#i got a bit carried away with this one guys

[miaoua3]

Ghost of Your Dreams

Pairing: bf!scoups x f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), size kink, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy), dom!scoups, spanking, choking, spitting, degradation(slight), praise, cosplay! ghost

Description: all it took was one comment of your and here he was, embarrassed and shy but ready to commit to the fullest in order for him to fulfil your fantasy

Note: everyone went berserk last year when i posted on my tiktok as what characters id like to see svt as for halloween and put coups as ghost from cod so naturally i had to bring even more chaos and write a whole fanfic about it…enjoy hehe (post writing edit of the notes: i passionately hate this my bad guys i suck so bad. and again, not proof read so…yeah lmao)

you knew what you were getting into the very minute you first stepped a foot into your boyfriend’s s home and saw a whole professional pc set-up, with headphones and the kind of keyboard that lights up in rainbow light every time you press any key on it. you knew what to expect from him-late night gaming sessions between him and his friends, him yelling whenever he got annoyed, and a whole lot of cursing.

these are just some of the things you knew to expect.

cheol, on the other hand, never even thought what kind of an effect his hobby could have on you. he knew you would be supportive, and that you would probably use his gaming time to do and practice your own hobbies.

but now, several years into the relationship, he never even expected for you to take any special interest in his hobby, never mind for you to make such an…out-of-character comment like you did two weeks ago.

he was just starting a new game, concentrating on the plot and character dialogue so he knew what to do, when he felt you approach him from behind, carefully watching the screen right beside him.

after a few seconds, cheol sees your pretty pointer finger point at one of the characters from the screen and hears your sweet voice ask “who is that?”

cheol looks up at you with his pretty and big boba eyes, a bit of confusion visible in the way his eyebrows furrow.

“his name is simon riley, but they call him ‘ghost’.”

you only hum in response, tilting your head to the side as you carefully watch the character move around the screen. after a few seconds, you deliver a comment that will forever change seungcheol and who he is as a person.

“he’s hot.”

cheol looks at you, both in confusion and in offence, totally blindsided by the two words that have just left your mouth.

“what- why? how? you can’t even see his face because of the mask. plus, you have a boyfriend, miss. how dare you find another man other than me attractive?”

you finally look at the boyfriend in question, only to see his big cherry lips set in pout, making you smile in amusement. you bend down to hug him around his neck, softly kissing his cheek to comfort him. after you see the corner of his mouth twitch in weakness, you answer his questions.

“i don’t know, something about him is attractive, maybe the way he carries himself and the mysteriousness because of the whole mask thing.”, you muse as you go back to watching ghost on the screen.

cheol does the same, the pout still present as he looks at his favourite character, now with a bit of disdain due to your newfound attraction to him.

after a few seconds of silence, you chuckle before you add another comment that will play a big part in both your futures.

“plus, he kind of reminds me of you, baby. with all the dominance, confidence and that deep voice.”, letting another chuckle, you look him directly in the eyes, you faces only inches apart so he can see your eyes clearly as you add “who knows, maybe you should cosplay him sometime. i know i would love to see that.”

you smile at him before you let a brief kiss land on his lips before you part your body away from his and go back to laying on the bed.

you may have said it in the joking manner, but cheol knew. he saw that look in your eyes, the way your pupils were dilated, the way your smile hid something a bit darker, a bit more sinister in the corners of your lips.

he knew that you weren’t joking.

so here he is, two weeks later, on a saturday night, in the full cosplay, waiting for you to get back from work, his blushing and red face hidden behind the balaclava and mask.

he fondles with all the little belts around his body, namely his waist, chest and thighs. a bit uncomfortable, but nothing cheol couldn’t handle.

hey, anything for love, right?

cheol looks around the apartment as if it will give him an answer as to what he should do, what the plan to surprising you is, but to no avail. the nervousness and sort of excitement is getting more and more unbearable the closer your arrival is getting.

finally, he settles on hiding in the bathroom, knowing that your first move will be to check your shared bedroom to see if he’s there, making the bathroom the perfect place to hide, as it is directly across the bedroom and he can then quietly sneak up behind you.

just like he planned, cheol skilfully hides behind the bathroom door, leaving the light off and the door slightly open as to make you think he isn’t inside. he stills his movements the moment he hears the keys jingling behind the entrance door before the door click open.

you drop your keys into the little dish beside the door before hanging your bag and coat on the hanger right beside it. he hears you sigh deeply, probably meaning that you have had a long day and that you need some relaxation.

perfect.

after you take your shoes off, he hears you still for a moment, carefully listening to the sounds in your own home. after a second, he hears you call out “cheol? are you there? i’m home!”

but to no avail. because he doesn’t answer.

right in that moment, cheol's belief that he knows you better than anyone else was solidified.

because just like he predicted, he hears you take a few steps before you lightly open the door of your bedroom, peaking inside to see if your boyfriend is inside.

showtime.

ever so quietly, cheol moves until he’s standing right behind you, his eyes looking at the top of your head. he just had to smirk at your cluelessness, how you are so cutely looking for him while he’s standing directly behind you.

not being able to resist the temptation, cheol leans in until his covered lips are right by your ear before he utters in his deepest voice possible.

“looking for something, m’love?”

you gasp in shock, eyes wide as you quickly turn towards him, stumbling back so much that if it weren’t for his hand catching your arm, you would’ve fallen right onto your ass.

you gape at his tall and darkly clothed silhouette, being somewhere between shocked and in awe of your beautiful muscle-y boyfriend standing in front of you in a costume you never could’ve imagined seeing him in.

the shock lasts all but 5 seconds before the widest smile he has ever seen on you takes over your features, your pupils blown out, so much so that they appear almost completely black.

with excitement you start word-vomiting “oh my god, i can’t believe you really did this. i think this is the best day of my life. oh my god, are you gonna spank me and say that i’ve been a bad girl? or maybe-“

something about the way you look little too excited, like a kid on a christmas morning that can’t wait to open their presents, the way you smiled so wide, maybe even too widely. like cheol just walked right into your trap.

it rubbed him the wrong way, blood boiling slightly.

although that just might be the multiple layers of clothes that he’s wearing.

oh well.

wasting no time, seungcheol suddenly grabs you by your neck and pulls you towards him, making whatever words you wanted to say die on your tongue and a gasp slip out instead.

the moment your body collides with his, he uses his big and broad body to push you against the wall by your bedroom door, harshly.

your body slams against the cold white wall, and cheol has the oh shit- thought for all of half second that he might’ve pushed you too hard and that he might’ve hurt you.

that is before he hears you moan loudly at the action, throwing your head back.

little masochist.

cheol then immediately comes closer to you, crowding your space so much, until the only thing left to focus on is the mask that covers his face. his chest pushes into yours, making it that harder to breathe, and his knee finds its home right between your legs, pushing upwards until he can feel the warmth between your legs on his thigh.

your beautiful and cute eyes are already teary as you look upwards at him, desperation forming on your waterline in the form of tears.

you don’t have to see it to know that cheol is smirking at the effect he has on you, smugness dripping in his voice as he says.

“what do we have here, hm? your pussy already desperate for me, baby? but we haven’t even started.” he pauses for a second to press his covered forehead against yours before he continues “is this all it took to reduce you to what you really are? a desperate, cock-hungry little bitch? so hungry for my cock hm? can’t even wait for it to enter that little pussy of yours, already rubbing yourself on me.”

it is only when his glove-clothed hand suddenly runs over your front, right where your pussy is desperately rubbing on his thigh, that you even notice what you’ve unconsciously started doing, his fingertips digging until he finds the slit of your pussy lips, pressing hard until he reaches your clit, despite two layers of clothes being in his way.

you moan at the contact, hands grabbing at his wrist, somewhere between pushing his hand away and closer to where you need him the most.

seungcheol won’t let you have any control tonight, he wants you to completely surrender to him, to let him use you and move you however he wants, to just accept whatever he gives you with a fucked out smile on your face.

hence why he grabs both your hands into his before slamming them onto the wall above your head, quickly switching his hold onto your wrists.

with a purposefully made angry face, he looks into your teary eyes. something dark and far more sinister than he thought he could ever feel awakens inside of him, the feeling of giddiness overcoming him as he watches your eyelashes get wet by the tears gathering in your eyes, neediness and desperation swimming in them.

with a deep voice overflowing with warning, he says “no touching tonight, are we clear pretty girl? you are at my mercy tonight. everything i want to give you…”, he pause for a few seconds so he can remove the skull mask from his face and reveal the identical balaclava beneath it, before he pushes his face closer until his cloth-covered nose meets your own and continues “…you will take like a good girl i know you are. understood?”

you watch his dark eyes, purposefully covered in black paint, as you process his words. your mouth are agape, shaky breaths leaving the opening until the sound hits cheol’s ears. his free hand that isn’t holding your wrists comes to hold your cheek gently, a touch of love to show you that this isn’t real, that this is just a bit of a fun game to both of you, that he still loves you despite his harsh words.

with wide eyes, you slowly nod your head to his demand, showing him that you understand.

contrary to his tone just a few seconds ago, cheol gently whispers in the little space between you two “use your words baby, i need to hear you say ‘yes’ before we continue.”

you heart squeezes in love that you have for this man. the fact that he basically interrupted his own fantasy in the name of having you consent to him with your own words makes you love him that much more. sure, it may be the bare minimum to the rest of the world, but to you, who never experienced such gentle love by the previous partners? it means the whole world.

with hoarse voice, you whisper “yes. i understand.”

cheol looks at your eyes for a second, looking for doubt and fear, only to find excitement and trust instead. nodding his head, he pushes his balaclava until his lips are freed, and using the newfound freedom to lay a gentle and light kiss to your mouth, letting them linger just for a second before he pushes the balaclava back in place, now fully ready to push you to the point of tears of pleasure.

within a second, that old flame of desire returns to his eyes. for a second you could’ve sworn that his eyes had a tinge of redness in them, almost like they were literally set on fire.

his hand slowly but firmly wraps around your neck, the leather material making the squeaky sound as he repositions his hand so his fingers are only squeezing the sides of your slender neck. the last bit of air leaves your lungs as cheol squeezes your neck, making you feel lightheaded within seconds.

your boyfriend uses your distraction and hazy mind to just observe you-the way your eyes flutter shut and how tears gather at your water line, how your hands try to grasp onto something to no avail because he’s holding the hostage above your head, how your mouth can’t decide if you want to bite your lip and keep the gasps and moans from escaping or opening them as wide as possible and letting all those pretty sounds flow like a river straight out.

he watches how your hair is already messy, a complete opposite to how you usually style it for work. then to how your pretty neck bobs in an effort to take in more air. the way his black leather glove wraps prettily around it.

his eyes fall onto your chest, and the way your button up shirt gives him a peak of your cleavage, as well as the necklace with his initials engraved on the back of the pendant hanging from the chain. the way your chest raise and fall at rapid speed, the way your tits move with every exhale.

his pupils follow the curvature of your waist, and the way your pants hug your hips-the hips he loves to hold, grab, squeeze and use as his anchor while he’s fucking you from behind.

lastly, cheol observes the movement of your hips, how you slowly roll your hips in slow and small circles on his leg that is pushed between your legs in an effort to relieve the uncomfortable tingle on your clit, the warmth from between your legs making his mouth water in need to taste you, in need to have your tight pussy wrap around his cock.

fuck, he needs to fuck you. right now.

his head drops beside yours, a groan hitting the shell of your ear before he demands “take your pants off, need to have that needy pussy around my cock right now.”

no sooner than when his hand lets go of your hands that were hanging above your head that you immediately got to work, unzipping your pants and missing the zipper a few times. the minute it was unzipped enough, you pulled your pants down, along with your panties, before you kicked them to the side.

while you were preoccupied by taking your pants off, cheol did the same to his. well, he couldn’t really take them off due to insane amount of tiny belts hugging his big thighs. instead, he just unzipped them and pulled them down just enough to free his aching cock from his boxers, precum leaking from the tip the moment it bounces upon being taken out.

your eyes immediately get drawn to the sight, how big he looks, the tip the slight pinkish colour due to lack of stimulation.

but it’s not just his dick-cheol as a whole, right at this moment, looks like something straight out of your wet dreams, like a desire or a kink you can’t talk about, keeping it locked inside a box instead, hidden deeply inside your closet.

the black balaclava with the skull printed on it hugging his head and currently hiding his beautiful face, the black turtleneck that is covered with the fake black military vest, with tons of tiny pockets. the way his big biceps bulge out, protruding even with the longs sleeves trying to keep them hidden.

the black leather gloves that are trying to keep his pants below his cock, kind of frustratedly fumbling with the material because it’s not obeying to his orders. the black pants that hug his legs, the black boots-simply everything.

