#i still have the photo across the room from me

[skeletalheartattack]

do uyo think a monkys 🐒 and a sketin 💀 can be friends

a thought bubble appears above my head with the memory of having my picture taken with a monkey at the ripe old age of 6, and upon leaving the monkey would trip me and start dragging me by the ankle back to the photo chair, prompting the photographer to fucking book it for that monkey.

hm probably not i don't think.

[straykats]

.

[gaydryad]

who wants to hear a funny story (not actually very funny) about the limits of my imagination (this is actually just an excuse to reflect on the fact that I grew up in an apartment which is less than a thousand square feet and thought that my grandparents’ 3br two-story house was Luxuriously Spacious because you could be in A Quiet Room, Not Hearing The Lives Of Every Other Person In The House, Not To Mention The Lives Of Your Neighbors and that fundamentally warped my idea of what a “big” house is and set my idea of a “mansion” to be “about one point five stories with an extensive basement (quel chic! yes im californian why do you ask) and actual separate rooms for different tasks”)

[ienjoywritingfilth]

the wedding night

hi: i wrote this in an afternoon on the bus and barely edited this. it only exists because seeing that photo of General Acacius made me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, this is just a debauched excuse to be railed by the man.

trope: forced marriage

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , names like whore because i am one, forced marriage, Au as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, pp in vv, dubconish, i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

"Take to the bed," the muscular man tells you in a raspy voice as you enter the bedroom, wishing you had your fur. "I leave early for battle at dawn." 

He makes no move to leave and so you glance from the waiting bed back over to the imposing figure standing by the fire. His tousled, greying curls are touched by the flickering reflection of the flames behind him. 

This is all new to you and almost surreal. You've been taken from your modest home and brought here to a lavish home in Rome. You glance over at your new husband timidly. 

"Are you to remain here all night?"

"We are wed," he replies with a wry grin. "Of course we shall spend the night together." 

You've been shipped here under your father's greedy love for coin. And now you stand here in the bed chambers of the man who became your husband only hours ago. 

General Marcus Acacius; a man double your age with the kind of quiet strength that made you anxious when you first laid eyes on him today, only moments before he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were announced as his. 

He drank only a bit of wine at the wedding, a stark contrast to the family of yours that acted like the animals in Marcus' stables with every glass poured. Of course they would celebrate; they'd made a small fortune on your marriage, having sold you off like cattle.

And you now stand across the room from him, your husband, General Acacius, Marcus. A man who served under the infamous Maximus. He cuts a fearsome figure both on and off the battlefield with his broad, muscled frame and serious countenance.  

You wear the traditional wedding night garment, a thin dress that is practically see-through. You pull your arms over your chest, hiding your nipples that poke through the thin fabric.

When you'd come to the room you'd been surprised to see Marcus there waiting for you, stoking the fire. You'd been told by the servants that your new husband would be preparing for battle all night. It had brought you some comfort.

But Marcus is here in nothing but his tunic cinched at the waist. His armour is in a pile by the door, his sword there as well. Without it he's still terrifying. 

Marcus notes the arms you hold over your chest for modesty and he feels arousal begin to drip lazily into his veins. 

"Undress," he says plainly, his dark eyes trailing over your body. 

You make no move to follow his orders. If anything you seem angry with him. His fingers twitch next to his thigh as he waits for your compliance. It doesn't come. 

The dark grey tunic he wears hangs just above his knees so when he walks over to you you're able to see his muscled legs rippling with power. You quiver as he finally stands in front of you. One thick forearm goes to rest against the wall above your head, his neck craning so he can look you in the face.  

"I said undress."

"You will not order me about as if I were your slave," you seethe, your head craning away from him. "I am your wife."  

"I am twice widowed," Marcus murmurs as his wide finger traces the curve of your delicate collarbone. "I have come to realize I have little need for a wife."

"Then why bring me here away from my family and my homeland? Why marry me at all if you have no need of me?"

"I have no need for a wife," Marcus repeats roughly, his exhalation landing over your face like a wine-soaked cloud. "But a man always has need for a ready cunt."

You rear back and your hand flies through the air so quickly he's clearly not expecting it. The slap you deliver to his bronzed cheek is so hard that he flinches back at the sensation, but his head remains facing you. 

"I am no whore," you hiss. You've never been spoken to like this. "Nor a hole for you to fill at your leisure." 

You're horrified when you see him lengthen under his tunic, thick and fearsome looking to your inexperienced eye. He smiles at you when you gaze back up at his face, a feral, ugly grin that has you backing against the stone wall as he advances, his pelvis nudging yours. 

"You will be fucked well," Marcus whispers. "So well you will happily call yourself my whore." 

You push at his broad chest, free of his usual armour and yet hard to the touch like iron. He doesn't budge, he just presses his pelvis into yours, pinning you to the wall. You feel him there between your legs, warm and waiting and large. 

His hand comes to grip your jaw, forcing your unwilling mouth to his. He kisses you fiercely, like he owns you. It disgusts you. He pries your lips open with his own and as he licks into your mouth his tongue tastes of sweet wine. 

You wince, trying to wrench from his grip. He only smiles, hands coming to meet at the collar of your nightdress.  You shriek as he begins tearing the delicate fabric down the middle and exposing your breasts to the chilled air. 

"I desire to see what is now mine," he murmurs, a hand coming to palm your breast. 

You bat his hand away, slipping sideways from him into the centre of the room near the bed. He doesn't look upset; he looks amused, as if he were playing a game. 

You hold the torn fabric of your dress at your chest, covering yourself as you back away from his advancing figure.  

"I am not your anything," you grimace. "Leave at once." 

Though your voice is strong you back away, a shuffled step for each strong stride of his until you feel the bed hit the back of your calves. 

"This is our wedding night," Marcus says silkily. "And we must consummate."

Before you can deny him he jabs his strong fingers on either side of your clavicle, causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. You gasp when he follows after you, lifting the hem of your dress. 

His head is thrust under, making you kick out your legs in fear. What is he doing under there? Fear has you convinced he may bite you. 

You go to pull away further when you feel him starting to part your thighs. You squeal anxiously, twisting. 

"Get off!"

"Calm yourself, wife," he orders gruffly from beneath your nightgown. He's stronger than you, his hands wide and it's only seconds before he's got your legs hinged over his shoulders. 

You continue to cry out, desperate for escape. You're terrified of this brute of a man. 

His mouth finds your cunt swollen and wet and when he lays his wide tongue flat and licks a stripe up the seam you suddenly go quiet. You can feel him smile against the lips of your pussy. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing your sex reverentially before his tongue darts out to sample you again. It's been so long since he had a cunt this soft and sweet against his tongue. 

Your hips jump and Marcus can't help but smirk. Under your nightgown all he can see and smell is your sex, open widely thanks to his hands, glistening with his saliva and your own arousal. He feasts on you, groaning as he gets swept away by the sensations your whimpers create in him. 

 You're on your back, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling. A celestial pattern that mimics the night outside your window. Your chest heaves, nipples pert and straining as his mouth works against your cunt, making you tingle everywhere.

He's on his knees beside the bed, you're thighs hinged on his broad shoulders, the cream of your skin against his ears. He doesn't care that tomorrow his knees will ache because devouring you as you thrash for him on the bed has him feeling like a young man again. 

He sucks the lips of your pussy into his mouth with relish, his hips grinding into the edge of the bed when you cry out. You hear him chuckle before he continues and the sound reminds you that you don't want him touching you like this and bringing out these feelings you've only heard whispers about. Not a man who has decided you're nothing more than a thing to fill. 

"Ssstop," you slur above him, unable to focus as your vision blurs.  

"No."

You keen breathily, your hands scrabbling to grip the bed. His broad hands cup your ass, forcing your sex harshly against his mouth. You hear vulgar slurping noises coming from underneath your nightgown and your eyes roll back. 

You've never had a man before. Your mother warned you about husbands and their selfish desires in the bedroom. But this doesn't feel like what she warned you about. This feels good. 

You feel a pressure beginning between your legs and you panic, trying to force Marcus' head from between your thighs but he just grips stronger, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you down, his tongue wide and stuffing your cunt. 

When be begins to suck brutally at your clit, bliss overtakes you, causing your back to arch and a shuddering scream to leave your throat. 

Your hips undulate as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, stopping only when you begin to whine that it is too much. He licks you gently after that, cleaning the evidence of your orgasm with relish. 

With a creak he stands beside the bed and removes his tunic. In a daze you lay on your elbows, gazing up at his broad, muscular body knowing that if he wanted to he could snap you like a twig. His cock rests heavily between his legs, just as thick and long as you thought. Despite the pleasure he brought you there's still that glint in his dark eyes, a mockery that you can't stand.

"Get away from me."

Your cunt pulses, drooling with your previous release. You try to curl into a ball, facing away from him. 

You think he may leave you be but you feel his hand grip your waist. You thrash as he rips the rest of the nightdress off your body before forcing you onto your hands and knees. 

"It is now my turn to take, wife. Ready yourself." 

He pushes you down onto your belly, curving your ass up to the sky. Then he crawls over you, his hands pinning yours to the bed under his.  You feel him there at your entrance and you feel terrified tears stream over your cheeks. 

"No need for fearful tears," he assures you as his mouth meets your neck. "You will be crying for more of my cock soon enough."

You cry out as he pushes the head of his length between your dripping folds. He's much too big, the intrusion too great. 

"I will make this quick," he grunts. "For your benefit."

Marcus can hardly believe how good the velvet clench of your cunt feels sliding along his cock as he pushes through your virginal barrier. Not since his first wife has he come close to anything this divine.

His teeth come to grip at your shoulder, biting there, marking you as he feeds his cock into your pussy from behind. 

Your cries are muted, your pain ignored, because all Marcus can feel is bliss. Bliss as he marks you forever as his. Bliss as his thick cock stretches your walls, bliss as your pussy stings straining to take him all. 

And by the time he's buried with his hips against your ass, your shoulder is bruised with the indents of his teeth. 

"No more," you beg as he begins to move within you. "Let it be done." 

"We have only started," he muses, kissing your damp cheek. "The best is yet to come."

His frame is so broad it covers you entirely, like you're wearing him as a robe draped over your curved body. He rocks into you as his massive hands press yours into the bed.  

You feel him pull slightly out before buying himself within your womb. You cry out, head falling forward as the slick feel of his cock buries itself deeper and deeper with every subsequent thrust. With every pump he moves the both of you forward before pulling you back. 

And just when the pain is too great, you feel it morph into pleasure. The feel of him thrusting in and out going from sharp to a pleasurable throb. 

Marcus senses the change in you when your back starts to arch and your hips start to lean back to meet his. You're enjoying it now, just as he knew you would. 

"You like this."

He grins to himself when you don't answer and instead let your head hang between your shoulders. 

He continues to tease you, never letting up, waiting until your noises become breathless and needy and then he recedes, chuckling when you whimper his name. 

What feels like eternity later the two of you are slick with sweat, your limbs shaking as Marcus watches you from above. His hands are on your hips now, pulling you against him. 

He spreads your cheeks wide, groaning when he watches his thick cock filling your tight pussy to the brim. 

You're begging for him to give you the same pleasure as before, nearly sobbing with how cock-drunk you are. He feels so good buried between your thighs. 

