#let it flop into obscurity

[1001knightsalone]

Can we all agree that if Spyglass attempts to reboot the Scream movies, we give it the 'Child's Play's' (2019) treatment?

[alethiometry]

can you guys please tag your wizard game posts

[thatoneluckybee]

😭😭😭😭😭??? I barely go 2 church and I have the memory of a fly.... Wdym 😭😭😭

I'm gatekeeping

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. ��Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[brattyspence]

u up? | s.reid

summary: early season!spencer is reluctant to request nudes from gn!reader while hes gone on a case. warnings & key info: nudes (what an ugly word), sexual themes implied, nothing rlly explicitly stated. a very reluctant and maybe insecure spencer, a hint of teasing  a/n: this is rlly just a drabble but i love the idea of early season!spencer who is kind of nervous to ask for things but also rlly down bad for reader! maybe i’ll make more with this pairing bc its so fun. word count: 1.5k my masterlist!

Spencer flopped back into the queen-sized bed with a sigh. The hotel room was small, the generic beige walls blending into the generic beige room. The only light source he had at present from was the warm, yellow light of the bedside lamp and the screen of his phone.

The team had successfully closed another case. The unsub was apprehended after a week-and-a-half long chase, but he didn’t feel any better.

The relief that followed long cases like this one was different. Of course the week had been long and tiring. He hadn’t exactly slept well between the late nights at the local precinct and the looming anxiety about finally catching the guy. When Hotch made the decision to fly out the following morning to allow the team to get some sleep, he wasn’t so thrilled. 

He had returned to his hotel room, showered off the day (and it’s germs) before attempting to get into bed, but something was amiss. 

Catching the unsub didn’t mean just another solved case, but it also meant coming home to you. Maybe it was selfish, sure. Still, he had looked forward to it all day, and the sudden change in plans threw him off. Here he was, on top of the scratchy maroon bedspread of the hotel, very awake and very much frustrated by the prospect of spending another night apart from you. 

Sexual frustration and Spencer were two things you never would have put together. He was the most patient man in the world to you. Sometimes you still consider it his biggest flaw. When you first began dating him, it took weeks for him to work up the nerve to kiss you first. Sex was another beast. Somehow he wasn’t comfortable initiating anything for fear that he was pressuring you, and it seemed that no amount of reassurance would encourage him to make the first move. 

You were half asleep in bed when you heard the buzz of a new notification. You lifted your head from its spot in the pillow, and patted your hand around to find your phone somewhere in the mess of sheets in your bed. When you found it, you squinted as your eyes adjusted to the bright screen in the darkness of your room. He never liked to interrupt you when you were sleeping. It was another one of his obscure demonstrations of love. If you ever texted him past 9 PM, he would delve into a rant about how the blue light of your screen would keep you up all night, or how sleep deprivation could cause a multitude of issues, and “I just don’t want to be the reason you didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”

Patient, kind, respectful, and painfully so. 

Which was why you were thoroughly confused when you received what could only be interpreted as a very Spencer Reid version of a ‘u up?’ text at 12:51 AM.

Spencer: Hi. I miss you. Are you awake? 

You: i am now :)  i miss you more. 

Spencer struggled to find the right words to type. He always relied on you dragging it out of him. He drafted a few responses, deleting them immediately. His fingers hovered the keyboard for a moment, contemplating if he should just let it go.

You watched the ellipses come and go as he typed. It disappeared for a few seconds, and then reappeared. Eventually, you decided to call him. 

He picked up on the first ring. 

“Hey,” he said. His voice was soft, maybe more so than usual. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I was hoping to hear your voice,” you replied.

“But it’s so late. You should be sleeping, and now-”

“Spencer,” you replied, cutting him off. “I don’t care about that. You’ve never been one to message so late, so I know something must be bothering you. Talk to me.”

You heard the soft rustle of fabric against the microphone. 

“I was just really looking forward to coming home tonight.”

You sighed. “I know. I was looking forward to it, too.”

“I just…” he trailed off. “I was thinking about you all day. Thinking about seeing you, thinking about… just thinking about you.”

“Hm.” You sandwiched the phone between your ear and shoulder before sitting up. The jersey sheets pooled around your waist as you leaned across your nightstand, flicking on the bedside lamp. Your room filled with the soft glow. “Thinking about me?”

“Yeah.” His voice was almost a whisper. “That’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s all, honey.” 

You could visualize his reaction through the phone, the same reaction he always had when you pinned down his real intentions. He probably made an attempt to roll his eyes and brush off your comments, but he’d blush seconds later and avoid eye contact, knowing you were right. 

“Why do you… say that?” Somehow his voice was even softer.

“It’s one in the morning, Spence. You never call this late,” you explain. “And you’ve been away for a whole 10 days.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed audibly. 

“Yeah,” you repeat. “So you clearly want something from me.”

Silence.

“Do I need to drag it out of you?”

He huffed.  “It feels really juvenile. And I just respect you so much, and I don’t want you to ever think that I’m using you for anything, or that I don’t value you-”

“Spencer. We talked about this.” 

“Right.” He sighed. He held the phone to his ear with one hand, the other pressing into his eyelids as he formulated a response. 

“So,” you clear your throat, and sit back into your pillows, your phone lying across your chest. “Ask me.”

“I don’t…” he exhales. He’s struggling to come to terms with the fact that you have him figured out so well. He’s quiet for a few seconds before he gives in reluctantly. “I was looking forward to seeing you tonight. Not just talking.”

“Spencer Reid,” you reply, amused. Teasing him was just too easy sometimes, especially when he was so easy to rile up, even if he knew you were just joking with him. “Are you asking me for nudes?”