it makes your whole body feel hot, so hot like somebody poured hot lava all over it.

fuck, i need to suck him off dry right. now.

just as cheol was about to grab you, you let your knees drop, kind of painfully hitting the floor, and as gently as possible due to the hunger grabbing his dick.

cheol confusedly looks down at you, mouth open to say “wha-“ but gets cut off with a moan the moment your warm mouth wraps around his cock.

normally, you would go slow, paying attention to his tip for a minute or so before trying to swallow his whole length.

normally. but not now.

the moment you open your mouth and lean in towards his dick, you start bobbing your head up and down his cock, you hand working on the base that you can’t reach with your mouth just yet. you other hand pulls on his pants, trying to keep them in place while you suck his length.

feeling overwhelmed by your sudden actions, cheol gasps a moan and slams a hand onto the wall to keep him balanced, knees buckling due to the sheer force of your movements.

your mouth haven’t even been around his dick for a minute and he can already feel his balls ready to burst, breathing deep and looking towards to the ceiling (or the heavens, whichever way you want to interpret it), praying that he doesn’t cum so quickly.

you continue with your movements, tongue wrapping around and licking his cock as you drag your mouth back before you suck his length back in, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

cheol watches you in awe and fascination, the way your eyebrows furrow not in concentration, but due to the neediness to have yourself choking on his big cock, moaning every few seconds in pure enjoyment.

never thought sucking a dick could be so good and so…sexually full filling.

you look up through your eyelashes at your boyfriend. even with the balaclava you can tell that his mouth is opened, letting those beautiful and loud moans flow freely out of them, that his eyebrows are furrowed because he’s trying to contain himself and not fuck your face.

which is exactly what you want.

you pull away, both to let yourself and himself breathe, though you keep the eye contact going.

and cheol sees it. that look in your eyes that is begging him to fuck your mouth.

how could he ever deny his baby anything?

just as you were about to go back to sucking his dick, cheol grabs your hair and pulls you away, and keeps pulling on it, making you move your body with it. he only stops once your whole body is back to leaning against the wall, legs kind of awkwardly bent before you readjust them.

your glossy eyes look up at him, needy and demanding for him to fuck your mouth, now.

tapping your cheek with two fingers, he's only able to rasp out "open your mouth."

your lips fall open without a second thought, poking your tongue out as you wait for him to give it to you hard and fast, just like how you like it.

cheol wishes that he could take a mental picture of you like this-eyes glossy, face littered with sweat and mouth calling his name. this right here, how you like right now.

this is everything cheol has ever dreamt about.

ever so slowly, cheol pushes his pelvis foward, his cock held tightly in his hand as he guides it straight to your mouth. he smears the head a bit on your tongue, letting you taste him yet again, but immediately pulling away once you try closing your mouth around it, a sound of disapprovement escaping his lips. once you look at him confusedly, eyebrows furrowed, he's adds "don't move. let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours like i know you want me to, like a good slut i know you are. just relax and enjoy, hm?"

you nod your head quickly before opening your mouth again, an amused chuckle echoing in cheol’s mouth.

very carefully, cheol pushes his cock back into your mouth. his eyes are fully trained to follow your every move, eyes cloudy with desire as he watches you close your mouth around his girth, pretty eyes looking right back into his. he continues pushing his pelvis until he feels the back of your throat close against the head, pearly precum falling down your throat, before he pulls back.

he continues repeatedly doing this a few times, getting you used to the motion and pace, before he speeds up slightly.

your fists are clenched against your thighs, desperate to touch him but resisting the urge to touch him, to pull him closer until you feel yourself choking on his thick cock. instead, you focus that energy to let all the little sounds that you know cheol definitely loves, your humming and moaning creating vibrations on his length.

cheol moans right back, throwing his head back every so often because it just feels so good. the warmth of your mouth as he rocks his hips, the way you try swirling your tongue around the head, the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only man ever for you.

it all messes with his head.

naturally, he loses himself in the pleasure, unconsciously speeding up his movement until his cock is repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, choking sounds hitting the shell of his ear every time he pushes his cock back in.

after another few minutes of him fucking your pretty mouth, of him letting little comments like “fuck, just like that pretty girl” and “yeah chock on my cock, just like that”, cheol feels himself being so so close, almost a second away from cumming. and although he would like nothing more to paint your pretty face with his cum, to smear it around, almost like he’s marking his territory, to see tears spill from your eyes and mix with his fluids, he would much rather cum inside of you. now.

harshly, he pulls all the way out, hissing once the cold air meets his wet length, before grabbing your jaw harshly with one hand. using that hold, he quickly picks you up, dragging you up to meet him.

you gasp at the action and the way it cuts your airway off, hands quickly grabbing his forearm as he drags you to your feet.

the moment you are close enough, he pulls his balaclava all the way off and clashes your mouths together, tongue swirling around your own, stealing yet another breath away from you.

just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls away, lips swollen from both the kiss and biting on his lips while fucking your mouth, eyes dark and cloudy like a stormy night.

you’re still gasping because he still has a hold on your cheeks with one hand, nails digging into your skin in a painful yet delicious way, your own hand squeezing his wrist in indecisiveness, unsure if you want him to squeeze it even more or to let you breathe.

pushing his forehead against your own, you can clearly see him struggling to control himself by the way he’s harshly breathing. in a dangerously low and warning tone, he just says “i’m gonna fuck you so hard, just like you want me to. gonna fuck you like a slut i know you are. gonna make you beg me to let you cum. now jump.” before he bends down and grabs you by your legs, picking you up like you weigh nothing and wrapping your legs around his waist.

your heart jumps to your throat in excitement, everything about this so new and so unfamiliar-the face fucking, the cosplay, the degradation. you previously told him it was something you’d like to try, just to see if you would like it more than when he praises you and worships you, and although you like how every time he called you ‘slut’ a shiver went down your back, his praise and calling you his love and baby while he’s fucking you will always be number one place.

cheol quickly grabs his dick and slaps it a few times against your clit before he pushes it inside of you, gliding much easier due to your arousal. you both moan loudly at the contact, cheols eyebrows furrowing almost like he’s in pain. his eyes focused entirely on how your pussy is swallowing his big cock.

you feel heat on your cheeks at the sound your cunt makes every time cheol pushes back inside you and pulls back, it’s all wet and loud, and it makes you want to hide your face in embarrassment. you can’t remember the last you were this aroused, so much so that the slick was staining cheol’s pants that were still just pushed right under his dick.

in the matter of seconds, cheol starts fucking you hard and fast, your loud moans echoing in the hallway, probably making it a show for the neighbours to hear. head thrown back against the wall, you focus on gripping cheol’s shoulders like your life depends on it.

his hands are harshly gripping your thighs, both to hold you up and keep you in place so you don’t slip due to sheer force of his movements, but also because he adores your thighs-if it were up to him, his face would be permanently squished between them while eating you out, all day, every day.

you can quickly tell that neither of you will last much longer, the long foreplay already getting you close to the finish line. for yourself you can tell by that funny feeling in your tummy and in the quiver of your legs that are wrapped around cheol’s hips. for cheol, you can tell by how his movements have lost the rhythm, only focusing on fucking you as fast as possible, desperate to cum inside of you and make you cum on his dick.

cheol presses his sweaty forehead against your own, his glassy eyes looking directly into your own. despite how dirty this all feels, you can still feel love pouring from his eyes into your own. you feel his adoration for you, you feel that his heart is beating for you and for you only. al of that is enough to make the knot inside of your tummy slowly start to unravel, your pussy squeezing around cheol’s dick stronger than ever before.

at the feeling of you milking him dry, he moans loudly, his movements sloppier than ever, holding out his orgasm and stopping himself from cumming just so you can cum together with him.

“that’s it, baby, cum around me. take it, take what’s yours. lemme feel that pussy-“

the rest of his words don’t register in your brain because cheol lets go one of your thighs so he can rub your clit, thumb pressing harshly into it as he moves it side to side in quick movements, and in a few seconds you are cumming.

cheol moans as he feels you cumming around him, his own finish following your own immediately. he tries to ride your orgasms as long as possible, but then he feels liquid drench his pants, only to see you squirting on him, his brain short-circuiting at the sensation.

he successful holds you up through your orgasms despite his legs shaking like crazy from how hard he has come. using the fact that you are leaning on the wall, cheol pushes you further into it in the name of getting closer to you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he feels the last of your orgasm drenching him, his own dick pulsating almost painfully inside of you.

for a minute or so, you two just stand there, hugging each other as you breathe heavily, trying desperately to regain your vision. you pat his hair slowly, just like how he likes it. cheol, in return, hugs you impossibly close to himself, whispering beautiful nothings into your ear like “good girl” and “i love you so much baby”, just how you like it.

after another moment or so, he finally pulls back, his big brown eyes looking you over to see if everything is good, only to be met with your spent but satisfied expression, eyes unfocused as you try to look back into him.

he uses one hand to slowly move your hair away from your face, grimacing a little at the feeling of sweat that sticks to his hand as he wipes your forehead.

he watches you for a few seconds, eyes so gentle and full of love, he can’t resist kissing you slowly, his lips a bit chapped from continuously biting it, but still somehow so soft.

you close your eyes and just enjoy the feeling of his love, arms lazily wrapped around his shoulders, fingers twirling his hair at the back of his head.

he slowly pulls away, eyes searching your own. once he sees you finally being able to focus on him, the first thing he says to you is

“i love you so much baby.”

and for some reason, probably due to all the adrenaline and because of how gentle he is being, you feel your eyes prickling with tears, quickly hiding your face in his shoulder and hugging him closer than ever, seeking out his comfort.

cheol tries prying a bit worriedly, gently asking things like ‘what’s wrong baby? hm? tell me so i can make it better’ but all you have strength for is to whisper quietly to him “i love you too. so much…bedroom, please.”

cheol gets the hint, quickly pulling out of you so he can carry you to your bedroom so he can cuddle you and take care of you, lips kissing your temple as he kicks the door open and walks to your bed.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you stir awake, eyes blurry as you try to find your boyfriend.

only to see his side of the bed empty.

you quickly get up in panic, still a bit needy and in need of his touch, looking around with furrowed eyebrows.

only to see the bathroom door open, cheol standing in front of the mirror as he’s trying to take off the black paint from his eye area, softly and quietly cursing at how stubborn the paint is, only smudging around instead of getting off his face.

you immediately stop panicking, observing his half naked form, his soft muscles and little tummy getting all of your attention.

he’s so effortlessly beautiful, it makes you wonder how he is even yours. he’s just standing there, only in his black towel, yet he looks like a god, wet hair falling into his eyes as he’s still trying to take the makeup off, pouting at how unsuccessful he is at getting it off.

slowly, you get out of the bed and walk towards him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist from behind the moment you are close enough to him, nuzzling your face into the soft skin of his back.

he smells fresh, like his body gel. luckily your boyfriend isn’t one of those people who uses 36 in 1 shower gels, instead of opting for the regular one, this time having grabbed the one that smells like…cucumbers maybe? nevertheless, he’s clean and smells great, and you enjoy every second of it.

cheol drops one hand across your own that are rubbing his tummy, still trying to take the paint off.

you watch him across his shoulder, smiling in amusement for a few second before you use your hands to slowly turn him around so he’s facing you.

he immediately starts pouting at you, hands quickly finding your waist under his shirt that is hanging from your frame.

in whiny voice, he starts complaining “it won’t come off baby. what am i supposed to do? i have an important meeting tomorrow morning.”

you smile as you take the cotton pad from his hand and take your own micellar water, dabbing the pad a bit with it before you gently start rubbing his eyes.

you feel his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hip bones in comfort, enjoying the sensation and his touch to the fullest.

“you need to use a micellar water that has some oil in it as well, so the oil can break off the paint particles. your micellar water isn’t strong enough for it apparently.”

cheol just hums in response, fully taking advantage of you taking care of him, eyes closed in enjoyment.

after a minute or so, you pull your hands away to see if everything has come off successfully, nodding your head as you see his open eyes clear of paint. you tell him that he can wash his face now, but before you can pull away and let him get back to it, cheol uses his hold on your hips to pull you into a hug. his lips immediately find yours, tongue slowly entering your mouth so he can deepen the kiss. you kiss him right back, melting in his arms because of how gently he’s kissing you.

your hands rub his chest as he’s kissing you, his own hands travelling up your back, pulling your (his) shirt with it, cold air greeting your ass that is only in a pair of panties.

slowly pulling away, cheol again looks at you with those eyes, making you feel something catch in your throat at the look he’s giving you.

smiling gently, he bends down a little so he can kiss your forehead, the whole action performed slowly and gently.

pulling away yet again, he smiles again as he uses one hand to cup your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing your skin as he looks at you.

seconds go buy as he just watches you before he lightly says in the little space between you “i am so in love with you. you don’t even know it but you own my whole being. i want to give you the world. i want to spend eternity with you, if you would let me.” he pauses so he can push his forehead against your own. almost inaudibly, he adds “in this world, it’s just you and me, love. i don’t need anybody else as long as i have you.”

and as you kiss him to shut him up before he says something else and makes you cry yet again, you think to yourself.

if only you knew, choi seungcheol. if only you knew.

