#insomnia type beat

[kreeeeeez]

its 2 am and i cant sleep so heres zipp

[ninja-jock-bot]

how do i make the brain go sleepy stupid ahaha

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Kevin Day listens to classical music to fall asleep when he can’t (or to chase away nightmares)

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again. 

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 

“You’re up again.” 

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 

“And you shouldn’t be.” 

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 

“Javi…” 

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 

“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[solmire]

Overworking yourself for a dream job wasn’t unfamiliar to you, and especially to your bf!Sukuna.

Nowadays, late nights you spend among stacks of books, trying to memorise everything for your upcoming exam, but it more feels like wasting your time because a terrible headache cannot give you any mercy.

Anxiety keeps creeping up on you, always staying right behind you, making you suffer insomnia without any help to study and comprehend information.

Sukuna is too tired to see you like that.

“You do this every day and I can’t see any type of improvement in your knowledge.” He grumbles while sitting next to your right. He can see how your eyelids are trying to not to close and your head keeps moving in every direction just to feel some relief. Bags under your eyes are darker, hands are too shake to hold pen still and he just takes it from you.

“You know, you are not preventing dementia by fooling around with your health. You are probably gonna die earlier than hitting your middle thirties with that lifestyle.” At that point, a sneer is the only expression he can manage to show. But under all that babble you can notice the way his hand is reaching for you, squeezing your thigh in supportive manner, showing that you are not alone here, he is always by your side.

“Do you even know how to support your partner, kuna? Last time when I checked you were the one not sleeping for some stupid game.” The memory of him staying up for almost 3 days in a row just to beat Gojo and Toji in a game still lingers right in front of your eyes. Especially how he made you sleep with him for 15 hours in a row after that. He lost to Gojo but he would never admit that the asshole has managed to do it.

“And what? I can do that, but you do not have the right to do that too.” He stands from his sit and tugs your arm in direction of bedroom. “Stand up, playtime’s over, right now you need to go to sleep.”

You lost all your ability to go against him, and the way he puts his arm in your back and starts rubbing cyrcles also leaves you without any choice.

“Kuna, do you know that I am not a child and I can do what I want?”

“Stop saying bullshit. Just go to bed and shut your mouth.” His voice is too heavy in a room, but you find comfort in it. He knows you might have a terribly headache right now and if he starts to speak in his comfortable volume it will only leave you to suffer and not having sleep at all.

He helps you to get under the blanket, the hand that was patting your back now slowly massaging your head and temples, lips are leaving soft kisses all around your face. “Kuna, I want to be a big spoon tonight.”

The man doesn’t give you the answer right away. Sukuna walks around the bed and lies down to his side. Still without any word he turns his back on you.

“I told you to shut up.” He says and lets you to hug him from behind.

You are not ashamed of a smile that creeps on your face. Be leaving small kisses on his back and squeezing his muscles you are trying to show the love you feel for him.

“Kuna, I love you.” It was the last thing you mumbled before falling asleep.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He says and lifts one of your hands to kiss the palm and to hold it tightly so you will never leave him.

[artytaeh]

what slytherin boy is best at which subjects?

WHAT ARE THE SLYTHERIN BOY'S FAVORITE, LEAST FAVORITE AND BEST SUBJECTS? ── 𖤐

. 𖥔 ࣪˖ that's a great question, anon! thank you for sending something interesting for me to write about. i gave it some thought─although it's, obviously, totally up for debate. if you have a different opinion, please tell me about it!

mattheo riddle tries so hard to beat allegations. but he can't! it's difficult to grasp mattheo's interest, so he definitely finds defense against the dark arts interesting, even though he denies it. come on, the dark lord's son being a DADA enthusiast? hogwarts would have a field day with assumptions and ridiculous rumors. mattheo thinks that the dangerous part is related to adrenaline, and a competitive sense of who's strong enough to survive it. besides, most of the DADA professors he had allured mattheo. especially moody and lupin. umbridge ruined it for him, though. mattheo also somewhat likes charms, because he gets to use new spells. mattheo would like potions a little more if it was more about mixing and cutting stuff than decorating a lot of things.

worst subject: whatever classes that are full theory and less practical activity. which means that history of magic is his absolute nightmare; boring, fully theoric, no enthusiasm, nothing to do with his hands. even herbology and transfiguration are a little more fun.

theodore nott is a good student. a lot of logic and studying that hopefully, buys him some peace at home with his father and less meetings with the man's cane. even though he's one of the best at potions, usually paired up with the unluckiest ones to balance the damage, theo's favorite class is astronomy. his favorite stories were the ones that his mother would tell him about constellations, how they were named like that and their link with greek mythology. astronomy is something that reminds him of his mother for many, many reasons. besides, it's an excuse for theo to stay up until later, and deny that it's purely out of the boredom that comes with insomnia. they're not his favorite classes, but theodore occasionally enjoys arithmancy, ancient runes and charms; theodore is very good at spellcasting.

worst subject: divination. theo thinks that it's a load of bullshit; the type of scam that a muggle could pull off. theodore doesn't believe a thing that goes out of trelawney's mouth; if she said that the sky is blue, theo would second-guess it. or perhaps he hated how she read in tea leaves something about theodore damaging his own future by his incapability of properly coping with his mother's loss... yeah, he's still bitter about her unprompted guess during his third-year.

lorenzo berkshire tries to pretend he enjoys the 'cool' subjects to fit in. ultimately fails and the group somewhat jokes that enzo is into girly subjects; that liking herbology so much makes him a wrongfully placed slytherin and maybe he should join the badgers. so he tries to somehow save his reputation—excusing his interest to be into the venomous and terrible magical plants. yeah, right. enzo actually thinks they're fucking nasty; the devil's snare? get that out of his sight. enzo just really enjoys interesting plants that would make his garden the most interesting museum. he's also intrigued by the language of flowers; it's a romantic language to speak and a knowledge he eats up with more enthusiasm than the advanced extra classes that theodore and blaise take. with the exception of herbology, enzo also really likes muggle studies — in lorenzo's eyes, it's very interesting how muggles exist without magic, and sometimes sneaks in muggle london to experience that different lifestyle by himself.

worst subject: beasts' class. for some reason, he's unlucky—or maybe most creatures just know that lorenzo berkshire isn't the most trustworthy pure-hearted snow white in hogwarts. maybe his previous bad experiences had a small fear within lorenzo, that some creatures take as a chance to target lorenzo specifically. but hey, at least he attracts a bunch of pretty witches!

for draco malfoy, we have canon insight about his preferences. where he shows good behavior and interest in potions, draco shows a lack of interest, impoliteness and lack of care for subjects like divination, care of magical creatures and defense against dark arts—when it was remus lupin teaching the subject. what i mean to say here is, draco's favoritism swings back and forth depending on the professor; if he respects the wizard slash witch who's teaching the subject, then draco will make an effort to be an extra good student at that. if he doesn't find interest, feel respect or think that the professor is 'ridiculous', then draco won't sympathize with the subject either. because he's somewhat close to snape, draco perhaps enjoyed potions even more.

that being said, his favorite subject is potions. on the other hand, his worst subject is anything that's related to interacting with living beings; draco doesn't have the slightest patience to conquer a beast's heart, much less to wait for a feral plant to grow accordingly.

blaise zabini is a tricky one. in canon, we only ever saw blaise playing quidditch as a chaser and being one of the best students of advanced potion's class. that, however, cannot mean that much—blaise sparks me as a good student because he values good grades, pretty much like theodore and draco do, albeit for different reasons. i feel like blaise would take pride on knowing a little more than the others, a small sense of superiority that gives him an excuse to be a bit arrogant — within reason, of course. ancient runes is a subject that fits students who enjoy puzzle-solving type of challenge, and blaise likes the knowledge that he has a more open vocabulary/ability to read less known books. it takes analyzing the context and some interpretation, which blaise thinks to be pleasantly challenging. after potions, i'd say that this is a rivaling number one for him.

simultaneously, detests arithmancy. blaise knows that theo is good at it, but he personally thinks that it's confusing—for someone who enjoyed ancient runes. it's in this type of matters that blaise understood that he's more of a language-reading-writing oriented type of wizard, rather than the whole mathematical calculations one.

✰ tom riddle is an exception here. in canon, it's said that he was a model student, remembered for his academic excellence. while i do think that tom had subjects that he cared and was more excited for—like potions, charms, and very specifically defense against the dark arts, which knowledge he was hungry for—tom thought that all the subjects were important.

even divination could be a higher form of study that tom could need someday. tom needed charms to form horcruxes, transfiguration is a helpful thing for a wizard to know how to safely (and successfully accomplish), and even herbology along with beast's class offered insight of how to use the living beings that surround him for his benefit.

again, his highest interest were the dark arts. i think that tom was unashamedly curious and would find ways to sneak into the restricted section of hogwarts castle's library to further feed his curiosity. definitely used his status as a head boy to achieve those late night reading sessions to his advantage—probably, he sought to fill that role for that precise reason.

[midniteamethyst]

Playing With Fire

Ethan Hunt x f!Reader🔞

Masterlist✨️

A/N: So I binged all the Mission Impossible movies (and I'm currently rewatching them😅) and I absolutely love Ethan in every way. We need more fanfics of this man!!