Marcus only smirks down at you, a hand pressed on your lower back, urging your ass up higher for him. He thinks about all the things he's going to do with you before leaving for battle. 

The thought is exciting him, sending him erratically pumping as he tilts you back, hand coming to strum your clit as your spine kisses his front. He holds you on his thighs, spread wide and bouncing.  

"What are you?" He pants, his lips squished against your cheek, his fingers curling, making you see stars. 

"You're. . . You're wife," you manage to croak out, your hands gripping his forearm slung over your chest. 

He fucks harder into you, his cock hitting the spot your own fingers can never manage. It's causing more stars behind your eyes, your body limp in his grip like a doll. 

"What are you?" Marcus demands again, only now he punctuates his question with a firm slap to your cunt.  

You ache where he slapped, but a pleasurable one that sends you closer and closer to falling off the edge of bliss once more. Only this feels so much bigger, so much more intense than when his mouth was on you. 

"Say it." 

You writhe on his cock, held by one arm around your middle, the other fucking you with his thick fingers over your clit and his thicker cock splitting you with every upward thrust. 

"Please, Marcus."

Marcus is so sweaty, his muscles gleaming in the low firelight. He moans lowly, the sound making your toes curl. Then his warm breath is hot on the side of your face. 

"Say it and I will give you all that you desire." 

You're so close, that pleasure ebbing and coming back stronger with every swipe and thrust. You try to sound it out, but the shame overtakes you again.

"I am you. . . I am your. . ."

Marcus is groaning into your ear again, his thighs twitching as your arousal soaks down his length. But he doesn't stop filling you over and over, his eyes closing as he revels in the pleasure of your milking cunt. 

"Say it." 

And now he presses the heel of his palm against your sex, holding you by the throat under your chin as your head snaps back onto his shoulder. Exposed like an animal Marcus stakes his claim, latching his mouth onto your neck and sucking. 

"I am . . . I am. . ." 

His thrusting continues and now he forces you back onto your hands and knees, draping his body over yours, fingers and cock never stopping, only drilling you from a new angle. He watches your sweet ass ripple for him as he pounds into your cunt, marvelling at how puffy and shiny and perfect she is. 

"Say it," he booms and you can feel his thrusting growing staggered, his body fucking into you with all that he has.

And you can't hold the words back any longer, not when it feels like your very ecstasy hinges on them being said out loud. It tears from you, ripped from your very vocal chords as he sinks into you, your voice shrill and cracked as you scream it.

"I am your whore!" 

The answering groan of Marcus in your ear makes you cry out loudly, coating his stroking fingers with hot arousal as you cum. 

“My whore,” he hisses as you buck against him.

You shake the entire time, confused at how everything in you burst like a ripe berry on the vine and yet you remain outwardly unchanged. Surely you very soul must have left you at that pinnacle of pleasure. You've never felt anything like it. 

And yet here you remain, in his arms in his bed, human and alive. You both pant heavily, the room smelling of sex and sweat and the oils in your hair. 

Marcus tugs you against him and you roll towards his body, pliant and willing. His mouth finds yours but it's soft and delicate. Your hands run through his soft, greying curls. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

You ask it quietly, almost afraid to know his true thoughts. He's experienced in so many ways, twice your age, strong and capable. And yet the kiss he gives you is gentle. It curves as he smiles against your waiting mouth. 

"I am, wife." 

[suguann]

an. part two of this | masterlist

You tell him you broke up with your boyfriend while he’s away for work, bunked up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with shit reception, hearing your words as clear as day as if they weren’t the chopped-up version coming through his burner phone.

“It just…didn’t work out.”

It didn’t work out.

He pretends his stomach doesn’t pleasantly twist because he’d expected it to happen eventually. He’s not happy about it—although it does make the desert heat more bearable in his heavy tactical gear—and tells Soap to fuck off when he comments on it.

It was a one-time fuck because Simon doesn’t date. He’s tried in the past before he met you—the flowers, the late-night dinners—but with him being gone almost every other month (sometimes longer, shorter if he’s lucky), it never works out in the end. Sleeping with you twice would fall under that category, the quasi-relationship kind, and make everything messier than it needs to be. 

Just some fun, no strings, those are the words he promised.

If only he believed them.

He does, for all of two weeks until he’s home again, and it’s summer, so you’re wearing a flowy dress that shows off the long expanse of your legs. 

(He’s a goner—not even sure why he tried to think otherwise.)

That one time he’d promised turns into a second, both of you stumbling into your apartment after a night out. The music from the pub still thumping loudly underneath your floor as he pushes you against the front door, hands in your hair—on your waist, underneath your skirt, down your thigh to hitch it over his waist—teasing your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You make this delighted little noise in the back of your throat, arching into him, and his hand spans down your stomach, beneath your underwear, to nudge your messy clit with his knuckle, wanting to hear all the sounds you make now that he has you alone. 

A whiny cry of his name rewards him—jeans tightening around his waist at the sound—when his fingers go down, down until they press against your tight little hole, one finger pressing inside slowly. "If I make you cum, I get to fuck you here.”

You smile prettily, and it disarms him. “If you make me cum, you can fuck me however you want.”

Neither of you makes it to the bed, falling asleep on the living room floor instead, the blanket from the couch draped haphazardly over both of you with his arm curled over your waist.

That night had been a slip of judgment, a product of wanting something warm and soft after several months of only having his hand for company.

It happens again and again, and he keeps letting it happen until there’s no more hiding under the guise of just fun because it somehow turns into a lot more than that.

Simon can’t explain how it happens—maybe becoming something he can touch and hold and think about often—but he finds himself in an exclusive relationship with you that isn’t exactly a relationship because he’s unsure of the ins and outs that they entail.

(Always has been.)

His father was a shit role model, and it was always easier finding someone new who didn’t know his name or care about his scars and only wanted a nice fuck. There had never been any point in shooting for something serious when it was always out of the question for him, until now, that is.

He takes you to that over-rated restaurant overlooking the Thames Marcus never brought you to. A picture of you and him with the sunset in the background—your smile almost blinding in the photo—becomes his home screen, and he finds he doesn’t care when Soap has something to say about it.

He lets you do nonsensical shit, like buying small plants for his house that are surely going to die from him being gone before he comes up with the great idea to give you a key. It’s just a key.

(It’s more than just a key.)

Simon finds himself asking if he can come over more often throughout the week, which slowly moulds and shifts into nights filled with things other than sex—sleeping after a long day of work, cuddling on the couch, cooking together, going to the movies—he doesn’t try to make a big deal out of it because you used to hang out all the time without sex. 

(Somewhere, there’s a but in there.)

There’s still no label to whatever this is, and he wonders if you want him to be the first to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for a little over…he can’t remember, but he knows it’s been long enough for your things to mix in with his at his house. 

Be with me because I’m yours, and you’re mine, that’s what he’s trying to say, and it’s never the right time. Men like him—a little broken, rough, and jagged around the edges sharp enough to cut—aren’t good with words like that.

(That’s what he thought.)

If he hadn’t seen you talking to a guy at the pub, eyes crinkling in that same sweet way whenever Simon makes you laugh, he wonders if he would’ve been the first to break from the start. He knows it’s your job as a bartender to be nice, but his jaw clicks at the sight of the guy leaning over the bar and into your space, almost too close.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he has you spread out on your mattress under him—clothes haphazardly peeled out of the way for him to put his mouth on you—your lips pursed tight around two of his fingers to give you something to focus on as his other hand works between your thighs, pressing down on your tongue when gurgled little sounds slip out.

He teases you with a small, pink vibrator he found inside your bedside table, your legs kicking out and toes curling into his calves.

“Mine. This is mine, love,” he groans, pressing you further into the bed with his weight. “Do you understand?”

You nod, tears pearling and leaking from the corner of your eyes.

“Lemme cum,” you whine, words muffled. “Simon, I want to cum. Please.”

He won’t lie that he’s close after jerking into his fist to the sight of you writhing on the sheets—swears he can feel his heartbeat throbbing against the back of his fingers—takes in your surprised expression when he pushes forward, impaling you on the first few inches of his cock.

His stomach twists from the squeal that escapes your throat, and fuck, your cunt, so hot and tight with little pulses that drive him crazy, only growing tighter when he turns up the speed on the vibrator.

“‘Mm, gonna cum. I’m—”

He grits his teeth as you start to flutter around his cock once he’s rooted inside you. “Go on—fuck—go on, love. Let me feel it.”

You look so perfect like this, like a dream: lips parted into an enticing little O with his name tumbling out in breathy mewls, tits hanging out from the bra he shoved to the side, eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“So fucking pretty.” He kisses your throat, panting into your sweat-slick skin, and it’s not long before he’s falling over the edge with you. 

Next time, he’ll have the courage to tell you: that you’re not someone he calls for a meaningless fuck on the weekend, that Simon misses you when he’s gone and can’t wait to come home, that he wants to try with you—except not when he’s balls deep and trembling inside your heavenly cunt.

But the smile he feels against his shoulder makes him think that maybe…

Maybe you already know.

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) after party ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 심재윤 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ after watching you on the runway , he finally got you at the after party ヾ

idol!jake・ runwaymodel!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ fingering , unprotected sex , oral ( male rec. ) wc ・0.6 k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 he looks so fine in that photo , the things i want to say is crazy ...

being an idol for so long; jake was used to the fashion show — and he loved it , flying to different countries, seeing all the cool clothes… and the best of all; the sexy runway models , like you.

the moment he saw you on the runway, he was enamored by you; his eyes following you all the way down, until jungwon had to pull him back before fell out of his chair. when you came back around for the final walk — he knew he had to find a way to talk to you.

he had his chance; his other members talking amongst themselves and other celebrities, he was nursing his glass of wine in his hand — watching you dance with another model across the room. you made eye contact with him , giving him a flirty smile and a wink before walking away; sitting his glass down , standing up. “im going to the bathroom.

he followed behind you; you looked over your shoulder, smiling when you saw him behind you. he stayed close enough to see you , but far enough to not raise any suspicions. his eyes low on your low cut dress , your entire back out , he bit his lip as you turned into a quiet corner — away from everyone else.

“oh fuck…” you sighed , his plump lips on yours , a giggle leaving your glossed lips. “i don't even know your name.” he pulled away , face red from the alcohol; hair messy from you tugging at it. “it's jake.” his hands on your waist, working it's way down. “jake.” you repeated , his hand coming up your dress. “you're getting a little handsy there jake , you don't even know me.” you teased. “i know enough.” he said , cupping your heat. “shit.” you moaned out. “like how wet you are for me.”

it was on from there , his finger stringing your clothed clit , pushing your thong to the side. “please.” he pushed a finger inside you. “fuck , your fingers.” sucking on your neck. “you're so tight , been waiting to fuck you since i saw you on the runway.” he said hissing as you tightened around his fingers. “fuck me please.”

undoing the buttons of his slacks , his cock ready to be freed. “fuck , gonna stuff you full of my cock.” he lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist , slowly working his cock into your warm cunt. “fuck baby you're so fucking tight.” he cursed , hand coming up to squeeze your boob. “deeper please.” your hand on his waist as he fucked you , both of you forgetting you were still in public and someone could easily hear you. “such a slut for my cock baby -shit- you don't even know me and you were so ready to take me.”

he fully lifted you up against the wall, his cock hitting you much deeper, your cunt squeezing you. “oh fuck your pussy is like heaven.” he moaned. “god im gonna cum , gonna cum.” you gasped , yanking his hair. “fuck jake im gonna cum.” you screamed. “fuck , fuck get on your knees im gonna cum.”

quickly pulling out of you; getting on your knees, he tugged at his cock , throwing his head back as you wrapped you shimmering lips around his tip. “oh fuck!” he groaned out , ropes of cum shooting into your mouth. “mmh fuck.”

you swallowed his cum , sticking your tongue out. he let out a breathless gasp. “shit when will you be in korea? i need to see you again.” you smiled , wiping the remnants of his load of your lips , standing up. “i can make time.”