[one-green-frog]

Hellooooo

Hope you're having a good day :)

Platonic yandere batfam x male/gn reader who's trying to hie their powers and/or scars?

Frostbitten

Yan!Batfam x m!reader with ice powers, because i love iceman (x-men)

You were always good at hiding things. Even before all the training you received from the world's best detective. You lived a life of secrets even before you met your family, every day spent living as if the next moment your secret would be spilled. You learned to hide the scars, hide the accidents, you needed to, especially living in Gotham, the city where Batman ruled and one thing that Batman hated was metas

It is common knowledge that Batman hates them, hates their powers and hates them especially when they can't be controlled. So you hid them, never trying to learn how to control, just how to hide. Maybe that was your biggest mistake, but who could fault you, you just wanted to live a simple live in this god awful city.

And then you got adopted by Bruce Wayne, a dream come true. Suddenly you were thrust in this new life, filled with joy and laughter and a very loving family, you cherished every moment with them. But even more surprising was when they revealed their secret vigilante life. In that moment you didn't know whether to feel excited or scared. Sure, you looked up to Gotham’s vigilantes, almost everyone did, but you had a secret to hide, you had to keep it locked away and your biggest enemy is a family filled with detectives and a father that hates metas.

If you could hide your powers, hide the scars, then maybe everything would just be alright. Maybe they'd just dissappear and everything could be normal for once, a normal life with an almost normal family. They could never find out.

Because Bruce didn’t want those powers in Gotham. He never said it outright, not to your face, but he didn’t have to. You heard the way he talked about metas. Heard the tension in his voice when a case came in involving superhumans. How he preferred things predictable. Grounded. Human. Easy to controll

So you made yourself human.

Your family never asked why you always write long sleeves, even in some. Sure, the occasional "Aren't you hot? " was asked, but simply denying it sobbed that problem. Honestly you never were, you naturally run cold, probably because of you powers. The scars on your hands were a bit more difficult to hide, running around in gloves was just too obvious so when asked you simply told them it made you uncomfortable to talk about. Your family, every supportive and loving, stopped asking, not wanting to make you uneasy though their worried gazes never left you.

In all honesty, life was great, especially after you joined them on patrol. The training was hard, but worth it if it meant you could accompany them during the night. Everything was great.

Until it all fell apart.

It had been instinct, really.

The building was collapsing, a hostage still trapped inside, and you didn’t have time to wait. You didn’t even think. Just felt the fear spike in your chest—and then you were moving.

And freezing.

Everything in front of you exploded in jagged ice—brilliant, unnatural, alive. It lanced out from your arms, blooming outward, catching the falling beams, holding the wreckage suspended mid-air. You grabbed the girl, carried her out, felt her tremble in your arms—not from the danger, but from the cold that clung to your skin like a curse. You didn't even have time to feel relieved after exiting the flaming building, not when you saw the shocked faced of you family. In you adrenaline high you didn't think that they were just shocked, no, to you their faces obviously showed detestation. Especially Batman, clearly the guy with the no-meta-rule would absolutely loath you no matter if you are his kid or not.

You didn’t go home after that.

You couldn’t.

Not when you could still feel the way they looked at you.

Not angry. Not yet. But surprised. Confused. Like they didn’t know you anymore.

And if they didn’t know you—if they saw what you really were—what was stopping them from pushing you away?

You practically ripped the comms from you ear and ran. They could find you if they really wanted to, but you were hoping—praying—they wouldn’t.

Not until you could breathe again.

Not until the ice stopped crawling up your spine.

Not until the scars stopped burning.

---

You ended up in the park.

It was late. Empty.

Perfect since you wanted bo one to bother you.

You sat under the trees, hands shoved deep in your jacket, hood pulled low, hands shaking. You kept your gloves on, even though they were already half-frozen. They didn't protect you from anything, it was a way to hide the ice, hide it away so you couldn't see it. But you could feel the ache in your skin—those little jagged lines across your arms and hands, like old lightning strikes. Nerve damage, probably. But it wasn’t the nerves that hurt.

It was the memory.

Of growing up cold.

Of hurting people by accident.

Of locking yourself in closets to cry because your body didn’t know what to do with heat, and every time your emotions spiked, you left frostbite behind.

You used to think you’d grow out of it.

That was the lie that kept you going.

A nightmare that would someday finally end.

But now you were older. And it was worse than ever.

And now Bruce knew.

Your family knew.

And everything was ruined.

They were looking for you.

You should’ve expected that.

Dick was the first one you spotted—high above, on the buildings, doing that graceful acrobat silhouette thing he always did when he thought no one was watching. You could tell he was worried. He kept checking corners like he thought you'd vanish into shadows.

You pulled your hood lower.

Then you heard Red Hood.

Jason was stomping through the park like he’d kill the trees if they got in his way. Angry. Shaking. He was yelling your name now and then, but it wasn’t rage in his voice—it was panic. You’d never heard that tone from him before. Not even on the worst nights.

You turned away. Curled tighter. Pulled your knees to your chest and tried to stop the cold from spreading.

It was Tim who found you.

Of course it was.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t dramatic.

He just sat down beside you without a word. Quiet. Calm. Familiar.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say anything.

But you felt the warmth of his presence, and you hated yourself for shivering closer to it.

He wrapped his cape, it did little to fight the cold.

Then he finally spoke

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked finally. Not accusing. Just soft. Tired.

You couldn’t answer.

You were too scared your voice would crack.

Too scared to speak the truth into the world.

Jason showed up next. Then Dick. Damian, sulking behind them, wrapped in one of Alfred’s scarves. They didn’t drag you home. They didn’t guilt you. They just sat. All around you. On the frozen grass. Wherever they could.

And Bruce came last.

Of course he did.

Silent. Steady.

You almost wanted him to yell. To be angry. To say you betrayed them. To banish you from the city.

It would’ve been easier.

But instead, he crouched in front of you, face unreadable.

“Do you want to come home?” he asked quietly.

That question shattered you.

Because you did.

God, you did.

But you didn’t think you deserved it.

They got you back to the manor somehow. You barely remember it.

Everything felt distant. Fuzzy. Like a dream you weren’t allowed to wake up from.

You ended up in your room, wrapped in three blankets and a hoodie you forgot you owned. Tim was fiddling with the thermostat. Dick was in the hallway talking to Alfred about heat pads, while Damian gathered all his pets to join you in bed.

Jason was closest.

He sat beside your bed, glaring at your hands like he wanted to fight them.

You didn’t mean to, but you flinched.

“I’m not mad,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Just… you’ve been hurting. For a long time. And you didn’t tell

The next day they finally saw you hands

They didn’t ask. But they were there when you woke up from a nightmare and ripped your gloves off in a panic. They saw the spiderweb of pale, cracked skin down your arms. The frostbitten patches. The places where the cold had eaten away at you from the inside.

You waited for them to recoil.

They didn’t.

Dick sat beside you and ran warm fingers along the worst lines, like they were battle scars, not damage, not a curse. He pressed his forehead to yours and said nothing.

Jason kissed the top of your head and told you that scars didn’t make you ugly.

Damian brought a salve that smelled like mint and helped rub it into your palms.

Tim found you a compression shirt designed for cryogenic trauma. Quietly handed it to you like it wasn’t a big deal.

Bruce didn’t say much.

He just held your hand one night when you were shaking too hard to sleep.

And didn’t let go.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, either from exhaustion or because of all the emotions going through you. That night you also realized that your family truly loved you. Bruce explained that he never could hate you or any meta, he was simply scared of what could happen to them or the people around them.

They loved you.

Not despite the cold—but including it.

The way the frost followed your footsteps. The way your tears came out as vapor in the air. The way you always wore gloves, even when it wasn’t needed.

They learned to warm your sheets before bed. Left heating pads in your seat at dinner. Gave you permission to feel—even when it made the walls frost over.

You were scared for so long.

But they never were.

You weren’t the monster.

Just a boy with ice in his blood, and too much fear in his heart.

And a family who would walk through a blizzard to bring you home.

Thank you for requesting, i absolutely loved writing this, i hope this is similar to how you imagined it! And sorry it took so long!

Taglist: @lilyalone

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

hello! can i just say your fics are so amazingly written and make me feel really fluffy inside <33

i was wondering if you could write a spencer reid x new bau reader? reader is a new hire at the bau and always has her hair up in a cute new hairstyle everyday because she has curly hair and if she were to have it out, it would just get in the way in the field. so, when she is invited to rossis house for the first time for a dinner, she finally wears it out for the first time in front of them. spencer, seeinf her hair for the first time like this, malfunctions and goes speechless for a bit. very fluffy and self indulgent

thank you so much if you end of writing it!!!!

Yay thank you so much! I'm glad they make you feel that way!<3 and LOVE this request!

Curl Pattern | S. Reid

It had been six months since you joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and while it had been nothing short of stressful, in a strange way, you’d come to love it. Not only what you do but the members on the team.

They had welcomed you with open arms from day one, and over time, they’d grown from colleagues to genuine friends.

“Hey! Love your hair.” Emily said as you entered the roundtable room, plopping down in your usual chair.

“Thank you.” You replied, grinning. She always made it a point to compliment the various updos you’d show up to work with.

JJ leaned in, squinting playfully. “You know, your hair always looks amazing when it’s up, but why don’t you ever wear it down?”

You shrugged. “It’s a hassle, and would probably just get in the way.”

JJ nodded, understanding, just as Garcia swept into the room, her voice commanding everyone’s attention.

“We’ve got a case, angels.” She said, her tone more serious than usual.

Los Angeles. The case was ugly. You guys ended up staying for days, combing through evidence and following dead-end leads, until the end came suddenly…and at a cost.

“Damn.” Morgan muttered, the weight in his voice matching what everyone was feeling.

You all stood there silently as officer jones body was carried away in a bag. He had saved your guys team by stepping in at the last second.

It hit you then: This job isn’t just high stakes. It truly is life and death. Every time you pack up and answer a call, it could be the last.

The ride to the airport was quiet. You sat in the back, leaning your head gently against Spencer’s shoulder, something you guys always did, while you held onto Emily’s hand on the other side of you.

No one spoke, and that silence was louder than anything.

When you boarded the jet, you instinctively took the seat beside Spencer. He gave you a small smile, and you offered one back, grateful for the quiet comfort he always managed to give without even trying.

Across from you, Hotch and Rossi spoke in low voices, going over the final details of the case. You leaned back, closing your eyes, hoping for a few minutes of rest, but your mind was too restless.

Back in Virginia, you all returned to the office just long enough to grab your belongings.

As you all waited by the elevator, Rossi turned to address the group.

“Before everyone runs off, I’ve been thinking.” He said, his voice warm but firm. “We see each other in the worst circumstances. Maybe it’s time we try to be together in better ones. So, I’d like to host a dinner. Tomorrow night, eight o’clock. Bring your families, your partners, hell bring your pet. Let’s appreciate the lives we fight to protect.”

Everyone nodded, some smiling, others still to drained do more than murmur their agreement.

“I’ll be there.” You said softly, stepping away from the group. “I’m taking the stairs.”

“Goodnight.” JJ said. A chorus of goodbyes followed.

“Uh- I’ll walk with you.” Spencer said suddenly, falling into step beside you. You looked up, a little surprised, but smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” he said simply, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“So… What’s wrong with the elevator?” He asked, after a beat, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Didn’t feel like waiting. I’m exhausted.” You replied with a shrug. “Yeah, me too.” He said quietly, then hesitated. “You will be a Rossi’s tomorrow, right?”

You glanced at him. “Yeah. You?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. I mean, I wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be nice to be together…outside of work.”

You smiled at that. “Are you bringing anyone?”

He shook his head. “No. Just me.”

“Same.”

When you reached the last floor, he moved ahead to open the door for you. “Here.” He said softly.

“Thank you.” You replied, brushing past him with a smile.

He didn’t stop there, he walked you to your car. “Uh, drive safe.” He said, his voice a little quieter now.

“You too, Reid.”

You slid into your car and glanced up at him one last time before pulling away. He stood there for a moment, watching you go, hands still in his pockets, eyes soft.

