of frankenstein and i heard the complete opposite of what he told me (she is not a patchwork doll).

so i tried again, and wouldn't you know it, the initial concept as pitched was the best one. sometimes the client Is right.

THE SKETCH

you bet your ass i just googled "blank puzzle pieces" and put it over the drawing. what am i crazy

THE FINISHING PROCESS

between the sketch and the inks r/l suggested more hands be added to help convey the idea that the character is being passed around/modified by a bunch of different monsters, rather than just the one, which would've implied a central character relationship. i didn't even know about the cryptlord character, The Best Character, when i added the skeleton hand. i don't usually get to read these until the day before/day of release myself.

as for fonts, r/l monroe asked for my "goopiest goosebumps halloween ass fonts" which i did not have, but now i have Many.

anyway go read bodysnatched! it's only $3! or less if you get it in that bundle!

...

what's that? what about last month's cover process?

so between Break & Enter being released a little late, october being an explodingly busy month, and the cover process itself being so completely straightforward one-and-done, it just didn't happen! but here, as an extra treat, you can see the alternate thumbnails for that one. that's honestly the only interesting thing i'd have to post about it. as you can see, there was very little difference between the thumbnail and the final cover!

[beauty-is-terrror]

I know your planning to be angsty and hurt my feelings with your Henry/reader, but I'd love to hear about how the relationship began, all the soft moments, etc. Even if it is just in dot-point form

Thank you very much for your lovely ask. This is the VERY beginning. I have more parts planned so y'all can see how their relationship started and grow, the butterflies rising and first confessions of attraction and love.

____________________________________________________________

please keep in mind that i am not an english literature student, i do not have any literature degrees. therefor i have no idea if this even makes sense, BUT i did read a paper on the symbolism of weather in Wuthering Heights.

english is not my first language

____________________________________________________________

THE FIRST MEETING: Henry Winter x Reader

The wind was rattling on the windows of the Lyceum and on the first floor a group of eager students was waiting for their professor to finally bless them with his presents. Henry was sitting quietly, reading his book, not paying attention to the talking around him.

Richard sitting opposite of him, just stared out the window and played with the pen in his hand.

While Camilla and Francis talked quietly between each other trying to make up their minds about where to have lunch today and what they should have for dinner on Sunday.

On the other side of the table Bunny was trying to explain to Charles why he should come with him to this party tonight, because according to Bunny it would do Charles good to interact with someone outside of their class.

Time passed. The wind was getting stronger.

Suddenly there was movement outside the classroom, a pair of feet moving up the stairs. But it was too loud for just one pair of feet and two voices were starting to get louder as they moved up to the first floor, echoing in the nearly empty building.

Richard, Camilla, Francis, Charles and Bunny moved their eyes toward the door.

Henry still focused on the book in front of him.

The voices grow louder, and it feel like minutes had passed before the door finally opened and Julian walked through it followed by a head of chocolate brown hair.

“Good morning, everybody.” Julian said while looking at each of his students.

I am stepping beside him to look at who he has been greeting, just to be met with stares from five pairs of eyes.

Silence.

Julian moves his face slightly towards me and says low “Usually they are quite the opposite, and I have problems making them stop talking.” I smile at him and look at the faces who are still looking at me like I am some Victorian ghost from a different century.

“Hello. I am Y/N” I try to introduce myself before the silence grows into awkwardness. My name leaves my mouth, and I am being met with a pair of dark brown eyes sitting behind a pair of glasses. He didn’t look up when Julian and I walked in. He didn’t look up when Julian greeted them just moments ago. But he looks up when he hears me saying my name. My eyes stay on his, my hands start sweating and for a moment I am not sure who I am nor where I am. His eyes seem so familiar. We only look at each other in the eyes for a handful of seconds but I could look at them for hours.

My eyes break away, a slight flush rises in my cheeks, and I smile at all the other faces. A muffle of Hellos is moving through the room.

“Well, this is Y/N and she will be with us for about two lessons each week this semester. One of her literature professors is a good friend of mine and asked if I would be having her for some of my lectures. Y/N has a special interest in Greek literature from the ancient world and it’s influences on Victorian and modern literature.” Julian finally giving his students some context on why I was standing there. Why I am intruding their closed off club. Julian moved aside and gestures for me to sit down.

The only empty seat is next to Richard and so I sit down carefully while still being stared at. They have not taken their eyes off me, as if they can’t believe I am not just a hallucination. I swallow and look at the faces around the table, I am being met with smiles from Richard and Francis.

“I am Richard, nice to meet.” He says shy next to me. “Hey.” I say with a low voice.

“Ehm.” Richard’s eyes move towards Henry who has been starring down on his book since our eye contact broke. “Well, this is Camilla and Francis.” Richards nods towards the girl and boy opposite of me. “It is nice to meet you.” I lock eyes with Camilla for a second, but I am not sure what to make of her facial expression, while Francis just smiles, takes my hand and places a kiss on top of it “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Francis’s eyes move from mine to Charles and Bunny. “These two are Charles and Edmund, well Bunny. And they also have no manners as it seems.” They both say hello but are not able to say more as Julian sits down at the head of the table and all eyes are on him, well not all of them. I can feel one pair of brown eyes staring at me from the other end of the table.

“Good. Now that everyone has been introduced, I suggest we start today lesson …” Julian is a marvelous speaker and I can barely keep up with taking notes as he speaks, pens are moving across endless pages, as if any word not written down would be crime. Even though I try to focus on the words coming from Julian’s mouth, I can still feel a pair of dark brown eyes staring at me from the other end of the table. He has not introduced himself to me. He is not writing down a single word. He just looks at me.

As the lesson goes on Julian makes a few references to Victorian literature and we start to discuss Emily Bronte, while the others look between us as if we are speaking a language, they are not familiar with. I am surprised, has no one here ever read anything from one of the Bronte sisters or anything that isn’t a thousand-year-old poem? Suddenly I hear a little giggle from the end of the table, where he has been sitting all this time, staring at me. All eyes move to him. I look him straight in the eyes and say “Is there something you want to add?” and my hands are starting to sweat again.

He opens his mouth and for the first time I get to hear his voice, a voice which would grow familiar to me like my own. “I was just wondering if you could elaborate on the last point you made, about the symbolism of weather in Wuthering Heights.”

His comment surprises me, I look down for a second to break our eye contact, just to collect myself and my thoughts before I look into these dark brown eyes again. “Of course … “ and for the next couple of minutes all I see is him. His eyes. His lips. His sharp jaw line. Everyone and everything around me fads into nothingness. I can see how his eyes move between my lips and my eyes as the corners of his mouth move up so slightly. Till we sit there, smiling at each other in silence and only having eyes for one another.

Richard looks at Francis and Camilla just to find them starring at Henry, just like he has been. Is Henry really smiling? And has he really read Wuthering Heights? Even Julian seems to be surprised. And we all sit there in silence. Charles and Bunny exchanging looks, Camilla looks at Francis. Richard stares at Y/N. Something has happened, something has shifted. The atmosphere is not the same anymore and it feels like they have been witnessing an intimate moment, a private moment.

Julians sighs “We should have students from other departments join us more often. It can lead to such interesting conversations. Oh well, now let us talk about your homework for our next lesson.” The word homework echoing through the room makes most of his students stop starring at Henry and Y/N. But not the two of you. He presses his lips together and lets his eyes leave my face, just to glare down my upper body instead. I can feel my hands sweating and my cheeks blushing. Again.

At some point Julian closes the lesson for today and everybody is eager to get out. Camilla throws her notebook and pen into her bag and grabs Francis upper arm. Bunny is basically pushing Charles down the stairs, while explaining to him, again, that he must go to that party with him tonight. Julians steps next to Richards and asks him if has time for a little chat, as he has been impressed with his recent improvement in Latin.

And so, it just him and me in the room. Alone. I still don’t know his name.

I carefully put pen and notebook into my bag, while pretending to look for something inside of it, for some reason I want to be in his presence just a little bit longer, alone. Even though looking at him seems impossible right now, my cheeks are already red and hot. He pushes his chair back, grabs his notebook, book and fountain pen before moving around the table so he must walk right behind me. I am about to get up myself when he stops behind my back. We both stand still for a second and I can hear him breathing behind me. His face moves next to my ear “It seems like I have to read Wuthering Heights again and look for some of the motives you have mentioned.” His voice is low, he nearly whispers as if trying to make sure that only I can hear these words which sound so thoughtful. My head moves slightly, and we are so close, our noses are nearly touching. “I would love to hear your thoughts …” I want to address him by his name, but I don’t know it and he can see the slight confusion in my face. His eyes move to my lips again before looking into my eyes again and then there is something soft in them as he says, “My name is Henry.” Only a low “Hello.” is able to leave my mouth. He gets moving to leave the classroom, just to stop at the door and look back at me “I am looking forward to see you again.” And without me being able to reply anything he is off and I can only hear his steps down the stairs.

[ultralightpoe]

Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark -Tyler Owens

Authors Note: Part 14 of the Halloween event! How exciting!!!! Also I used to own all the scary story books and my sister and I used to compete to scare each other.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 672

Requests: OPEN

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist

[Thank you for the gif @motionpicturesource ]

ENJOY!

The room smelled like nothing but old cardboard boxes and dust, and for a moment Tyler could have sworn an actual tornado had hit the house based on the wreck provided from said old cardboard boxes. 

“What in god's name?” He mutters, boot moving out to lightly kick one of the boxes out of his path as he continues his way through the house. The stuff strewn within them left a bit of a trail and he followed it like it was the yellow brick road, and soon enough he found his oz huddled over yet another box as she tore through it. 

“What ya’ doin’?” He asks with a slight hesitation, flipping the rim of his hat through his fingers before setting it on the kitchen counter as your head snaps up to where he stands. 

“Thank gosh you are here.” You snap out, struggling to stand with the round stomach, until he moves forward to offer you a helping hand up and pat some of the dust off you himself. “I can’t find the book.”

“The book?” He repeats, feeling like a bird mocking it’s owner. 

“MY BOOK!” You snap, waving your hands. “I had it when I was a kid and we used to read it every halloween.”

“A halloween book?”

“Yes! You turn off the lights and only have the one flashlight so my siblings and I would pass the book around to take turns reading the stories and you had to try and scare each other.” You explain, waddling around to open yet another box. “Scary stories to tell in the dark.”

“I’m just now hearing about this book now…why?”

“Because the baby!” You sigh, pointing to your stomach like it was obvious. “I am gonna read it to the baby.”

“You’re gonna read a scary story book to our unborn baby?”

“Gonna get them started early.” You huff. “Mama ain’t gonna raise no bitch.” 

He can’t stop the laugh that escapes him, moving forward to help you start searching. “Alright mama, let’s get this search going.”

-

It took 4 hours and a trip to the bookstore to buy a new copy once you both realized your childhood one was completely warped. 

Once you managed to get comfortable on the couch with all the lights turned off while holding one flashlight as he laid against the pillows waiting for the spectacle to start. 

“You have no clue what you are in for.”

“Darlin’ I chase storms for a living.” He huffs out, kicking his boots off. “You can try but you can’t scare me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

-

He wakes up to pitch black, a wave of panic filling him as he feels around to recognize where he was. It takes him a moment to realize that you both had fallen asleep on the couch, and when he feels your ankle he knows you're safe by him which eases him a bit but he still can’t fight the tight feeling in his stomach. 

There was a small creak from somewhere in the house that bothered him. 