Summary: Your late-night sparing with Ethan becomes heated after your brattiness goes too far.

Warnings: SMUT, dom Ethan, sub reader, rough sex, shower sex, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, "You move, I stop" dynamic, use of nicknames (Sir, Babe, Princess, Sweetheart, Baby, Good girl), fingering, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, teasing, BDSM (restraints, spanking, light choking, hair pulling), biting, marking, scratching, blood (Ethan gets hit in the nose), tooth-rotting fluff.

Your fists hit the punching bag repeatedly, making it bounce back every time you hit it. Your music blasted in your ears, making you focus on beating up the poor inanimate object. It was late at night, almost 1 am and you couldn't sleep. Whether it was stress or insomnia, you weren't sure. So you decided to sneak your way downstairs to the small gym you and Ethan had in your basement. The walls were a light stone grey with a treadmill, weights, and a few other different types of workout equipment on one side. On the side you were on, a black mat covering the floor and the walls have different sparing equipment. You thought that if you tired yourself out enough and quick enough, you could sneak back upstairs, get out of your sports bra and fitness shorts, take a shower, and get back into bed before your boyfriend could notice. You were so focused on the music blasting in your ear and hitting the bag, that you didn't realize Ethan made his way downstairs. He called your name a few times trying to get your attention. He then gently grabbed your shoulder. You turned around without even thinking and socked him in the face, making him stumble back.

"Ah shit." He said loudly covering his nose as blood started pouring out.

"Oh my god, Ethan!" You say panicking. You quickly grab the towel you use to cool yourself off. Placing the towel on his nose, you apply pressure to the bridge of it.

"I'm so so sorry, Babe. I didn't hear you come down because of my music and I was so focused and I thought someone broke i-."

Ethan places his finger over your lips smiling.

"It's okay, Sweetheart. I'm fine it's not broken." He says taking the towel off his nose, the blood finally stopping. Ethan whips his nose to get off the rest of the blood.

"See? I'm fine." He says, placing his index and thumb on his nose to move it around. "That is some wicked right hook you got there though." You sigh before wrapping your arms around his waist.

"I'm still sorry, Eth. I feel so bad." You say laying your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

"I mean, you could kiss it to make it feel better," he says pouting, making you smile. You gently grab his face, leaning forward, and press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. Ethan smiles down at you, cupping your cheek. You reach up and gently stroke his nose, his eyes fluttering shut, before flicking his forehead.

"Ouuch." He says chuckling while rubbing his head.

"That's for scaring the shit out of me." You say before kissing his cheek. "How come you're down here anyway? You were knocked out."

"I woke up when I didn't feel you beside me. I figured you couldn't sleep and were down here so I was going to ask if you wanted to spar." Ethan said playing with a strand of your hair. "But now I'm kind of terrified to ask." He says jokingly making you laugh at him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, his on your waist.

"I would love to spar." You said smiling.

"I'll be right back." He says pecking your lips.

**************************************

"You ready, Baby?"

You turn around, and almost drop the water bottle in your hand. Ethan stands in front of you with his black basketball shorts on, holding two kendosticks. But that's not all. Well, that is all. Your eyes can't help but take in every inch of muscle on his shirtless frame. No matter how many times you've seen Ethan shirtless or naked, he always seems to take your breath away. Whether it's his abs, strong biceps, toned back, or any other part of his body; your brain goes numb and the gap between your legs starts to ache. Thoughts flooded your mind of all the things you wanted him to do to you. The feeling of his hands gently wrapped around your throat, his hands pulling your hair back as he fucked you from behind. You don't realize that Ethan is standing in front of you until he lifts your chin with one of the kendo sticks to look him in the eyes. A giant smirk pulls on his lips. His green eyes stare into yours.

"Distracted, baby girl?" His asks in a teasing tone. You grabbed one of the sticks from his hands and tossed your water bottle on the floor.

"Just thinking about how good it's going to feel when I beat you, Sir." You say innocently, seeing him lick his bottom lip. If Ethan wanted to play games with you, you were going to play right back in the way you did best. By pushing him to his limit. Taking your place in front of Ethan, you both hold the sticks ready. The rules were simple, best two out of three wins. Ethan and you both counted down to three, and then the sound of wood hitting against each other began. The both of you blocking each other's moves. Jumping to dodge the other from trying to trip the other. Sweat poured down your bodies from how hard you were pushing each other. Your sticks clashed against each other, both of you using your weight and firm stance to try to push the other down. Your eyes were fighting for their life to not look at Ethan's toned glistening body. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing the same. The sweat pouring over your face and down to your cleavage becomes his downfall to you shoving him back enough to give you space before knocking him off his feet. You stand over Ethan, his eyes staring back into yours as you help him stand up.

"That's one for me." You say slyly before spinning around, your ponytail hitting Ethan. He smirked as you walked away. Both proud and turned on, watching the way your shorts made your ass look. You spin back around to face him, your kendo stick behind your back and your face looking smug. Ethan collected himself before speaking.

"Good job. Next time won't be so easy though, Princess." He says getting into position with you. Right after counting down, Ethan almost pushes you back right away but you dodge out of the way. You block his hits repeatedly. Until after ducking out of the way, he swings the stick around and under your feet, making you fall on your back and your own stick flies across the room. You lay there catching your breath before Ethan straddles over you. He looks you over and makes sure you're okay before leaning down to your ear. His hot breath makin you shiver.

"That's what you get for gloating." He says smiling sweetly before helping you up. "You okay?" He asks while he places his hand on your shoulder to soothe it.

Other than wanting you to fuck my brains out, I'm great. You think to yourself.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You say stepping closer so your face is close to his. "I like it rough, remember?" You say before walking away to grab your kendo stick. You stand there seriously, waiting for Ethan to get in position. He stands in front of you, taking in how you look. Your hair has started falling out of your ponytail, your body covered in sweat, and your breathing is heavy. Your e/c orbs full of fire like they always are when you're determined to get something done.

"Last round baby, I'm not holding back this time." He says.

You roll your shoulders and neck getting into your stance. "Yeah, neither am I, pretty boy."

Your weapons clash head-on, both of you and Ethan swinging, pushing, and shoving each other with all your might. Your heart rate picks up, Ethan pushing you further and further with his swings. You block his moves until he hits your kendo stick out of your hands, making it break. You roll out of the way until he has you gripping his kendo stick, making you lean back on your knees. Your back still in the air as you use your strength and core to keep yourself from falling to keep yourself from losing. Ethan presses his face against yours.

"How are you gonna get yourself out of this one baby?" He says, lips almost touching yours.

Your arms begin to shake. You may not be able to beat him with a weapon, but there's something else you can do. Before Ethan can realize what's happening, you crash your lips into his with a feverish kiss, shoving your tongue in his mouth and bringing his guard down. You push your leg out wrapping it around his waist and push up on the stick while twisting your hips and body, forcing Ethan down flat on the ground with a loud thud. You break away from the kiss, leaving both you and Ethan gasping for air. You take the kendo stick from him, throwing it where the broken one is. You look down into his eyes, evergreen orbs wide in shock.

"That's... one way... to do it," Ethan says still catching his breath. You smile and sit up, your breast spilling a little out of your sports bra, Ethan taking the look of you in. His breathing picks up, your breasts so close and so far away.

"Who's distracted now, big guy?" You smirking.

"Hey, I'm admiring the view." He says shrugging, moving hair out of your face.

You roll your eyes smiling before hovering over his face.

"I win," you say, "I told you I would." You place your hands on his chest. Ethan's eyes darken, pupils blown wide.

"Yeah, you win. But." He says grabbing your hips and squeezing them. "You've been acting like a brat ever since I got back down here." Ethan's voice drops, laced with lust that makes you clench around nothing. You move your ass to where his crotch is, his hardness pressed against you making him let out a small hiss.

"What are gonna do? Bend me over and tell me what a bad girl I've been while spanking me?" You say as you ghost your lips over his ear before lightly nipping it. Ethan grabs the back of your head, bringing you to his face.

"You're playing with fire baby." He growls.

"Its a good thing I like it hot." You respond.

Before you can process what's happening, Ethan picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, storming upstairs to your master bathroom and turning on the shower. Ethan slams his lips into yours and you swear they're going to be swollen tomorrow. He pulls off your bra and shorts, leaving you in your black lace thong. Ethan sits on the steps to the bathtub that is separated from the shower.

"C'mere," he says. You walk over, your core aching with need. Ethan has you lie on your stomach across his lap. He wraps his hand gently around your throat. His fingers ghost over your back, down the curve of your ass, and in between your thighs. You let out a sigh at the feeling of his long fingers caressing your clothed aching core. You feel Ethan begin to move your panties to the side, rubbing your soaked folds. Just as quick as it starts, it stops and you feel a harsh smack on your ass. You moan at the stinging pain before Ethan smacks your other cheek.