౨ৎ

You arrived at Rossi’s exactly at eight, nerves buzzing under your skin. It was silly, maybe, how much you’d overthought this, your first time at his home, the outfit you debated over a dozen times, and most of all your hair.

You rarely wore it down, it was easier to just keep it up and out of the way, at work and sometimes even outside. Today though, tonight was the night you decided to let it be free and you were a bit nervous.

You walked up to the front door, glancing at the cars in the driveway. Everyone else was already inside. You rang the doorbell.

Rossi opened it up almost immediately with his signature warmth, already holding a glass of wine. “There she is!” He beamed, pulling you into a quick hug before hanging off the glass. “Come in, come in!”

You smiled, stepping into his home. It was beautiful.

Elegant, cozy, timeless. Just like him.

Following the sound of laughter, you made your way into the kitchen. The moment you walked in, the room went just a touch quieter.

“Okay, wow.” Emily said, setting her wine glass down dramatically. “Your hair! It’s gorgeous.”

Your cheeks burned. “I figured I’d let it down tonight. Special occasion.”

“You need to let it down always.” Penelope gasps, walking over to gently fluff a curl. “It’s so pretty, I’m obsessed!”

JJ grinned from her place on the island. “Seriously, you look amazing.”

“You guys are sweet.” You smiled.

You move through the group, greeting everyone, but your steps slowed when your eyes landed on Spencer.

He was standing, frozen in place like someone had hit pause on him. His wine glass was in one hand, and the other was in his pocket like always.

“H-hey.” He stammered as you reached him. “Hi.” You replied with a smile, leaning in for a gentle hug. He barely moved, still staring at you.

His gaze flicked to your curls, and he blinked. “I-I love your hair. I mean, not that I didn’t like it before, but it’s-um-it’s just-” he trailed off, visibly malfunctioning.

You tried not to giggle. “Thank you, I let it free tonight.”

He nodded a little too fast. “Good decision. A great decision. Everyone loves it. I-I love it. I mean, yeah.” He looked like he wanted to curl into himself.

You looked down shyly, smiling to yourself.

The night carried on with soft music, clinking glasses, and the kind of comfort only you guys could create.

You and Spencer eventually found yourselves with the little kids watching as Spencer showed them a magic trick then watched as they slowly lost interest and start playing tag instead.

Henry shouted something and ran off with Jack close behind, leaving the two of you now alone, while the others were caught up in Rossi’s wine-tasting tangents.

It was quiet for a moment. You glanced at Spencer, who was already looking at you. Again.

His voice came out all at once, like he’d been holding it in. “Did you know that the shape of your hair follicle determines curl pattern? Curly hair follicle are more oval, which causes the strand to curl at an angle, creating the spiral-”

He stopped himself mid-ramble, his eyes going wide. “N-not that I’m analyzing your hair or anything, I wasn’t, well, I kind of was, but not in a weird way. It’s just, you know, science. And- uh- it’s… lovely. Really lovely.”

You laughed softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “Spencer, are you nerding out over my hair?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered but unable to stop smiling. “Maybe a little. It’s just… scientifically interesting. And aesthetically… breathtaking. On you.”

You bit back a grin. “That’s the nerdiest and sweetest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

He ducked his head, the tips of his ears glowing pink. “Well… I’m kind of full of those.”

You leaned your shoulder gently into his, your voice playful. “Guess I’ll have to wear my hair down more often, huh?”

Spencer nodded, almost too quickly again, still blushing. “I-I wouldn’t mind that. At all.”

And for the rest of the night, every time you caught him looking your way, his smile was just a little softer than usual, and his stare more meaningful and filled with something more…

Hope you enjoyed @athenxt !! Thank you sm for your request<3 had sm fun writing this.

I’m going to get to the rest of the requests soon!! So if you’ve sent one in recently I promise they will be out! I’ve just been in a slump, unfortunately, but thank you all! <3

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[montimer]

Cecil x hero!reader || random hc's

Gn!reader,(reader bit oc), kinda silly. Bit smutty at the end!

You have became his favourite. You follow orders, you listen, and you do your job right. But those are not the only qualities he likes about you. He might not say it but your kindness means a lot to him. Also the fact that you don't act like an asshole just cuz you got superpowers and he don't. You treat him as equal, even more. Well, good, he's your boss after all but- feels nice still.

But boy, do you got some guts. You really don't hide your affections towards him. Telling him he looks great, praising him. Happy to hear him ask you for missions, no ones this happy to talk with him. When he let's you close enough you even hug him.

When he seems sad to you, you move in to hug him, like over his shoulder. He only lets it slide cuz it wasn't in public. But it sure did make his heart beat faster. And your comforting words? Do you even know what you're doing to him? "I know you mean well. You're a good guy, even if others can't see that. I'm here for you too Cecil, remember that." Just know your words are stuck in his head for a very long time.

You can be a brat sometimes tho. Imagine carrying him from somewhere. Flying or not. Just like pick him up and go, what is he gonna do? Teleport away-? Oh he just did. "Aw man, lemme help you out a bit. Costs you a lifetime to teleport all day" (you just want to carry him)

He has an easier time getting things through your head. You understand that you cannot be fully good, that you need to bring sacrifices sometimes.

He let's you talk about your interests on quieter days. Makes him feel more human, to finally talk about anything but having the responsibility to save the world. Plus he likes seeing you so happy as you talk

He smiles at you. Like actually smiles. You think his smile looks so sweet. As reaction you smile back at him and it flutters his heart.

He teleports to you, specifically you. At a point it doesn't even surprise you.

He checks up on you, he makes it seem professional but he wants to know if yer okay. Both mentally and physically

He stares at you. He stares so hard you could stare back and it would take him a moment to realize. His confusion makes you giggle. Well, he takes it as a win, atleast he made you laugh.

Just imagine saving him. How fast his trust would go up from that. And you even stay by him, asking if he's okay. Of course, he replies in a calm tone "Im fine... thank you." You do hear the crack in his voice but you know better than to point it out

He gets jealous too. Staring at the person who's flirting with you with an angry but cold expression.

Speaking of, he'd only look super angry with you if you almost get yourself killed. He gives you the lecture and everything.

He tries his best to perish the thoughts of wanting to be held by you again. Or to kiss you, caress your hair, hug you close, take you out- is it too late for him?

This is wrong, he knows. Very unprofessional. Part of him wants you to want him back, the other wants to forget about the whole thing.

It gets to a point where he's curious to find out if there's a chance on earth you'd love him back. And so he tries to give back the affections

Putting a hand on your shoulder. Bringing you gifts. Telling you he's here if you need something, or to talk. He's soft with you. A small smile appearing on his face as he sees you. He even goes in to hug you when he sees its the right moment. You are very surprised, but also happy, and so you hug him back. He's just glad you didn't push him off.

Snuggle into him pls, you can hear how fast his heart begins to race just from that.

He wouldn't ask you directly.

You really have to catch him alone to kiss him and tell him how much you love him. He'll be all flustered, surprised. He starts rambling about how wrong this is, but its so easy to tell he wants this too. Caress his face in your hands to shut him up. Soon enough he'll give in and let you taste him again. You slowly go down on his neck, kissing and nibbling on it, while pulling his tie bringing him even closer. He let's out small gasp and moans. He guesses this is gonna be a long night

[ihaznoclue]

Can I request a katsuki, kirishi, denki x FEM reader with the guys (separately) having a bad day after work (hero patrol/paperworks) the reader treats and spoils her boyfriend just making them relax from a long day

Pairings -> Bakugo Katsuki x F!Reader and Kirishima Eijiro x F!Reader

Warnings -> Overworking, Stress, a little bit of swearing

Note -> Reader takes care and treats her boyfriend after them having a bad day filled with patrols or paperwork

Genre -> Fluff

A/N - I didn't out Denki because he's not on my list

KATSUKI BAKUGO

The front doors slams with just enough power and force to make the picture frames on the walls rattle, making you slightly jump at the sudden noise

This was the first warning

The second was the low and frustrated growl that came from the exhausted hero with the following sound of his heavy boots thudding against the floor walking down the hallway

You called out to him "Katsuki" your head peeked out form the kitchen to see if you could spot Katsuki, your boyfriend somewhere

He doesn't answer as he just drops his hero gear on the floor with a huge thud, a grunt comes from him as he begins to lean on the wall

You could tell his jaw was tighten and there was a permanent scowl on his face, you could tell that this was serious

"Damn extras, stupid patrol, always getting the fucking printer to jam on me, I swear I'm gonna blow it up one day" He huffs with his arms crossed

You tried to not let out a little laugh but you smiled softly, he's grumpy and exhausted and maybe a little overwhelmed but he won't say that part out loud even if he wanted to

"Alright, Mr grumpy pants" You teased as you walked up to him and cupped his cheeks, kissing his nose

"You're done for the night, let's get you sitting down"

You then lead him to the couch in the living room, he sat down with a grunt as his muscles were sore from carrying so much weight of his gear for patrol

You were standing behind him behind the couch as he you leaned his head back, moving his ash-blonde hair away from his eyes, leaning down to kiss his forehead as he melted into your touch

You then began to massage his shoulder, traveling to his neck making him relax

"Babe.. You don't have to-" he stated but then gave out a low sigh as your fingers found the tense knot near his neck and shoulder point

"I want to" You murmur "You take care of everyone else, making sure everyone is safe so let me take care of you tonight"

He doesn't seem to have the energy to argue back so instead he just melts into you, leaning his head against your body form behind him

He needs to take a break

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

The door slight creaks open, meaning that your boyfriend was back from patrol

You glance up form the couch to the front door, seeing Eijiro take off his boots with a slight slouch in his posture, his eyes seemed tired, even his hair looks less spiky than usual

He stretches until he spots you "Hey baby" He says softly

You were already up and at his side in a instant, wrapping your arms around him before he can say anything else

His shoulder dropped at your touch as he leans his forehead on your shoulder and into the crook of your neck with a heavy sigh he was holding in

Your fingers in his hair as he wrapped his own arms around you

"Tough day?" You whispered

He nodded "Yeah, long patrol"

You pulled his head to look at him as you kissed him "Well it's time for no more thinking or fighting, I've got you now"

You then bring him to the living room and plop him on the couch, then you returned with a soft hoodie that smells like you

"Here change into this I'll be back with a warm cup of tea" You said walking to the kitchen

A couple minutes you came back with a warm cup of tea as you placed it down on the coffee table in front of him

"Thanks baby" He softly said, sitting next to him as he placed his head on your shoulder as you started to play with his hair

Running your fingers through his red hair calmed him down, even massaging his scalp while humming slightly

He was now getting sleepy all because of you

-A<3

[cozymochi]

I've been really curious about your OCs for a while, and the ask regarding Silver and Cecil got me wondering, what's Nyoka's relationship with the Savanaclaw trio? I've got a faint idea about what he thinks of Leona though (he's a Leona glazer [simp/j] from what I based on that one answered ask). Sorry if this seems too much or a bother though ✌🏻

This took me a hot minute to compile but I think this is as up to date as I can muster. Featuring lore crumbs. [Majority Under Cut]

Nyoka Relationships

🍩+🫖

Ruggie + Nyoka

Ruggie sees an opportunity to make good money. Y’know, if Nyoka actually took his offers. He’s never met a cobra beastman until Nyoka, and the only thing he ever knew about them is that they live far away, they’re closed off, and RICH.

And this Nyoka guy is the richest out of them all.

Being the little opportunist that he is, Ruggie may sometimes ask Nyoka if he has any jobs he can do. The guy’s loaded, there’s gotta be something, and certainly a nice generous payment to go with it! Ruggie is willing to offer gofer services, anything for a rich up-and-coming lil’ mini celebrity.

Nyoka typically declines these propositions should they come up. He was mostly raised to be self-sufficient and pick up after himself despite his environment.

He might dig around Nyoka’s trash to see if he can scrounge up any valuables. Leona never gives a shit about tossing away perfectly fine things! So, maybe this other super rich guy does the same once in a while.

Besides, It’s not like Ruggie is scared of him to begin with. If Ruggie can handle someone as domineering and lazy as Leona every day, he can handle some stiff and possibly stingy cobra too. (Disclaimer: Only thinks Nyoka is stingy because he won’t let him do work/favors.)

The two are certainly not friends, but they have no issues either.

——

Nyoka doesn’t care for Ruggie personally, but he can understand how a scavenger is essential to pick up what’s left behind.

He mostly keeps his distance, as he would with anybody else. Ruggie is not bad company by any means if they do cross paths, but he would rather not engage. He can kind of sense that Ruggie has ulterior motives and can suss them out pretty quickly.