“where the fuck have you been?” jay asked once the boy made it back to his seat. “we were waiting for you , let's go.” he turned around to where you were dancing with a model once again , your hair was messy , but he knew it was from dancing , you turned to him smiling , he bit his lip turning back to his friend. “i was in the bathroom.”

"mhm wipe the pink lip gloss off your neck before you lie , and before the camera sees it."

©LUVYENI translations to other sites prohibited, reblogs are appreciated but not forced !

[all-pacas]

I finished my Rome book and have now begun one about Pompeii. I’m 65 pages in and I already love it: yes, it covers the volcano, but most of the book is about “this is what the town and daily life of it would have been like, actually.” Fascinating stuff. Things I’ve learned so far:

- The streets in Pompeii have sidewalks sometimes a meter higher than the road, with stepping stones to hop across as “crosswalks.” I’d seen some photos before. The book points out that, duh, Pompeii had no underground drainage, was built on a fairly steep incline, and the roads were more or less drainage systems and water channels in the rain.

- Unlike today, where “dining out” is expensive and considered wasteful on a budget, most people in Pompeii straight up didn’t have kitchens. You had to eat out if you were poor; only the wealthy could afford to eat at home.

- Most importantly, and I can’t believe in all the pop culture of Pompeii this had never clicked for me: Pompeii had a population between 6-35,000 people. Perhaps 2,000 died in the volcano. Contemporary sources talk about the bay being full of fleeing ships. Most people got the hell out when the eruption started. The number who died are still a lot, and it’s still gruesome and morbid, but it’s not “an entire town and everyone in it.” This also makes it difficult for archeologists, apparently (and logically): those who remained weren’t acting “normally,” they were sheltering or fleeing a volcano. One famous example is a wealthy woman covered in jewelry found in the bedroom in the glaridator barracks. Scandal! She must have been having an affair and had it immortalized in ash! The book points out that 17 other people and several dogs were also crowded in that one small room: far more likely, they were all trying to shelter together. Another example: Houses are weirdly devoid of furniture, and archeologists find objects in odd places. (Gardening supplies in a formal dining room, for example.) But then you remember that there were several hours of people evacuating, packing their belongings, loading up carts and getting out… maybe the gardening supplies were brought to the dining room to be packed and abandoned, instead of some deeper esoteric meaning. The book argues that this all makes it much harder to get an accurate read on normal life in a Roman town, because while Pompeii is a brilliant snapshot, it’s actually a snapshot of a town undergoing major evacuation and disaster, not an average day.

- Oh, another great one. Outside of a random laundry place in Pompeii, someone painted a mural with two scenes. One of them referenced Virgil’s Aeneid. Underneath that scene, someone graffiti’d a reference to a famous line from that play, except tweaked it to be about laundry. This is really cool, the book points out, because it implies that a) literacy and education was high enough that one could paint a reference and have it recognized, and b) that someone else could recognize it and make a dumb play on words about it and c) the whole thing, again, means that there’s a certain amount of literacy and familiarity with “Roman pop culture” even among fairly normal people at the time.

[chlmtsdoll]

Guys I loved writing the first short n sweet inspo fic so here’s more bc that ovulation album is too good <3

WHERE ART THOU ? WHY NOT UPONETH ME ?

౨ৎ Summary: your hosting a slumber party at Art’s mansion. But you can’t quite stay away from your pull to get the man in a room where there are no others. Inspo from Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter 🤍

+ 18 | very much smut !, unprotected sex, age gap, (reader early 20’s) dilf!Art, size kink, first daddy kink fic (omg) semi-public sex, oral (f) reviving, pet names, this made me feel a bit slutty just writing it, needy!reader, fatherly Art ;)

A/N: the fucking edits on tiktok of Mike to Bed Chem are making me go insane ! just when I thought there was no possible way for me to be crazier over this man omfg. So I had to give the girls a fic to go w it ofc <3

It was like fate. The day you met him.

Nothing could of been more perfect when the stars aligned to bring you to accompany your solid group of trust fund friends to one of his tournaments that evening. You were like most girls your age, makeup, pop music, nice ornaments for your wardrobe — you weren’t the kind of girl that could say she knew much about sports, and certainly little to nothing to be caught landing a seat at the us open... but eventually that grew to be a substantial part of what found him to be so drawn to you.

It was that day when you’d been in the bleachers watching the blonde play like it was his life’s greatest prophecy. For the first time in your still too little years of living, you’d never felt that aroused by a man you’d only saw from the mere view of him hitting a ball with a racket.

But he was unearthly.

Built like how men used to be. Face like it came straight from heaven. Serve like he knew a thing or two in bed.

You were drunk on want, need for him. You were damn lucky your friends were loaded enough to go to all the after parties with most of the star athletes. It was insane to you that you would follow the vip and your most sports driven friends (enthusiast if you will.) to where the elites spend their time. You wanted a nice hang out. Good food. Expensive drinks. But it was between you and the universe that you’d leave with so much more.

You were in a sheer dress and kitten heels when he spotted you. Just his star studded sly smile from across the event hall, when he saw you and your friends conversing in mostly a pretentious manner like most kids your age did when they could afford the lifestyle most people only dreamed of. But not you, you were entranced, pulled away. By his wide, blue eyes that you assumed filled with the same yearn you’d been struck with. And to your quick manifest, Art was gazing right back at you.

Only sharing a couple brief exchanges with the tall and stature, modest but kindly — beautiful and magnetic man around mutual friends, before you’d both been rushed to leave. Him with his team, and you with your entourage.

Like that you were tied to the tennis star in the blink of a moment. And Soon enough — being photographed with him around the heat of the city.

Games, athlete dinner parties, press events. Even photos of you two sharing more than a couple of words, maybe even kisses, behind menus at glamorous rooftop restaurants. Magazine outlets went crazy through the roof in just a few weeks time. Milking whatever they could out of Art Donaldson and his controversially younger girlfriend.

They didn’t have enough tabs on what you two had officially been to one another and that was perfect for the two of you. Because now that time has pushed you and the blonde closer and more into each other — you’d spend days and nights locked away with Art in his new found mansion post his former divorce. Home so beautifully articulated and big enough for you to be extra generous with your time with the dream boat of a man.

It would go down in history what the two of you had done in every room.

Now, a gorgeous weekend ahead of you after your week that was always filled with Art treating you to the finest cooked dinners, at home date nights filled with breezy smiles and full closeness to balance your dates out on the town. Going wherever you felt just to hold hands under umbrellas and traffic lights. With all the new adorned love in your life, and man with too much mystic taking up your time, it had been a good minute since you saw your girlfriends, caught up or shared a drink. You were just so wound up in Art and the way he treated you like a princess to, and in your own world.

So you’d asked Art if you could host a sweet little sleepover for you and your girls at the mansion — and of course he complied. It was anything for his perfect girl since the beginning.

“I could ask the chef to whip up some,” Art spoke into you as he held your hips in his vast hands running carefully over the hem of your satin bottoms as you stood in the middle of the spacious kitchen with him.

“That’s okay, I wanna do it.” You laughed softly, as you stared up at the man. “Nothing says fun girls night like making our own home made friandises”

Art had tilted his head in slight confusion with eyes in question to your tone when you’d practice what you’d been learning in your French courses on him. It was all the most adorable to you really. Your laugh echoed.

“Treats, baby.”

“I- - I knew that,” He scoffed and your giggles were infectious with delight to him.

“It’s gonna be fun. We’ll watch movies, paint our nails, share snacking tips. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the girls.”

Art grinned at the way you lit up with excitement, and his icy eyes looked down at your figure below him. He tried not to bite down on his lip at the way you were in the pajamas usually he only saw you in. Pink lace two piece jammies. Completely recognized because he got them for you. The transparency to them was way too easy on the eyes.

Arts tongue darted out to wet his lips before he questioned, “Is that what you’re wearing ? There aren’t gonna be any boys.. right ?”

“No, silly. That of course counts out you — if.. you wanna join us.” You looked up at him through your lightly mascara coated lashes, it felt as if the flirtatiousness through your gaze just hooked Art by the belt.

“No, no. I’ll give you and your friends your space, doll.” The blonde gave you a chary little smile, “I really doubt they’d want an old man around while you’re trying to have fun.”

“Quit it ! You’re not old. And they adore you.” You stood on the tips of your toes, Art met you so you could leave a sweet kiss on his cheek, with a blush to your own.

“Thank’s for letting me have this little party, baby.”

“Course, what else would be better use for all this space ? Other than for the amusement of twenty something girls.”

Art chuckled and you surely were in agreement, because when your girlfriends did arrive it was immediately shrieks of girlish camaraderie and chatter of awe as you brought them around the place of posh and eloquent nature. Your laugh could of been heard from the other side of the place where Art had eventually been stored away for the night while your hands were knee deep in cookie dough and rainbow sprinkles. Pj sets all from the brands you and your friends never stopped talking about. Having your night filled with reruns of classic movies to sipping champagne.. and the wine, red, (your pick) was certainly slipping through you as the moments went on.

You’d been with your best friend when you two had a moment alone to catch up in one of the halls of the buoyant abode. Whispers and giggles coming from between the two of you as a glass of wine hung from your palm.

“God, he was a such a cutie.” She coo’d as you two had found a very special wall of framed photos of Art from back in his prime tennis days. The blonde around your age who seemed filled with joyfully energetic faces and awards from across the globe. A smile woke upon your face as you folded your arm to admire the man you’d now call your own.

“Sometimes I wish I’d known him then,” you simpered. “But I’m beyond lucky now. Because he’s still cute, and sexier.”

You tittered fondly and your friend laughed with you as she playfully tugged on your shoulder. “You gotta lock that down, y’know… you’ll be like- - hella famous just from being a world class tennis superstars hot young wife.”

She announced as she sipped on something burgundy and you thought with a heightened grin. She couldn’t have been farther from right. And as the months go by you would fall farther and farther head over heels for Art every day. You’d be his wife in an instant. That was the dream after all, and you could certainly say you’d been living one.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait for him to put a ring on it..” You smiled with a dazed shrug as you embarked your wine glass to your lips again.

“He better.” Your friend chirped with a proud glint and you couldn’t help but stay stuck in your thought of your boyfriend who’s been just a few rooms away for the past couple of hours while you’d been enjoying all the perks of your girls making the most of their time with you. But you couldn’t help but want Art to be nearby now, and the red wine in your system maybe hit more than just your head — you couldn’t even try to fight it.