"You want to act like a brat, I'll treat you like one." He says pulling your panties down, slipping his fingers inside. You gasp at the feeling as starts fingering you, your clit rubbing against his leg. You groan at the feeling of his hardness pressed against your stomach. He grabs you by your ponytail, the sting adding to your pleasure. Ethan harshly pulls you so his lips ghost against the shell of your ear.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're not gonna be able to walk right. Cum so deep inside you that you'll be dripping." He says making you moan.

"Please, Eth. I need you so bad." Your voice shakes.

"So now want to be a good girl?".

"Yes." You breathe out desperately. "I'll be a good girl. I promise." The ache in between your thighs burning now. Ethan slips his fingers from your soaked core and lets go of your ponytail while removing it. You sit up in his lap, kissing him roughly. He pulls away, looking into your eyes.

"You trust me?" His lips brushed against your.

"Fuck yes." Excitement bubbling in your stomach for what he has next.

Ethan picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He walks over to the shower, placing you inside. The water hits your body, hot but not too hot to scold you. Ethan grabs your wrists and places them above the shower head. You watch him as he takes your hair tie and wraps it around, tying your wrists together making it into restrains. You feel yourself getting wetter.

"Not too tight?" He asks gently stroking your arms, making sure you're okay; even in the middle of hot rough sex.

"It's perfect." You say breathless. Your heart picks up its pace. This wasn't the first time Ethan tied you up. But being attached to the showerhead while he eyed you up and down while the water flowed down your body made it even more erotic than it already was. Ethan backs away looking you in the eyes. He slips off his shorts and his boxers and you lick your lips at how hard he is. Ethan steps into the shower and grabs the detachable shower head on the side. He turns it on, placing it between your thighs. Your head leans back from the feeling of the hot water against your folds. Ethan's hand reaches your breast and tugs your nipple making you gasp. Ethan kisses your neck, his teeth grazing for skin, making your body break out in goosebumps. Your body aches as Ethan twirls your sensitive bud between his fingers, your back arching. He lets go of your nipple, and grabs your hair, pulling your head back to give him more access to your throat. You moan, tugging against the restraint keeping your wrists together, wanting to run your fingers through his damp dark locks. Pulling away from your throat, he places the shower head back on the wall. Grabbing your neck, Ethan pushes your head against the shower.

"You move, I stop. Got that?" His rough voice makes your arousal fall down your thighs. You nod your head, not speaking because of knowing how fucked your voice will sound. Ethan's hand flexes slightly against your throat, not to hurt you at all, just give a tiny bit of pressure.

"Use your words." He says, his lips barely touching yours, driving you crazy.

"Yes, Sir." You say in labored breaths.

"That's my good girl," Ethan says letting go of your neck. He kisses down your body, nipping and sucking your hot skin while his fingers ghost against your body. His hot tongue hits the skin against the valley of your breast, tracing further south until kneeling in front of you. Ethan kisses your inner thigh almost touching your soaked slit. You yelp at the feeling of his teeth nipping at your flesh. Dark, lustful green eyes bore into yours.

"Don't. Move." He says sternly.

Your eyes lock onto his face, wanting so badly to grab him and crash your lips into his. Taking one leg, Ethan places it over his shoulder. The hot air of his breath fanning your core making you whine. "Ethan... I need you."

"You're not getting anything unless you ask me the right way." He says, as you feel him blow on your sensitive clit, you trying your best not you move.

"Please... I need you so bad, Eth." You beg.

Once the words leave your mouth, Ethan's tongue dives in between your legs. You hear nothing but the sound of your heart pounding, the water showering over your bodies, and the sound of Ethan's mouth sucking your clit. He looks up at you, the sight full of pure sin as he begins licking up your folds, his nose bumping your clit causing your heat to ache, slickness running down your thighs. You whine at the feeling of Ethan's fingers dancing around your entrance, hardly touching you.

"Look how fucking soaked you are for me. Pussy's been dying for me all day hasn't it?." He asks, sliding his fingers through your lips.

"Oh shit... Yes, Sir." You cry loudly staring at Ethan, his wet locks scattered across his face and long lashes being kissed by small water droplets from the shower. The need to push the hair out of his face and kiss him growing. Without warning Ethan slips his fingers inside you, making you gasp.

"Show how much you need me then." He says moving his fingers inside you. You lean your head back, arching your hips to meet Ethan's hand. Your fingers dig into your hands as his fingers brush up against your g-spot. Ethan's face takes place back between your legs, sucking your sensitive bud as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You cry out in pleasure as he sucks you harshly, fingers fucking you roughly. The heat in your abdomen snaps, your walls tightening around his digits. You cum in his mouth, making him groan at the taste of you. Your body is so hot you don't realize the water is much colder. You almost lose balance on your other leg before Ethan grabs it. He pulls his fingers out of you and wraps your legs around his waist, standing at his full height.

"You're such a good girl, Baby," Ethan says stroking your face. "Can you handle more?"

You bite your lip and nod, feeling his tip poking your dripping entrance.

"I can handle whatever you throw at me." You whisper. That's all Ethan needs to hear before pushing himself into you, his hips touch yours. He groans into your neck, loving the way you squeeze him.

"So fucking tight baby girl." He says, his hips rutting against yours. You moan loudly as your legs wrap tighter around his waist, needing to feel him as deep and close as possible. Your knuckles turn white from needing to grip something. Ethan pushes you back against the cold shower wall and reaches up to your wrists, snapping the hair tie to free you from your restraints. Your hands grab his face quickly and you kiss him hard, making you both moan. The is kiss heated, passionate, and rough as your tongues clash against each other. Your fingers grip tightly on Ethan's hair, pulling on the strands as you grind yourself against him. You both break the kiss, catching your breath.

"Happy to touch me again?" He asks breathing heavily, leaning his head on yours. You touch his face, your thump strokes his cheeks before tracing against his lips.

"So fucking happy." You say, your hands roaming his body. Your arousal drips down his length as he pounds into you, knocking your breath from your lungs with every thrust. Ethan's lips attach to your neck. His hot mouth kissing and sucking the sensitive skin of your neck. The heat in your core starts to become overwhelming, your body feels like it's being zapped by electricity. One of Ethan's hands goes between your legs, rubbing your clit, making you moan loudly.

"Gonna cum for me, Baby? Cum all over my cock while I fuck you til I cum in you?" His voice roughly.

"Y-yes, please. I need it so fucking bad." You whimper. Ethan's fingers go faster, your body shaking as you tighten around him. Your head falls on his shoulder and your nails dig into his back leaving scratches, making him hiss. You cry loudly, your body seizing with pleasure. Ethan moans at the feeling of you tightening around him, his thrusts more erratic before he cums inside you. His hips don't stop until he's empty and you're full of him. Ethan feels your body go limp in his arms.

"You okay?" He asks, his nose bumping yours. You nod too tired to speak. Ethan turns off the shower with you still in his arms. He pulls you up to his chest, slipping out of you. You whimper at the emptiness of him not being inside you.

"I'm right here, Sweetheart," Ethan says softly rubbing your back. You nuzzled his neck, relaxing in his arms. He walks you out of the bathroom to your master bedroom, laying you on the king-sized bed. Ethan climbs in bed pulling you to him and the sheets on top of you both. His hand caresses your cheek and you tiredly look up at him with a smile.

"Not too rough?" He asks concerned.

"No..." you say shaking your head sleepy. "It was just what I needed to go to sleep," you say scooting closer.

"Glad I could be of service." He says smiling making you laugh.

Ethan rubs your wrists soothing any pain while kissing the marks he left on you. Ethan hears you let out an airy chuckle.

"What?" He says smiling at you.

"Nothing. It just never ceases to amaze me how you can be both equally rough and sweet." You say looking into his eyes.

"Like it never ceases to amaze me how you can be so firey and stubborn but also compliant and serviable ." Ethans says with a giant smile while stroking your disheveled h/c locks. You peck his lips before placing one of your hands on his face. Your index finger trails down his nose.

"I'm sorry I punched you in the face... and was such a brat. And about the scratches on your back."

Ethan quietly chuckles while rubbing your sides.

"It's okay. You were just protecting yourself." He says. "As for the scratches on my back, those just mean I did my job." He says pecking your lips. "And I like it when you're feisty."

"Good. Because if that's what's in store for me every time I act up, I'm doing it more often". You say playing with his soft brown locks.

Ethan shakes his head smiling and pulls you into his chest.

"I love you." He says softly "get some sleep."

"I love you more." You say kissing him sleepily.

Ethan traces soothing shapes on your back to help you sleep. He kisses your forehead gently before falling back to sleep.

[gatorbites-imagines]

hello! CAN you write reader with Moon knight? (Marc, Steven, Jake)

Moon boys x male reader 

Headcanons 

Idk, I've been feeling fluffy and yearning for cuddles and snuggles so... Moon boy loving... 

I'm not the most knowledgeable about DID and the different roles alters play in a system, so I won't be going on about that. But I do believe that the boys have different roles when it comes to the moon knight system, but just what, I'm not sure. 

On to the cuddling and snuggling, cuz I've been feeling like an exposed nerve for the past week, and demand it. So y'all will have to live through that. 

Steven has the easiest time being affectionate and physical with their lover. He doesn't carry the same apprehension as Marc or Jake. He also has the easiest time talking about his feelings and needs. 