Creaakk. THUMP. Creaaaaak. Thump. 

Over and over, almost sounding like it was getting closer. It sent him standing quickly, reaching for a weapon to defend you both with if it came to it. 

Creak, thump. It was for sure getting closer. 

So he stood his ground, waiting for the threat to come only it never did. So he began making his way to it. 

It took him 3 minutes before he found the cause, the dog door on the back door was being pulled back and forth from the wind since it hadn’t been locked. 

A small chuckle tore from his lips as he dropped the half assed weapon he grabbed and moved to lock it. 

“Tyler?” You croak from the hall, drawing his attention. “You okay?”

“Yep, just fine.” He chuckles, shuffling forward to meet you. “Just protecting us from people looking for their thumb.”

“Hah ha. So funny.” You huff, letting him lead you up the stairs to bed.

-

[Thank you for the gif @makinggifsolson ]

[benispunk]

Who's that girl?

Chapter 4: Before We Speak

Logan always has to be the strong figure, even when everything wants to fall apart.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, mentions of dark backgrounds.

A/N: hello lovelies!! fourth chapter is up whoop whoop🎉. this one is entirely focused on Logan because why not? this is a day in our little honey badger's life and I'm not sorry for anything. it could have been way worse. thanks for all the support on this series!! enjoy this part <3

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part

Beep Beep Beep Be—

Sometimes Logan wondered how he still hadn’t destroyed that damn alarm clock. He woke up slowly, his body heavy from the comfort of sleep. Finally glancing at his worst enemy of his every morning, he read: 5:30 AM. Time to start the day.

He got up and opened the blinds, though the sun wasn’t up yet, and except for some other people in other buildings, nobody was up yet either. 

After a quick shower and pulling on some shirt and jeans, Logan grabbed his keys and backpack, trying not to make too much noise for his roommates that were probably still sleeping deeply.

You’ll sleep later, Logan.

As he stepped outside of the building, the cool morning air hit his face, waking him up fully.

Logan was the one in charge of opening the center and he preferred going there way earlier than everyone else just to get a moment of peace and calm before the chaos started. He checked every room and classes, making sure everything was ready for the day and once this was done, he sat down and served himself one well-deserved cup of (disgusting) coffee.

The center was a large, well-worn building. It wasn't much to look at from the outside—just a faded brick structure with narrow windows—but inside, it was full of life. Colorful posters lined the walls, some painted by the kids themselves, and inspirational quotes were scattered around, the kind that Logan never really cared for but knew meant something to someone.

The lounge area where he sat was small but cozy, with mismatched chairs and a sagging couch that had seen better days. A few shelves were filled with books and board games, and the corner had a coffee station that barely worked. Yet, this was his place— a refuge in the chaos.

Beyond the lounge, the rest of the center sprawled out: classrooms where kids of all ages learned in their own ways, sensory rooms with soft lights and calming music, a large gym where activities were held, and a garden out back where they often took the kids for fresh air. It was more than just a special school; it was a sanctuary for those who needed it.

As Logan scanned the room, his thoughts drifted. He wasn’t one to reflect much, but opening the center every day before anyone else arrived had become his ritual, a moment to prepare for the storm of the day ahead. Today would be like any other— he’d make sure the supplies were ready, the classrooms set, and his mind focused.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the hum of the automatic doors opening.

“Good morning, Logan.”

Logan’s daydream was interrupted by the familiar voice of Charles. The older man entered the lounge in his wheelchair, his presence as steady as ever. Charles had been the head of the center for as long as Logan could remember.

Logan nodded, setting down his coffee. “Morning, Charles.”

Charles wheeled himself closer, pausing just in front of Logan. “Early, as always. You know, you don’t have to get here before the sun’s up every day.”

Logan grunted in response, though there was a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Old habits die hard.”

Charles chuckled. “Well, I appreciate it. Keeps the place running smoothly.” He paused, glancing around the lounge, his expression softening. “How’s everything looking for today?”

Logan leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “Classes are prepped, gym’s ready. Couple new kids starting this week, so I’ll be keeping an eye on them. Should be a normal day.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully, though there was something in his eyes that made Logan pause. “What?” Logan asked.

“Just thinking,” Charles said, his voice dropping a bit. “It’s a shame, isn’t it? All this work, and now…” He trailed off, and Logan knew exactly what he meant. The center was struggling. Funding cuts, low enrollment— there had been rumors for months now that they might not last much longer. It wasn’t the first time Charles had hinted at it, but hearing it out loud still hit Logan in the gut every time.

“We’ll figure it out,” Logan said, though even he wasn’t sure how much he believed it.

Charles nodded again, but there was a heaviness to the gesture. “I hope you’re right, Logan. For their sake.” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the classrooms, where the kids would soon arrive, full of energy and life.

Logan didn’t respond. He wasn’t one for long conversations, especially not ones that reminded him of things he couldn’t fix. Instead, he stood up and grabbed his coffee, raising it towards Charles in a silent gesture. “I’ll be in the gym.”

Charles watched him go, his expression unreadable.

The gym was Logan’s favorite part of the center. High ceilings, wide-open spaces, and the kind of place where he could let the kids run wild. He liked the controlled chaos of it all—kids bouncing off the walls, their laughter echoing, and the satisfaction of seeing them engage in a world that often felt too overwhelming for them. Here, they were free. Here, they were just kids.

As he stepped inside, Logan could already hear the hum of the day beginning. Soon the first teachers would trickle in. He checked the schedule on the clipboard hanging by the door, making mental notes of the day’s activities. But even as he planned, his thoughts lingered on Charles' words.

What if the center shut down? What would happen to the kids? What would he do?

He shoved the thought away for now, focusing on the present. There were kids to be taken care of today, and that's what mattered.

A sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, pulling Logan's attention to the door. The first wave of staff was arriving.

The first few kids arrived not long after them. Logan could hear their familiar voices echoing down the hallway, some excited, some grumpy from early wake-ups, but all of them ready to start their day. As they trickled in, Logan stood by the entrance to greet them.

"Morning, Bobby," Logan said as a boy with dark, tousled hair bounded through the door, his backpack almost as big as he was.

"Morning, Mr. Howlett!" Bobby called back with a wide grin, not slowing down as he headed straight for the gym.

Next was Kitty, one of the quieter students, who gave him a shy wave as she walked in, hugging her notebook to her chest.

"Morning, Kitty," Logan said softly, offering her a small smile. She nodded without a word, as always, but Logan could see the relief in her eyes. She always felt safe here.

The rest of the group trickled in—about a dozen kids in all, each with their own unique personalities and quirks. Logan knew them well, better than most. He could read their moods just by the way they walked in, and today seemed to be a good day. No tantrums, no meltdowns. Yet.

Once everyone was inside, Logan led them to the first class of the day. History wasn’t always the easiest subject to teach, but Logan had a way of making it work. He kept things simple, focusing on the stories behind the facts— because that’s what kids understood best, the stories.

As they settled into their seats, Logan stood at the front of the small classroom, a whiteboard behind him and a map of the world pinned to the wall.

"Alright, who remembers what we talked about last week?" Logan asked, his deep voice quiet but commanding enough to capture the attention of the room.

A few hands shot up— Bobby’s was the first, as always.

Logan nodded to him. "Go ahead, Bobby."

"We talked about Ancient Egypt! You said they had these huge tombs for their kings and queens, and they put all their treasures inside."

"That’s right," Logan said, crossing his arms and leaning against his desk. "The pyramids. But they didn’t just put treasures inside. What else?"

Kitty, who was usually too shy to speak up, raised her hand cautiously. Logan gave her an encouraging nod.

"Um, they put their pets inside too?" she said softly.

"Exactly. Sometimes pets, sometimes even servants." Logan smiled at her, watching her shoulders relax slightly. "Why do you think they did that?"

Bobby’s hand shot up again, but Logan pointed to a girl in the back who rarely spoke— Laura. The girl was staring at the map, lost in thought, but when Logan called her name, she blinked and looked around.

"Uh… because they thought they’d need them in the afterlife?" Laura said hesitantly.

"Right again," Logan replied. "They believed the afterlife was just another version of this life, so they wanted to bring everything with them that they’d need. It’s like packing for a trip, but instead of clothes, you’re bringing your pets and gold." He gave a small smile, which earned a few giggles from the class.

Logan continued the lesson, writing down some words on the board and telling stories of ancient rulers and their grand tombs. He kept the pace slow, knowing some of the kids needed extra time to process, and he made sure to check in with everyone throughout the lesson, gauging their engagement.

As the lesson wrapped up, the bell rang for the morning break, and the kids shuffled out of the classroom, excited to stretch their legs. Logan watched them go, making a mental note of who seemed engaged and who might need extra help later.

He was about to head out for a quick break himself when he noticed someone lingering by the door— Laura, the girl from earlier. She stood there, clutching the straps of her backpack, staring at the floor.

She had joined the center about a year ago, a girl with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, quick to push people away before they could get too close. Her file said she’d been in and out of foster homes, and she had a history of acting out, of disappearing for days at a time. But Logan saw through it. She wasn’t just acting out for the sake of rebellion. It was survival for her. Trust didn’t come easy.

Each of these kids had been through so much stuff, things they didn’t deserve, things they weren’t even supposed to know at their age, and yet here they were, because the regular system wouldn’t take the risk of taking them in. That’s why this center existed, to help those kids and teenagers society had already rejected. 

They were only children. It broke his heart every single day.

Laura was always on edge, always watching. Logan noticed the way she sized people up, the way her eyes darted around the room like she was waiting for something bad to happen.

When she first started at the center, they had clashed. Logan’s patience and calm demeanor only seemed to irritate her more. She didn’t talk unless she had to, and even then, it was usually a one-word answer.

Today, Laura had been quiet. Too quiet.

Logan had learned to read her tells, and something was off.

As the bell rang for the break, she didn’t move. The other kids bolted out of the classroom like they always did, but Laura stayed behind, her eyes still fixed on the window, her jaw clenched.

Logan leaned against his desk, waiting until the room was empty before speaking. "You’re gonna miss your break if you sit there all day."

She didn’t respond. Typical Laura.

Logan watched her for a moment before crossing the room and sitting down in the chair next to her, his body turned toward her but giving her space.

"You alright, kid?" he asked, his voice low and calm, like he was talking to a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

Laura’s gaze didn’t shift, but her grip on the edge of her chair tightened.

"I know you," she muttered after a long silence, her voice rough. "You’re just waiting for me to screw up again."

Logan sighed softly, shaking his head. "Not here to wait for you to screw up. I’m here to help you."

Laura scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think I’m doing this for fun? Waking up at 5:30 every morning to come here because I got nothing better to do?"

She finally turned her head to look at him, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out his angle.

"You don’t get it," she said, her voice harsh. "You don’t know what it’s like."

Logan met her gaze, unflinching. "Maybe I don’t know your exact story, but I’ve seen enough, and I know enough to get the picture. And I know you’re not alone, even if it feels like it."

Her eyes flickered for a second, something passing over her face before the hardened mask came back. She looked away, her jaw tightening again, and for a moment, Logan thought the conversation was over. But then she spoke again, quieter this time.

"I don’t wanna be here anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Logan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Laura’s shoulders tensed, and she gripped the chair so hard her knuckles went white. "This place. This... stupid center. I don’t belong here. I can’t—" She cut herself off, shaking her head in frustration, as if the words were too much to get out.