You missed your man.

So after you’d take in a few more drinks and a bit sensually themed games with your friends, you’d made your attempt escape off to find Art. Slipping away from the girls was easy when you’d have every necessity needed to execute a very graceful grown up girl sleepover provided for them.

You’d been walking down the hall heading to where his office and master bedroom would be at the end of the home, and as you passed by the lush kitchen area, to your surprise, there he was. Muscles looked enchantingly delicious in this light as they flexed to pull on the fridge handle and when he turned, his eye line met your glance staring back his way (of course you’d both arrive at the same time.) Arts lips began to curl in an amours grin when he saw your petite figure making it’s way over to him with the same like of smile across your face.

“Hi, baby. You having fun?” He glanced down at you through his blonde lashes to meet your nod, only following up with a soft titter as you stepped closer to the man. He almost immediately picked up on the lust laced within your eye and the way you slightly leaned onto the fridge door with your aura basically gooing with sex at him now. The blonde had an eyebrow furrowed as he chuckled just a bit and he sized you up.

“Are you drunk, princess?”

“No. No… no,” you shook your head.

It had been true. You weren’t drunk. But a little wine tipsy and horny ? Definitely.

Art hummed and put the back of his hand to your forehead gently as he observed your state. “Did you eat?”

“Mhm, did you ?”

“No. That’s why I came down, not to stalk you. I promise.” The man laughed, to which you did as well and you only raised your arms so they could embrace your boyfriend’s shoulders with a soft hum.

“Y’know, if you’re hungry, you can eat me.” Your finger tips grace Arts neck unashamed as you smile into the crook, and he took in a breath, proceeding to hold you close.

“Oh- -” his chuckle matched your giggle as he noticed you’d changed again. His hands were gliding up the ruffle of the even more transparent sheer cover on you’d been dressed in. Lime tinted. The shorts were near pantie like.

“Mmm, I miss you, I want you.” You peppered kisses as close as you could to his earlobe from your height and Arts breath hitched as he was weak to your slow but enticing touch to him. Fogging up his knowledge that you’d been right in the middle of the open kitchen that was just a few ways down from the living area your friends had been in.

“Here, sweetness ? Your friends- -” Art murmurs down to your ear, but you just locked your arms just above his shoulders without a care.

“And- - ? What about them ? I need you,” you whined. “I want your touch.”

“Yeah? You want me to touch you?”

You nodded again with a naughty giggle and the blonde was smirking now, his hands roamed your body. Large and groping your curves. As much as he knew what was rightful, Art just couldn’t deny your cling to him in that damn near lingerie that had him going almost unbearably hard beneath his jeans since you walked in. Feral even. It was beginning to get miserable as you pressed your dainty chest against his, he felt your nipples grow hard and sensitive against the cloth. So into his aroma, presence, like you were a moth to a torch.

He’d fallen into your pecks merging with his now. Kissing you against where the cupboards stand like your lips were candy. Your small legs stumbling as the man towered over you “Fuck, you look amazing in that set.” Art pulled away from your plump lips to view your gorgeously perfect body. You batted your lashes once. And his attain just couldn’t be stopped. Art slid his hands across your soft ass cheeks, massaging and kneading it in his palms before leading up to laying a solid smack which made you hiss out an excited squeal-like giggle. Your fingertips slid down his ample biceps brushed with virile bristles of hair.

“If I had known you’d like this set so much, I would of worn it much sooner for you.”

Art leaned into you and he held a sly smirk, “this was your plan all along, yeah? Wearing that to get my attention so I would come out here and fuck you in the middle of your slumber party.. you’re such a naughty girl.”

You only giggled more into his skin with a slow exhale, your freshly painted french tips exploring him as he explored you. Art took his sweet time just feeling the way your ass jiggled in his palms and you felt like you’d been going weak in the knees before his tender contact turned rough when he turned you around without warning, making you gasp.

Art made sure you could feel how hard you’d gotten him as he pressed himself to your core. Facing the counter, you lost yourself in complete bliss just to the feeling of not knowing where he’d pleasure you next — Arts restrained bulge against your clothed cunt was just something else. The blonde pushed up your sheer top just a bit and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, you made a soft noise with it.

“Feel what you do to me, pretty girl.” Art nibbled on your earlobe and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip to subtle your smile. His hands bracing your hips as he stared down at your lacy panties and your minx-like eyes followed Arts famished expression while he licked his bottom lip.

“All yours, daddy.” Your sweet voice immediately made Art go nearly lightheaded and that was it. He melted.

The man tucked both his thumbs into the fabric and pulled your panties down clean with raucousness, followed up with him getting down on his knees before spreading you with his palms and your hands reached for the marble with a soft whimper.

“That’a girl, stay open for me.. Let me taste you.” Art huffed out before he pushed one of your legs up on the counter and you breathed out at the feeling of him making your body his toy for amusement. Art took his fingers and ran them up your folds, getting them wet with the slick of your pussy. Your cheeks started to heat up just at the wonderful pad of his index running against your core like that , making you let out a soft, “oh..” by the way he moved to rub around your clit. Arts lips kissed on your exposed inner thighs, and your jaw became unlocked extraordinarily far when his tongue finally rolled on the soft tissue.

He was splitting you clean open on the counter as tiny whimpers escaped your throat. You were lost in the draw you had to the man making you feel surpassing of even the way you played it all out in your head. “Mmm, yeah- - yes” you panted and the man flicked his digit over your bud at the same time he’d been making out with your cunt. Letting deep groans flow throughout your opening. You’d been on the tip of your toes for him. Letting him suck where you pulsed till you’d been overstimulated if he wanted.

Your head had been spinning from the friction of his perfectly sculpted nose rubbing against your sensitive area. Art was known to be gifted with his mouth so much so, you almost wondered if your friends would have heard if you just couldn’t keep your moans level — but with the way Art held your hips, fucked his tongue into your cunt like you’d been his last meal, your anxiousness washed away. All you could do was let the shake of your thighs and Arts dripping oral member lead you to a crisp pleasurable cry.

“Shit,” Art took a brief exhale as he pulled away from your entrance, dampened lips of your juices going wide with a grin and he ran his palms over your slick thighs again,

“you’re so fucking wet for me, princess. You gonna take my dick? Let me make you feel good?”

“Mmm, please. Fill me up, Art. I wanna feel you.”

“You gotta be quite for me, baby.” Art stood to his feet.

You didn’t care. All you could think about was dick. Arts phenomenal dick. You wanted him to toss you over and split you open till you were sobbing on his thick member, your wine drunk friends would understand. A girl has her needs.

The risk made your blood pressure rise as the moment went on, when Art reached over you to tug your panties dangling from your thighs all the way down — he kicked them off to the side. Taking note of his own belt buckle and undoing it quickly, which you only grew more greedy by the sound of him unzipping his fly. The blondes aquamarine orbs swam with the need to pump you fuller than you’d ever taken him.

“Bend over for me, sweet girl..” Art breathed out softly as his slightly calloused hands ran from your hip up your spine while you did so, bending over fully and displaying your sweet dripping cunt for the mans lidded eyes. He sucked in his breath and his now aroused dick twitched when it unveiled from his boxers — going barmy with just how tiny and soft you looked beyond him.

“So fucking tight and small- - your amazing with the way you take me when I barely fit in, sweets.”

You bit down on your finger as you watched Art run his hands over your ass. Take your hips and line his cock up with your hole. He hissed at the way your soaking cunt wet his tip, you almost croaked out a deep moan at his gestures to tease your pussy. Just nodding along as you’d gone cock drunk before he’d even been in you. Your nails run at the marble counter as Art slowly burrowed into your drooling core. Working you open as his cock disappeared into your body inch by inch — he pushed your thigh higher onto the ledge as you whined at the stretch.

“Ah.. mmm- - fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groaned as you adjusted to the size of his warmth finally filling you full. Art was big. And he’d never want to put you, his sweet doll in discomfort for long, never. So when he started to plunge into you, he watched as your face scrunched up from ache to pleasure in time. His name sputtering from your mouth as you clawed at the counter top and he watched your pussy lips that were just throbbing around his erection like it was begging to be so sporadically fucked by him.

“That’s it baby doll,” his own groans heightened as his hips knock into your cervix, chasing that spot of yours till you were moaning and whimpering like a slut around him. Hole so full with yours and his pre-cum and you sucked in your bottom lip, tussled hair going wild on your back. You just had to look over your shoulder to watch him — see Arts gorgeous face as he snapped against you all shimmering with light sweat as he focused on the way a ring of your wetness pooled around his base.

“You love this, hu? Getting me to fuck you while your friends carry on without you- - At your party. But you just had to come.. looking for daddy’s cock, yeah? You love being a dirty, dirty girl for me.” Art rasped as he clenched his jaw with the overwhelming feeling of your tight cunt clenching him. It made your skin feel like it had been sparked with fire, so exhilarated. He put his hands in your hair to fuck into you as your jaw dangled open.

“Oh! F-fuck! I needed that big fucking dick, daddy… w-want you to cum all over me, mmm- -” you were choking out whimpers and your pretty little hole dripped with Arts pre-seed slipping from you, making it drag out when he pulled out of your pussy to turn you around and pick you up in one swift motion. Your high pitched gasp echoed as you wrapped your legs around the mans abdomen and Art set you on the counter. His lips curl up into a smirk and his eyes met your wide doe set ones. Slipping back into you he watched you cry out his name. Rutting into your heavenly body at this angle, hands go squeezing your thighs, and Art kept them apart as he took you at a wild pace. Hitting that gooey spot till you didn’t remember your own name. “Good fucking girl. That’s it- - such a sweet thing for me, taking all of my cock. It was made for you, doll.”

You couldn’t even catch your self as you’d leaned back on the counter and let Art pound into you. Your tits bounced with each thrust and you were shuttering as your orgasm ripped through you without warning. “Yes ! Ooh- - shit, yes yes yes…” you were whining out as you came on Arts dick. He held your legs spread as he grunted and watched you soak him uncontrollably. You loved it. Feeling like his perfect little gift. Art licked over his lips at the sight of your beauty, throwing your head back in bliss, he pulled out of you and pushed up your dainty little baby doll top — making space as he pumped his throbbing dick over your stomach till he himself came hard. Ropes shooting out on your candescent skin and making sure some got on your pussy just for the fun of it, he grinned and trailed his thumb up your gentle inner calf that had been dangling by his side.

You were whimpering like you’d gotten your brains fucked out to the sweetest soundtrack you’d ever heard. Art was so cinematic in moments like these, he leaned up to kiss at the nape of your neck, cheek, and lips.

“Pretty, perfect girl.. I love you.” Your gentleman muttered against your mouth. You smiled and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Art brought your panties up to help you slip them back over your thighs and to your feet as steady as you could. Dressing himself as well, he glanced down at you through his hooded eyes to see your impressively only slightly disheveled state. You were just always glowing, it was hard to make that go away anyways.

“You sleeping down here tonight?” Art buckled his pants again as he questioned you with a soft raised brow. You started to smirk at the way he was heading. You shrug.