Their body temperature doesn't change depending on who fronts or anything, but I do think that stuff like their body language does.  

Steven isn't tense like the other two, and doesn't prowl like Jake and Marc can end up doing. He doesn't always look on edge and on the look-out for danger. After everything in Cairo, yeah, he's more aware, but he doesn't let it take all his peace away. 

Steven seems like the type of guy who snuggles close, like he's trying to crawl inside you. He tucks his face into your neck, arms and a leg thrown over you when he's feeling extra snuggly.  

When he gets comfortable, Steven lets out a loud puffed exhale and just melts. He always looks so damn pretty when he sleeps. They all do, if I gotta be honest. 

He likes talking before you guys go to sleep, and after reading it in a book or on some blog, he also doesn't like going to sleep when you guys are mad at each other. This also means he fronts if you are having struggles with either Marc or Jake, so you guys can talk it out too. 

His accent gets thicker in the morning or when he's really sleepy. It's kinda funny how British he can sound. You swear his hair is always more ruffled than Marc and Jake in the morning too. 

Marc doesn't sleep well, and suffers from insomnia and different anxiety and paranoia. Along with the nightmares expected of someone like Marc. 

I could imagine that in the beginning your guy's relationship, he would always be the big spoon or would stay up longer than you, to make sure you guys were safe. 

There would have been nights where he didn't sleep at all, and just laid there awake, listening to you breathe beside you. 

But when your relationship advanced, and the moon boys grew more comfortable, Marc would start allowing himself to be vulnerable. Its very small steps at a time, like sleeping with the lights completely off, or letting you be the big spoon. 

Under all his sharp edges, Marc would be touch starved. They all would. So, when he starts actually receiving cuddles, snuggles and kisses from you, Marc finds his heart almost aching. 

I could see this resulting in him trying to pull away for a period of time, because he's just not used to feeling so safe and cared for. We fear stuff we aren't used too, and especially because it makes him feel so small and vulnerable.  

But when Marc starts accepting it, he becomes a real snuggle-bug. You help ground him, better than anything has before, and being held by you can be the one thing holding him together some days. 

Likes laying with his ear against your chest when you guys sleep, so he can fall asleep to the sound of you breathing and the beat of your heart. 

He isn't much of a talker at night, but he does want to hear about your day. At some point you realize this is the easiest way to make him fall asleep. One time you were able to make him fall asleep explaining the plot of your favorite anime and everything. 

Jake takes the very longest to sleep and cuddle with you. For a good chunk of the relationship, I don't even really see Jake fronting that much. And when he does, he doesn't speak much, and doesn't hold or kiss you. 

Of course, you don't mind this. You don't want to force Jake into anything, but there are times you just yearn to hold and love him too, because you can just see the pain in him whenever he does front. 

It starts very small, like Jake fronting when the other two can't, and just being left alone with you for a while. You guys just sitting beside each other, or eating dinner on the couch and watching a movie. 

Like Marc, Jake would stay awake almost guarding you, and the other two, when you sleep. But he doesn't hold you like Marc does, instead he sits on the bed side you, sometimes holding your hand. 

The cuddling starts out small, like you falling asleep on his shoulder, or Jake fronting when you were already cuddling Steven or Marc. 

He seems the type to hold your hand and kiss the back of it before mumbling some affectionate words in Spanish, instead of the overly physically affectionate type. 

I dont think Jake ever gets as comfortable as the other two, but he grows more affectionate over time. He even ends up lying in bed with you every now and then and rests his eyes. 

He never sleeps fully, but he gets very close when you start running your fingers through his hair, or running your fingers over his facial features. 

It always ends up with Jake kissing the tips of your fingers when you start brushing his bottom lip. He normally has a furrow in his brow and a tight expression, but in moments like this, Jake lets most of the tension melt out of his body. 

[cre8inghavoc]

Can't help it...

Part 9

inumaki x f!reader

pairing: inumaki x f!reader

summary: Transferring to a new school is tough, but having your three best friends there makes it easier. Things get even more interesting when you start falling for the mysterious boy who rides his motorcycle to school every day. What will happen next?

genre/warnings: [18+] Characters are aged up. Story contains cursing, new friends, alcohol, college!au, no curse!au, dark humour, SMAU and written parts, fluff, smut.

Inumaki's POV:

I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours now, and I don’t understand why I can’t sleep. I mean, I’ve always had issues with sleeping—insomnia’s been my constant companion for as long as I can remember—but I thought it was getting better. This past week, for the first time in years, I actually slept well. It was odd, sure, but I wasn’t complaining.

But tonight? Tonight, it’s back to the old ways.

Back to no sleep.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I glanced over at the clock.

4 a.m.

Great.

Should I even bother going to school later? Maybe I should just skip. But then… I wouldn’t see y/n.

Fuck.

The thought of not seeing her tomorrow... or today, technically... made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to think too much about. I let out another frustrated sigh and turned my head to look at my phone on the nightstand. For a moment, I just stared at it, my mind running through all the reasons why texting her at this hour would be a terrible idea.

She’s probably asleep. You’ll wake her up. She’ll think you’re being annoying. Just leave her alone.

But then again… what if she’s awake too? What if she’s thinking about me the way I’m thinking about her right now?

Before I could overthink it anymore, I grabbed my phone, my thumb hesitating over the keyboard. I typed out a message and stared at it for a second, debating whether or not to hit send.

This is stupid. She’s not awake. You’ll look like an idiot.

But my thumb pressed send before I could talk myself out of it.

Hey… you up?

I tossed my phone on the bed beside me and ran a hand over my face, already regretting it. But now all I could do was wait.

Honestly, I was kind of hoping she would respond. It’s not like I can sleep, so maybe talking to her would help. But at the same time… I kind of hope she doesn’t even see my message. Because… what if I’m being too much?

What if she sees it, rolls her eyes, and thinks I’m just some guy who can’t get a grip? Someone who’s bothering her at 4 a.m. for no reason?

I sighed, staring at the faint glow of my phone screen as it sat on the bed next to me. What was I expecting? That she’d magically be awake, texting back right away? And if she did… what would I even say?

Hey, I can’t stop thinking about you?

Yeah, right. That would go over well.

I shook my head, feeling the frustration bubble up in my chest. Why was she in my head so much? Why couldn’t I just… let it go? Ignore it? Pretend I wasn’t thinking about the way she looked at me earlier, or the way her voice shook just a little when she was mad?

I groaned softly, rolling over onto my side and staring at the phone again. One minute passed. Then another. The screen stayed dark, and the silence stretched on. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was better if she didn’t answer.

Because if she did… I wasn’t sure what I’d say next. Or worse, what I’d admit.

But then, to my surprise, my phone buzzed.

I blinked, staring at it for a moment as if I’d imagined the notification. The screen lit up, her name glowing back at me. My heart skipped a beat, and I hesitated before picking it up, as if seeing her response would somehow make this real.

WARNING: SMUT (18+ ONLY) & HEAVY FLIRTING/TEASING

A/N

things are getting veryyy spicy now 👀

hope you enjoyed this little tease

im so sorry this took so look... it was very unexpected ive just been extremely busy and honestly haven't had the energy to write much

yes this is very short butttt i kinda just want some of yalls opinion on this... like would you actually wanna read the smut (next part)

ik its late ASF BUT ENJOY IT PLEASE OR ELSE ILL CRY FR

TAG LIST <3

@madaqueue @mikko-mikko @arabella0001 @swarachxle @s3ns4ti0n4l @jdgfsgdgdvf @tomikixd @arabella0001 @emotionalasf @unofficialsapphire @miowxh @hansl0ver @miowxh

[santaasi]

lens flare

pairing: film director!james potter x actress!reader

summary: a sharp-tongued actress and a sleep-deprived filmmaker collide in the haze of student films, where chaos meets chemistry—and neither of them can call it just art anymore

warnings: slow burn, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.4k

a/n: as promised, another drop of Muse — this time, it’s where it all begins: James meets her. sparks, snark, and a little chaos. I’m already cooking up the next bits, so don’t wander too far.

ᯓ★ now playing…

novo amor - anchor

YOU WERE SPRAWLED AGAINST THE COLD BRICK WALL LIKE YOU BELONGED THERE — half sculpture, half threat — flipping through your monologue with the kind of disinterest that made it clear: you were too good for this class, and absolutely bored out of your mind by it.

Your boots were scuffed, your black coat slouched off one shoulder, and your expression was unreadable — the kind of look that made people pause, stare too long, and immediately wish they hadn’t. You had that energy: the don’t-touch, might-bite, velvet-gloved menace. The professors called it “difficult.” You called it honest.

James Potter was late. Typical. Golden boy of the lens, the chosen one of the film department, darling of every professor who wanted a slice of his inevitable fame. You could practically hear the academic bootlicking echo in the halls.

He arrived like a storm half-contained, bag slung over one shoulder, zipper gaping like it had better places to be. His hair was doing that artful chaos thing — possibly by accident, possibly by design. There were dark shadows under his eyes, bruises gifted by insomnia and the weight of too many unfinished scripts. He looked like he hadn’t slept in three days and had filmed through all of them.