Logan let out a slow breath. He’d seen this before— the tipping point where a kid was ready to run, because staying still felt too risky.

"You don’t have to do this alone," Logan said gently. "If it feels like too much, we can work on that. Together. But you gotta tell me what's really going on, Laura. Or Professor Xavier.  Anybody, really.»

For the first time, Laura’s mask cracked. Her eyes filled with frustration, but behind it, Logan could see the fear. The vulnerability she never let anyone see.

"I don’t belong anywhere," she muttered, her voice shaking. "No one gives a damn. Everyone leaves."

Logan stayed silent for a beat, letting her words sink into the space between them.

"That’s not true," Logan said softly. "You’re here. You’re fighting. You show up every day, even when it’s hard. That says a lot about you, more than you think."

Laura’s eyes flickered toward him, suspicious, but something about his tone made her stay.

"You know what I think?" Logan continued. "I think you’re stronger than you think. And if you want to talk, if you want to work through this... We’re all here. You don’t have to run."

Laura didn’t respond right away, but her shoulders slumped just a bit. The tension that had been coiling inside her all day seemed to ease, if only slightly.

"I don’t know if I can," she muttered.

Logan nodded, standing up slowly and giving her space. "You don’t have to decide today. Just know that the door’s open whenever you’re ready."

He started walking toward the door, expecting her to stay where she was, but then he heard her voice again, small and uncertain.

"Logan?" she asked, and for the first time, she used his name instead of calling him "Mr. Howlett."

"My name is Logan but for some legal reason you have to call me Mr.Howlett," he would say on the first day of school every year.

He turned around, his brows raised.

"Thanks," she said quietly, her gaze dropping back to her hands.

Logan nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Anytime, kid."

As he left the room, he felt a familiar heaviness settle in his chest, one that always came after a conversation like that. The weight of seeing a kid like Laura— someone who was so close to falling through the cracks, struggling to keep her head above water.

But for now, at least, she was still fighting. And Logan would be there to help her keep going, one step at a time.

As Logan left the classroom, the conversation with Laura replayed in his mind, lingering like a heavy weight on his chest. It was the kind of talk that always stuck with him, reminders of the pain these kids carried, the damage they fought to keep hidden.

He walked down the empty hallway, each step feeling slower, heavier. His usual routine of checking on classrooms and prepping for the next lesson seemed far away. All he could think about was Laura’s words, her quiet admission that she didn’t think she belonged anywhere, and how familiar that feeling was.

Logan knew that weight all too well.

He pushed open the door to the staff lounge, needing a moment to collect himself. The clock on the wall told him there were still ten minutes before the next class. It wasn’t enough time to shake this feeling, but he’d take what he could get.

Sinking into one of the chairs, Logan rubbed his hands over his face, trying to push the conversation out of his mind. But it wouldn’t leave him. It never did. It wasn’t just Laura. Every kid at the center carried a similar burden. They all had their demons, their scars. And each one of those conversations weighed him down, little by little.

It was part of the job, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The faint sound of a bell rang out in the hallway, signaling the start of the next class. Logan stood up slowly, taking a deep breath before heading out to meet his students. He had to pull it together. For them.

But as he walked back into the classroom, the weight of the conversation with Laura still clung to him like a dark cloud.

The day dragged on, and no matter how hard Logan tried to focus, his mind kept drifting back to the look on Laura’s face— the fear and vulnerability hidden beneath her tough exterior. He kept thinking about how much these kids reminded him of his own past, his own battles.

By the time the final bell rang, Logan was exhausted. Not from the physical strain, but from the emotional toll the day had taken on him. 

Just as he was packing up to leave, he spotted Wade through the classroom window. He was standing there with a goofy grin on his face, holding up a small box of donuts and a coffee.

But something felt... off. Wade’s smile didn’t reach his eyes like it usually did. He looked tense, distracted. Logan frowned but said nothing at first.

Wade sauntered into the classroom, his usual bravado on full display. “Hey, I come bearing gifts. You looked like you could use a sugar rush.”

Logan took the coffee, eyeing Wade carefully. “Thanks, man. You okay?”

Wade waved off the question with a laugh that sounded a little too loud. “Me? Of course! I’m always okay. What’re you talking about?”

Logan didn’t press further, but he wasn’t convinced. Wade’s humor had always been a shield, something to hide behind when things got too real. He knew that well enough by now.

"Alright," Logan said quietly, breaking off a piece of the donut and offering it to Wade. "If you say so."

Wade took the donut with a shrug, as if nothing was wrong, but Logan could see the tension in his shoulders. They sat there in silence for a while, chewing slowly. Wade broke the silence first, launching into one of his stories—something about a weird couple at last night’s gig and how he had to improvise a joke to get out of an awkward heckling situation.

Logan just nodded along, smirking occasionally at Wade’s antics. He wasn’t much of a talker, especially compared to Wade, but they had their dynamic down by now. Wade talked, Logan listened. That was how it worked. It wasn’t until Wade’s voice grew a little more strained that Logan felt the crack in his friend’s usual confidence.

As they walked out of the center, Wade was still rattling off his story, his words slightly more rushed than usual.

“I swear, man, if this one guy hadn’t backed off, I would’ve—"

“You sure you’re okay?” Logan asked again, cutting him off, his voice quieter this time, more concerned.

Wade immediately put his mask back on, laughing a little too loudly again. “Of course! Stop worrying about me, peanut. You’ve got your own crap to deal with. Speaking of which, how’s it going with Y/N, huh? Been hanging out together without me, yet?”

Logan rolled his eyes, though Wade’s obvious attempt to change the subject didn’t go unnoticed. “She’s our roommate, Wade.”

“Sure, sure,” Wade said with a wink. “Got it.”

Logan let it go. Pushing Wade wouldn’t get him anywhere. They’d been through this before. He’d talk when he was ready, and when that time came, Logan would be there.

Back at the apartment, the scent of something delicious greeted them as soon as they walked in the door. Y/N was in the kitchen, apron on, stirring a pot of what looked like some kind of stew.

“Hey, perfect timing,” she called over her shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Logan grunted a small thank you, setting his bag down by the door, but Wade was, as always, much more dramatic.

“Y/N, you absolute angel,” Wade gushed, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “I don’t deserve this! But I’ll take it.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing up at them both. “Long day?”

“You could say that,” Wade replied, but his usual humor seemed thinner, more like a front than ever before. He shot Logan a quick look, as if daring him to say anything. Logan just gave a subtle shake of his head and headed into the living room.

The shadows of the day lingered, tightening around him. He settled onto the couch, his mind racing back to Laura’s quiet admission. It was hard to shake the feeling that he was somehow failing her, as if his own past could offer her a lifeline he wasn’t made to provide.

Wade followed him in, his usual bravado on display but lacking its usual spark. “Hey, did you hear me? I was talking about the heckler,” Wade said, attempting to recapture the lightness that had slipped away from him.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Logan replied, trying to match Wade's tone. He could feel the edges of his own thoughts creeping in, threatening to overshadow their banter. “Sounds like you handled it well.”

“Of course! I’m the best,” Wade said with a grin, though it faltered slightly as he caught Logan’s gaze. “Seriously though, what’s up? You’ve been quiet. Did your kids hit you with one of those heavy questions again?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to drag Wade into his emotional turmoil, especially when his friend was clearly wrestling with something of his own. Instead, he forced a small smile. “Just a long day.”

Wade nodded, his gaze scrutinizing. “You know, you could talk about it, right? We’re here for you.”

Logan shrugged, the weight of Wade’s words hitting harder than expected. He appreciated Wade’s willingness to listen, but he also felt that familiar instinct to shield his friend from the darkness that came with his memories. “I’m good, really.”

Just then, Y/N emerged from the kitchen, carrying a pot. “Dinner’s ready!” she announced, her smile brightening the room. It smelled delicious. He loved that she was settling so well into their dynamic.

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best,” Logan said, feeling a warmth spread through him at her kindness.

Wade leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “You’re amazing,” he gushed, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You might be my favorite roommate I’ve ever had.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing between them. “Just trying to make something nice. Hope it’s okay!”

“Looks great,” Logan assured her, though he could see the uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She was still getting used to their routine, just as he was getting used to having her around.

As they gathered around the table, Logan focused on the meal, the rich aromas helping to distract him from his thoughts. Wade filled the silence with jokes and stories. Logan nodded along, trying to engage, but he could feel the tension in Wade’s shoulders, just as he sensed it in his own.

After dinner, as Y/N began to clear the table, Logan stood up to help her. “Let me take those,” he offered, reaching for the plates.

“Thanks,” she replied, her eyes meeting his briefly. He appreciated her easy smile, the way she brought a sense of warmth to their home, but he was still aware of how new everything felt.

Wade lingered at the table, looking at both of them with an unreadable expression. “You two sure seem cozy over there,” he teased, but there was a hint of something more serious in his tone.

Logan glared at him from the kitchen as the man just winked.

Bastard.

Once the table was cleared, they settled onto the couch. Logan leaned back, taking a moment to breathe. He felt the weight of the day settle in once more, but he was grateful for the distraction of Y/N and Wade. No matter how heavy the conversations, he knew he wasn’t alone in this.

“Alright, what’s next? Movie night?” Wade suggested, a little too brightly.

“Sounds good to me,” Y/N replied.

Logan nodded, grateful for the opportunity to escape, even if just for a little while. They flicked through the channels, laughter and light banter filling the room, but a part of Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadows were still lurking just beyond the surface. Still, for now, he had this moment— this family —and it was enough.

XXX

[minkieater]

spiderhead → yj

tattoo artist!yeonjun x fem!reader

smut mdni, cheating, alcohol consumption, toxic relationship wc. ~6k

the buzz from tattoo guns spread across the room as if there were a swarm of bees  — the shop was busy today. yeonjun’s mouth tasted of tobacco and menthol, his favorite combination, his index and middle fingers stained with the scent from years of use. he rain a hand through his hair, feeling the ends tickle his neck, before burying both hands in the soft, fleece lined pocket of his hoodie. 

he made his way over to his station, checking his tools, cleaning up the area so he could prepare for his next client. the steps whirled in his head as they always did when he fixed his area: wash his hands, put gloves on, sterilize his tools, cover his equipment, disinfect all surfaces. he loved this part, the organization, having everything accessible to make his art easier to complete. 

god, yeonjun loved his fucking job. just the plain idea of him drawing and coloring on people’s bodies, having his art stay there forever, it was magical to him. yeonjun knew in high school that he wanted to be a tattoo artist — he bought a shitty tattoo gun online, spent his weekends drunk in beomgyu’s basement leaving wonky doodles on his friends in places no one would ever see. at parties, people would beg him to whip out the tattoo gun, implore him to etch small designs on their skin on the big leather couch in soobin’s parents’ house. 

those nights turned into lonely ones spent in his bedroom, cross hatching lines into fake skin on his desk, shading with pointillism in designs he’d seen on pinterest, smoke from his lit joint dancing into the air of his bedroom. he had a year long apprenticeship at a tattoo shop in the middle of brooklyn when he turned nineteen, he tried college for a year when he graduated high school but quickly realized it just wasn’t for him. now, four years later, he was thriving: he was booked, he was busy, he was a real fucking tattoo artist and made real fucking money. 

he grabbed his phone to check the time before he started disinfecting, only five more minutes before his client was supposed to show. he scrolled his lock screen, eyes thinning when he read the notifications. 