“Maybe, maybe not… I’ll sneak into your room when they’re sleep, if you want.” You offered the man, the glint in your eye saying you’d suck his cock and let him have you in as many different positions as he’d like in a couple hours till you were all tapped out. The blonde only scuffed and towered over your presence that was still taken by your hoyden attitude, just to turn you back towards the doorway.

“Go host your party.” he taunted almost fatherly, to then leave a light slap on your ass that made you giggle on the way out.

[fixomnia-scribble]

Scientists are very serious.

This is a post about science. And soup.

Dr. Elinne Becket, a microbiologist from Cal State University, is in the middle of one of those Fridge Experiments that happens to us all - except in this case, she is uniquely placed to unravel the science down to the microbial level.

While cleaning out her fridge, Dr. Becket found that a tub of family-recipe beef vegetable soup had turned bright blue. “Ok I'm outing myself here,” she tweeted, “but there was forgotten beef soup in our fridge we just cleaned it out and it was BLUE?!?!? Wtf contam would make it blue??? Like BRIGHT blue!!  Even w/ all my years in micro I'm not handling this well.“

Read on for a breathless and ongoing saga of Soup and Science, and the wonderful international community that is Academic Twitter.

Academic Twitter quickly reminded her of her Responsibilities to Scientific Inquiry. (Cue the chanting from around the world of “CLONE THE SOUP! CLONE THE SOUP!”)

“I can’t believe y’all talked me into going back into the trash.” she tweeted in response, over a photo of a puddle of beautiful Mediterranean-sea blue soup in the trash bin, with bits of veg and noodles arising from the depths.

Scientists being scientists, Dr. Becket agreed to take a sample and send it to colleagues for cloning and microbial analysis.This involved getting arms-deep into the trash bin of Old Soup. “I’m never forviging @ATinyGreenCell (genomic biologist Sebastian Cocioba) for this.” Dr. Becket tweeted, with a photo of a properly dipped and snipped and VERY blue q-tip in a small clear plastic tub.

Diving into decomposing soup was not the only hazard. She writes: “My mom (who made the soup for my birthday) came across this thread and now 1) I have to answer for letting her soup spoil and 2) she's worried @ATinyGreenCell will figure out her secret recipe.“

Dr. Becket and Sebastian were able to culture the Blue Goo!

Becket posted a photo of three petri plates of streaked beef bouillon agar at 72 hours incubation, at 37C, room temp and 4C. She writes: “Left the plates where they were for another 2 days, except the 37°C one was brought to RT, which then grew white stuff over the yellow stuff and stinks to high heaven. RT looked the same. 4°C had impressive growth. Restreaked them all onto TECH agar, awaiting results!”

Sebastian, from his lab, tweeted a photo of three more covered petri dishes, with early results: “Great progress on isolating the glowy microbe from our #BlueSoup! It's so fluorescent the streak is GREEN. Still needs another restreak as it seems there is a straggler but should clear up in the next plate. Exciting!”

Then yesterday, Sebastian tweeted out an updated photo of his plates under daylight and blacklight. “Whatever grew on the #BlueSoup colony plates overnight glows under UV, but only on King's Agar B! That particular media is used to tease out fluorescein expression in pseudomonads. What are the chances that the same cell line expresses fluorescent AND blue pigments?“

“Looking closer, there definitely is a handful of different microbes showing distinct phenotypes. Could be that the blue producer and the fluorescent microbes are totally different microbes!”

At which point, Professor Cynthia Whitchurch of Norwich, England, responded: “Consistent with P. fluorescens being at least part of the #BlueSoup community. The fluorescence is due to production of the siderophore pyoverdine which is up-regulated when iron availability is limited. P. aeruginosa produced this too but my guess is you have blue Pf.”

And Australian agricultural researcher @WAJWebster helpfully tweeted a petri dish of ALL KINDS of colourful bacterial colonies from white to yellow to orange to stark black, with a cheerful: “You need bact-o--colours? I got you, fam.”

The best part is that as of today, March 9, 2023, THE BLUE SOUP MYSTERY CONTINUES. WE ARE WATCHING SCIENCE HAPPENING!

A paper is being written. And Dr. Becket’s mum is getting an author credit as the proprietary owner of the #BlueSoup recipe.

Dr. Becket’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/bielleogy

Sebastian Cocioba’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/ATinyGreenCell

Fun IFLS story is here: https://www.iflscience.com/microbiologist-investigates-after-her-beef-soup-turned-blue-in-the-freezer-67894?fbclid=IwAR0H27KqVZhzzrosnjzzKkxuKASZ-0L0Lt6hGwCRDJK8xvFbbSlyS4JvwlM

[pseudowho]

"Itadori-kun. Good. You're on time."

Kento checked his watch, clearly distracted, as Yuuji approached with pocketed hands. The shopping centre was bustling, a hive of activity around them. Yuuji ruffled his own hair, unsure.

"Yeah, I just...wasn't sure why we're meeting here, is all."

Still distracted, Kento tapped off a message, before slipping his phone back into his inner pocket. He rarely offered smiles when there was business yet to be done, and today was no different.

"I was hoping for your assistance with a few errands before your school term ends. I'm sure you'll be busy with your friends after then, and I shouldn't like to take your vacation time. I'm sure you're looking forward to the break."

In truth, Yuuji deflated just at the thought of it; though he was an orphan amongst orphans, he didn't favour empty time in the way he used to, with memory and the devil as his constant companions. Still he smiled.

"Yeah! Can't wait. Got...got loads planned."

Kento read Yuuji, shrewd for a moment, before hyper-focusing on the task at hand.

"Quite. Come along, Yuuji."

Yuuji grew more and more flummoxed as Kento's list of errands tickered out before them. Too polite to question why, and with absolute faith that Kento had good reason to drag him along for the ride, Yuuji stomached it all with confused good grace.

Yuuji blinked, momentarily blinded by the flash of light in the photo booth. He grinned for the next photo, and Kento's cool deep voice rumbled past the curtain.

"No smiling, Yuuji."

"H-huh? How did you know?"

"Was I wrong?"

"Uh...sorry, Nanamin."

As a strip of tiny poe-faced photos clicked into the dispenser, Yuuji couldn't understand why Nanamin was so satisfied by such bland pictures. Yuuji was, however, touched; clearly Nanamin liked wallet photos as he liked his suits-- beige. Kento clipped across Yuuji's thoughts.

"Do you like the beach, Yuuji?"

Yuuji blinked. "The beach...?"

"Yes. The beach. Do you like it?"

"Uh...I guess. Why?"

Kento hummed, satisfied, not answering Yuuji's question. Instead, as he passed Yuuji his coffee, he stood and leaned around Yuuji, gently pulling at the back of Yuuji's collar. Yuuji twisted to look, baffled now, and Kento released him, sitting with another satisfied hum. He tapped on his phone again.

"Your identification documents are in your room at Jujutsu High?"

"Nanamin...what's this about?"

"It's important to take care of your documents, Yuuji."

"...so you're just...checking up on me?"

Kento smiled, polite. "Of course." A pause. "I assume you'd like to come back to ours for dinner?"

Yuuji brimmed with unasked questions. "I don't need to-- I'm not really that hungry-- honestly a coffee is great--"

"Mrs.Nanami has cooked extra."

"God, yes, please, I'm starving."

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The summer vacation approached Yuuji like a black cloud. He could not bring himself to be excited for enforced inactivity; his casual offers to assist staff on missions fell on deaf ears. Gojo laughed Yuuji off with a clap on the shoulder. Yuuji smiled away the gentle rejection; he did not have the stomach to beg to work.

Instead, Yuuji stewed, leaning on his rainy windowsill until cicada buzz replaced the pitter-patter of water on earth. Late July arrived, unwelcome, and Yuuji steeped in a pit of dread.

At 2am, on the first day of summer vacation, Yuuji's phone rang. Bleary-eyed, and flat, he looked away from his computer screen and lowered his headset. He looked at his screen with a lurching gut; he answered the phone.

"Nanamin?"

A voice, rusty with sleeplessness. "Ah, Yuuji. I apologise for waking you at this hour. I need help with a mission. Are you available?"

Yuuji perked up immediately, tail wagging. "Y-yeah! Yeah, totally! I can be ready...er...in ten? Yeah?"

Kento's voice smiled. "Good. I'll pick you up."

Yuuji danced from his desk chair, shaking off his joggers and wriggling into his uniform with a grin, ruffling his hair before the mirror. In barely two minutes, he was ready, a spring in his step as he headed to wait outside. He felt so light, so relieved, and he grabbed his keys, opening his door to--

"Oh, shi--...Nanamin?"

Kento stood at the door, comfortable in loose clothes, and...sandals? It was an odd contrast to the backdrop of night, and Kento's usual attire. Kento smiled again, polite.

"Yes. Are you ready?"

"Y-yeah, I'm...how did you get here so fast?"

"The roads are quiet at this time of night, Yuuji."

A pause. "...Nanamin."

"Yuuji."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Language."

When Yuuji opened his mouth to argue back, his jaw dropped, as you bustled up the corridor behind Kento with a sleepy grin on your face. You slapped Kento's elbow, shooting him a chastising look.

"Morning, Yuuji! Excited?" You pressed a kiss to his cheek, whirling past to invade his bedroom. Yuuji was speechless, horribly confused.

Kento checked his watch as you bustled around. Tapped his foot as you bustled around. Tutted, and leaned pointedly round the corner to stare at you as you bustled around.

"Darling, we're going to be la--"

"--don't give me attitude, Kento, we are about 6 hours early, and you know it--"

"--it pays off to check-in ahead of schedule--"

"--hush. I'll have words with you later."

Kento bristled, pugnacious. You walked out of Yuuji's room with his rucksack in hand. You pinched his chin, gesturing him along with your hand.

"Come on, Yuuji. Before Mr.Organised has conniptions."

Yuuji felt himself swept along by Kento, who still scoffed, mulish. The night air smelled sweet, and Yuuji found himself gently bodied into the back seat of Kento's car.

"--Nanamin-- I don't understand--"

You shot Kento a pointed look from the passenger seat. At first frowning, then with dawning realisation, you scolded Kento in disbelief.

"...you haven't told him."

Kento almost smirked as he rolled the car away over gravel. "I don't know what you mean."

You looked from Kento, to Yuuji, and back again. You reached slowly into Kento's bag, rummaging. Yuuji felt a glossy little book pressed into his hands.

"...a...passport?"

"...Kento didn't tell you."

Never one for expecting a gift, Yuuji couldn't see one when placed before his eyes. "Tell me what? Nanamin?"

Kento chuckled to himself, his eyes glimmering at Yuuji in the rearview mirror.

"Our flight is at 10:30, Yuuji."

Yuuji peered into the seat beside him; a new suitcase, neatly labelled with a luggage tag in his name. He yanked it to the seat beside him, unzipping it, and finding it full of new swimsuits, t-shirts, shorts, sandals, everything he could possibly need. He opened the glossy new passport in his hands, and hiccupped, his breath catching in his chest.

Yuuji rammed into realisation with prickling eyes, and a quiet sniffle, his eyes hidden in the dark. His reply was thick, stilted.

"Our flight...to where?"

"Malaysia. Now give me back that passport. You'll only lose it."

[moralesluvr]

oooo can you write something where miguel meets yn’s family for the first time and your mom or aunt or some family member pulls you to the side and tells you “that man….is gonna get your pregnant.”