It should be noted that there are zero hyenas where Nyoka is from. And even outside of Sunset Savanna, hyenas don’t exactly have a great reputation. He never met any until attending NRC. Anything he does know about hyenas is from osmosis, and it is already skewed heavily against them, so he is somewhat guarded im response to that as well.

He did find it unusual that many texts at NRC about the King of Beasts mention hyenas quite a bit. Back home, they aren’t mentioned at all in legends. It’s mainly just reptiles. Curious.

The most Nyoka can do is observe his behavior and put a pin in it. He might carry a small prejudice in the back of his mind.

🐺+🫖

Jack + Nyoka

There isn’t too much to say. Jack doesn’t know Nyoka. In fact, he wasn’t even aware somebody like that was even in his own dorm to begin with for a while. Jack isn’t exactly chummy with the people in Savanaclaw, nor pays attention to what they say. Besides, talking with fists is the better alternative if any of those punks really have something to say to him.

Sometimes the sheer scope of Night Raven College and its student body continues to surprise him.

As far as Jack is aware, he’s never actually seen Nyoka. They don’t run in the same circles. If he has, he probably passed by him without noticing. Considering that Nyoka wants to mostly be missed within the dorm, this is probably ideal.

It’s possible they may eventually run into each other, but it’s hard to gauge if they would get along.

——

On the other hand, Nyoka is at least aware of Jack through osmosis since he appears to have gained some manner of infamy within the dorm. Some of the rougher guys tend to grumble and about how annoying, uppity and goodie-goodie that frosh Wolf Beastman supposedly is.

So, at some point those grumblings would reach Nyoka while he’s lingering around a corner or hear it through the walls. Gossip is not exactly of any interest to him, but he will store it in his system so he knows what to be aware of.

However, being a third-year on a completely different schedule, he and Jack do not normally cross paths at all. He doesn’t know Jack personally, therefore has not formed many strong opinions. He has seen him a few times, as Jack sticks out considerably for a freshman (both in appearance and behavior).

As of now they do not know each other directly. Out of all the main trio, this is the most distant relationship, in that there really isn’t any.

It’s not clear how they would interact. Though, it’s possible Nyoka would find Jack’s manners to just be deplorable due to his more brute way of solving conflict.

🦁+🫖

Leona + Nyoka

(Oh man not the Scar and Ushari of twst. So.)

Leona was already aware of Nyoka beforehand. If tangentially at first.

The royal family used to be in contact with the Wadjets, especially while Leona’s father was still active king, but that friendliness mostly dissolved when changes were made after some incident occurred. But, Leona was a kid when that happened and had nothing to do with him or Nyoka, so it’s mostly irrelevant.

Due to both of their statuses, they have been in attendance at the same events in Sunset Savanna over the years, but never formally met each other until attending NRC.

So when the Dark Mirror assigned Nyoka to Savanaclaw he wasn’t surprised by the choice at all.

He already knew Nyoka is a sole heir and that the Wadjets have direct ties to mining resources in their neck of Sunset Savanna. With this being a shared interest for Leona, having that person in his corner is only a net positive in due time. (Or would be anyhow if he had any say back home.)

Being the perceptive person he is, Leona knows it’s not really in Nyoka’s nature to be around others. Cobras don’t exactly run in packs.

He doesn’t give Nyoka any special treatment or anything, that’s not how this dorm works regardless of species. That being said… if the merciful dorm leader allowed him to clean out one of the junkie vacant rooms just so he could have his own burrow to coil up in, then maybe this studious guy could share some of that book-knowledge with the rest of the dorm once in a while. 😌 Everybody has their place around there.

Of course, he’ll let other students in the dorm prod the cobra, everyone needs a little roughing up every now and then. Thing is: if he bites back that’s on them.

Sometimes he finds Nyoka’s habits eyebrow raising at times, but he doesn’t comment on it. He chalks that up to him just being a cobra or something. It’s not like there’s a ton of those guys back in his neck of the savanna anyway, so what would he know?/s

That aside, It’s nice once in a while to have an actual intellectual person to test his methodical wits with on an equal playing field. Even if that field is mostly a literal impromptu game of chess when the mood strikes.

Leona almost always wins of course, but that cobra manages to keep games just interesting enough to where winning feels like an accomplishment.

——

Nyoka views Leona as Savanaclaw’s “king” just like the vast majority of the dorm does. With Leona actually being a prince he treats him accordingly right down to ONLY referring to him as “your/his highness” and bowing when in his presence. He regards him with courtesy, as one hypothetically should.

(Meanwhile, Leona just calls him “cobra.” Why not, he’s the only one in the whole dorm/school.)

Formalities aside… Nyoka idolizes Leona more than one would think.

He has a fascination with Leona that he’s drawn to like a moth to a flame. To Nyoka, every word and move from Leona is so calculated; with no energy wasted on under-stimulating or inferior matters. Even how he presents himself is an interest. He is fascinated by every single aspect of Leona to the point it almost borders on obsession. Nyoka might be distinctly inexpressive, but when around Leona’s “fire” as he puts it, his thoughts tend to fixate. At least nobody can hear what he’s thinking. There’s a certain atmosphere being in Leona’s presence, and especially when he finally lets out that ferocity.

Whatever Leona were to ask of him, he would be willing to do it so long as it keeps this proverbial “fire” burning. The last thing he would want is for Leona’s fire to burn out entirely. That would be such a shame.

Leona doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

(Where Nyoka is from, stories of the King of Beasts say his spirit appeared in fire. So maybe that has something to do with it.)

Nyoka does not go out of his way to ever seek out Leona. He only arrives when he is specifically called. Nyoka makes sure that their encounters are meaningful, mainly via their chess matches. This leaves him plenty of time of observe and be a part of those mind games that Leona takes so much pride in.

Regardless, they remain on good terms with each other. Leona is arguably the only person within the dorm that he has any modicum of actual respect towards.

Nyoka can have one uncharacteristic oddity in his mind. As a treat.

[honeyslibrary]

Ghost of You | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); DEATH, grief, mention of car crash, marriage, fluff, edited once.

Summary; A piece based on the song Ghost of You, by 5 Seconds of Summer. I would recommend listening to that while reading to enhance the experience.

Word Count; 4.6k

Author's note; I did cry writing this. This is a lot. I was listening to the song last night, and just started writing. The flow might be a little weird since I did not write this in order, I wrote bits and pieces and then combined it. Also, I couldn't decide between you or she point of view (if there's any mistakes regarding that, please ignore it lol). I ended up going with you, but now I kind of wish I went with she, but it's fine, because I cannot go back and read this again as it is lowkey triggering for me ! Anyways, hope you enjoy it and it makes you cry 😁 -Honey

The house was too quiet again.

It always was now.

The hum of the fridge, the distant creak of settling floorboards—none of it filled the space like your voice used to. No footsteps padding through the kitchen in socks that didn’t match. No soft laughter echoing from the other room. Just Quinn, standing in the dim glow of the stove light, his keys still in his hand, his heart still stuck somewhere between the past and the present.

He hadn’t turned on the main lights when he got in. He never did when he got home late. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to wake anyone, but there was no one to wake anymore. Just him.

And the ghost of you.

His gear still smelled like the rink, sweat, adrenaline. The post-game mix of a man who was supposed to be holding the weight of a team, a city, a legacy—but couldn't even carry himself some nights.

His skates had been sharper today. A little too sharp. Petey noticed and asked if he was okay. Quinn had just nodded and muttered something unheard, then deflected with a chirp about Elias missing an open net. That got a laugh out of the guys. They won tonight. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and everyone saw it. No one said anything.

The silence wrapped around him as he made his way through the house, each step echoing just a bit too loudly. It still looked like you lived here. Your touches were everywhere. The blanket on the couch, the mason jar with dried lavender you refused to throw away, the framed Polaroid of the two of you in front of the house the day you moved in.

God, that day.

You’d barely graduated when he asked you. It was after your ceremony—still in your cap and gown, your smile beaming like summer sun as you clung to your diploma and asked him if he was proud of you. Of course he was. He always was. And when he’d kissed your forehead and said, “Come to Vancouver with me,” you didn’t even hesitate.

You just laughed and said, “Only if we can get the ugly throw pillows I like.”

He let you buy four.

Now he stood in front of one of them—pink and puffy and godawful—and touched it like it might dissolve if he pressed too hard.

The air was thick with memories, and he was always breathing them in.

He passed the kitchen, and the floor creaked under his weight. His gaze flicked to the little speaker on the counter. He hadn’t touched it in weeks. Not since that night he tried to cook dinner—your favorite, the pasta with too much garlic—and ended up standing in the middle of the room, crying while Sinatra sang about moonlight and love and holding someone close.

You used to dance here. Right here on this tile.

It didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight. If he was exhausted from a back-to-back or if he’d just come home from a brutal loss on the road. If you were here, and music was playing, and dinner was cooking—or even just leftovers heating up—you'd grab his hand and pull him into a slow dance like you had all the time in the world.

“Just one song,” you’d say, smiling up at him. “Come on, Cap. You won’t get benched for dancing with your wife.”

He used to tease you. Used to grumble that he was tired. And then he’d give in anyway, and sway with you like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Now the music was off. The speaker was dusty.

So was the record player in the corner.

Quinn exhaled and pressed a hand against the counter to steady himself. His knuckles were scraped from practice—he hadn’t worn his gloves when he took a spill morning skate. The trainers told him to take better care of himself. That the team needed him healthy. That he couldn’t afford to play reckless.

They didn’t understand. Or maybe they did, and just didn’t know how to say it.

He closed his eyes.

The house was heavy with your scent. Faint vanilla, like the candles you loved. They still sat on the shelf by the window. Half-burned. Unfinished. Just like everything else. He kept buying more, like letting smell disappear would make it too real.

It had been two months.

Two months since the phone call. Two months since the early morning rain slicked the roads, and someone ran a red light, and you didn’t come home.

Two months since he last heard your voice that wasn’t trapped in a voicemail or a dream.

He hadn’t gone into your closet. Not once.

He still used your shampoo, though, small amounts in a futile attempt to savor what was left of you. Still wore your hoodie when he couldn’t sleep. The one you stole from him first and claimed as yours.

It still smelled like you, if he closed his eyes and didn’t try too hard to remember.

Quinn wandered to the living room window and looked out at the city. Vancouver glittered beneath the night sky—indifferent, beautiful, alive. He’d once told you that this view made him feel like he could breathe. That was back when you stood beside him, arms wrapped around his waist, head on his shoulder.

Now, all he felt was the ache of where you used to be.

He turned away and glanced at the shelf beside the fireplace. Photos lined it—smiling ones, golden ones, the kind that belonged in a life well-lived.

One caught his eye.

University of Michigan. Fall semester. You were laughing, a coffee cup in hand, your other hand tugging the sleeve of his jacket. He looked stunned in the photo, caught mid-sentence.

He remembered that day.

It was your first week of classes. You were late. He was late. You rounded the corner in the lecture hall, juggling your bag and your drink and your headphones—and he barreled straight into you.

Coffee exploded down your front.

“Oh, shit—I’m—uh—” Quinn panicked, dropping his own backpack and grabbing uselessly at napkins that didn’t exist. “I’m so sorry.”

You blinked down at the damage, then looked up at him. “Wow. You come here often?”

He stared. Speechless.

You grinned. “If this is how you flirt, you’re gonna need to work on your game.”

And just like that—his face broke into a sheepish smile.

“Can I buy you another?” he asked, awkward but sincere. “Coffee, I mean. Not a new shirt. I mean, unless it’s ruined. In which case…”

You laughed. Loud and honest. “Just the coffee, Hughes. For now.”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Sure. But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Hockey.”

That laugh.

He could still hear it sometimes. In his dreams. In the rink. In the echo of the empty house.

Quinn turned away from the photo and wiped a hand over his face. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned. He didn’t let the tears fall. Not tonight.

Instead, he sat down on the couch—the one you picked out—and reached for the remote. Hockey highlights played, muted. He couldn’t watch them anymore. Couldn’t bear to see himself skating, smiling, high-fiving teammates when he felt like he was hollow inside.

He clicked the TV off.

And sat there.

Alone.

The morning light crept in like an unwelcome guest, filtering through sheer curtains you’d picked out because they made the bedroom feel “soft and cozy.” That was how you described it. “Soft and cozy, like a Sunday morning,” you’d said, perched cross-legged on their unmade bed with fabric samples fanned out around your legs, excited about decorating your first home together.

Quinn blinked up at the ceiling, unmoving, his head heavy against your pillow. Your scent was gone from it now. He didn’t know when it faded. Just that one day, he buried his face in the cotton and it wasn’t there anymore.