v: did u turn the lights off before u left v: if my electric bill is high again just know you’re paying that shit

his lips pulled into a line, thumbs moving a mile a minute. 

yj: yes i turned them off yj: u dont have to remind me every single day 

he locked his phone and set it face down on the counter that ran along the back of the shop, packed cabinets filled with saran wrap, disinfectant and ink caps underneath. he shook his head, irritation flooding his thoughts, he’d left the lights on one time and now he’ll never hear the end of it. 

well over a year now, together but still not quite official — on and off but pretty much living together, yeonjun has spent more time in your bushwick apartment than he has at his own downtown. granted the shop was closer to your apartment than his own, but he’s always liked your apartment more, anyway. tall ceilings, funky art, maps and concert posters on the walls, a unique touch to your living space with your red lacquered kitchen cabinets and dark wood accents where his own looked cheesy and cheap in comparison.

two bedrooms, one full bathroom and a separate room just for the television and couch, yeonjun thought you were fucking loaded when he first stepped foot in your apartment. it had to be your parents paying your bills, or maybe you were a nepo baby – this is new york, after all – but as your relationship grew and he learned more about your occupation, how much you truly made between high commission and tips, he’d never thought a hairstylist could make so much fucking money. 

both of you in your careers, working full time with the public, both creative people that spend their days creating art that lives on people’s bodies. your canvases were humans, walking, breathing pieces of scrap paper that you drew on, painted on, poked, cut, shaded. the two of you related to one another too much in too many areas, on too many levels, so many conversations about people and their critiques, their wishes, their families, their stories. if you and yeonjun could do anything, it was talk. 

you’d met on your twenty first birthday, a little over a month after yeonjun’s twenty second. you and your girl friends and coworkers he later learned circled up on the dance floor with you in the middle, rolling your hips to the beat of the song, head tipped back in a drunken haze and a cocktail in your hand. he eyed you from the bar, thinking nothing of it other than the fact that you were a drunk twenty one year old about to be obnoxiously loud in his ear all night. he sipped his glass of whiskey, neat, tattooed fingers wrapping around the glass that dripped sweat onto his palm. 

the bar was hot, too hot for the outfit he had on — oversized black hoodie with the hood over his head, black pants, boots on his feet. he was dressed for early november in new york, layered to fight off the chill of brooklyn, not for whatever the hell was going on in his favorite bar. 

you approached him first, slurring over your words, tucking your hair behind your ear which was already tucked. you batted your eyelashes, your eyes glossed over in intoxication — yeonjun was not biting, he wasn’t interested in the slightest. he gave you a tight lipped smile, clinked his glass with your own and turned his attention away from you, a small gesture to say what you’re looking for is not me, keep it moving.

but when you strolled into his shop two weeks later as a walk-in and yeonjun had a cancellation, only then was he taking the bait, the bait you had no idea you were dangling from a hook right in front of his own two eyes. you didn’t seem to recall your interaction on your birthday, you didn’t seem to recognize yeonjun at all and that only made him curious. hes so curious yeahhh

you asked for a ruler along your index finger, two lines to show the public what two inches really is. he laughed at that, a small puff of amusement leaving his perfect plump lips just as the words left yours. 

“is that stupid?” you asked, head cocked to the side, eyebrows furrowed in question but your eyes wide and he swore he could see them shine as you looked up to him. he was taken then, from just that one look in your eyes – he knew he was in trouble.

“not at all,” he said as she shook his head, smile still dancing on his cheeks, “it’s funny, i’ll take you back.” 

you sat down on the bench, yeonjun went searching for a ruler in the cabinets lining the back of the shop. you spoke mindlessly about your job as he searched, immediately telling him a story about a client you had a few days ago who wanted a balayage and not highlights but they couldn’t decipher between the two — they insisted on highlights when what they were describing was clearly a balayage. you spoke with such enthusiasm, your mouth running a mile a minute, words spilling from your lips just as fast as you thought them. 

yeonjun had no idea what you were talking about but he knew you were adorable — much different from when you first tried to pick him up at that bar. your eyes are bright, words controlled, movements sharp and alert. what did stay the same was the confidence, your outward extrovertedness made it so yeonjun didn’t have to say much, just nodding and listening to your little story as he tried his best to keep his head on straight. 

“finger tattoos don’t last as long as they do on other parts of the body,” he interrupted as your story ended, finally pulling a small red plastic ruler from the cabinet to his left. 

you shrug, “i figured as much, my hands are in water a lot, too.” 

yeonjun sucked a breath in through his teeth, “that makes it even worse.” 

“so what, i have to come back and get it touched up, then? big deal,” your hands came up at your sides, shrugging altogether, “as long as you still work here when i have to get it touched up then it’s fine.” 

“already commending my work when i haven’t even done the tattoo yet?” yeonjun wears a lazy, teasing smile as he sits down on his stool, grabbing the arm rest for you to lay your forearm on. 

“who said i was talking about the tattoo?” yeonjun’s eyes shot up at you who was already wearing a smirk, his lips parted ever so slightly. he immediately cracked a smile, shaking his head as he looked back down to your hand. 

“that’s crazy,” he mumbled under his breath as he put the ruler up to your finger, then grabbed his pen from his tray to mark the inches. maybe you did know — maybe you were purposely dangling the bait, or maybe the two of you just had the same amount of interest in each other. maybe there was no bait to begin with.

“i don’t think it's crazy,” he didn’t expect you to hear him or respond, but it seems you don’t have a filter of any kind as you keep going, “you’re hot, i’m hot, we have a lot in common already.” 

“we have a lot in common?” he raised an eyebrow, looking up to you again after marking the second inch, he grabbed a different pen to mark the eighths. 

“we’re both creative, both work with the public, we have picky people as clients, have to listen to unrealistic expectations, both work in careers that aren’t super common — not common, maybe abnormal? or maybe i’m trying to say we can be abnormal because our careers aren’t super judgemental? appearance wise, i guess, whatever, anyways, we also both know how to talk to people, i can keep going…”

“so all we have in common are our careers?” he’s still playing along as he finishes marking out the lines, “how does that look?”

“looks good to me,” you say after a quick glance, barely an inspection of your finger, “pretty much, but our careers teach us a lot about ourselves. oh! and we can do art trades, i’ll do your hair and you give me tattoos.” 

“are you bribing me or pimping yourself out?” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the smile that paints itself on your face feigns innocence, he’d save that look for his sketchbook later tonight.

“maybe a little bit of both. are either of them working?” you cocked your head to the side again, swinging the feet that hung from the bench ever so slightly, careful not to kick anything in front of you. yeonjun had to reel himself in.

yeonjun had to be honest — with himself, and you — it started working the moment you stepped into the shop. you had no visible tattoos, a casual outfit on, sweatpants and a tee shirt that left just a sliver of skin between the hems of your clothes. your hair was done but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you didn’t seem like anything special off first glance– in fact, you seemed the exact opposite of his type, the girls he usually went for. yeonjun was just as confused with himself as he was enamored by you. 

“i don’t know, i think you might have to try a lil’ harder,” he faked a deciding face, eyebrows scrunched as he moved back in his stool, ushering for you to stand up. he looked at your finger from all angles, analyzing it as you stood to the side, lifting your hands, flexing your fingers as you stood. he was happy with his sketch, his outline, he was more then prepared to freehand a couple lines. 

“you should let me try harder over some drinks if the tattoo comes out good,” your eyes were trained on your hand as you followed his instructions, moving your hands into every position he asked for. 

yeonjun laughed at that, “if the tattoo comes out good? what, am i the one picking you up now?” 

you shrugged as he ushered you to sit back down, “you might be, i’m trying to find out.”

he nodded with his lips pursed, folded into a frown that wasn’t exuding any sort of negative reaction, more impressed than anything. “fair game.”

your tattoo came out flawless, the lines he free handed onto your finger came out straight, perfect in thickness. as easy as it seemed, you knew the talent it took, the patience and a steady hand needed for such precision. after you paid, tipping him generously, your flirting returned with vengeance.

“i think we hit it off if i’m being honest,” you smiled, showing all of your teeth to the black haired man behind the counter, “do you have anyone else after me?” 

he shook his head, “you’re my last, i had a cancellation.”

“oh my god– do you believe in fate? yeonjun, i think that’s what this is, i’m being so serious,” your eyes were wide, eyebrows shot up, smile wide. excitement bled from you, your veins, you were nothing but honest. so shameless, not a thought in your pretty little head that he’d reject you – he wasn’t sure if you’d care if he did. 

he laughed, something he seemed to do too much during your entire service, his head hanging low in front of him before he picked it back up, looking at you who was already staring expectantly at him. “i don’t, but maybe if we go get drinks you can change my mind.”

you raised your fists, “i’ve won.”

the bar was halfway to your apartment, almost smack ass between the tattoo shop and your place. you’d been there before with your girlfriends, once or twice since your birthday – you could finally join in on the fun. yeonjun was dressed in all black, you’d soon come to find out he was always dressed in all black, and he never looked like he got enough sleep. you seemed so bright next to him, with your hair and your clothes and the plush keychains attached to your purse. you looked like total opposites, when you knew you had much more in common than what meets the eye.  

that one night bled into the next year of your lives – something he was not expecting after your first interaction. it’s not like he’s never had a client try to bag him before, but something about you was different, it drove him insane that he couldn’t put a finger on it. he was used to playing games, always the winner, never the loser. he was used to confusion, being stuck in the inbetween, the gray area that sometimes came with relationships, or lack thereof. with you it was so straight forward, a slippery slope, not a hole he dug himself into but instead a well, one full of water, full of life. he never wanted to stop drinking from it, gulp after gulp, chugging until he was so full he thought he might spill over. 

the spilling didn’t come until six and a half months in. your first two months were every man’s wet dream – he had every inch of you, every fistful of perpetually iron-curled hair, every corner of plush skin burned to memory – on every surface of your apartment and his. 

in yeonjun’s past relationships, he never seemed to be the problem. if anything, he was the victim.

small fights to massive blown out arguments over petty shit, staying out too late with his coworkers at his favorite bar to beomgyu stealing him for a night out clubbing, missed texts and phone calls to going MIA for three days. yeonjun never seemed to understand what the issue was – petty arguments were never his thing, he’d rather stay silent than give into whatever the fuck his current plaything was yelling about this time. so what if he stayed out too late with his coworkers? he still came home. there’s no harm in a night out clubbing with his boys, she didn’t even know about the girl that was grinding against his dick all night, or the other one that had her lipstick smeared across his lips in the corner of the dark club. he went MIA for three days because his phone was dead, not because he had her number blocked. it was ridiculous, really, the things women would try and pin on him – yeonjun never seemed to think he was the issue at all. 

the thought never crossed yeonjun’s brain that these behaviors were learned, or that he could teach them to anyone else. he never thought that his pretty, bright eyed new girlfriend would turn into a different version of himself – if she did, he’d be grateful, he thought himself pretty fucking cool – yeonjun never thought any of his behaviors were bad, but when yeonjun got a taste of his own medicine he knew he met his match. 

he showed up at your apartment past midnight, drunk off his ass, clothes oozing whiskey, weed and burberry her. he let himself in with his key, the one you gave him after three months in, the one you told him to use whenever he wanted. he called out your name, searching from room to room, but you were nowhere to be found. he’d never shown up to an empty apartment, there’s never been a lack of you, cuddled up in a fuzzy robe, either under your duvet or sitting on the couch watching reruns of your favorite drama. yeonjun was confused, his dazed head couldn’t think up a proper reason for your absence, he decided to do what he absolutely fucking hated to be done to him. 

he called you about thirty six times, texted you about forty two times. he also left four voicemails, not one of them nice. 

he sat there on your couch – after a much needed shower, a bottle of water and a change of clothes you kept for him in your bottom drawer, he sobered up real quick. he felt more level headed, but he couldn’t ignore the anger that began to grow, a pit that sat heavy in his stomach: where the fuck were you? who were you with? 

you damn near fell into the room an hour later, keys falling to the floor after you ripped them out of the door. you giggled to yourself, your heels in your hands, fingers curled into the heel of your black pumps. the strapless, sparkly scrap of fabric he could barely call a dress was crooked, your hair that was always purposely styled to perfection was a mess, your red lipstick was smudged down your chin. yeonjun’s seen this scene before, he’s done it, he’s lived it.