PROMISES IN THE DARK | m. o’hara.

when miguel was about to meet your parents, he was calm, composed as always, his hand resting on the small of your back—a touch that was as protective as it was possessive. his eyes, dark and intense, scanned the room, taking in every minuscule detail, from your baby photos plastered on the wall to the little intricate details of wall trim and tablecloths. there was an air of quiet confidence about him, the kind that made your heart race a little faster as you squeeze his hand tightly.

“ready for this?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but miguel could already sense your anxious aura.

his gaze flicked to you, and he tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, perhaps usual. “always,” he replied, his voice low and controlled, sending a shiver down your spine. his eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “don’t worry, mi amor. i’ll behave. for now.”

your cheeks flushed at the underlying promise in his words, but before you could respond, your mother appeared, arms open wide in welcome.

the evening unfolded with ease—or so it seemed. miguel was nothing but polite, attentive, and everything your family could have hoped for. but you knew better. beneath his facade of a calm exterior was a storm waiting to be unleashed, a storm adjacent to a tension that crackled between you every time his fingers brushed yours or when his eyes locked onto yours from across the room.

at some point during your little reunion, your aunt pulled you aside, her eyes wide with that all-too-familiar twinkle. she was always so sweet, face as plump as a berry as her reddened lips parted into a smile as she learned to whisper in your ear.

“y’know, y/n, he’s something else,” she murmured, glancing over at your fiancé, who was deep in conversation with your uncle.

“but honey, I gotta tell you—” she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “that man... he’s gonna get you pregnant.”

you immediately choked on your drink, nearly spilling it in the process. “auntie!”

she just grinned, completely unfazed by your surprise. she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and leans into you attentively, “darling, i’m completely serious. you see the way he looks at you? it’s like he’s ready to devour you whole! trust me, it’s only a matter of time.”

your face heated up as you quickly excused yourself, from your spot on the couch, feeling flustered and more than a little embarrassed. you walked back to the kitchen where your family was gathered, trying to shake off her words, but they clung to you like a second skin.

miguel’s eyes found yours as you re-entered the room, and his lips curved into that maddeningly subtle smile. he didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could read you better than anyone else could. the way your eyebrows furrowed and the way your body language began to appear more reserved, he knew something had happened while you two were apart.

you took a deep breath and crossed the room to where he was standing, feeling the pull of his presence strongly.

“what did she say to you?” he asked quietly, his voice so low that only you could hear it. his fingers brushed against your waist, lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken as you gulped, succumbing to his warm touch.

you bit at your lip, debating whether to tell him, but you knew there was no point in hiding it, so you pushed your nervousness aside and sighed, “she said... that you’re going to get me pregnant.”

miguel’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his expression still stoic, but you caught the flicker of something darker in his eyes. he almost looked like he wanted to laugh. he stepped closer to you, his hand sliding around to rest on the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction closer to him.

“is that so?” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that made your knees weak.

you swallowed, “i mean…well..she seems pretty convinced.”

miguel’s smirk deepened, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked his teeth, “she’s a smart woman.”

he, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “and she’s right, doll. it’s only a matter of time.”

your breath hitched as his words sank in, ringing throughout your brain as the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression calm, controlled, but his eyes were dark with intent, filled with promises you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel in a house full of family.

but there was no mistaking the message he had spoken to you, because when miguel made a promise, he kept it. and judging by the way his hand tightened slightly on your waist, his thumb brushing just below the curve of your ribcage, that promise was as good as kept.

[heich0e]

yuuji calls sukuna a lot.

it's almost like second nature to him now, muscle memory even, so many years since getting his first cellphone; any time he finds himself idle, maybe on his walk home after his part-time job, or on a break between his college classes, he picks up his phone and dials his older brother without thinking. they never talk about anything of importance—maybe just what yuuji did that day, or some gossip he overheard, or what the two of them should have that night for dinner—but he still makes the call.

sukuna always acts annoyed when he answers, greeting him with a characteristically terse 'yeah, what?' that yuuji never pays any mind to. but he still answers the call—at least most of the time—and that simple truth speaks volumes in and of itself.

sukuna's phone rings at a few minutes past 1am, and his little brother's name lights up the caller ID.

"yeah, what?" sukuna snaps groggily, holding his phone up to his ear. he'd passed out on the couch soon after he got home from work, a half-drunk and now room temperature can of beer left abandoned on the table in front of his spread knees. yuuji's babbling starts as soon as the call connects and his brother greets him, and it takes sukuna a moment to make sense of him.

"—'n now i can't finder!"

"the hell are you talking about, dumbass?" the elder of the two grumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face. his brother's voice is panicked and hard to understand.

"we got spliddup at the bar, 'n now i dunno where she is anymore—"

"don't know where who is? fuck, are you hammered?" sukuna complains, sitting himself upright on the sofa as he wipes sleep from the corner of his eyes, suddenly a bit more awake than he was when the phone first rang.

yuuji says your name with a croaking, worried voice, and sukuna sighs exasperatedly. he stares down pensively at the can of beer he forgot to drink on the coffee table, then his eyes flicker to a framed photo hanging on the wall across the room—the glass smudged, frame slightly crooked, and photograph sun-bleached from the years it's spent hanging there.

"just..." he grunts as he pushes himself up to his feet, "fuckin' send me the address and stay where you are, idiot."

it's not hard to find his little brother once he arrives to the address yuuji sent him—especially since the youngest itadori brother is waiting (as promised) right by the entrance of the familiar bar near the university campus where both you and yuuji attend classes. it's still busy for so late in the night, but the clubs are closed now and little bars like this are the only places still open. sukuna's not even sure what the difference is anyway, because the lights here are still dim and the music is loud and there are still people dancing off to one side of the establishment, so the distinction between the two seems tenuous if not entirely negligible. but as someone who's spent his fair share of nights in bars just like (and including) this one, he's usually not really one to complain.

but tonight's different.

yuuji is teetering a bit when his brother arrives—an unusual sight, considering he's usually pretty good at holding his liquor.

"shit, how much did you drink?" are the first words out of sukuna's mouth when he approaches.

the youngest itadori's cheeks are flushed as pink as his hair, and he grimaces in the wake of the eldest's question—he's always been a terrible liar, especially when it comes to his brother, so he doesn't even bother trying to deny it. sukuna doesn't wait for a response in any case, turning his head towards the thick of the crowd and letting his eyes scan through it.

he doesn't see you.

"where'd you see her last?" he asks, leaning towards his brother to be heard over the music.

"by the bar!" yuuji replies, raising his own voice to overcome the bass. "she said she was getting one last drink, but she never came back to the table."

yuuji's lip wobbles a bit as he concludes his sentence, but he sucks it quickly into his mouth and catches it between his teeth.

"and you looked for her?" sukuna asks again.

"all over," yuuji nods, letting his lip slip out from between the bite of his incisors to reply. "fushiguro's doing another lap. nobara's checking the bathrooms."

sukuna ruffles a hand through his hair, suddenly realizing it's probably a mess from his rudely-interrupted slumber. "maybe she just left or somethin'."

"she wouldn't do that, you know that," yuuji says firmly. there's an insistence burning behind his eyes as he looks to his older brother, and it's the most sober he's seemed all night.

sukuna rolls his eyes, even though he knows yuuji's right—you'd never leave on your own, much less without so much as a goodbye. the two of you have been joined at the hip for long enough he's almost surprised that yuuji wasn't able to find you with some weird telepathic form of echolocation. he swings an arm up over his little brother's shoulders pushing him down a little just to tease him, before using his grip to tug him towards the crowd.

"you track down that little sea urchin friend of yours and i'll take a look around. meet me back here in ten minutes or text me if you find that little pest, alright?"

the bar is harder to navigate the further in sukuna travels from the entrance, the bodies pressing closer together with every step he takes away from fresh night air. he's pissed off, but that's not out of character for him. he's more pissed off than he usually is, considering not even an hour before he'd been peacefully sleeping at home, and now he's glaring at some drunk college kid who just almost spilled their beer on him.

"move," he hisses through his teeth at the wide-eyed kid whose life he can practically see flashing through his eyes as he shoulders past him. sukuna would be lying if he said the look didn't improve his mood at least marginally.

as sukuna weaves through the bodies in the bar, his eyes don't stop looking for you. it's almost startling how quickly he can rule people out—how definitively he can say that someone is or isn't you with just a passing glance. he starts to doubt himself as he reaches the far corner of the bar and begins to round back towards the entrance, an annoying, grating irritation in the back of his mind. worry, maybe, if he were the type.

then he sees you.

just the faintest glimpse of your profile, caught behind the shoulder of the man who has you backed into a corner by a pillar, hidden mostly away from the crowd—at least as hidden as anyone can be in a place like this.

sukuna feels his lip curling into a furious sneer as he takes a step towards you—people move out of his path wordlessly as he trudges over to that dark corner where you're tucked away.

it's only when he gets a bit closer that he's able to read the lines of your body properly. you're teetering, just like yuuji had been—the two of you had probably enabled each other in your intoxication that night like the stupid kids sukuna knows you both to be. but you're also distinctly uncomfortable, pressed up against the wall as if to put as much distance between you and the man hovering over you as you possibly can. your eyes glance off to the side, like you're searching uselessly for an escape.

instead, they meet his.

"sukuna," you gasp out in surprise, and the man you're speaking to glances over his shoulder in confusion. he seems annoyed, and a bit nervous, when he spots the man (taller, and broader than he is) standing behind him with a scowl.

sukuna hears the relief in your voice when you say his name. reads it behind your glassy eyes.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, reaching out towards him clumsily.

the man in front of you puts a hand on your waist—possibly to steady you, more likely to stop you—and it makes sukuna see red.

"hands off," sukuna snaps, wrapping a hand around your upper arm and tugging you into his side away from the creep.

"who's this? you said you don't have a boyfriend," the kid asks you, jutting a thumb towards sukuna accusatorially.

you mumble something quietly in reply about him being yuuji's brother, tucking yourself a bit closer to sukuna as you say it.

"your brother?" he asks as his eyes squint in confusion, having clearly only caught part of your explanation. "you're ditching me for your brother?"

sukuna's anger flares again at the entitlement this little brat has the nerve to display so flagrantly. the older man's hand slips down to your waist on instinct, and then lower still to the curve of your ass, making a show of how his big hand grips into the flesh beneath it. you squeak quietly at the contact, turning and hiding your burning face against sukuna's chest. he keeps his hand right where it is.

the stranger's eyes widen at the inappropriate display before him and sukuna leans in close with a vicious, almost manic grin.

"we're very close."

[luveline]

Bombshell r loosing her mind when Spence walks into work late that one day and he has the “boy band” haircut

“What’s with the face?” 

Morgan raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for an answer you don’t have. 

“What’s wrong with my face?” you ask. 

“Nothing–”

“Clearly.” 

“You look way too happy, considering.” He gestures to the board currently displaying a grisly crime scene photo and the empty seat across from you. “Another case, and a severe lack of your favourite toy.” 

“Spencer isn’t my toy, he’s my sweetheart, and I’m gutted he’s running late but I’m toughing it out.” 