You clocked him immediately: the film kid. Addicted to caffeine and the thrill of a perfect shot. The type to fall in love with lighting, to lose sleep over framing. His fingers twitched like they were hunting for a camera, like every second without one was a moment wasted.

He was scanning the crowd, eyes darting like he was looking for a lifeboat in a sea of mediocrity.

Then he saw you.

You didn’t move.

“Is this the line for Film School Disillusionment Anonymous?” he asked, voice low, tentative. Almost charming. Almost.

You glanced up, slow and deliberate, a queen granting an audience. Your eyes flicked over him like a razor.

“No,” you said, voice laced with velvet and venom. “This is the line for ‘Everyone Here Thinks They’re Scorsese But Can’t Even Balance a Tripod.’”

A beat. Then another.

His grin unfurled — lazy, amused, but there was something softer behind it too. Like he knew he’d just found trouble and wasn’t sure if he wanted to run from it or get closer. The best kind of danger.

He laughed, quick and surprised, like your voice had jolted him awake. “Harsh.”

You tilted your head just slightly, your voice smooth like silk pulled over knives. “True.”

He shifted his weight, one foot back like he might leave — but didn’t. “You waiting for Intro to Cinematic Language?”

“No,” you said, eyes flicking back down to your monologue. “I’m waiting for death. But I’ll settle for poorly lit documentaries and secondhand existential dread.”

He laughed again, fuller this time. There was warmth in it — unforced, a little charmed. “So you are in the course.”

You shrugged one shoulder, deliberately careless. “I’m an actor. I only show up when it’s mandatory or when I feel like giving someone a complex.”

That made him blink — caught off guard and clearly intrigued. He looked at you like you were something he hadn’t expected to find, and wasn’t quite sure he deserved to.

“You good?” he asked, quieter now. Less teasing. More... interested.

You looked up again, slower this time. Let your eyes meet his. He didn’t look away.

“I’m the best in my year,” you said simply. Not arrogant — just factual. A truth you were used to people ignoring.

He smiled. A little crooked, a little careful. “Confident.”

“Earned,” you said.

There was a pause — long enough to be uncomfortable, but neither of you filled it.

He stood there, like he wasn’t sure if he should sit down or say something else or just keep looking at you. You felt it then, just a flicker — a pull in your chest you didn’t like. A small, unwelcome ache that told you: Don’t let him leave yet.

So you flipped the page of your monologue but didn’t read it. You didn’t look at him either, but you spoke again.

“You’re the guy, right? Potter. Everyone wants to be in your films.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“I don’t audition for people who don’t cast me,” you said, voice razor-edged but smooth. Like the words had been practiced. Maybe they had.

His expression shifted. He was studying you now, really studying you — not just your face, but something behind it.

“I haven’t held auditions yet,” he said, quiet. “But I know who you are.”

You finally glanced up, wary. “Do you.”

“Yeah.” A small smile. “You’re the girl who makes professors nervous.”

A pause. Your lips quirked — just a little. Almost a smile. Almost.

“Good,” you said. “They bore me.”

You turned your attention back to your script, as if he didn’t matter, as if you hadn’t already memorized the shape of his voice. But the air between you felt different now. Thicker.

He didn’t leave. And you didn’t ask him to.

The hallway buzzed with idle noise — students shifting bags, someone coughing too dramatically, the hum of fluorescent lights. But between you and him, there was a sudden stillness. Like a breath held too long.

He studied you for a second longer, eyes catching on the way you held your script like it bored you, like it was beneath you, like you might crumple it or set it on fire just to feel something. He looked at you the way someone might look at the edge of a rooftop — not scared, but aware. Tempted.

Then he nodded, slow, like something had just clicked. Like he’d figured out the shape of a puzzle piece he hadn’t realized he was missing.

“Do you do shorts?” he asked.

You blinked. “Do I what?”

“Short films,” he clarified, scratching the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to talking without a camera buffer. “I mean– I’m a director. Or... trying to be. I shoot a lot. I’m always looking for–”

“A muse?” you cut in, the word slicing through the air like broken glass. Dismissive. Dangerous.

He flinched — not in the way most boys did around you, not out of shame or retreat, but something quieter. Like you’d just touched a bruise he forgot he had.

“No,” he said, his voice softer, almost reverent. “A spark.”

You stared at him. Hard. The silence stretched, electric and unyielding. That was a stupid line. Maybe the stupidest you’d ever heard. So earnest it was almost embarrassing.

And yet–

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath. “You’re serious.”

He looked like he wanted to laugh it off, but didn’t. Instead, he stood there in that soft vulnerability, wearing it like an open wound. He didn’t posture. Didn’t pretend. Just looked at you like you were already part of something he was building in his head.

“Would you ever want to be in something I shoot?” he asked.

Your head tilted, slow and catlike. Curious, but not inviting. Your eyes narrowed, calculating — not in a cruel way, but in the way someone does when they’ve been offered one too many promises that turned out hollow. You were the type who didn’t say yes to just anyone. Especially not boys who talked about sparks like they meant it.

“Let me guess,” you said. “No script. No funding. Lighting by desk lamp and the dim glow of desperation.”

He grinned, something crooked and self-aware curling at the edge of his mouth. “No desk,” he replied, and you hated that it made your lips twitch.

You snorted, sharp, involuntary. “And what, I’m supposed to say yes because you think I’ve got a spark?”

“No,” he said. “You’re supposed to say yes because you want to burn something down with it.”

And there it was.

That flicker.

The temperature changed. The space between you warmed like someone had lit a match and held it too close to your skin. Not enough to blister. Just enough to notice.

Something inside your chest stirred, low and reluctant. A quiet part of you you’d learned to ignore — something that leaned in when you wanted to lean away.

You dropped your gaze back to your monologue, but the words had stopped making sense. Letters blurred, lines floated. You weren’t really reading anymore.

He hadn’t moved. And still, you didn’t tell him to go.

It wasn’t the line. It wasn’t even his voice, though it had a kind of raw, unfiltered warmth that caught on the air like smoke.

It was the weight of what he meant. The stillness behind it. The way he wasn’t flirting, not really — he wasn’t trying to impress you with clever words or movie quotes or whatever boys like him usually lob at girls like you.

No. He was offering you something quieter. A mirror. A lens. A chance to be seen in sharp, honest focus.

You stared at him a beat too long, your gaze fixed and unreadable, your mouth curved into something dangerous — half-smirk, half-warning. Like you were both amused and armed. Like he’d wandered too close to something wild and sleek and waiting.

Then, without a word, you pushed off the wall.

Smooth. Unhurried. Feline.

Your body moved like it already owned the hallway. Your boots echoed against the tile, your bag slung over one shoulder with a kind of practiced elegance that said: I didn’t come here to be chosen. I came to make you regret not choosing me sooner.

As you brushed past him, close enough that your jacket ghosted the sleeve of his hoodie, you let the scent of your perfume trail behind — something heady and dark, like amber lit with ash.

You didn’t look at him. Not really. But your voice followed the movement, low and silken, sharp enough to draw blood:

“You’d better write fast, director.”

The word tasted like velvet and threat in your mouth.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. But you felt it — the heat of his eyes on the back of your neck. The way silence bloomed between you like a storm cloud just starting to form.

That was the first time.

You should’ve walked away. Let the moment fizzle, let the tension crackle and fade.

You definitely shouldn’t have shown up to his dorm three days later.

But you did.

You knocked like it meant nothing. And he opened the door like he’d been waiting. Like he knew it would be you.

The place was exactly what you’d expected: cramped, messy in a charming way, too many coffee mugs and half-charged camera batteries, the air thick with the smell of stale takeout and worn books and the citrus-clean scent of him. Scripts were pinned up like prayer scrolls on the wall, half-finished storyboards scattered across his desk, light streaming in through cheap blinds like something divine trying to break in.

He looked surprised. But not shocked.

You raised one eyebrow. “You said you needed a spark.”

He blinked at you, the corner of his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. “You came.”

“I didn’t say I was staying,” you said, crossing the threshold anyway, slow and deliberate, eyes already scanning the room like you were sizing up a scene.

He stepped aside like he couldn’t look away. Like watching you walk into his world was the beginning of something.

And maybe it was.

You saw the script on his desk — half-written, title scratched out, notes in the margins that looked more like obsessions than revisions. Your fingers brushed the cover without picking it up.

“No ending?” you asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “I think I was waiting for you to finish it.”

You hated how that landed. Hated that part of you — the part you didn’t let anyone touch — lit up like a struck match.

You turned away so he wouldn’t see it on your face. The flicker. The crack. That stupid, dangerous spark.

But you didn’t leave.

You could’ve. 

You should’ve. 

But something about the way he looked at you — like he wasn’t trying to figure you out, like he already had — made your legs forget how to walk away. 

You told yourself it was just one scene, one night, one experiment. A favor. A whim.

That first time, with a cereal box propping up a desk lamp and a script scratched onto the back of a torn syllabus, felt like it should’ve been a disaster. But it wasn’t. Not even close. 