“who fucked you?” were the first words that left his mouth as he stood in the living room, oversized black clothes hanging off his frame like hade’s robes. the breath that left his nostrils was hot, burning his cupid’s bow, his jaw locked with his usually plump lips scrunched to a thin line. 

you laughed – you fucking laughed. “you’re a fucking psychopath, junie. i just came back from a night with the girls!”

yeonjun was not buying it – he stepped closer. the stench of alcohol was masked by dior sauvage, a smell he knew too well, a smell that drifted past him as you nearly pushed him out of your way. yeonjun was dumbfounded and raging, his eyebrows furrowed together, his hands held out in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them. 

his girl, his only girl – well, other than the girl he made out with earlier – he couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else’s hands on you, being so close to you that you came home smelling like him. he followed you to the bathroom.

you were already stripped down bare – no bra and no panties to be seen on the pile on the floor with that thin scrap of fabric, yeonjun couldn’t collect his thoughts fast enough, his rage was creeping up his spine, sitting in his stomach like food poisoning, threatening to come out whether he wanted it to or not.

“you’re lying,” was all he could get out as you brushed through your hair, putting it in a tight knot atop your head, a small smile still sitting on your cheeks. he didn’t sound angry enough, his voice wasn’t stable, his feelings weren’t enough to give his voice ground to stand on. 

“no i’m not,” you said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like your words were the honest to god truth. you turned to him, your best innocent look paired with that award winning smile, “wanna shower with me? or did you already when you came home from the club?”

yeonjun had a full body reaction, his eyebrows furrowed and his face scrunched up in disbelief and shock, for just a moment there he thought he might be insane. did he make that up? was the dior he smelled just remnants from being with beomgyu earlier? no, no he showered, that was all you. he was not insane. he stepped closer. 

the smell of a shower he’d taken just an hour ago filled the room, the body wash that you always used was the only scent he could decipher. he took a breath, “you fucked someone.”

“i think you might still be drunk, baby,” you wore a fake pout, raising your right hand to run your thumb across his bottom lip, “happy anniversary, by the way. six months!”

that was the start of everything – his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend was buried somewhere, six feet deep in wet soil, replaced with something akin to a fucking monster. when yeonjun first met you, you had told him you had so much in common, yeonjun didn’t believe it, didn’t see it. he thought the two of you were polar fucking opposites, yet he liked you anyway, liked that you introduced him to a new type of relationship. while yeonjun spent six months subconsciously teaching you his own behaviors, you spent the time purposely teaching him quite a few of your own. 

goodmorning texts to goodnight texts to facetime – yeonjun never did any of that shit before. yeonjun has never bought a single person a bouquet of flowers in his entire life. yet here you stood, his pretty little bright eyed girlfriend, in the middle of your salon surrounded by a herd of your coworkers with a bouquet signed ‘your junie <3 love you baby!’

his friends called him whipped, a simp, a cuck, every name in the fucking book because yeonjun adored you, and it was painfully obvious. you’d come to beomgyu’s garage, parading around in a mini skirt and your tiny little purse that yeonjun was sure only had lip gloss inside, getting him beers from the fridge and cracking them open, handing them to him with a smile and sitting straight on your throne: his lap. his friends adored you too, they couldn’t figure out what you saw in yeonjun – with his dark clothes, heavy tattoos that covered his body, bags under his eyes, black hair and too much metal through holes in his face. his friends were constantly flirting with you, getting you whatever you needed, they were the ones cracking beers and serving them to you, yet you were doing it for yeonjun. 

yeonjun was filled with pride, he loved it. a trophy they could look at but never touch. he’d never had this type of relationship before, someone so obsessed with him, someone willing to wait on him hand and foot, he slipped deeper and deeper into an emotion he’d never experienced before without even realizing it. 

the day he did realize it, that was when the true fun began, because while he was unconsciously slipping, swimming deeper into that well, you stood at the top, holding the rope, pulling bucket by bucket out of the well with that award winning, innocent smile etched into your skin. 

you weren’t kidding when you said you’d do art trades, even his coworkers knew your face by now, taehyun two stations down always offered his services when you sat down on yeonjun’s bench. you giggled and flipped your hair, saying why would i do that when my boyfriend’s a better artist than you?

god, yeonjun loved to hear those words leave your lips. it was a bit the two of you did, taehyun acted as if he was shot through the heart, a poisoned arrow slipping straight through his skin, and yeonjun could hear the sweet melody of your giggle through the shop. yeonjun has filled up one of your arms by now and half of the other– a garden, flowers, bees, butterflies, tattoos that were so undoubtedly you he couldn’t even make fun of you for them. he wouldn’t expect you to have anything else.

his favorite, though, was the YJ right above your hip. it was in yeonjun’s own handwriting, a doodle he marked on your skin for life, late at night after too many drinks – it was like he was in high school again. that was four months in. 

that night, yeonjun felt the closest thing to his entire world caving in on him – he needed to go. he stared at the scribble on your hip while his face was buried between your thighs, you were writhing above him, hands buried in his hair, you always looked so fucking gorgeous like that. instead of being focused on you, determined to push you over the edge like usual, yeonjun’s head was clouded – hazy. he wondered how a person he’d met by chance just a few months ago could become so important, so detrimental to his life, he feared he would be a shell of himself if you ever chose to leave him.

it terrified him. he’d never felt this way about anyone before.

before that night, your relationship was golden – yeonjun was something out of a dream, a hero, the prince in your story, you were convinced you’d spend your life with him. he was honest, he was smart, he told you everything that he had wrapped up in his complex, dark brain, and you accepted every word that came from his mouth, every thought that popped into his head.

when he left that night, hours after shoving a twelve gauge needle in your skin with ink the color of his hair, you didn’t stress. you woke with a panic, of course, where the hell did your boyfriend go? but after twelve hours of no response, a trip to his shop, a night spent in his favorite bar, hours bent over your ikea bed frame, you knew what this was. you recognized this fear, you saw straight through him, yeonjun wasn’t as masked as he thought himself out to be. you’d shared too much, you knew too much about one another for yeonjun to be anything but transparent. 

you paid attention. late nights, coming home smelling like another woman’s perfume, earrings that fell from his pocket when you did laundry, long and short pink and blonde and brown pieces of hair found around every inch of your apartment – you looked at the tattoo that sat above your hip, you knew there was no one else for you in the world. if yeonjun wanted to play the game, you’d play it too, you’d play it better. 

the first three or four or twenty two times you did it – yeonjun didn’t notice. you even sent him home in one of yeonjun’s tees, one of his favorites, one that you successfully convinced yeonjun he left at his own apartment. when he couldn’t find it there, it wasn’t your issue anymore – with half of your wardrobe in two different places, you’re bound to lose a shirt or two. 

it was only when you got sloppy, when you wanted him to notice, that he did. two months in, six and a half months after your relationship began, he’d caught you and you were so fucking close to convincing him that he didn’t. 

“we’re fucking done,” he was seething as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a plush beige towel around your torso, no effort needed to keep yourself calm. 

“why’s that?” you continued to feign innocence, stepping in front of the mirror to start applying your skincare, not even glancing at the man who stood next to you, his hands balled into fists. 

“i know you fucked someone tonight,” his voice was stern, it was hideous on him. you loved the cool, calm yeonjun better – you loved your yeonjun, the one you spent endless nights with, looking through his sketchbook, where he showed you all of his doodles, his drawings, when he let himself be the most vulnerable. “there’s no use in denying it, v.”

“and what have you been doing for the past two months, yeonjun?” your head snapped to look at him, your voice matching his, cadence slipping into something more harsh, laying yourself bare for him. you supposed your time was up. his mouth opened and closed. 

“great,” his head dropped, low, sarcastic laughter slipping from his lips, “you fuck someone and blame it on me? project your cheating onto me?”

“there’s no use denying it, jun. have you talked to beomgyu? maybe you should ask him what he did after he dropped you off.”

you physically watched his face turn red – ears hot, crimson bubbling up from his chest to his throat to his face – you had to stop yourself from smiling. he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and you slept like a baby. freshly fucked, coming down from a solid drunk, you felt brand new. 

it was a week before you saw him again – honestly, you were shocked it took that long. that gorgeous, long black hair that curled around his ears, peeked from the hem of his hoodie, you longed to touch it, feel it between your fingers. he looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time he saw you, his bags sat heavy, dark, in your entryway, key in hand. you wanted to take care of him, wanted him to get a good night’s rest – next to you. 

you sat on your couch, not a muscle to be moved in his direction, the two of you just stared at each other from across the room. moments went by, you’re sure maybe a full minute, then he was pacing towards you. 

“hello?” you asked in disbelief and concern before he was pulling you up by your wrists, smashing his lips against yours. his lips tasted of whiskey, neat, cigarette smoke, menthol. you thought maybe you were addicted to tobacco too from the way his mouth felt euphoric against yours, an old friend you’d missed. it’s only been a week but it could’ve been a year for all you knew. 

“you’re mine, you know that?” he’d asked between kisses, his mouth swallowing yours, his tongue stealing the words you couldn’t begin to think let alone speak. instead you nodded into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair, body forcing itself into his, you missed him. you missed his smell, his touch, the feeling of him against you, you missed everything. you never wanted to part from him again. 

he had you split open on the couch as he knelt on the floor, head between your thighs again, eyes trained on the YJ that sat on your hip. he hadn’t seen it in a week, his brand on you, his initials that were inked into your skin for the rest of your life – he missed being between your legs, missed tasting you, missed taking everything you had to fucking offer. he missed you, his other half, the monster he created, his comfort, his home.

yeonjun would be lying if he said he was willing to part ways with you, but he’d also be lying if he said he was willing to acknowledge to the full extent of what he felt for you. yeonjun felt betrayed, played, messed with, like you snuck into his brain and plucked every single thought out of his head and fucking warped it. god, he loved you. he was so scared.

he told you as he barreled into you, fucking you like he hated you, whispering those words in a choked breath over and over into the shell of your ear. he couldn’t believe he was admitting it, couldn’t believe he was saying those three little words – you’re different, you’re everything. he loved you.

the months to follow were dancing right on the edge, together, but not quite. apart, but were you ever really apart? every night, wrapped in your sheets or his sheets – always someone’s sheets, always together. you never discussed sleeping with beomgyu, yeonjun never brought it up again, he looked back at that moment in his head and all he saw was weakness, a time where he let you slip away – let you get away from him. you never spoke of it, but it was always there, between the two of you like a wall. 

that wall that stood between you was tall and rock solid, unlike the glass doors to yeonjun’s head, yeonjun’s thoughts, that wall of his was unbreakable – even when he came home smelling like burberry her again no argument in the world could pry that night out of him again.

you knew better this time than to try with beomgyu again, he hadn’t reached out since the night yeonjun left your apartment, you knew better than to try with anyone. instead of fighting fire with fire, you got distant, you spoke less, you asked less, you tried less. you became the ghost of his pretty, bright eyed girlfriend, one that had been to hell and back, one that learned from her mistakes. you became a reflection of yeonjun. 

yeonjun checked his phone after his client, only two hours had gone by, surprisingly enough. it was a solid first session for his client’s leg sleeve, but his bones were aching, his eyes sore from being focused for so long.

v: you left the fucking lights on

[dissociative-misinfo]

"If you really had DID, you wouldn't know!"