It was the little absences that gutted him most.

Not the obvious ones—not your inactive Instagram , or the toothbrush that was never replaced, or the unopened box of birthday decorations you’d ordered off Etsy two weeks before the crash. No. It was the quiet.

It was brushing his teeth alone and not having you peek around the corner with toothpaste foam in your mouth, saying, “Did you remember to floss, Mr. Hockey?”

It was opening the fridge and not finding your post-it notes stuck to the oat milk: Drink me. Don’t let me expire :(

It was not hearing you hum in the shower.

It was dancing in the kitchen to nothing but his memory.

He didn’t get up right away. Not that morning. Not most mornings. Sometimes he just laid there, listening to the hollow thump of his own heartbeat and the wind outside the window. February was cold this year. Not the bone-deep kind of winter cold, but the wet, lingering kind that made everything feel gray. Vancouver had always felt vibrant with her in it. Even the rain felt romantic when you were in his passenger seat, bare feet on the dash, hair a little wild from the wind, singing along to Fleetwood Mac like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Now, it just felt like grief pressing against the glass.

Eventually, the alarm on his phone buzzed—Skate @ 9:30. He ignored it for seven more minutes. Then he finally got up.

He didn’t shave. Didn’t really look in the mirror, either. Just brushed his teeth, pulled on an old team hoodie—the one you used to wear that hung just a little looser on him now, like everything else in his life—and left the house without breakfast.

The rink was quiet when he arrived. Most of the team wasn’t there yet.

“Morning, Cap,” called out Brock, tossing him a nod from the trainer’s table.

Quinn gave him a tight smile. “Hey.”

Conor passed him in the hallway, shoulder-checking him gently. “You good?”

He nodded. The lie was automatic.

They were good guys—his teammates, his brothers. They didn’t pry. But they didn’t avoid him either. They skated with him, trained with him, laughed around him, and gave him space when his eyes went somewhere else. Somewhere you still lived.

Only Jack and Luke really knew how deep the spiral went. Quinn tried to protect them from the worst of it, especially their parents, but there were nights when he'd call Jack at 2 a.m., voice cracking, and just sit on the phone in silence. And Jack would sit there with him. No questions. No pressure. Just presence.

Sometimes that’s all grief needed. Someone willing to sit inside it with you without trying to fix it.

Practice was a blur. He was sharp. Focused. Too focused. It wasn’t intensity so much as detachment. He skated like he wanted to be somewhere else. Or nowhere at all.

Coach said something about defensive gaps and ice time. Quinn nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

In another time.

Ann Arbor was golden with autumn. The leaves scattered like confetti across the sidewalks, and you always dragged him off the main path so you could crunch every single one under your boots. “It’s a crime to step around a perfect crunchy leaf,” you’d declared, mock-serious.

He loved that about you. The way you found small joys and treated them like treasure. Like they mattered.

That day, after the coffee spill, he met you outside the student union. You were early. He was nervous. He didn’t get nervous often—not about hockey, not about media, not even about scouts in the stands—but he was around you.

You waved when you saw him, eyes bright. “Captain Hughes,” you said with a grin, holding up your new coffee. “Redemption achieved.”

He flushed. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”

“Third, actually. The coffee, the shirt, and the delayed class entrance.”

He laughed, and for the first time in what felt like years, it felt easy.

They sat outside on the lawn, trading stories. You told him about your dream of being a kindergarten teacher. About your love for messy finger paint and the chaos of snack time. He told you about growing up in a hockey family, about missing his parents, about how much pressure came with making mistakes.

And you said, “Well, I don’t care about your mistakes, Quinn. I care about your smile. So keep doing that.”

You didn’t know it then, but he’d remember that sentence forever.

After practice, he stayed late. The rink had emptied out. He sat alone in the locker room, taping and re-taping his stick like he didn’t want to go home.

Eventually, he drove. The city flickered around him. He didn’t turn on the radio. Couldn’t. Too many songs you used to sing to.

At home, the front hallway was still cluttered with reminders of you. He'd tried once to clean up. Lasted ten minutes before he ended up sitting on the floor in front of your rain boots, sobbing.

Tonight, though, he made it to the kitchen.

The lavender candle on the counter. The crooked fridge magnet from the weekend trip to Tofino. The playlist you made on the speaker, still titled Midnight Snack Dances.

He reached for the speaker.

His thumb hovered over the button.

Then he pressed it.

The song that came on was Sinatra.

"Fly Me to the Moon."

He didn’t remember the last time he let it play. Didn't remember if you picked this one, or if it came up by accident, one night when you two were tipsy and cooking pasta at 1 a.m. But the second the first note played, he felt you again.

Your hands in his.

Bare feet on tile.

“You’re not even cooking,” he’d murmured once, letting her lead. “You just want to dance.”

You laughed. “Cooking is overrated. But dancing? That’s what makes life delicious.”

Now, he moved to the center of the kitchen, eyes closed.

He let the music wrap around him. Let himself remember the weight of her head on his chest. The sway of your body against his. The way you used to hum along to the trumpet parts like you were in a jazz club in another life.

He danced alone.

To a song that didn’t belong to him anymore.

To a memory that wouldn’t fade.

Later that night, he sat outside on the back step, hoodie drawn up, coffee cooling in his hand. The stars above the city were faint, but he looked for them anyway.

He imagined you up there sometimes.

Not in the spiritual sense—he didn’t know what he believed anymore—but in the poetic one. Like your laugh became starlight. Like your soul settled somewhere that still saw him.

His phone buzzed.

A text from Jack. "You good?"

He stared at it for a long time. Then typed: "Not really. But I’m here."

Jack replied a few seconds later. "That’s enough for tonight."

Quinn nodded to no one, set his phone down, and leaned back against the step.

The air was cold.

But for a moment, in the stillness, he swore he could hear your laugh on the wind.

The third voicemail on his phone had never been deleted, for that reason.

"Hey Quinny… it’s nothing, just calling before you hit the ice. You left your protein bar on the counter again, by the way—one day you’re going to starve during a game and it'll be your fault. Anyway, love you. Don’t get checked into a wall tonight."

You laughed at the end of it.

That quiet, musical kind of laugh that only came when you were talking to him. He used to play the message on away trips when he couldn’t sleep. Not every night. Just the bad ones. The nights when the hotel room felt unfamiliar, or when the game went wrong, or when the silence inside his own chest started to get too loud.

Now he barely listened to it at all. It hurt too much. The laugh, especially. It sounded so alive. So present. So unaware of what was coming.

They told him it was instant. That you didn’t feel it. That you didn’t suffer.

He didn’t believe them.

Not because he thought they were lying, but because part of him needed to believe you’d known he loved you in that final moment. That you had thought of him. That you felt him, even as the world tilted and shattered and the rain kept falling like it had every damn day since.

Some nights, the guilt clawed at him like an animal. He’d replay the morning over and over.

You had argued. Stupidly. Quietly. One of those soft-voiced, tension-tight arguments that stretched through breakfast and followed them into the hallway. He was distracted—thinking about line changes, about the upcoming game against Vegas, about whether his hip was going to hold up under the forecheck.

You wanted to show him something. One of your students made a drawing: Mrs. Hughes and the Hockey Prince. Stick figures. Crayon crowns. A dog, even though you two didn’t own one.

“You’ve gotta see this one,” you said, smiling. “It’s so cute.”

“Later,” he said. “I’m late.”

He rushed out.

He didn’t kiss you goodbye.

He always kissed you goodbye.

And then you were gone.

He told no one about that. Not his family. Not even his therapist, the one the team’s mental health staff gently encouraged him to see after he broke down in two post-game interviews in one week.

He’d gone to one session.

Sat in the parking lot for thirty minutes.

Left.

The grief didn’t hit in full force all at once. It came in waves.

Sometimes it was a tsunami—pulling him under so fast he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t be.

Other times, it was soft.

A song on the radio. A kid in a Canucks jersey pointing at him with wide eyes at the grocery store. The lavender scent in a stranger’s shampoo. A memory triggered by a piece of toast he accidentally burned the way you used to when you were distracted in the mornings.

He never knew which version of grief he was going to get.

He’d surprised you after practice. You had parent-teacher meetings that night, and he figured he’d swing by, bring her a coffee, maybe dinner. He was trying to be romantic.

You met him at the door, a smear of glitter across her cheek and a string of construction paper hearts dangling from her wrist.

“You look like a kindergarten Picasso,” he teased, handing her the coffee.

You kissed his cheek. “We made valentines. One kid ate the glue.”

He laughed. “Are you allowed to admit that?”

“I’m not naming names. Teacher code.”

Your classroom was pure chaos—bright drawings, finger-painted handprints on the wall, tiny desks with tiny chairs. But it was magic. It was yours. And when you moved between the kids, kneeling to their level, praising their stick-figure whales and lopsided hearts, he swore he’d never seen anyone shine like that.

After the parents left, you walked him through the class library, stopping to point out your favorite picture books.

“You know,” you said, brushing hair out of your face, “this job is exhausting, but it’s the best kind of exhausting.”

He smiled. “You’re good at it.”

You shrugged. “They make it easy. Kids see the good in people first. Grown-ups forget how.”

That memory haunted him now.

The funeral had blurred past, just weeks after your passing. It felt too quick for him. The condolences, the flowers, the carefully constructed eulogies. Everyone told him you’d been light. That you lit up a room. That you were joy, wrapped in wild curls and vanilla-scented perfume.

He knew that.

He didn’t need to hear it in past tense.

The school had invited him to a small gathering for the parents and students. The kids adored you. The staff adored you.

He went.

He stood in the back, silent, hands jammed in his coat pockets, and listened to one of her students—a little girl with sparkly clips in her braids—read a letter she wrote:

“Mrs. Hughes said I was brave when I was scared. She let me wear the crown even when it wasn’t my birthday. She smelled like sunshine. I hope she’s dancing in the sky.”

He didn’t cry there.

He waited until everyone had left.

Then he stepped into your classroom.

It smelled like glue and markers.

Your handwriting still covered the whiteboard: “Be kind. Be brave. Be YOU.”

Your coffee mug—Kindergarten Queen—still sat on her desk. He touched it like it might shatter under his fingertips.

On the back wall was a photo of them at the team’s charity skate day. You’d worn a Canucks hoodie that hung off her shoulder, laughing as a kindergartener tried to chase Quinn across the ice.

He stared at that photo for a long time.

Then he left without saying a word.

He went home, and opened the bedroom closet.

He sank to the floor, hoodie bunched in his fists, your clothes surrounding him like a cocoon.

He cried like a man unmade.

No noise. Just the kind of sobbing that comes from somewhere deep and private and untouched by language.

And when it passed, when he couldn’t cry anymore, he sat there, eyes swollen, heart split down the middle, whispering to the dark.

“I’m so sorry.”

For the argument.

For the missed kiss.

For not being there.

For not saving you.

He took you back to Michigan.

Said it was a nostalgic trip.

You suspected it from the beginning—he wasn’t good at lying—but you played along.

The two of you walked the campus. Stopped by the coffee shop where he spilled your first drink. You ordered the same thing: vanilla oat milk latte, two pumps, no foam.

He dropped to one knee just outside the old lecture hall.

“I know the timing’s crazy, and the travel sucks, and my schedule is chaos, but there’s no world I want to live in where I’m not waking up next to you.”

Your hands flew to your mouth.

“I love you,” he said, voice shaking. “Always. Even when I’m a pain in the ass. Even when the season’s long and I’m gone more than I should be. You make me better. You make me whole. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, laughing through her tears.

And whispered, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, he took off his wedding ring.

Not forever.

Just to clean it.

He set it carefully on the bedside table, wiped it gently a small cleaning towelette.

He held it up to the light.

“Love you,” he whispered.

And in the silence that followed, he thought he could almost hear you say it back.

The ring felt heavier once he put it back on.

It wasn’t symbolic. Not in a grand, poetic sense. It just felt heavier—like maybe his body was finally acknowledging the weight of everything he’d been carrying alone.

He stared at his hand for a long time after sliding the band over his knuckle again. The skin underneath was lighter now. A thin line. A ghost of something permanent. Something that once was.

The ceremony had been simple.

Lakefront. Small. Close friends and family.

He remembered every second.

You walking barefoot down the aisle.

You whispering, “You’re shaking,” when you reached him at the altar.

Him choking out, “I’ve never been this happy.”

The vows.

Yours: “You are my home. Whether we’re in Vancouver or Michigan or on the moon, if you’re there, that’s where I want to be.”

His: “You remind me who I am. And who I want to be. You make the world make sense.”

They danced to Can’t Help Falling in Love. You sang softly into his ear as they swayed.