He watched you through the lens like you were more than just the girl who made snide comments and wore too much eyeliner. Like you were something he’d been looking for without realizing it. Something that made sense in frame. Something that stuck.

So you came back.

And then again.

And again.

Every semester, every half-formed idea he scrawled in a notebook at 3 a.m., every manic, sleepless shoot with zero funding and too much ambition. You ran through rain without permits. Cried in the backseat of borrowed cars. Did five takes of a breakup in a stranger’s kitchen while dawn crawled through the window. 

It wasn’t glamorous, not even close — but there was something electric in it. Something alive. You were always there, at the center of it all. His constant. His chaos. The voiceover he wrote lines for before he even had a plot. He filmed you like he couldn’t help it. Like the camera missed you when you were out of frame.

You became the face of his thesis film. 

Then the next one. 

Then the one he didn’t even tell anyone he was making, just shot in fragments because he couldn’t sleep and missed the sound of your voice. 

At some point, it stopped being about the project. Or maybe it always was about the project — only you were the project. The part he didn’t want to finish. He said it was chemistry. You said it was chaos. But even then, even when you laughed it off or rolled your eyes or acted like it didn’t mean anything — deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

There was no story he wanted to tell that didn’t start and end with you.

thankx for reading <3

okay… I think it’s official — I’m obsessed. I’ve spent my entire sunday writing, editing, and making things for Muse, and I’m not even sorry about it. I’ll be posting headcanons soon (my first ever!), all about james and muse. also made a separate masterlist just for this universe — with all the chapters and extra content. not sure if I’ll post everything in chronological order, but I’ll do my best to keep it somewhat organized.

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist // muse script

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Can we please get some headcanons with toshinori and/or aizawa with a gn s/o who practices witchcraft? Like they walk into the house and their s/o is just like cleansing the place with a smudge stick? You're very sweet and I love your work. Thank you so much!

I'll be the first to admit that I know very little about witchcraft other than what is available online, so I tried to keep it non-specific. I'm not sure which are closed practices or not, so hopefully these are alright! :) Apologies if not!

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾ 

Toshinori Yagi:

This man is such a supportive partner—so while he might not understand any of your practices, he’s already giving you a big thumbs up when you bust out the works

You’ll be like, “Hey babe, it’s a full moon tonight, can you leave out the mason jars to collect moon water for me?”

Done and done.

You won’t even have to ask him again, because same time next month, he remembers to do it and now it’s his little chore! He likes that he can help you out with the smaller things

He’s gonna get so anxious when you bust out the tarot cards and try to give him a reading

He does NOT want to get a bad fortune, man’s struggling enough with his health as it is 

And you’re like “babe, it’s not about bringing you good or bad luck. It’s for introspection and spiritual guidance.” 

Oh… okay yeah, that doesn’t sound so bad, lol

Try to involve him when you’re looking at new gemstones! Talk to him about each of their energies and magical properties. They’re expensive, but he doesn’t mind, he’ll spoil you 

If he can manage to figure out how to use reddit, he’ll go on r/rockhounds and try to find precious and semi-precious stones local to the area so he can find you some

Overall, very sweet and supportive of your witchcraft even if he doesn’t always get it

He’ll make an effort to learn more and educate himself on it, because he wants to learn more about you and your beliefs

I.e. ‘Wicca and Witchcraft for Dummies!’

Wont ever admit it, but kind of wants to see you try on a stereotypical witch’s outfit, thinks you’d look really cute…

Shota Aizawa: 

Shane and Ryan duo type of beat

Not gonna lie, he’s thinks it’s all full of shit. He’s naturally a skeptic, and is probably gonna say something luke-warm like, “I believe that’s what you believe,” if you ask him

Same thing with astrology and tarot readings. He’ll humor you and let you read him, but isn’t going to put much weight into whatever it says

…although, there was this strange coincidence that happened the other day?

He’ll come home late one night from teaching and all the lights will be off save for some lit candles. And there you are, the shadows dancing on your face as you murmur intentions into the cosmos, practicing your works

He’ll feel a little shiver crawl up his spine because you look ethereal and powerful and beautiful all at once. Takes everything in him to politely wait for you to finish before he jumps your bones

He gets little to no sleep, so you’ll cleanse the bedroom and get him some lepidolite to help with insomnia and restfulness

He doesn’t know if it actually worked or if it’s just a placebo effect, but he’s starting to sleep through the night more often

Give this crusty man the works, boo, he NEEDS it

Herbal oils and teas, crystal accessories, little charms and protection spells—make him literally buzz with all that good energy

[pixiestickfics]

within the middle of the night

pairing? piers x fairy type trainer!reader

wc; 580

tags; fluff, piers typical insomnia, reader has a sylveon because who doesnt love sylveon? this is so sweet it made my teeth ache writing it. piers' middle of the night sleepless thoughts. Small amount of they/them used, mostly you/yours, soft piers even if he doesn't want to admit it

fic below the cut for space ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Piers wasn’t a soft man, he was a gym leader, the second strongest. He’d never be considered “soft”, nor would the thought of him going soft plague anybody’s mind as much as it did his.

From the day he had seen the fairy type trainer approach him in his gym, he couldn’t deny the way his heart sped up a little, or palms became a bit sweaty as he held onto the mic stand for a second too long. Watching them effortlessly guide their sylveon throughout the battle, the bond between the trainer and the fox-like pokemon was clear.

He couldn’t deny that after that battle, after handing over the dark-type badge, he wanted to see them again. The way his heart would beat a bit faster when they were around was exhilarating, the way they would grin while they were battling because their sylveon would have the type advantage, the way they’d make sure to heal his pokemon themselves just to make his work a bit easier on him.

Arceus, he was a lost cause, but that didn’t make him soft.

Even as he laid here, said trainer fast asleep, cuddled up to him like he was a stuffed animal, their sylveon curled up behind their legs. He was laying awake on his side, one hand carding through your hair as he could feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. He was having a hard time falling asleep,]so instead he focused on you.

The way your hair felt against his fingers, the sound of your quiet breathing. All the little details about the scene he was currently in made it feel like this was where he truly belonged, with you by his side, in his arms.

In moments like this, his mind would wander a bit. Wandering back to their first date, back to those lazy days from before he had retired, from the days where he felt like it was impossible to leave the house, even on a day off. All of those memories had one common factor, you, the fairy type trainer currently clinging to him in their sleep. All of them involve you.

Even now, when you were sleeping so peacefully in his arms, one hand in your hair. Whenever you stirred, he’d pause, his hand continuing the motion of running through your hair as he pressed a kiss against your forehead, beginning to quietly hum. 

He’d quickly learnt humming was a good way to lull you back to sleep, one of the first nights you’d spent over in fact. He could vividly remember that night, both you and him were having a hard time sleeping, adjusting positions what seemed like every five minutes, so after about an hour of the cycle, he pulled you to his chest and began quietly humming. He’d realized humming could be effective at lulling some people to sleep when Marnie was young, so he just acted on his instinct at that moment, and judging by how quickly you had finally fallen asleep and the small snores coming from you, it was effective.

He’d always remember that night. Sure, once he realized what he had done his heart was practically beating out of his chest, but hearing you finally get some sleep after an hour or two of tossing and turning made it worth it.

Okay, maybe he was a bit soft for you.. but he didn’t mind as much as he would’ve thought he would've.

[radi8290]

yhs sillies!! these are my designs for early yhs, bc of course every arc has to have tiny details changed to represent the mental downfall of the character

sam was a cringe fail boy loser at the start and ya’ll know it !! he scared and was scared of the hoes

hcs —>

he has half white, half brown hair but dyes most of the white out. his hair is super curly so he straightens it every morning

he’s half wolf half bunny hybrid (wisc type beat), he’s got weird ahh rabbit feet, ears and a wolf tail he tucks away

he hides his ears under the bunny hat so the ears can move

taurtis ! he was silly but gord was he as bad as sam

hcs —>

listens to y2k white girl music

he has narcolepsy and insomnia, the only sleep he gets in on the train to school

yuki !! i love yuki cringefail girlboss save me

hcs —>

her bracelets are from ellen, soul and sookie

her dad brought her a car for her 15th and has paid the cops off so she just drives around to let off steam

has some demon blood in her, her horns come out towards the end of yhs

and them together <2 i unofficially titled my yhs rewrite yhs:r, r for reset bc timeline stuff but apparently the new yhs is called yhsr so we gotta workshop that

[bloodibambiidoll]

You’ll Never Be A Burden

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: When you can’t get out of bed, answer your phone, or shake the feeling of hopelessness your boyfriend is there to reassure you that he will always be there for you no matter what. WK: 1.6k moodboard

Warnings: Talk of mental illness, depression, feeling unloved/unworthy of love, not being able to get out of bed, insomnia, food mention, hurt/comfort, Eddie being the sweetest sweetie. Just all around this is centered around mental illness and how it feels to be too depressed to get out of bed. Please let me know if I missed any. Also I wrote this in one sitting so there’s probably typos. 18+MDNI

A/N: I don’t specifically mention a certain mental illness but for me this is how it feels when I’m having a BPD episode. So for me this symbolizes borderline depression but it can apply to any type of depression or mental low. I’ve been really going through it lately, so I just harnessed how I feel into writing this and it was very therapeutic. I wish Eddie could come hold me.