Says who?!

The idea that people with dissociative identity disorder (DID) can't be aware of their symptoms until they're diagnosed... This is a huge myth about DID and similar experiences; one that has been debunked again and again by experts. Yet it remains! Here are a few examples of this misconception being spread around online: source.

People with DID can be, and often are, aware of their DID symptoms before ever speaking to a clinician.

Where is the proof? Khan (2024) states that, while it's normal for dissociative people to not realize the full extent of their symptoms, trauma, or alters, they can still become aware of any of these things at any point. Source. Dell (2006) actually considers the awareness of alters before diagnosis to be a "common occurrence in DID" which has been widely documented in studies. Multiple diagnostic screening tools inquire about awareness of alters for this reason. Source.

Additionally, alters can have varying degrees of awareness of each other and their symptoms. To quote Howell (2011) from her book, on pages 3-4: Source.

"Different dissociative parts may or may not have knowledge of the affects, behaviors, histories, motives, and thoughts of other parts. How coconscious patients are also varies—that is, the extent to which they have knowledge of and are privy to the thoughts, history, and affairs of the other parts varies. Often, the part of the self that is in executive control is unaware of the thoughts and activities of other parts (often called one-way amnesia). However, this is a tricky topic to try to make clear. For example, coconsciousness may be minimal before beginning psychotherapy for DID but tends to increase considerably in the course of appropriate psychotherapeutic work. Although parts other than the part who is most often in executive control (often called the “host”) are more likely to know of each other and of the host, this is not always the case and is not always the same for different parts of the same patient. Some parts may be unknown by many of the others. The dissociative structure of each patient is different."

Even in the case someone has no memory of their symptoms, they can be made aware through external evidence such as finding purchases or notes that other alters made, police reports confirming traumatic events, someone pointing out their dissociation, etc.

Now let’s talk about something that I feel goes frequently unrecognized: becoming aware of symptoms is often a positive thing! For many people, recognizing their own symptoms is the first step to seeking help for them. As mental health awareness and access to useful information increases, we will likely see an uptick in people with DID developing more awareness of their symptoms and getting help sooner. That’s incredibly positive!

Finally, a small note about diagnosis... Diagnosis is its own loaded topic for a different day. However, I want to point out that people diagnosed with DID still had the DID before their diagnosis. The symptoms were still there, whether they were aware of it or not.

Furthermore, not everyone with DID can obtain a diagnosis or even wants one. There are a myriad of potential reasons for that and I encourage you to do your own research on it. These articles can be a good starting point: source, source, source.

Thanks for reading!

[pygmi-cygni]

pygmi, please may I beg for some King John scraps, I need him being a spoilt brat but also a 10000% simp <3

HI FEN I PROMISE I'M NOT IGNORING YOU! (does the gif make it better)

man idk what's in yall's water but i have been getting so many asks for him

cw: falling in love headcanons

John is dyslexic, I think. And he would love it if somebody read to him.

He didn't know you could read, if anything he thought books were just for decoration. But when he came across you, reclining on the sofa with one cracked open in front of you, he sneered. A waste of time, to sit and look at sheafs of paper.

So, you decided to read aloud.

Then, his indifference shifted to jealousy. If only he could read like that, lilting and musical and telling wondrous stories. He'd lay over your lap in bed and try to see what you were seeing on the page, but it all looked like gibberish.

Once, you tried to teach him, sounding out each letter and writing it for him to copy. But he really preferred to listen, ear pressed against your chest.

It became a routine. He'd sneak from his bedchambers, across the hall, down the stairs, past the kitchens, up the tower and into your window. He'd pick a book (by the color of the binding) and you'd read for an hour or so, until he got drowsy, and you'd kick him out.

John didn't like that part.

He bitched and begged for you to let him stay, but you stayed firm on your decision.

He decided to lay completely still the next time. Usually, his hands played with the sheets or fondled your chest or he commented on the happenings of the story. Not this time.

If you found it odd, you didn't mention it. Your reading continued without a hitch, your hand even coming up to rest on his head. John bit back a devilish grin, shifting slowly to lay atop your body. Eventually, your voice trailed off, and he cracked an eye open, waiting for you to shoo him away.

But no. It was you who'd fallen asleep, eyes softly shut and lips parted. John smiled, gazing openly at your gentle expression. After a moment of admiration, he gently plucked the book and set it on the floor (without moving his legs) and settled in for sleep.

You woke at midnight and scoffed at the deadweight, nudging him awake.

Go, you need to go to bed, you hissed. He blinked blearily and whined. I am in bed.

Your bed, fool. Run along. Pouting, he made the long journey back to his quarters, holing up in his significantly colder bedroom.

Next time you weren't so distracted. You kicked him out early, before you'd even gotten to the good part! John wheedled and pleaded, just to finish the chapter, but you swore to lock the window for the rest of the year and he quickly obeyed.

John, furious his bedtime ritual was being tarnished, hatched a plan. The night you'd fallen asleep, he'd bathed with lavender soap. So, he did so again, and tucked a few sprigs in his collar.

You clearly liked the smell, tucking your chin atop his head and stopping to inhale deeply. John's smile tickled your sternum. You read for an hour longer than you had the night before.

He did it again the next night, and your voice started to falter. He preened when you petted his hair, even drawing a blanket over his back.

Finally, finally you fell asleep. He removed the book from your lap and settled against you, curled around your waist to prevent you from getting up. John slept for hours, warm and content. He woke slowly at noon.

Carefully, he looked up, delighted to see you still in bed. You were awake, hand rubbing gently on the nape of his neck. Your nightclothes had slipped a little bit, but you paid them no mind, letting your bare skin shine in the early morning light.

John tentatively nestled closer, wishing you to read aloud.

After a moment, you did, morning voice tickling his brain pleasantly. John nosed into the neckline of your loose clothes, pressing to your warm skin and breathing deeply. His soft lips tickled, but you kept reading.

Eventually his confidence grew, showing up in nightclothes and sliding under the blankets next to you.

John would lay his head on your shoulder, 'accidentally' brushing his lips against your neck. you read on, voice never wavering.

Once, he picked a love story. It was, by far, his favorite, the innuendos making him grin and giggle into your shoulder. You faltered on the intimate pieces, but he egged you on, gaze locked warmly on your face.

I think, he mused, trailing a finger up your arm, if I am to understand this story, I'll need a visual representation.

You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

John leaned in, lips a centimeter from yours. His eyes were soft and warm, pleading silently with you. Your grip loosened on the book, and he leaned forwards, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

For a moment, your gaze shifted.

You drew him onto your chest, continuing the story. He'd interrupt you occasionally with a peck or a nibble, but you didn't say anything.

Safe to say, he liked bedtime much better after that.

ironically i think his favorite story would be robin hood, if possible.

tags!

@krakenkitty @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love @unear7hly

[hexcitrine]

randomly looked at this account to update my age and holy shit it's been a while since i posted here..........i have a small pile of art i have yet to post but hbhbshdbshbd too lazy

[coquelicoq]

i think of all the books i've ever read, le père goriot takes the prize for taking the longest to get interesting, as it doesn't happen until the very last sentence. i'm just bopping along for over 400 pages of whatever and then he slaps me in the face with the last sentence and immediately peaces out. okay you got my attention, just in time to throw it away. respect.

[genspiel]

the broken kingdoms is like the opposite of middle book syndrome. it was so good; a big step up from the hundred thousand kingdoms, tbh. i'd stopped mid-kingdom of gods bc it wasn't really holding my interest, read several other books in the interim, and have now come back to it, aaaand.... it's still not really holding my interest so much............ sigh. i do want to know how this all works out in the end, but unfortunately it looks getting there could still be a bit of a chore.

[soleilchanson]

Play fighting with Boxer!Sukuna

Note: Reader is referred to as girlfriend at one point.

Masterlist

-•-

“Babe.”

“Not right now.”

“Babe.”

“Sukuna, I promise I’ll be done with this book soon.”

He huffed and fell back onto the couch. He had been trying to get your attention for the past 30 minutes but you were adamant on finishing your book. This is all the fault of that damn community book club your coworker recommended you join. Now whenever, you’re off work and Sukuna doesn’t have to train, you’re reading. Usually the two of you spent almost all your spare time together but now you spent half of it reading your newest book for your weekly discussion. You always did your best to spoil him with kisses and cuddles but it was never enough.

Book club be damned, he needed you to be superglued to his side every single second.

“My girlfriend has a side man and he’s made of paper.” He huffed to himself as he watched you intently read. What was so great about your book anyway? Was it worth ignoring your gorgeous (and shirtless) boyfriend? He even had a tattoo of your name on his left pec and you were still choosing to smother a book with your attention.

Sukuna’s wallowing turned him creative- he stood in front of you, trying to make sure your guard was down. You didn’t look up which meant that you were still engrossed in your book. His hand swooped in and swiftly snatched the book from you. “Sukuna.” you groaned. “Give it back, I was at a good part.” You got up to grab it from him but he raised it above his head. “Kiss me.” You glared at him and gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Done, now give it.”

“No.” He nonchalantly replied. “But I kissed you.” You wondered why he was being particularly irritating today.

“That was me begging for a morsel of your attention. Now cuddle me if you want it.” He said and cheekily smirked.

You ignored him and hopped trying to get your book. Sukuna simply dodged your sad attempts and laughed every time you missed. “I don’t even know why you’re trying.” You gave him a pointed look at his comment.

“Okay, fine, you can have your book if you beat me in a fight.”

“What? That makes no sense.” You couldn’t believe this man. “It seems like a fair challenge to me.” He said as he walked to a particularly high shelf and placed your book on top of it. “You know I can just use my stepping stool for that, right?” You said before scoffing at him.

“Then it’s a good thing I hid it.” His sarcastic smile was now pissing you off. “But you literally fight for a living. You have the upper hand.”

“I’m in love with you. Use that as a distraction. Come on, let’s go to the ring.” You were speechless as he dragged you to the fighting “ring” (also known as your bedroom).

Since you had a smaller frame than him, he agreed to let you have the first hit. You sighed and braced yourself. You didn’t have much of a strategy except for charging at him with such a high speed that he’d fall on the bed and would accept defeat.

But as soon as you were in close distance, he caught both your arms, turned you around and threw you on the bed. He didn’t give you a second to get up before he straddled you. “Haha!” He exclaimed. Seeing you all riled up underneath him was a sight he was used to but it never failed to awe him.

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” He asked as he began to lower himself to face you. “This is so unfair! You’re like 200 pounds, I can’t even move you.” You said as you tried to push him off. Sukuna grabbed your hands that were fighting him and he playfully wrestled them. Who knows what would’ve happened if he used his real strength.