“I’ll love you in every lifetime,” you whispered.

The phone buzzed beside him. A name on the screen: Mom.

He didn’t answer.

He went home.

Real home.

Michigan.

The house hadn’t changed. The same backyard net. The same cluttered garage. His childhood bedroom still had the worn poster of Datsyuk, corners curled.

Ellen opened the door before he knocked.

“Hi, baby,” she said softly, and pulled him into her arms.

He didn’t say anything. Just held on.

Inside, the house smelled like soup. Like love. Like memory.

He didn’t eat much.

But he sat at the kitchen table, head bowed, while Ellen laid her hand over his.

“You have to let yourself feel it,” she said.

“I’m afraid if I do,” he whispered, “I won’t come back from it.”

“You will,” she promised. “Because she wouldn’t let you drown.”

He stayed a week.

Jim didn’t say much—just sat with him in front of old Leafs games, passing popcorn, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

It was raining the day he opened your side of the closet again.

Five months had passed since the accident.

He hadn’t touched it since that first time he broke down.

Not the hoodies you stole from him. Not the floral dress you wore to the engagement party. Not the polaroids clipped to the inside wall.

But he needed something. He didn’t know what. A sweater, maybe. A memory.

He reached for a box tucked in the corner.

Inside, he found a card. A sealed envelope with his name on it, one he hadn't seen before. Your handwriting, unmistakable, the date on it—the night of your wedding. The sticker was a tiny gold heart.

He opened it.

My love,

There are things I feel so big I can never say them out loud without crying, and I don’t want to cry tonight. I just want to smile until my cheeks hurt.

Quinn… you are everything. You’re strength and softness. You’re the calm in every storm I’ve ever had. You are more than the name on your jersey or the goals you score. You are home.

I know sometimes you don’t see the light in yourself. But I do. I always will. You make me feel safe and wild and alive and steady—all at once. I’m so proud of you. Not for what you do. But for who you are.

I can’t wait to build a life with you. To wake up beside you. To dance barefoot in our kitchen at midnight. To grow old, and grumpy, and still completely in love.

You are my beginning. And my end.

Love, Y/N

He read it three times.

Then pressed it to his chest, and let the tears come—not like before. Not broken. But whole.

Full.

Alive.

Spring came late to Vancouver.

Not the bright, sudden kind of spring that bursts through like a symphony, but a slow one—measured and hesitant, like the world was still grieving something too.

Quinn woke to the sound of rain easing against the windows, not hammering. For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel oppressive. Just… soft. Like it was letting up.

He sat in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. The Sinatra playlist still played quietly in the background—track number four, your favorite. “The Way You Look Tonight.”

There was toast burning in the toaster.

He didn’t even mind.

He’d read the letter every night for a week.

Not because he wanted to memorize it, but because it felt like you. Not a memory, but a conversation. A tether. Words from beyond the veil that didn’t close the wound, but helped him breathe through it.

He tucked it into the inside pocket of his gear bag. Right beside the laces you used to knot for him when you got bored in the locker room.

“Only the left ones,” you’d say, grinning. “I’m superstitious.”

He tied both the same way now. Just in case.

He’d gone back to therapy.

Not for anyone else. For himself.

It wasn’t easy. The words didn’t come all at once. But the therapist—an older man with gentle eyes and quiet pauses—just sat with him. Listened. Let Quinn unravel slowly.

One session, Quinn brought the letter.

Read it out loud.

Didn’t make it past the second paragraph.

Didn’t need to.

At the rink, the guys had started chirping him again. In the old way. Not walking on eggshells. Just giving him hell like brothers do.

It was the best thing in the world.

Brock called him “washed-up.”

Petey joked he “didn’t look like a homeless man anymore.”

Even Demko raised a brow when Quinn played Sinatra during pre-practice warmup.

“You good, Cap?”

Quinn nodded. “Getting there.”

That was enough.

One morning, Quinn visited the cemetery.

He didn’t go often. You weren’t there. Not really. But this time, he brought something.

The ugly pink throw pillow you loved—the one he always said was hideous. The one you insisted gave the living room “character.”

He set it down beside the headstone and smiled.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I admit it. It made the couch better.”

Then he sat with you.

Told you about the last game of the season, the Canucks narrowly missing a ticket to the playoffs. About his teammates, Conor’s new baby boy, and his family. About the letter he found.

“I read it,” he said softly. "I miss you so much" He admits, for the first time out loud.

The wind shifted gently.

He closed his eyes and imagined you there, arms folded, leaning on the stone like you were teasing him from the other side of the veil.

“Still sappy, Hughes,” you’d probably say.

And he’d reply, “Still yours.”

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

[star-lights-up]

okay but hear me out: cherik the office au.

No, they're not pam and jim..... they're holly and michael.

Sorta.

Erik is the super strict, terrifying, robotic boss of dunder mifflin's scranton branch. he's lonely, has no family, begrudgingly loves his branch but would never admit it (but puts up with their antics). Only a core group has really managed to stay on, but that's because anyone who's not used to him usually ends up quitting or getting fired because he's so scary and inhuman. But corporate keeps the branch open because SOMEHOW they're the most productive branch despite erik likely being some kind of killer robot or shark-human hybrid and the entire office getting into crazy shenanigans (one time Sean, one of their accounts, got pushed off the roof into a bouncy house. he was mostly fine).

Erik HATES the HR attendant, Logan. HATES HIM hates him. So when Logan goes on paternity leave after discovering he's got a daughter, Erik expects to hate the new HR guy just as much.

Instead, he's this funny, sexy british guy who laughs at Erik's lame attempts to be funny around him (he never tries to be funny, he's not sure what's come over him) and is always kind and understanding and pretty damn good at getting office spats to fizzle out. He looks great in a suit and has a big smile and big blue eyes and damn it if erik isn't down bad the moment they first talk to each other.

With some gradual prompting from his subordinates, Erik eventually asks him out. Charles smirks, saying he was wondering when Erik was going to finally do so, and they plan on dinner that night.

then the next night, too. and the night after that, and that, until every moment they're not together is just... well... agony.

Erik's a lot happier after they start dating. The office is a lighter space. he even makes jokes sometimes. Everyone's amazed -- and wondering why the actual fuck someone as charming and handsome as charles would want to date erik (the answer to this question, asked, at one point, by Hank, was a smirk and "have you SEEN him?" which wasn't really the answer anyone was looking for -- though when erik wasn't frowning and wasn't smiling that creepy shark smile of his, he could maybe be considered attractive. Maybe. Charles sure seemed to think so, if the blatant, borderline disgusting PDA was any indication.)

Eventually, however, it is time for logan to return, and Charles is relocated. Erik becomes insufferable again, the long distance weighing on his heart. Everyone pretty much thinks that's going to be the end of the relationship, whether now or in a few week's time, but then Emma catches Erik sitting on the floor in the corner of his office having a pretty serious mental breakdown over hoping Charles will still love him even though they're so far away, and it's clear that something has to be done. He's fucking depressed.

Something of an intervention is staged. It's very unwelcome on erik's part, the man yelling at them at first, but then eventually he's somber (nearly on the verge of TEARS. AGAIN. the office members quietly question their sanity, wondering if the universe has actually come to an end for Erik Lehnsherr to be acting like this, while carrying on trying to convince him that he needs to focus on his own happiness.) He's worked at this company for so long. He's been alone for so long. He's got savings.

It wouldn't kill him to make a leap for love and move to be with Charles. It may actually save him.

Eventually he actually ends up doing it. Erik Lehnsherr quits his job and moves away to be with the love of his life. Charles writes a thank-you note to the office. He seems ecstatic to have Erik back. the office feels a little bit emptier, strangely, as everyone realizes they might just miss their old boss. But Emma's good at what she does, good in Erik's position.

They all get wedding invites a year and a half later. They see Erik Lehnsherr cry again, in his ceremony, right before he says "i do." And after that, he's not so alone anymore.

[1am-impulsive-writing]

"You know, Joel, you always go around. You always go around saying that you're so tall, strong, handsome... smart..."

Joel snaps up to squint at where Etho sits leisurely on the sidewalk. Already, he can smell the challenge.

"And that's because I am," he says, rising to the bait anyway.

Etho, slowly and deliberately, raises a singular eyebrow at him. He then very purposefully pans his view down to where Joel is fiddling hopelessly with his most recent attempt at a home-designed redstone farm. Void, this man's infuriating.

"Hey- what's that look for?! I don't appreciate your doubt, Etho," he snaps.

Both Etho's eyebrows raise this time, and his hands raise with them. "What, I didn't say anything! Jeez Joel, so reactive."

"Yes, but I could sense it. We both know it Etho, we both know what you really think about me," Joel huffs, looking back to his redstone.

"I-I- well- I just don't think- I just think you're not being entirely truthful, you know? You go around, spouting all of this," there is a deliberate pause, where Etho adjusts his mask, "a-and you never give any justification! Evidence, Joel, evidence," Etho hurries to explain. When Joel frowns back at him, the other man clasps his hands over one knee.

"Evidence? You don't think I'm handsome, Etho? Surely I don't need to give extra evidence for that- I'm right here!"

Admittedly, elbow deep in the mangled wires of a dispenser, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead- Joel probably isn't exactly looking his Sunday best.

Before Etho has a chance to point this out, Joel hurriedly continues.

"And of course I'm tall! Just put me next to Bdubs or Grian, I tower over them. Because that's just how tall I am."

Everyone towers over Bdubs and Grian. Really, the only exception to that may be Joel himself. Maybe he should commission Cleo for some thicker shoes...

"A-and smart? Are you poking fun at my- at my in progress, experimental redstone? Why, invent the hopper clock first try, did you? I'll have you know, I'm a genius in disguise. You don't know what's coming Etho, one day my name will be in all the history books. Even more than you," he finishes. Etho's eyebrows have raised so far they're receding behind his headband.

"...uh-huh," he says, pointedly.

"Oh, shut up Etho! And I know that stupid headband is to hide your hairline. You can't fool me," Joel snaps.

Etho coughs weirdly, and then breaks out into laughter. It's the loudest sound Joel's ever heard him make.

"Wha- where does my hairline come into this? There's nothing wrong with my hairline!" he chuckles, playing up offence.

"Your hairline comes everywhere into this, and you know it," Joel sasses. Etho seems to find this extremely funny.

"I'm not messing around! What was the other thing you said? Strong? I'll show you strong!"

Joel abruptly stands and takes a couple strides over to where Etho still sits doubled over in laughter. Then, with the air of an executioner readying to swing, he wipes his redstone covered hands over Etho's pale tunic.

"Hey! What?" Etho stumbles to his feet and hops a couple steps away, still giggling as he tries and fails to brush the red dust off his back.

Joel points one finger at him, and then lets out a triumphant "HA!"

Etho scoffs halfheartedly and points back at him, jutting his hip to the side, "you call that strength? Is that the best you got? Wiping your hands on me?"

"Oh for the love of-" Joel grumbles, and spins on his heel to spot the closest, large heavy object he could reasonably lift. His eyes fall to the redstone components on the ground- no, Etho wouldn't be phased by that. He probably carries around hoppers all day every day.

Across from him, Etho puts his hands on his hips, head cocking to the side- but only just slightly. And wow, is that how it's gonna be?

Joel scoffs fullheartedly, and stomps forward towards the other man. Etho levels a challenging gaze at him, fading quickly into confusion as Joel doesn't stop.

Really, for how much Etho was poking at him, picking him up is absurdly easy.

One arm scooping under the knees, pulling up, the other arm falling to catch under the armpits as Etho yelps at the sudden loss of ground beneath his feet. Joel spins on his heel, just for a bit of extra flair.

He points a grin at Etho's frog-face.

"Strong now, huh?" He boasts.

Etho just stares at him. Clearly, speechless at Joel's profound strength.

He scoffs, it's his turn to raise the eyebrow now.

"Pathetic."

Very quickly, Etho turns beet red. Joel blinks for a moment.

"Hey, Joel! What's- Oh my gosh."

Gem's eyes are as wide as dinner plates where she stands just across the road from them. She quickly raises her hands and backs away down the stairs- out of sight once more.

Joel feels vaguely walked in on.

Very promptly, he drops Etho. He yelps again as he hits the pavement.

"That- that was your fault," Joel blusters. Is he flustered? He's not flustered. Why would Joel be flustered? Gem clearly must've misunderstood. He should go over there. And tell her. That she misread. Yep. Leave to tell her right now.

Etho wheezes some strange noise on the ground.

"I'm gonna go. See what she wants," he mutters, stepping over Etho (he's fine,) and walking heavily over to the staircase joining his base to Impulse's.