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been laying in bed in between awake and asleep at this point. A few hours? A day? Two? All you know is that the clock on your nightstand reads 2:48AM and you have been trying to force your brain to shut off since it read 8PM. You tried everything to calm the war raging inside your mind. You took so many deep breaths at this point you lost count, you pulled all the blankets over your head and tightened your body into the smallest ball you possibly could, you rocked back and forth while you repeated your mantra of “you’re okay” to yourself over and over again. But no matter what you did you couldn’t stop the negative thoughts from swimming around inside you.

You hated when you got like this. Overcome by this feeling of hopelessness. The feeling of shame. Loneliness. Not being able to shake the feeling as if you’re a burden to everyone around you. So you isolate yourself. Not wanting to drag anyone down with your negativity, not wanting to lash out at the people who are just trying to help you, not being able to bear the feeling of being alone in a room full of people.

Your friends had all texted and called you, social media notifications and voicemails piling up. Not even being able to muster up the energy to pick up the phone and respond to the one person you knew would make you feel better. So instead you thought of him. The way his beautiful eyes lit up when a smile spread across his lips. The way it felt to have his arms around you, his smell, his soothing voice. It’s what kept you going on days like this. Him.

Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up the phone. To ask him to come hold you. You were embarrassed, embarrassed of the disaster your house has become, embarrassed of your unbrushed teeth and messy hair, the pajama pants that felt like they were stuck to your body. You didn’t want him to see you like this. He’s only ever seen you like this once, and he was amazing, perfect even. But to this day you beat yourself up over those days he took care of you, washed you, held you while you sobbed, read to you in exaggerated voices until you dozed off with your head in his lap and his fingers in your hair.

You know he wouldn’t mind, that he was happy to help you, be there for you. But you were so scared of him seeing you differently and changing his mind about you. You were terrified that if he saw the real you, truly, that he would leave. You’d become too much, too little, never the right amount, just like you always did.

That’s why when you heard a knock on your door your heart race picked up, you felt your skin flush, because you knew it was him. You knew he’d come, you knew he’d be worried and you can’t decide if worrying him to the point that he showed up at your door or just texting him back was worse. You heard him knock lightly on the door a few more times before you heard the key you had given him turning the lock.

“Baby? Are you here? I just came to check on you… haven’t heard from you since yesterday morning and I was starting to worry.”

His voice became louder as he talked, his footsteps padding down the hall to your bedroom door. Your head was still shoved under your blankets so you didn’t see him but you heard the knob turn and the door swing open.

“Sweetheart…”

Eddie’s heart nearly shattered when he opened your bedroom door. Your room was trashed, the black out curtains drawn blocking out the moonlight, and even your fairy lights you always had on, even in the night, were shut off. He couldn’t see you, but he could see the outline of you and hear your breathing. He walks over to your bed and sits on the side next to the lump of blankets you’ve buried yourself in. His hand comes up and runs along your side and it causes you to jump.

“Baby… please let me help you? Let me take care of you. I know you’re scared of being a burden but you’re never a burden to me.” He continued to run his hand up and down your body, the feeling already causing your body to subconsciously relax just the tiniest bit. “Can you come out? Please? I wanna see my girl.”

“I look horrible Eddie… I don’t want you to see me like this.” You pull the blanket tighter against you, shutting him out no matter how loud your body screamed at you to just throw yourself into his arms.

“I’ve seen you wasted, vomiting your guts out in Harrington’s bathtub, it can’t be much worse than that baby. Come oooonnnnn pleeeseee. I’m not above begging.”

He chuckles, his hand squeezing your hip lightly before it resumes caressing you. You sigh, pulling the blanket back just enough to peak your eyes out and him and your heart swells. He’s so beautiful, just the sight of him made butterflies erupt in your stomach. Just being near him made you feel just a little bit more alive. He pushes the blanket the rest of the way off your head, smoothing your hair out of your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl. Hi baby.”

He cups your face in his hand, running his thumb along your sweaty cheek, not caring if you think you look awful, you’re always gorgeous to him. Even like this. Especially like this. Raw and real. He wants you to feel safe with him when you’re in this low place. He wants to sink down to your level and pull you back up with his hand in yours. Eddie would do anything for you. He knows that scares you, he knows you want to believe him but it’s hard to fight the feeling that he’s going to abandon you. But he will do whatever it takes to prove you wrong. To prove that he isn’t like everyone else. To prove that he will stay.

“Hi.” Your voice comes out a scratchy and whiney and it makes you even more embarrassed than you already are. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for sweetheart. I’m here for you, always. I brought your favorite snacks, bubbles, and your favorite teddy bear, me. Come here, let me hold you.”

He pushes the blanket back further and you shiver when the cool air of your room hits your body. He holds his arms out to you and your whole body tingles. He’s here for you. He wants to be here for you, and even though that terrifies you, the soft look on his face makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe. You push yourself up and he grabs you by the forearms pulling you into his lap and cradling you like a small child.

As soon as his arms are around you the floodgates open, sobs leaving your entire body shaking while your tears soak Eddie’s t-shirt. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just holds you while you cry, running his hands through your tangled hair, caressing your skin under your oversized shirt, kissing on your tear stained cheeks. After a while your sobs turn to small cries before they finally stop.

“It’s okay baby girl, you’re okay. I’m here for you, okay? Let me run us a nice bath, afterwards you can eat something, only if you want, if not that’s okay, I just want you to drink some water for me okay?”

“Okay Eddie… thank you, I-“

“Shh, you don’t have to thank me and you don't need to apologize, I’m your boyfriend and I love you, let me be here for you.” He smiles sweetly at you, rubbing the remaining tears from your cheeks and gathering you in his arms.

Eddie spends the night making good on his promises. He pampers you in the bath, washing you and brushing your hair, even putting lotion on your skin afterwards. He puts your comfort movie on tv in the living room so you can lay on the couch while he makes your safe meal. He doesn’t push you to talk, he knows you will when you’re ready. He holds you and tells you he loves you while he makes commentary on your favorite movie. When you finally start to feel sleep creeping up on you he ushers you back to your bed, the sheets now changed because he insisted it wasn’t a big deal. He holds you tight, and kisses you over and over again. He even gets you to giggle and pulls a genuine smile out of you a few times.

As you lay there in the love of your life’s arms you feel less hopeless. You feel less alone. You feel your body start to warm inside from the tips of your toes all the way to your nose as he places a gentle kiss on it. You feel safe. You regret not calling him sooner but the fact that he came without you even asking makes it even more special to you. Your mind can tell you he doesn’t care all it wants, because he’s always there to tell you he does.

“I love you angel, get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll always be here.”

“I love you Eddie. I know you told me not to thank you, but thank you, for being here for me. For being you.” You nuzzle your face into his neck, placing a gentle kiss there before you doze off into a peaceful sleep. In the arms of someone you know loves you.

[icyg4l]

PAC: What Upgrades are Coming Into Your Life?

Hello beautiful people, so sorry for the delay on readings. I've been really distracted lol. But tonight marked the end of the $5 4/20 weekend sale. I am grateful for those who have purchased a reading. Now, if you would like to purchase a reading, please read my guidelines and let me know! (They will be regularly priced until another sale comes along). Now, this weekend’s PAC will be all about the upgrades that are coming in your life! Whether that’s in your career, home, family, finances, love, etc. We’ll find together! So without further ado, please pick your Megan baby. 🤭

Top Left-to-Bottom Right (1-4):

PIle One, I feel like things have been getting hectic in your life. I think that this is a group of people who can get easily distracted by the small things. A lot of you are going through a breakup/separation from someone that betrayed you or love bombed you. I can feel my throat tightening as I’m typing this. I’m sorry, Pile One but this is a blessing in disguise. I think that this will be a death/rebirth period for you. I am seeing snippets of the Hiss video, specifically when Megan is dressed in all silver. I think you will come out stronger than ever. When I say stronger, I mean you will be less tolerant with other people’s bullshit and having better boundaries. I feel like someone tried to dominate you and as a result, it ruined your self-esteem. I see you taking some time to yourself and realizing who the fuck you are. You need to know that things will get better. Anything that happens over the course of the next seven days is meant to happen, Pile One. 

Cards Used: The Empress (RX), Prince of Cups, 7 of Swords, Strength, The Hermit, 3 of Swords (RX), The Magician, Temperance (RX), The Lovers (RX). 

extras: “bovine”. playing the dozens. hbcu bound. 1H lilith. a full shopping cart. laughter.