Thank goodness for your quick thinking because you remembered that Sukuna was extremely ticklish so you pulled your hand out of his grasp with all the strength you could muster up and started poking his sides. “Babe!” He yelled before toppling over to his side. It was your turn to straddle him and before you could pin his arms beside his head, he caught yours and pulled you down to him. He wrapped his muscular arms around you and tucked your head under his chin. Your cheeks were mushed against the very tattoo of your name.

You were literally stuck in one position. The more you tried to move the tighter he’d hold you. “Sukuna, you cheater. Why do I always do this to myself?” You sighed, accepting defeat.

Sukuna kissed your forehead and laid you both on your sides, still not letting you go. “Sweet, sweet victory.” He whispered to himself.

-•-

I need to be (lovingly) smothered by a beefy nerd. Someone like Clark Kent.

[nectardaddy]

everyone needs to read this right mf now! PLEASE!

try again

part 0.4. NEXT TIME

"the playground seemed so big when they were younger. and now they’re here again, 10 years later, and it looks small. their world is bigger than just this playset now. the metal that forms the foundation of the structure is still a shiny, vibrant red, but the cracked, faded plastic shows its age. where has time gone? 'who are you now?' she wants to ask. as a kid, time goes by slowly, and you tell your parents you can’t wait to grow old. they tell you to enjoy your childhood, but you never believe them. and even now, she’s not sure she does. she's not old, but old enough to know time goes by fast. since their meeting in her office, she’s reflected more on how she’s grown up. she doesn’t miss her childhood– she likes the freedom that has come with adulthood, but at the same time, it’s slowly weighing her down. she’s old enough, that she can no longer spend her summers relaxed in a quiet house, laying in bed all day with the door open while both her parents are at work. she can't spend the nights stretched out on her back, against wet, dewy grass, looking at the stars with him while staining her favorite shirt. now she has responsibilities to take care of every day, and any little mistake can no longer be taken back. she’s an adult now, and no one is there to pick her up when she falls."

content warnings + notes: calling atsumu a little cupid whore (/lh), drinking, y/n is having a crisis, pay attention to unsent messages :) very long written part... oops </3

she downs the last of her glass in one go. 

it’s cheap whiskey, and she hates the taste. it’s probably the worst she’s ever had, but the burn down her throat is a little pleasant. 

completely going against her plan to drink something light, she decided she would need some liquid courage if she was going to do this. her hands are splayed across the cold bar counter as she stands from her chair, mind buzzing a little as she grounds herself. 

akaashi doesn’t notice her absence in his drunken state, but iwaizumi does. kita looks up as well, but remains seated, keeping akaashi company after nodding to iwaizumi who stands up.

“where are you going?” he asks following her out of the bar, pushing past a few groups of people in their way. he's not asking it like he's accusing her of anything, he just sounds concerned.

but he doesn’t need to worry, and she faces him as they make it out. “going to see omi,” she practically sings the answer, her voice careless as the nickname spills out of her mouth before she even realizes it. it comes too naturally to her, and the thought ruins the nice numbness in her veins from the alcohol. instead, she starts to feel the guilt build up again.

iwaizumi still stands in front of her, arms crossed, matching her own stance. “you’re going to see sakusa?” he repeats, brows raised.

“mhm,” she hums, shifting from one foot to the other. her shoes are starting to bother her, too. she'll probably take them off as soon as iwaizumi lets her go.

“where?”

she sighs, starting to feel restless just standing there. the warm lights and ruckus from inside the bar invite her back in, and so does the pull she feels in the opposite direction down the street, where she'll see him. “an old park, can i go?”

“no, hold on,” he stops her before she can even take a step, “you’re going to go meet a man you haven’t talked to in years after a single interaction at a park this late at night?”

“yes?” she quirks a brow at him, “it’s an old park we used to go to a lot. it’s not far from here and i know him. i’ll be okay.”

“i’m not saying sakusa’s going to do anything to you, but i’m not letting you walk there alone. especially when you’ve been drinking. let me make sure you get there safely and then i’ll leave you, deal?” he proposes, and she sees how much he cares in his eyes. they’re a pretty olive green and despite how sharp they are, there’s so much love in them. it reminds her of her own eyes, and how she feels when she looks at sakusa; her head starts to panic in alarm and get defensive, but at the same time, her heart slows down, as if telling her he's safe.

she knows iwaizumi makes a good point, and there’s nothing wrong with having a little extra safety, or a human purse. “fine,” she sighs, “but only if you hold my shoes.”

their walk to the park is silent, but it’s a peaceful silence. she’s walking next to him barefoot, feeling even shorter than before. he questions her a few times, to make sure she actually knows where she’s going, and she insists that she does. she’s had a little bit to drink, yes, but she’s not drunk. and she's confident she could still find her way to this park blindfolded. she’s walked these sidewalks hundreds of times, ran to this park from every direction and route possible. it was always their spot, whether they lay in the wet grass or sat on the playset. the memories of being with him back then make her feel a little grim, and iwaizumi looks down at her, noticing.

“you okay?” he asks, nudging her shoulder closest to him with his arm.

“yeah,” she sighs, watching the way her shoes clank against each other in his hand with every step they take.

“what’re you thinking?” he asks, still looking down at her and she looks back up at him.

“i just don’t know what i’m doing,” she says, trying to voice her feelings while she turns to stare back ahead of them. “what are we gonna do? what does he like doing now? what if i’ve changed and he doesn’t like who i am anymore? i'm so scared of disappointing him.”

“you’re good enough as you are, y/n,” he silences her and she glances back at him in surprise. “don’t let a man change how you see yourself. you’re good as you are, and if he doesn’t think so, he can fuck off. there's no such thing as an expectation or a right way for you to act. he’s probably changed too, and that’s just how people work. did he text you or did you text him?”

she gives him a smile at his words, nudging him back with her shoulder as a way of thanking him, “he texted me.”

he gives her a grin at that, “he texted you? asking to see you?” when she nods he continues, "damn that's ballsy. he really wants you, y/n. and i hope he's a good person. i’ve seen him around and worked a little bit with him, he seems alright.”  

she flusters a little bit at his words, “i’m sure it’s not like that. we just used to be very good friends, you know that. i’ve never stopped missing him, maybe he felt a little bit of the same way.”

he nods at her words, giving a hum in thought. they’re walking along the fence that’s been set up around the park, and she can see the entrance coming up, where a lone lamp post is lighting the way. “but you want him, don’t you?”

she knows he’s asking it in a romantic sense, and she does. she knows what she feels for him is more than just friendly, and she’s felt stupid for never being able to fall in love with anyone else because she’s been stuck on him this entire time. “i’m happy with anything,” she decides to say, “if we start hanging out again, that’s enough for me. i just want him to be a part of my life.”

they stop at the park entrance, and she can see the playset from here, just a bit down the path. “do you want me to walk you there? or are you’re fine from here? i think the walk helped you sober up a little bit, so i feel better about leaving you here now. just make sure you text me if you feel even slightly off, got it?”

“got it!” she responds with a smile, giving him a small salute as a joke. “thank you for walking me here, iwa. i'll be fine on my own now and i’ll text you when i'm walking home.”

he rolls his eyes at the salute but gives her a smile, “sounds good. i’ll check in with you then as well. i might come meet you halfway or who knows, maybe your guy will want to walk you home?”

he’s giving her another shitty grin that she’d like to slap off his face, and it’s her turn to roll her eyes, “whatever, iwa. see you in a little bit.”

she pulls him into a hug, trying to tell him all her feelings at once, thanking him for his advice and for walking her here, and he’s quick to reciprocate it, rubbing her back for a second before they pull away. he gives her her shoes and waves her off, making sure she steps onto the playground before he leaves, and she sees him.

tonight, it seems they’ll be sitting on the top of the playset, above a tube that connects one platform to another. she steps up onto one of the platforms first, dropping her shoes on it before clambering on top of the structure.

he offers her a hand after watching her (probably ungraceful) climb which she hesitates to take for a second. her heart feels like it's trying to escape her chest as she takes it, the contact sending chills along her skin.

“hi,” she whispers after she's sat down, stealing a glance at him, unsure of where to start.

“hi,” he says back, already looking at her. he looks better than when she saw him last, but perhaps that's just because today has been better for him. there are still bags under his eyes that she can see despite the lack of light around them, but she can also see that his eyes look brighter today. she wants to mention it, say she’s glad to see that he looks like he's doing well today, but she shouldn’t. it’s too early–

“you look good today.”

the words spill out of her mouth and she immediately slaps a hand over it. she had drank more after texting him purposefully, knowing that it would mess with her ability to reason and this was the consequence, although she wasn't sure yet if it was a positive or negative one.

he laughs in response, giving her a small smile that she hasn’t seen in years. she missed seeing it; she missed him.

“thank you,” he says, holding her gaze and she’s unable to look away, “you look good too. although maybe a little drunk.”

her cheeks are burning red and she feels hot despite the fact that she was practically shivering the entire way here, latching onto iwaizumi and his body heat. “no i– well– yes, i have been drinking but i didn’t mean it that way– i mean you do look good–” she has to take a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, “i meant you look happier today, sorry.”

he’s still looking at her, smiling. and maybe it’s a tiny bit bigger than it was before, and she smiles back.

she has no idea it’s because of her–that he seems happier today. he’s only just found her again after so many years apart, and yet he’s glad she’s in his life again. this is only the second time they’ve seen each other after so long, and she’s already had this big of an impact on him. and maybe it was due to atsumu’s influence, and the way that he kept bringing her up, and how it had been their entire conversation over dinner, but he didn’t really care. he was happy to be talking about her again, and to see her again. they had been so close, and it felt strangely nostalgic whenever he saw her, as if he was a child again, tossing and turning on a bed stand, sick to his stomach for home.

but he had been homesick for her this entire time, and he didn’t want to talk about her as if their time together had passed; he wanted to be close to her again. but only if she let him: “that guy you came here with, are you guys–”

“oh, no no no,” she immediately cuts him off, shaking her head before he gets the wrong idea. “he’s just a friend. my roommates and i went out to dinner today and then we went drinking. he just didn’t want me to walk here alone.”

he nods, feeling strangely relieved to hear that. “i just came from eating out with my roommates, too. i cut it short because one of them was being annoying.”

she hums in thought, a smile breaking out on her face, “hm, that can’t possibly be atsumu, can it?”

he can’t even joke back, just rolls his eyes with a sigh at the mention of his friend.

“i just texted him earlier tonight. finally scolded him for setting up that entire meeting between us. i mean– who even thinks to do something like that?”

“just him. he’s got one brain cell working for him and it’s got a funny way of working,” sakusa responds, looking forward to the field in front of them. they used to spin around on that field, trying to stay standing the longest before they both fell onto wet grass, too dizzy to keep standing. “i think it worked out nice, but there were definitely other ways he could have planned that out.”

she can’t help but look at him, slightly surprised. so he was happy to see her? perhaps she should’ve understood that by now; here they were sitting side by side on an old playset. “yeah, it did,” she can’t help but say, not even thinking twice about agreeing with him. “and if you don’t mind me bringing it up, do you think you will come back for a second meeting? i was just wondering.”