On the ground behind him, Etho curls over and groans pathetically.

i can see this legitemately happening in hermitcraft. that's all i'll say

(art reqs are open btw! i got some already but i'm trying to draw more so any ideas you might have would really help - also despite my blog being like ninety-nine percent joel i do like drawing any of the esmp/ hermits lol)

[venomousray]

I’m starkid homeless guy’s number 1 fan. I will keep this title. I think about him all day. All night. All everywhere. He’s the best character ever created. I’ve drawn him over 100 times and I joined this fandom 5 months ago. He is my beloved. I am his biggest fan of all time. That title is mine. He is my beloved. He’s just a blorb. Exactly 1:41:14 in time bastard. 1:05 in the ladeedadaday soundtrack. He carried honey queen trust. He’s the peakest of characters and I adore him. I could talk about him all day. I have a list of headcanons for him that just keeps being added to. I own a coat that looks almost exactly like his because of him. He is perfect.

[boobo13cambridge]

Kylian Mbappé imagine where it’s your first time together as a couple. He just knows you’re the one and almost feels like he’s not good enough for you.

Kylian was very nervous as he sat across from you. It was your first time going out as a couple in public, and the number of paparazzi outside the restaurant wasn’t helping at all. He knew he was acting a bit weird, but he couldn’t get past the old insecurity that he wasn’t good enough for you.

Now, you might be wondering, dear readers, why does the daddiest of all football players feel insecure? Why does the man who won a World Cup at 18 years feel like he’s not good enough? Two words: Serena Blair. (Yeah, I know. I had the same thought. Totally sounds like a pornstar name.)

Now, I don’t want to get into too much about that stanky bitch. Let’s just say that nothing our golden boy did was ever enough. If he bought her a Dior bag, she wanted a Birkin. If he bought her a Cartier bracelet, she wanted a Graff necklace. And so it went, until Tata Fayza intervened and knocked some sense into her boy.

“Kyky, are you okay? You look a bit tense,” the gentle cadence of your voice managed to calm his racing heart. He gave you a shy smile, “Yes, mon amour. I’m fine. I just wanted to apologize to you about the paparazzi.”

"You don't need to apologize for that, babe. It's not like you called them on purpose to be up all in our faces," you replied, trying to calm your jittery boyfriend. Kylian and you met when you slammed into him while playing hide and seek with the children at the Premiers de Cordees association and spilled your vanilla cold brew all over his face and white t-shirt. It was all very dramatic, very much cliché, and of course, it was love at first sight. Sometimes you thought Kylian was a masochist with a very obvious humiliation kink.

The rest was history; you were constantly texting and snapping each other, going on dates incognito so you could stay in your little bubble a little longer. He was the most attentive boyfriend, always making sure that you were comfortable and had everything you needed, despite his busy schedule. He made you feel like a princess, and every day you fell just a little bit harder for this man with the dimpled smile.

Today was a big milestone in your relationship, as you were finally going public with it. For most people, four months probably was too early, but for Kylian Mbappé, who always knew what he wanted, it was nothing. So here you both sat at this fancy restaurant in the middle of Madrid, and your boyfriend was acting as if he was about to be guillotined for starving the French people.

Seeing him so unsure was a rare sight, but you knew why he was so on edge. He told you about his ex one night after he almost had a mental breakdown gifting you the complete set of the MinaLima Edition Harry Potter books. You were in tears because you loved it and he thought you hated it.

"Kylian, what's wrong? You've been acting really off the whole night." Concern laced your voice as you reached for your boyfriend's hand, rubbing circles on the back in an attempt to soothe his anxiety.

"I-I-I'm just really anxious, bébé." he said, his voice strained as he licked his dry lips. Your heart broke seeing your boyfriend like this. I swear to God when I see that bitch it's on sight.

"Why are you anxious, mon coeur?" you inquired softly, your gaze filled with concern as you reached out to touch Kylian's hand.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, his voice tinged with insecurity as he responded, "I feel like I'm not good enough for you, and you're going to realize that one day and leave me."

"Kylian! Are you out of your mind?" you exclaimed, your tone a mixture of surprise and reassurance. "That's never going to happen. I love you so much, baby. How could you ever think that?"

A heavy sigh escaped Kylian's lips as he continued, his words weighted with the burden of his fame, "Look at my life! I can't even go to a restaurant without being followed by cameras. Every move I make needs to be planned in advance. I can't be spontaneous with you because everything is a security risk."

Your heart ached at his admission, understanding the weight he carried on his shoulders. "You wanna know something, Kyky?" you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. "Even if you lived in a dingy apartment with fleas and rats, and the only thing we could afford for a date was soggy fries and mayo, I would still be with you because you're the most amazing man I've ever met. I've never felt like this for anyone and-"

"Not even Jungkook?" Kylian interjected, a playful glint in his eye despite his lingering worries.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Ok, woah. Calm down, let's not exaggerate," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Bébé!" Kylian exclaimed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I'm messing with you, Ky," you grinned back at him. "But the point is, I love you for you and all the little things that you do for me. And nothing in this world is going to change that. So please, relax mon coeur and let's enjoy the night?"

"I love you too, mon amour," Kylian murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thanks for being there for me, and I'm sorry for-"

"If you don't stop apologizing, I'm going to flash my tits to the paps," you quipped, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Bébé, what the fuck?" Kylian sputtered, his big, dark brown eyes widening in a mix of shock and amusement.

"Exactly," you replied with a grin. "Now give me a kiss."

----------------

A/N: Okay, so maybe I got a tad carried away with this fic, not gonna lie 😅 But hey, I hope you enjoyed it, my lovely anon, because I had an absolute blast writing it.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, during the TDWT London Episode... What if Noah doesn't call the hidden Alejandro an eel, instead Alejandro and the other hidden Contestants saw Noah briefly showed his true insane colors to defeat the 'Ripper', with a big psychotic grin?... How would Alejandro feel about trying to bring up Noah's insane side, but Noah keeps denying it (and so does Owen, because Noah asked him to)? 😏

Psycho!Noah, under the assumption that he's alone with only Owen and the camera as his witnesses, going Full On Mania Mode on the Ripper? That's a fun thought.

I think, given the fact that he's on a Reality TV Show in the first place, this Noah would be upfront to the audience that he's... a little unhinged. Maybe he cracks a few jokes in the confessional (either during Island or World Tour) about his eccentricities, or maybe he really plays up the 'crazy' to paint himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing for the audience?

The second option there would probably work more in his favour, since him Just Being There would be a source of dramatic irony for the audience- something to keep people watching in anticipation, waiting for Noah's mask of mundanity to slip. He'd be 'good for ratings'.

I've decided that's the characterisation I'll go with. Psycho!Noah hides his true self from the contestants but, knowing that he'll be recorded 24/7, doesn't bother disguising himself for the audience- his nature will inevitably be exposed to them anyway, so why not cut out the middle man? At least this way, he gets the added pleasure of toying with the viewer's expectations.

-

So, given the fact that the only people he thinks are seeing him are people already in the know, what's stopping Noah from letting loose a little?

Nothing. Nothing's stopping him.

He and Owen step onto the double decker bus, the larger teen tiptoeing almost timidly onto the vehicle in his trepidation, whilst Noah follows casually behind him. He's a little disappointed, truly; horror themed challenges would be so much more interesting if they were, y'know, scary.

Luckily for him, things soon get interesting.

The shadowed figure of the Ripper drops from the ceiling with a thud behind Noah, assumedly crouched down on all fours like some sort of beast though it's hard to tell behind the inky, billowing cloak they're wearing. The motion would've been too fast for someone less capable to properly react to. Thankfully, Noah is very capable.

He pivots in place, catching the surprisingly fast arms of the Ripper before their taller frame can grapple him in his own deceptively strong grip, then forcibly bends the figure's arms until a sickening crack resounds through the bus's interior. The Ripper cries out a raspy animalistic shriek of pain, their forearms hanging uselessly limp out in front of them at awkward angles, and the clattering of something hitting the floor draws Noah's attention downwards. A knife, the Ripper's weapon of choice, gleams threateningly on the ground under the weak moonlight, having slipped from their incapacitated hand.

Well. That's certainly interesting.

Easing up his iron grip on the figure's disfigured arms, the cynic gingerly bends down to swipe the knife from the floor, then straightens back up triumphantly as he brandishes his new found weapon.

"Noah?" Owen's meek voice echoes from behind him. The bookworm tilts his head towards the other, who's fear-blown gaze is fixated on the sharp object in his unstable friend's unpredictable clutches.

The Ripper, momentarily subdued, continues to whine and groan in pain beside him.

"What's up, bud?" He responds, voice conversationally light and airy- a stark contrast to the Ripper's agonised gargles.

"Is- is that a knife?" The larger asks in a wavering tone. Noah isn't sure if it's the fear of himself with a sharp object, or the frankly pathetic display from the figure beside him, that's causing his best friend's hesitance. But he knows Owen- the big lug is a hardy sort, he won't stay scared for long.

"Hmm," Noah hums playfully, toying with the weapon in his grip. Feeble beams of moonlight shine and shimmer from it's blade, illuminating their surroundings in spectres of milk light, "Yeah, I think it is. Good eye, big guy."

A moment of tense silence passes between the two (somewhat ruined by the Ripper's incessant snivelling), before Owen's face splits into a shaky smile.

"Do you want to, uh, maybe, put the knife down?" He suggests.

Noah shifts his focus back onto the tool in his grip, theatrically ruminating over his friend's suggestion as he raises his free hand to his chin in a pondering motion, whilst his piercing gaze subtly flickers around the bus to locate the nearest hidden camera. He spins the knife in his hand thoughtlessly as he searches, deftly twirling and weaving the blade between clever fingers, sending spirals of light dancing through the darkness of their enclosure.

Once he's spotted the tell-tale red blinking light of a recording camera, he careens his whole body to face it. His features soften into a serene smile, highlighted by trickles of pale moonlight, as he addresses the camera.

"No. Not really. It's quite pretty. Don't you think?"

Noah waits a heartbeat, keenly listening for a response that'll never come from the recording device, before his smile splits into something wider. Something that splinters around the edges of his face and crumbles through his mask of tranquillity, revealing glimpses of wild delirium through its cracks. Similarly, his amusement-crinkled eyes widen with mania, irises contracting into pinpricks of molasses against the white of his sclera.

"And wouldn't it look a lot prettier... in a different colour?" The pessimist halts the spinning of the knife with a flick of his wrist, letting the question simmer in the stale air of the bus.

The Ripper, having finally regained their bearings, stumbles to flee from the bus.

Well. That's not very interesting, is it?

In the blink of an eye, Noah is suddenly nose-to-mask with them, holding the blade millimetres from the figure's neck almost tauntingly as he traps them against the fogged over glass of the bus driver's window, "Red would look really pretty."

"Noah," Owen whines petulantly, "we're supposed to capture the Ripper, not kill him!" As if to punctuate his point, the blonde tugs at the edges of the burlap sack he's carrying, shooting an imploring look towards his little buddy.

"Oh, I forgot. Silly me!" Noah exclaims jovially, smacking at his sizable forehead with his free hand. The Ripper beneath him whimpers at the motion.

-

In the First Class cabin, the majority of the Total Drama contestants stand gobsmacked at the display they just witnessed. Varying expressions of disturbance and fright are dotted across the crowd, and the more sensitive of the group have turned varying shades of nauseated green or horrified white.

"What the fuck?"

[hollow-vok]

Random sketches of Solya :3

I need him, but in a non-romantic way, I can't explain it...I just want to grab his sleeve like Agnieszka did in one chapter...its ridiculous how much I love him

[wr0ngwarp]

music box

[tiffaluvr]

me when it's pride month so I remember those two ocs I had that had this complex romance but ended up being boyfriends and decide to pull them up from the void again

[roseytoesy]

I fully agree!

He should be the master story teller, changing to look like the characters he’s reading about. He should be the tickle monster. Chasing around the other toys and having fun catching them and making them squeal and giggle. He should be able to have fun swinging around like a monkey on some pipes or beams. He should be the master of hide and seek. Where no one can find him but he’s also really good at finding them. He could have some fun building forts out of blankets and pillows. Or even himself!

There are so many ideas for him to have fun and be a kid along with the toys he protects. Similar to a caring father, Playing is an important part of caring for kids and building strong relationships.

I think doey should be allowed to be a little silly with himself. He should draw an exaggerated curly mustache on his face with his finger and walk around "twirling" it. He should do the "gravity is increasing on me" bit and just melt on top of somebody. He should have dough-ball fights with the other toys where he is the ammo. He should be the undefeated champion of the weekly safe haven dance competition with his signature move: The worm. He should be a little goofy.