Being on the team is all you’ve ever wanted. With Gideon long gone and enough time elapsed between Strauss’ political push for Emily, you’re here permanently, where you’ve always wanted to be. It’s been the best few months of your life. A lot of that due to Spencer’s unfailing friendship. He’s so kind to you. You’re really getting along. 

“Let’s focus in,” Hotch says. 

You bridle with excitement, poorly contained. You don’t get very far into spitballing when JJ’s lips part in bemusement.

“Well, hello,” she says. 

You turn in your chair away from JJ and Penelope where they’re giving the presentation to the door, where Spencer is smiling genially. He sits down with his bag still on his shoulder, a heavy silence having fallen over the room. 

Spencer has cut his hair. Gone is the long, mostly straight lengths of his hair. Did he get a perm? You’re shell-shocked. “Oh my god,” you mumble to yourself. 

“What, did you join a boyband?” Hotch asks, frowning. 

His lips part in small offence. “No,” he says. 

Emily and Morgan laugh. Spencer tucks his chair in, and you don’t know who wants to say what or how quickly you’re supposed to pretend to get over this, but you don’t care. “Spencer!” you say, “Spencer!” 

“L/N, please don’t start.” 

Hotch is only saying please because he knows he had his own reaction he could’ve kept internal, how can he ask you to smother your own. You lean hard across the table and gaze at Spencer lovingly —startled but inarguably infatuated.

“You’ve never, ever looked this handsome before,” you say, true and not true, “ever. I gotta–” Your hand reaches out at the same moment your legs decide to stand. “Can I touch it?” 

Hotch sighs with disappointment. 

You pass behind your teammates' chairs to look at him. 

“Stop,” Spencer says immediately, his palm to your stomach. “You’re being mean.” 

“I’m being mean? You didn’t even consult me.” 

“It’s my hair.” 

“Spencer, you’re gorgeous no matter what, but I need some warning if you don’t want me to do this.” 

“Sit back down,” Morgan says, rolling his eyes. 

You tuck one lovely curl behind Spencer’s ear carefully. “I love it so much, I can’t believe it. This is the best thing that’s happened to me since I joined the BAU.” 

[hipsdofangirl]

“baby”

seungcheol x reader

contents: sfw, fluff mess, idol au, established relationship au, repetitive use of word “baby”, kkuma is seungcheol’s daughter

summary: seungcheol finds out he is a grandpa at age 28 in his own way / seungcheol comes home to his (growing) family

wc: 1111 (hehe)

“where’s your toy?” you coo.

kkuma stares blankly at you, sitting pretty. you slap your hands on your knees with an exaggerated grin decorating your face.

you repeat, enunciating each word, “where is your toy?”

she pants with a smile—the crooked pink bow clip melts your heart bit by bit. she stands up and spins in a circle, searching for something; the clopping of her nails against the hard-wooded floor reminds you that she needs her nails clipped, and your boyfriend will no doubt get her groomed for that to be completed.

the fluffy small cloud faces you, tongue out and involved in her desperate recovery mission. she moves her head to the right then the left; you can’t help but huff air with a smile, observing her cute yet calculated movements. her smile fades as she sniffs lightly. there is one more attempt to push kkuma over the edge.

“where is your baby?” you reiterate.

like a sleeper agent, something inside of her awakens. her head moves back to the right, regaining that same grin she trots into the hallway out of your sight.

you stand up, kneecaps cracking from being on the floor for some time; you keep your gaze locked from where she last left your sight, anticipating little patters to get louder.

soon enough, kkuma emerges from that hallway with a plush hello kitty doll, bigger than her own body, being dragged across the floor; if only it was real you could imagine the doll’s face painted with agony of living another day of torment while being lifelessly lugged.

you smirk and clap your fingertips together, creating little yet audible sound. “there she is! do you have your baby?” you babble.

in response, kkuma shakes her head and therefore her body and therefore the doll. you nod your head in respect and walk to the kitchen. kkuma continues her tirade and saunters over to the living room, plopping herself right in front of the couch with baby in hand.

—————

after the sun has been set for some time, the front door creaks open. soft yet heavy footfalls patter against the floor.

from your spot laying on the couch, you glance towards the noise in the dark, only your phone and tv providing light. you sit there and listen: you hear deep breaths and rustling of fabric before something collides with the floor. a defeated grunt comes from the entrance still: you chuckle quietly and turn your phone off, turning onto your stomach to lay on.

you click your flashlight on. the perpetrator standing there being your boyfriend, seungcheol. his eyes widen yet dim quickly when he made contact with the light. he covers his eyes with his hand and sets down the rest of his stuff. you turn off your flash and get up to immediately flick on the living room lights. you stroll to him with a not-so hidden grin.

he takes one glance at your expression before huffing, “you heard me struggling yet here you are taking a photo of me like i’m a cryptid.” your grin hurts your cheeks at this point; he gives one of his own as he watches you.

“you try so hard to be quiet when you come in, it’s hard not to see you as one.” you counter.

his eyebrows raise and grin deflates. “well you should be in bed right now. i swear you don’t have to wait up for me, i’ll be fine.” you both hear little paws barrel towards you. seungcheol’s dimples return once again as he squats, palms open.

“cause this little girl will always be there to greet me.”

you playfully scoff, leaning on the wall, observing the interaction. “yeah because she knows she will get a treat.” kkuma licks his fingers as he scratches underneath her chin.

you squat down yourself and her attention was instantly caught. you gently unclip the bow from the top of her head and smother it in your/his pant pocket.

as you give her your own soft head pats and aggressive spouts of rubs, seungcheol gaze is stuck on your face, basking in the intimate moment he secretly waits for after every day of intense idol-life.

he would never say it, but he appreciates how you wait; he doesn’t understand how you are able to keep waiting after all this time—for him. he glances at the floor, he shouldn't keep you waiting, should he?

kkuma’s rhythm of her happy dance kept him in a trance, but for some reason it stopped? seungcheol blinks and doesn’t see his little girl in front of him. he glances up at you for some clarification as you shuffle his things around, grabbing his workout clothes to put in the washer.

seungcheol blinks again. where did one of his princesses go? every time he arrives home, she follows him wherever he goes. is his little girl growing up?

he mindlessly follows you and stutters with a pout, “w-where did kkuma go?”

you flip open the washer lid. “she’s grabbing her baby.”

seungcheol’s inner demons were confirmed. “her baby?”

you hum in confirmation.

he sadly flicks his eyes to the door to the rest of the apartment. as you shut the lid down and press the appropriate buttons, you feel his fingers weaving into yours; slowly, he drapes his body weight onto you, head searching for his crook. you smile and pat his head.

you both hear little paws barrel toward you both. entering the door frame is little kkuma with her big baby hello kitty doll.

seungcheol’s head lifts up from your body.

kkuma gives him a little shake, showing him and her baby dominance.

he makes eye contact with you. “your childhood pillow?”

you correct him, enunciating your words, “her baby.” his arms sneak around your waist, eyes never leaving the white dog.

he repeats after you, “her baby.”

you hum and nod, pecking his cheek before sauntering out of the room. seungcheol bites his lip, smile breaking through, and skips after you. his arms return to hug your waist as he leans both your bodies sideways with a kiss—soon followed by an onslaught of fleeting smooches.

you blush. “cmon you big baby lets go to bed. you have an upcoming comeback and tour that doesn’t need you to fall ill again. i don’t need you to do that.”

he hums and sways your bodies, widely walking both of your feet in that direction like penguins.

he only hummed, not saying anything. you look at him for any other confirmation. he only beholds your eyes that swallow the rest of the world.

he knocks his head playfully with yours. “my baby.”

a/n: first uploaded fic please have mercy on my soul. also not proofread.

i have some works in the notes app but so far this is the one that is currently making me want to publish because i just got in the mood and it’s his bday. also this is totally not based off my own dog

if you made it here, congratulations! have a nice day/night!! 🫶

tag: @jacixbliss

[writingouthere]

neighbor!Sukuna x single mom!reader; your ceiling is leaking at 3 in the morning and you don't know what to do so you go ask for help from the man across the hallway(inspired by real life events that were not nearly so charming).

no need to have read the others in the series but can be read as a week or two after the aquarium date.

cw: Sukuna being a menace

Sukuna had always been a light sleeper so when there were knocks on his door at 3am, he was up instantly. The knocks weren't even loud but he found himself annoyed enough to stomp to the door. If he wasn't sleeping, the people below him didn't need to be either.

He yanked his door open, prepared to make whoever it was regret every moment of their existence but it was you, holding your daughter and clearly on the verge of tears.

You seemed contrite when you saw his expression but before you could even start to apologize, he was slipping on his boots and grabbing his key.

"What's wrong," he asked.

"It-it's the ceiling, I woke up and it was leaking water. It's getting everywhere and I don't know what to do and the landlord isn't picking up."

Sukuna rubbed your arm, trying to give you some comfort and you relaxed a little.

"Okay, let me come take a look. I can call the super, he's probably more likely to answer than the landlord." You nodded and he followed you back to your place. Holding his hand out to stop you at the door as he made to go in first.

Sukuna heard the water pouring in before he saw it. He had never been in your apartment before. It was clear that a woman there. There was color everywhere, more blankets than made sense for two people and the walls were covered in photos and artwork. It felt soft, it reminded him of you. And now, it was being ruined by water raining down from the ceiling.

"Why don't you wait in my apartment. You both look like you could use some rest. I'll sort this out," he said, handing over his key. You looked ready to protest but then your daughter started crying.

"Go, I got it."

You looked so relieved and he wiped away a few tears from your daughter's face and pressed a kiss to her forehead which helped bring the tears down to a more tolerable snuffling.

"Thank you so much, I don't even-"

"Don't worry about it. You two just go settle in the guest room and I'll wake you up when it's settled."

You smiled at him and you seemed to hesitate before you went up on your toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Sukuna couldn't stop himself from grinning as you took your daughter out the door and towards his apartment. He turned around to look at the mess that was your apartment. It looked like a pipe must have burst in the apartment above yours. Annoying, but a quick fix when caught this early. He grabbed his phone, opening it to call the super before a thought came to him that just wouldn't leave.

It would be a shame if you had to terminate your lease because of unsafe conditions, after all you must still have a good six months left on it. He knew you didn't have any family in the area and it would be a lot for a working mom with a kid as young as yours to go apartment hunting all the sudden.

Of course, he did have that guest room. Plenty of space for the three of you and it wouldn't be hard to bring over the stuff you needed while you looked. His apartment was bigger than yours, even though it was just him.

Even if it was a tight fit, his lease was up at the end of the year anyway. You could always get a bigger space, one for your soon to be growing family.

Sukuna pocketed his phone and took a seat at your dining table, away from the water. He figured it would only take another hour before the damage passed the point of no return.

He hoped you and your daughter were resting well in your new home.