“yeah, i’m thinking about it,” he answers, still not looking at her, and she thinks maybe she shouldn’t have asked the question. she’s brought the topic of conversation back to her job, and reminded herself of everything she shouldn’t be doing right now. she shouldn’t be doing any of this. she’s looking forward to seeing him in her office again, but she shouldn’t. she should be treating him as a client, not as an old face or a silly old crush. and she shouldn’t be seeing him outside of the office; it ruins that professional relationship she should be trying to maintain. she's giving into him too easily, even after he had been the one to accuse her of something hurtful upon their first words to each other in years.

a particularly cold wind blows through and she shivers, breathing in sharply as her shoulders raise towards her ears on instinct, trying to protect them from the cold. in her defense, she hadn't foreseen sitting on a playset in the middle of the night today and had not dressed accordingly.

“are you cold?” he asks, hand already reaching towards the open black jacket he was wearing, a plain white shirt underneath.

she’s looking at him, face completely blank. her mind is so far gone, thinking about countless other things, including every single way this interaction could go. ‘what was she even doing here? why did she agree to come?’ the moment he texted her she put up little to no resistance. she lasted one text, trying to set up a boundary between them to prevent herself from getting hurt and then completely dropped it. how could he be so casual about seeing her again? was their friendship something shallow to him? something he could easily replace or come back to?

he’s saying her name, and her mind returns to the boy in front of her, blinking twice before responding, “sorry. i was just thinking about something. i’m fine. you don’t need to give me your jacket or anything.”

“but if i want to?” he asks and this is where she failed last time, and will fail again, and will always fail, because she can never resist him.

“i–”

the jacket is already around her shoulders before she knows it. it’s warm, and the weight of it on top of her shoulders is comforting. the smell of him is enveloping all of her senses and her entire mind, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but it.

it was simple, and really not that heavy or distinctive of a smell. just clean clothes–his detergent, and maybe a hint of lemon or lavender. it was easy to get used to, and it had become familiar to her after being around him so long in the past, but she hadn’t smelled it in so long, she felt like she was suffocating now. with the smell came so many memories associated with him, and it took everything in her not to let out a shaky breath, giving away her emotions.

he didn’t know what to say, looking at her. her chin was resting on top of her knees, pulled up close against her chest, and her eyes were closed, brows furrowed as if she was trying desperately to hold something in. had he come off too strongly? he liked to think he still knew her, could read her mind, tell when she was cold, and when she needed something, but maybe he was wrong, or just moving too fast. maybe she didn’t feel the same way, and didn’t want to be friends again.

“thanks,” she murmurs finally, eyes opening again, although she’s staring at the ground below them, and he’s unsure of where to look–at her, or the ground as well.

“yeah,” he replies, and the conversation falls quiet between them again.

it’s almost comfortable between them. it would be if she wasn't feeling like she was ruining everything and only digging herself a bigger hole. maybe they went quiet because he was sick of her now, and regretted asking to see her. and should she even care or not? should she get up and leave right now? what was the right thing to do right now, objectively? not what was right according to her heart, but according to her head?

she should be keeping her distance from him, not allowing him to get closer, giving him the chance to hurt her again. he had let them get distant, she reminded herself. he had let their friendship crumble without saying a word, he didn’t see her the way she saw him, and she couldn’t rely on him to be there for her.

“how are you?” he breaks the silence, and the question sets off every nerve in her body. it’s like her mind is being torn in two, trying to find an answer to the simple question. it’s not really that simple– he’s asking it, referring to the last 10 years of her life, and he’s asking her to be vulnerable and share about herself, and she can’t do that.

“don’t do that to me,” she says, shutting her eyes again.

“do what?” he’s looking at her, at his jacket draped around her shoulders, and shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to hold himself back from reaching out to fix her hair, which has been slightly caught underneath the jacket. 

she lets out a heavy, quiet breath, “don’t ask me that– like you care.”

“i do care,” he responds immediately, and she’s sure if she looked up at him, he’d be looking at her. but if she looks at him, she’ll break.

“we shouldn’t be doing this. we can’t be doing this. i shouldn’t be seeing you outside of my office. i listened to you talk about your struggles for an hour that you would've otherwise paid for if it wasn't the first meeting. you can’t turn around and ask how i am for free. that’s not fair. we should be nothing more than a therapist and a client. it’s easier for me to look at you that way because–” her voice gets caught in her throat for a second as she tries to talk confidently, but her voice gives away her feelings. she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears before they even reach her eyes, but she blinks through them, “because i look at you and still see what we used to be. but so much happened between us, and then you left, and that still hurts.”

‘then will you let me make it up to you? then can we go back to what we were before? and can we be more?’ the words are heavy in his head, and too forward to say out loud, but he has to say something. he has to say something now because he didn’t say anything back then.

he had always assumed that she had just been disappearing from his life altogether–from his notifications, the school hallways, and his walks home, but he realized now she had done that on purpose. she had purposely removed herself from his life so they would never see each other, and he had never stopped her. of course she hadn’t believed him, when he had said it was good to see her in her office, and of course she hadn’t fully understood what his ulterior motives were when he texted her out of the blue about wanting to see her again, because he had never showed how much he cared back then. but he had to tell her now that she was worth everything.

“i don’t mind paying it,” he ends up saying, and finally gets her to look at him, “i don’t mind paying to see you for an hour. i’d pay to be around you anyday, especially if you’re going to refuse to see me anywhere else, then i’ll just force you to put up with me for an hour every week.”

she laughs with a shake of her head, “you’re not forcing me to see you. i want to see you outside of that time…i just–i shouldn’t.”

“why not?” he can’t help but ask. “you’re still friends with atsumu, too. you text him outside of your appointments all the time.”

“yes but–” i like you more than a friend. hell, i’ve been in love with you for the past 10 years of my life. actually, probably for even longer, but who’s even counting at this point– she takes a deep breath again. she should leave soon, and think about this. she’s going to end up letting him convince her if she keeps listening to him, “maybe next time. i’ll tell you how i’ve been next time, okay?”

she’s giving him a next time, and he’ll take whatever he can get. they can start slow again. being her client is like being her acquaintance. people are always acquaintances before they’re friends; they can grow from here.

"when is next time?" he responds quickly, realizing it sounds like she’s going to stand up and leave soon, but he's not losing sight of her again.

she avoids looking at him, keeping her knees are pulled to her chest as she picks at the worn-down plastic of the playground tube they're sitting on, "i don't know, sakusa. i really need time to think about all of this. i don’t know what i’m doing here, or why i showed up tonight.”

her words feel like a burn in his lungs, but even when his sides are aching on his morning runs, he keeps going. "but you showed up anyway."

she finally looks at him, and he swears he could get lost in her eyes forever. he can’t believe he went through their entire friendship without telling her how beautiful she was, in every single way. he can’t believe he ever let go of her. perhaps that cliche saying was true, that you never know how important something really is until you lose it.

"i did," she echoes, continuing to stare into his own eyes.

"are you going to leave?" he asks, unable to look away.

she looks back down at the threads of green plastic she was pulling at, and his eyes follow. they used to meet at this playset all the time. during the summer, when she’d sleep over, they’d stay up until three in the morning, and then she’d nudge him about sneaking out. he used to worry about what would happen if his parents checked on them and saw that they were gone if they sneaked out, but she always ended up convincing him in the end. they rarely fought or had disagreements. with enough talking, they always managed to persuade the other to agree with them.

“i am. because we both need time to think. you need to think about if you’re going to see me again for therapy and i just need to think. about everything," she replies, and he watches her grab the edge of the tube, steadying herself as she moves to stand before he slides himself off the tube onto the ground below. it’s not that far of a drop for him now, although it was the scariest drop ever as a kid. now he stands eye level with most of the playset, but she's looking at him like it's still that big of a fall, mouth slightly agape in surprise.

“i’ll help you down,” he says with a smile and she blinks.

“no, i’m fine–” her words die out as he looks at her, brows raised in expectancy. this is what he meant: they were always able to push the other to do something, no matter how much they tried to resist in the beginning.

she lets out a sigh, trying to buy time as she fixes her skirt, preparing herself to slip off the tube. it really shouldn't be that scary, but she exclaims as she drops, barely registering the hands on the sides of her waist that catch her while her own clamp down on his shoulders.

her face is red as he lowers her down gently to the ground. whether it’s from the embarrassing noise she let out or the fact that he caught her, she’s not sure. maybe it’s both. even when he lets go of her, she can feel his hands on her still, as if they've been permanently etched into her skin. he’s looking down at her, and there’s a hint of playfulness in his eyes and the smile on his lips. he's too close to her, and she can't stop looking at his lips so she looks down at the ground instead, clutching at the jacket around her shoulders before she remembers it’s not hers.

“oh, here’s your jacket back,” she starts, moving to take off the piece of clothing before he stops her with a hand over he own.

“you can keep it for a little longer if you– if you let me walk you home,” he says, on the verge of losing all of his confidence, but he just can’t let go of her. he doesn't want to watch her leave, but he knows she needs a break.

she looks up at him, feeling like her lips are quivering with how nervous and flustered she feels, “you don’t have to do that, really. i can walk home by myself.”

“but if i want to?”

it’s a repeat of a conversation they had earlier, because she can never give him a complete no, and he always knows to take that as a yes.

she’s ruining everything she’s trying to do for herself right now. she’s trying to set a boundary between them, and horribly failing. because what if he walks her home, and he happens to live nearby again? what if they start to see each other more often? or worst of all, what if he ends up leaving again?

well what if he doesn’t?

oh, whatever.

fuck the what ifs.

they can try again.

.

.

.

"it's gonna rain soon / and pull me back in.

"i had the words / you thought a hundred times

"oh darlin' / will you still walk me back home?'"

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

not really any extras! i just hope u enjoyed <3 and that this chapter was good and not too long or just a bunch of rambles!! i had like three ideas i had randomly wrote down and then just copied and pasted into this chapter and was trying to make them all fit 😭

IWAIZUMI AND Y/N HAVE A PLATONIC SIBLING-TYPE RELATIONSHIP!!! JUST MAKING THAT CLEAR also i'm a sucker for iwaizumi but that's besides the point

omi just kind of got up and left at some point during dinner when atsumu got tipsy and started talking to shoyo and bo. he said goodbye to osamu and then left

they all have each other's locations anyway and shoyo and bokuto trust him to know what he's doing

kita, akaashi, and iwa ended up going home soon after iwa got back from walking y/n to the park and then he and kita stayed up all night waiting for her to come home while akaashi was passed out <3

this fic lowkey goes a little bit off the rails!! but hopefully u guys enjoy it <33

AND I KEEP FORGETTING TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS I'VE KIND OF LOST IT NOW!! but y/n's pfp is a pufferfish because they symbolize protecting yourself and setting boundaries <3 interpret that as u will

taglist: @eggyrocks @wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @strawberryuri @violetesensou @kakeru-eem @glmge @heytheredemonsss @mollyrolls @bemebiu @daszy @snail-squasher @0moonii @thiisisntlovely @todorokiskitten @rory-cakes @iiwaijime @iatethemochi @yuminako @savemebrazilhinata @kismyscars @bokutoko @nobodybutnnoorr @wolffmaiden @daisy-room @softpia @lees-chaotic-brain @v3nusplanetofluv @crispchocolates @phoenix-eclipses @hhoneyhan @encrypta @rockleeisbaeeee @cr4yolaas @zombriesworld @localgaytrainwreck @moucheslove @hibernatinghamster @notverymarley @certaindreampost @akaakeis @ciderscape @lucien-luna @strawbrinkofdeath @wave2mia @samuel1004 @01trickster10 @dazqa @cosmiicdust @chemiru