Pile Two: If you suffer from insomnia, you will absolutely start to get better sleep. Pile Two, you’re such a smart worker. I know you don’t like to work hard, and you will be getting a reward for that. I see a promotion coming your way. If you have a boss that has an explosive temper, I see that this will happen within the next three weeks. Your life also seems chaotic like Pile Two. You also seem like the obsessive type. I feel like this is a pile full of nightowls as well. Part of your upgrade process will mean embracing your shadow side. I think that you have some trouble with other women (if you’re a woman), or having trouble embracing your soft side. It is okay to be vulnerable. I also see if you’re on the search for a new car, then a woman will co-sign a loan for you. It seems like you will be changing from the inside out. The longer it takes for you to address the issues that you have going on internally, the longer the results will come. I am seeing that when you finally decide to open up and be vulnerable, the physical changes will manifest. For example, if you want longer hair, your hair will grow two inches. If you want to change your life, change your mind Pile Two. And I’d recommend you look up the term ‘limerence’. Start making changes to become more grounded and less clouded by delusions, fantasies and looping thoughts about stuff that does not exist in your reality. It’s time to let them go, Pile Two.

Cards Used: 4 of Cups, Queen of Cups, The Chariot, Ace of Discs, 3 of Discs, The Devil, King of Cups (RX), The Tower, 9 of Swords

extras: listening to nightcore. “egoic”. meat market. fresh beat band. beauty shop (2005). picker-upper.

Pile Three: Your hard work is finally going to pay off. You’ve been obsessing over your work and dedicating so much of your time to it. It is finally going to receive some recognition because you decided to not give up on your dreams. As a result, I see that your dream lifestyle will be well-funded. If you’re an artist or a clothing designer, this will especially resonate with you. The amount of time that you spent on your passion will be appreciated by many eyes, Pile Three. If you’ve been having a hard time accepting someone for who they are, or if you have been struggling with your emotions in general, I see that you will get a handle on it. And also, if you’re looking for a vendor, you will find one! You are being called to continue to focus on your craft. I am channeling this interview of GloRilla where she says that she abstained from relations with men, partying and alcohol for sixty days before she blew up. Then FNF was released, and that marked the start of her mainstream journey. So, keep going baby!!

Cards Used: Wheel of Fortune, Strength (RX), 5 of Cups, Queen of Cups, 7 of Cups, Princess of Discs, The Devil, 3 of Discs, Temperance, The Star

extras: christina aguilera. spiders. a series of unfortunate events. award shows.

Pile Four: The only way that you can learn from your mistakes is if you actually implement the lesson into your life, Pile Four. I can tell that you’re stubborn. Once you really understand that nothing can change if YOU don’t move things around, you will know how powerful you are. Some of you may have a really thick (and attractive) accent. I think that you can use this to your advantage to make things shake for you. Pile Four, do you really know yourself? Like outside of the things that you do and have, who are you? It is time for you to do some soul searching, my love. It feels like I am talking to a shell of you. I think that the upgrades that are coming in will involve other people. You will find someone who helps you embrace your rawest, natural self. I also think that you will be interested in fitness and will find a workout partner. Investing in yourself physically will impact you emotionally. You do not need to go back to your old self because they’re gone. Take pride in this new you. I feel that your spirituality will strengthen as well. Your boundaries will grow stronger, and as this happens, you will lose more friends unfortunately. But I don’t think you’ll be affected by it. Overall, I feel like this pile will gain a lot of clarity and mental strength to start breaking generational curses and shedding old skin. You got this, Pile Four!

Cards Used: 8 of Cups, The Star, Death, 9 of Swords, 7 of Wands, The Fool, Temperance, Page of Wands, The Lovers

extras: “you smell good.” “be you.” jump by tyla. maison margiela. kick-ass. wwe.

[mylovesstuffs]

Melodies Through the Walls

A/N: Happy Birthday, Yoongi! Hope you’re having a day that’s as chill and meaningful as you are. You’ve inspired so many people with your music, your words, and just by being yourself. I hope this year brings you even more happiness, good health, and all the things that make life a little sweeter. Take it easy, get some rest, and maybe treat yourself to something nice (or at least let someone else do it for you). Wishing you nothing but the best—always! See you soon 🥺

Word count: 1241

You’ve just moved into your new apartment in Seoul. The walls are thin, the floors creak, and the neighbors...well, they’re a mystery. Especially the one next door.

He’s a man of few words, always wears headphones, keeps to himself, and never makes eye contact. You often catch glimpses of him from your balcony—a flash of black hair, a quick exit through the front door, always carrying a black backpack slung over his shoulder. Yoongi, you’ve heard people call him in passing.

At first, you don’t mind. You’re just here to find peace. To escape the noise, the pressure, the expectations. But there’s something about him that catches your attention. It’s the way he never seems to notice when you smile in his direction. Or when he walks past you, pretending you don’t exist, not even acknowledging your presence. And yet, over time, it starts to feel like you know him. Like you’re tied to him by some invisible thread.

It’s a rainy evening when it begins.

You get home to find that your umbrella’s broken from the wind, and the rain’s not letting up. As you stand in the lobby, trying to decide what to do, you hear a soft knock on your door. Confused, you open it, and there’s an umbrella: new, sleek, black, waiting by your feet. No note. No sign of who left it.

You’re almost certain it’s him.

A few days pass, and the small things keep happening. The flickering light in the hallway that you thought would be left unchecked is somehow now fixed. A faint scent of something warm and sweet seems to linger outside his door whenever you pass by. And then, the sound.

It’s late. You’re awake, staring at the ceiling, insomnia creeping in, refusing to let you sleep. The sound of the apartment complex does nothing to soothe you. But then you hear it—soft, hesitant piano notes drifting through the thin walls, like the melody’s trying to reach you. It’s familiar, and yet not. The type of music that resonates deep within you. It calms your racing thoughts, and you find yourself leaning against the wall, your ear pressed against it.

It’s him. You know it’s him.

Without thinking, you stand up, your hand reaching for the doorknob. Your heart is pounding in your chest but your feet move with a mind of their own. You knock.

The door opens, and there he is, standing in front of you, Yoongi, his usual headphones draped around his neck. His expression is unreadable but his eyes meet yours this time.

“I…I heard you playing,” you say softly, the words tumbling out. “It sounded…beautiful.”

He doesn’t reply right away. He just stands there, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer and then, finally, he nods, stepping aside without saying a word.

You enter, your nerves fraying at the edges. His apartment is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of wood and old books. His piano, polished and dark, is the centerpiece. It’s as if the space was designed around it. You take a seat on the couch, unsure of what to do next.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first, but you can see his fingers twitch, debating whether to play again. And then, slowly, he sits at the piano, his hands brushing over the keys, and the music fills the room once more.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the music, but eventually, you realize the tension has slipped away. He’s not a stranger anymore. Not a mysterious, cold figure, and somehow, you feel like you’ve always known him.

When the music stops, he turns to you. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

You smile softly, your heart strangely full. “I’m glad I did.”

And for the first time, his lips curl into the smallest of smiles, just for you.

The silence between you both isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable. Yoongi shifts slightly, his fingers still lightly touching the piano keys, reluctant to break the calm. You sit there watching him, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know you played,” you finally speak again.

Yoongi shrugs, his gaze softening a little as he looks at you. “I don’t often. Only when it feels like I need to.”

You nod, there’s something profound about the way he talks, like he’s not just saying what’s on his mind, but what’s been buried inside for far too long.

He stands up then, pushing the bench back with a soft scrape against the floor. You follow his movements with your eyes, and you notice something. You notice how tired he looks—how he carries an exhaustion that doesn’t come from work or a lack of sleep.

“I should go,” you say, your voice breaking through the quiet room. You don’t want to leave but you know you have to.

Yoongi looks over at you, his hand resting on the back of the piano. “Stay a little longer,” he says, and there’s no demand in his voice, no force. It’s just a simple request, one that doesn’t need to be questioned.

You hesitate, but then nod, unsure why you’re even considering it. But there’s something in his voice, something in the way his eyes hold yours, that makes you want to.

He walks over to the small kitchenette, the sound of a kettle boiling breaking the silence. You watch him, noticing the way he moves, so effortlessly, so in tune with the space around him. He pours two cups of tea, one of them placed on the small coffee table in front of you. He sits down on the couch across from you, the space between you just enough to feel the tension of something unsaid.

“I didn’t think you were the type to like tea,” you remark, trying to fill the quiet.

Yoongi looks up at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m not. But it calms me.”

You smile, accepting the cup. “I get that.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Instead, you just drink your tea, your hands wrapping around the warmth of the mug as the sound of rain against the windows grows louder. It’s oddly peaceful.

Yoongi finally breaks the silence. “You know, I don’t usually...let people in like this.”

“I understand.”

There’s a long pause before he continues, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t trust people easily.”

You’ve been there before, too, unsure of who you can trust, always guarding yourself from others. “I get it.”

Yoongi’s eyes search yours, his gaze holding you, which makes your heart beat faster. It’s not the way someone looks at you when they’re trying to figure you out, it’s the way someone looks at you when they’re ready to let their guard down, just a little bit.

For the rest of the time, you sit in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging glances, but mostly lost in the peaceful quiet of the apartment. The rain continues to fall outside, the sound blending with the soft melody still echoing in your mind.

When you finally stand up to leave, Yoongi follows you to the door. You turn to face him one last time, “I’ll see you around?” you ask, your voice unsure.

He nods, the smallest of smiles gracing his lips once more. “Yeah. See you.”

As you step back into the hallway, your heart feels lighter than it has in months. Maybe that's the effect of Yoongi.