[droaxa]

✧ tags: yandere cheater x reader pt. 2

✧ warnings: violence and force, yandere behavior, descriptions of dismemberment, blood, stalking, police, nsfw content, kissing, angst, smut, breaking in, attempted murder, cuts, dead dove, probably more stuff

✧ a/n: my most requested fic at the moment! i decided to take some of your suggestions and add my own twist at the end + yandere name reveal!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

yandere cheater wrestles you into his car after he drags you outta the cafe you’re in, unyielding as you try to pull away. the second he shuts the door and jets to the drivers side, you force yourself out the door and sprint down the street.

you hear his yells as you increase your speed, you knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun him for long. not only was he more athletic than you, but a look back revealed his terrifying expression. he was clearly set on catching you, having the advantage in his relatively relaxed clothing opposed to you, who was dressed for a date.

knowing you couldn’t beat him you came to a sudden stop of to the side of the sidewalk and he rammed into your side. stumbling back a few steps you stopped him. eyes wide and hair blown back, he looks at you mildly surprised.

“wha-” you interrupt him this time, taking advantage of his surprise by slapping a hand over his mouth.

you bring on an expression that you think is intimidating, “leave me the fuck alone, i don’t know what the hell you want but i’m not taking you back”

he scoffs like he has you all figured out, taking your hand off his mouth to reveal a smirk underneath. “guess mother dear will find out about your… escapades then”

smack!

you slap him across the face sharply, sound reverberating around you and leaving a tinge of red on his cheek. his mouth gapes as he looks back at you even more surprised, what happened to the mild mannered girl who he had cheated on dated?

“release those anywhere and i will fuck up your life asshole” you fume, hand still in the air as if to threaten him for another slap. “you’re the one that decided to cheat on me with every girl we knew. fucking own up to it”

you were sick of his shit, who did he think he was? you huff out a quiet fuck off as you pass him, shoulder bumping against his. as soon as you rounded the corner you sprint to a nearby parked cab, slamming the door on your way in.

“to the university dorms please”

yandere cheater runs after you too late, rounding the corner as you take off in the cab. poor baby, you were still hung up on him cheating? he didn’t even really like those girls anyway, they weren’t good for anything except their bodies.

but you, you were it for him. he’d do anything to see your cute smile again, to see you whimper on his cock. he felt his swollen cheek, your anger may come in the way of him proving his love, but you’d understand in the end. how deep his love ran. all he had to do was prove was that those girls meant nothing.

two weeks had passed, two long peaceful weeks. your ex finally seemed to give up, the barrage of text messages and calls diminishing to radio silence and constant gifts at your doorstep suddenly stopping. maybe you were more intimidating than you thought.

the second you got home after the encounter, you had called your mother and explained everything. although she did yell at you for a solid hour due her disappointment in you sending out explicit photos of yourself, she understood your situation. after giving her instructions on blocking your ex if he tried to reach out to her you were finally at a peace of mind. at a zen. maybe you could turn a new leaf, you deserved it.

of course you had fucking jinxed it, just when you finally thought it was all over, your ex had tried to force himself back in your life again. deep down, you knew he wouldn’t give up that easy. he’d always be stubborn to a fault.

two weeks after the encounter a small navy present box appeared in from of your new dorm room door. still groggy with sleep you rubbed your eyes and picked up the box, bringing it inside. after contemplating for a minute, you finally decide to open it. in your sleep ridden state, you reasoned that it was probably something you’d left behind at your ex’s house.

it takes a minute to register the contents of the box, but when you do

“OH MY GOD”

you scream and stumble back.

two bloodshot green- brown eyes were pressed into the shiny white silk inside, the area around them a tinge of red. that alone could be passed off as a cruel prank by some immature students but the unmistakable metallic scent of blood lingering in the air said otherwise. that and the only other item in the plush silk: a silver bracelet with the initials ‘e.r’.

only one person you knew owned that bracelet and had those eyes, your ‘friend’ eva. but you had blocked and lost contact with her after you found her and your boyfriend together in the bathroom of the mall. there’s no way she would have just lost this bracelet either, you remembered her bragging about how it was permanent. being soldering together around her hand.

you were nauseous. oh god. you knew it was him, you just knew. sure you hated her but you didn’t want her to die. what the hell, what the fuck do you even do?

before you could think you grabbed your phone calling the only person you could think of.

“can you come over quick, please?”

20 minutes later a dark haired man rushed in through your front door, spotting you curled up in the corner. your eyes wide and still staring at the open box.

“(y/n) what’s going on?” he asks softly, approaching you slowly. you just point to the box and he takes a peek, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth as his eyes shoot open “fucking hell…”

you turn to him, eyes teary “ray what do we do?”

ray was your one real friend through everything your ex put you through, and ironically your ex’s older brother. he was one that introduced you to your ex and thus he blamed himself for letting him hurt you, even though you’d reassured him that you didn’t find him at any fault.

he was reliable and kind, a shoulder to lean on when things got tough. you’d known him for almost two years longer than your ex and honestly if you didn’t meet your ex, the small crash you harbored for ray may have grown. after you met you ex you assumed that your feelings for ray had naturally died out but you couldn’t lie about the strange biting feeling in your chest whenever you saw him.

and even now he was talking care of you, taking you to the police station to talk to the police and turning in the bloody present. a few hours later you both were back in your dorm, sitting on the edge of your bed as you discussed the situation.

“look i really appreciate all this, you didn’t have to come with me to the station”

he smiles, “anytime (y/n), if it’s for you”

you smile back, face a little warm from his answer “that’s sweet”

he moves a little closer, your pinkies now you touching. “you’re sweeter, my asshole brother doesn’t know what he missed out on.” and you swear that you see his eyes flicker to your lips.

“really?” you ask coyly, leaning in slightly.

he nods slightly hesitant “if i had a girlfriend like you i wouldn’t dare disrespect her like that, i-i mean you’re thoughtful and pretty and-” he gets cut off as you lean up and press your lips to his. he immediately freezes up and you take his response as rejection, pulling away. fuck, he was obviously just being nice who even likes their brothers ex?

“i’m so sorry i though-” before you can finish apologizing ray’s lips smash onto yours, one of his hands in your hair to pull you closer and the other guiding your lips to his by your chin. in between heated kisses he mumbles,

“god i was waiting for so long,” a kiss.

“prettiest girl i’ve ever met” another heated kiss. his words of longing slur as he continues to kiss you, pulling you ever closer. his plush lips trail down your neck and to your stomach, slender hand playing at your waistband. his hooded eyes look up at you as his other hand wanders under your shirt. “can i?”

you give him a shy nod and he smiles, pulling down your pajama shorts to reveal white cotton panties. you cover your face with your arm out of embarrassment and he reaches out, keeping your arm down.

“wann’ see your pretty face, waited for it” you nod meekly and he flashes his dimples, continuing to pull down your panties and throw them somewhere behind him. your cute cunt, glistening with arousal was right in front of his face. fuck. gliding a finger up the slit, he watches as the slick from your pussy coats it. fuck.

an hour later he was in heaven, or at least you felt like it. buried deep inside your wet cunt as you moaned and squirmed under him

“ngh- fuck, so good fa’ me baby”

this was the stuff of wet dreams. he speeds up as he feels his orgasm approaching, praises and grunts slipping from his lips as he slams his hips against yours. soft skin against muscle, hot breath on your face from where he was above you. finally he pulls out with groan, wanting to stay buried in your warm. spurts of warm cum shoot up your stomach as he finally finishes.

ray collapses beside you, both of you sweaty and nude as you bathe in the afterglow. weakly, you smile at his tired form as you close your eyes, drifting to sleep in your warm bed.

bang!

you wake up with a start, wearing a shirt too big to be yours. must be ray’s. you look around the dim room and reach for ray, feeling nothing in the space next to your body. did ray… leave? that couldn’t be right. your bare feet hit the wood floor as you step towards your lamp and turn on the light. nothing.

you look around the bedroom and then head to the kitchen, turning the corner and switching on the light. immediately the kitchen floods with light and you gasp. the floor was tracked with blood, a trail leading from where you stood to your bathroom. was he hurt?! you cautiously approach the bathroom, a sharp metallic scent dominates your nose as push open the half open door.

“took a while to wake up didn’t you sleepyhead?”

your blood runs cold. it was your ex boyfriend. if the crazed grin in his face wasn’t unsettling enough the blood smearing on his cheek and splattered across his body sent alarms going off inside you. looking behind him you see the source of all the red.

ray. deep cuts run down his body, clothes shredded, and body half submerged in the now murky red water of the tub. on the tile floor next to him was your kitchen knife, covered in blood. without missing a beat you turned and sprinted to your bed stand, searching for your phone. there’s no way you would make it to the door in time, you needed to call the police and at least save ray.

haphazardly searching your bed and nightstand, you still can’t find your phone. where is it?

“oh lookin’ for your phone?” you turn to him. in his hand was the aforementioned object, light pink case looking uncharacteristically cute opposed to his blood-ridden form. “you’re a pretty deep sleeper hon, i mean i was rummaging around right next to you for this and you didn’t even hear”

“what are you doing raph?” you ask terrified, slowly inching away from him.

in response he approaches you, “what do you think? my girl runs off on me and the next time i see her she’s fucking my brother. you tryna make me jealous baby?” he leans in, expression seemingly amused but you knew better. he was pissed.

“and you’re wearing his shirt too” his large hand plays with the round collar of the tee, fingers ghosting over your collarbones.

“take it off”

eyes wide, you look up at him, “no i won-”

“take it off or he dies” raph’s face is dead serious, no traces of amusement left, stare burning into your face. “you want him to live right? i’ll call the police as long as you take it off”

you hesitate then slowly peel off ray’s shirt, letting it fall to the floor. raph had seen your body before right? it was a small price to pay for saving rays life. the action left you in only your cotton panties as you tried to preserve your modesty with your hands.

raph lets out a low whistle and steps forward, pulling you closer by the curve of your waist. chucking as you shiver due to his cold touch

“already forgot i feel baby? might needa reteach ya”

you look away from him, refusing to see the smug expression playing on his face.

at that moment you felt a wave of self hatred crash over you, why couldn’t you do anything about this? were you so weak that you couldn’t protect yourself, much less ray? but who were you kidding, you weren’t faster or stronger than raph. there’s no way you could get out of this situation with both of you alive without giving into raph.

raph places a rough hand at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. unlike his brother his touch was demanding and rash, the only purpose of it being to prove that you were still his silly girl. no matter how hard you tried to run away.

he coos at your troubled expression “where’s all that fire from before huh?” he grins at your submissive state, the one that he caused. “i’ll be nice, put your own clothes on. quick.”

was he playing with you? you take a look at ray’s shirt on the floor and then approach your closet under a guise of calmness, but a look at your shaking hands would disprove your confidence. putting on a bra, followed by a bottom and a top, then outer wear. anything to put more layers between you and him.

a look up at him reveals that he was already looking at you, probably to stop you from pulling another trick on him. he leans down to whisper in your ear but instead decides to press his face into your neck, inhaling the sweet smell. he mutters, face still in your hair “god i missed you” the sincere tone in his voice scared you the most.

he pulls away, expression distant and somewhat melancholy. “you know if you acted like a good girl from the beginning i wouldn’t have to do this”

before you can question him, his open right hand presses against your face, hard. the other hand supports your head to stop you from pulling away, body trapped. the bitter smell of something pressed on the tissue between your face and his hand floods your senses.

for the second time that night all your senses dull, and everything goes dark.

a/n: i know i know you guys wanted reader to get away from him! i just though this was more interesting then the reader getting back at raph and getting away with it. i like to make my yanderes stubborn loll. hope you liked the twist might write a part 3 ^^