“I… It just sounds so wrong. Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

“Oh, come on. Just ask me.”

He groaned. “I don't want you to think that my love for you has anything to do with your body. You know that, right? Because it doesn't. Although I do love… looking at you. That sounded weird. I just mean that I don't want to put you in a position where you feel commodified based on something like your physical appearance when you have so much more to give, and it's not respectful of you. You're brilliant and kind and so, so good to me, and it’s just so vulgar, I think-”

He fell quiet as his phone buzzed in his hands. He could just see the preview of the text you had sent him. After changing the call to speakerphone, he opened it, scrolling through the carousel of photos, taking in the images.

“You think..?”

“Jesus Christ…” he breathed, opening a slideshow of photos you had taken just for him. Sent to him, for his personal use. He would have felt bad about it if he wasn’t so horribly entranced by the sight of them. Whatever was left of his rambling fizzled out.

“You're not gonna finish your sentence?” You asked.

“I…” swipe. “God, I don't remember what I was saying.”

You chuckled. “Does that fix your problem?”

He was clearly short circuiting. “Mhm. It does.”

“See what happens when you ask, Spencer?”

“I feel guilty,” he replied, his voice breathy and quiet. He was clearly having some kind of internal struggle about the ethicality of the situation. It didn’t bother him enough to look away, though.

“Why?” You ask. 

“Because… these are really…” He stopped. Although you couldn’t see it, his cheeks were burning red. “Are you sure you’re okay with me having these?”

“Spencer,” you say. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ve seen me naked plenty of times. I watched you fold and organize my sock drawer without my asking last week. You preheat my coffee mug for me every morning. I’m not just okay with you having these. I want you to have them.”

Oh. He swallows thickly, forcing himself to close the app and come back to his senses.

“But…” He trails off. He still sounds a little distant, pausing a bit too long between words, clearly still looking the photos over. “How did you… did you have these ready to send?”

“I did. I took them the other night. I was just waiting for you to ask.”

You wait a few seconds to see if he says something else. He doesn't. The line falls silent.

“Are you okay over there?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, exiting the app and putting his phone down on the pillow next to him. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… wow.”

You were used to his continual praise, but somehow his lack of words was the best compliment he could have offered you.

“Next time just ask, okay?”

He swallows. “Mhm. I will.”

“You should go have fun. I'm gonna go back to sleep. I'll see you soon, pretty boy.”

“Yeah… you should get some sleep. I’ll… see you tomorrow. Thank you.”

You smile to yourself. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

[moonchild9350]

Bows, Lilac, and Kittens

Summary: Han doesn’t think he’s needy, unlike what his band mates believe, but that all changes when he sees you in his favorite type of lingerie.

Pairing: established relationship idol Han x fab reader

Genre: smut 18+ MDNI

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: pussy job, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), cum tasting.

Notes: idk I think Jisung would be into this haha I hope you like it! If so consider a reblog, comment, and like ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

“Babe, do you think I’m needy?”

Your boyfriend Jisung had just walked through the door, screaming the question as he made his way to your bedroom. You stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body since you were fresh out of the shower. You looked at Jisung, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, a pout on his face, making his cheeks seem bigger. He had his arms crossed, as he looked at you with his big boba eyes, as he awaited your answer.

“No, of course not baby,” you replied as you walked over to your dresser, pulling out a pair of panties and a shirt.

You pulled the shirt over your head and then slid one leg and then the other through your panties, pulling them up over your hips, the band snapping in place as they settled over your ass. You wanted to tease Jisung, to prove a point. Your boyfriend thought he wasn’t needy, but that was far from the truth, especially in the bedroom. Proving your point, you heard Jisung let out a whimper, your head immediately turning to look at the man after hearing the sound.

His eyes were trained on your ass, his mouth open. Anyone would say he was enamored with the flesh, not too flat but a nice roundness to the globes, but you knew better. Yes, you know Jisung loves every part of you, but there was one thing that drove him crazy, bringing out the neediness in him. That was your panties and not just any panties, but the ones you kept that were cute more than sexy, little patterns decorated across the fabric and a little bow in the center.

You looked down and noticed what panties you had chosen this time, a smirk forming across your face. The fabric was a soft lilac with little kittens littered across them, a little pink bow on the band. Looking up, you took in how Jisung wiggled in place, his eyes never leaving your pelvis. You felt your pussy clench at the attention, his gaze turning you on.

“Mmmm,” you said, slowly walking towards your lover, “maybe you’re a little needy after all.”

Jisung was practically drooling, his mouth open, and eyes wide. You noticed the tent in his pants, watching as he let out yet another whimper.

“Wanna see more?” You teased, your fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

Jisung nodded his head, his hair flopping up and down obscuring his eyes. He pushed the hair out of his face and looked up at you.

“Yes, yes please,” he begged.

You giggled at his desperation before pulling your shirt up, your panties on display. You were dripping, your arousal seeping into the material. Jisung gripped your waist suddenly and yanked you toward him, burying his face in your pelvis, as he inhaled deeply, taking in your scent.

He placed kiss after kiss along your mound before dipping his head lower and darting his tongue out, the tip of the muscle brushing against your clothed clit. You jerked at the sensation, your hands gripping your shirt tighter as Jisung continued to lick the bud. You felt more slick gush into your panties as you slowly rocked your hips, fucking yourself on his tongue.

You tossed your head back, lost in the pleasure Jisung was giving you, the warm feeling spreading throughout your belly. You felt you could cum like this, the feeling close, the band expanding in your belly letting you know sweet bliss was close. But, before you could open your mouth to let him know, he pulled himself back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the material of your panties.

Jisung groaned, looking at the mess he made, the material soaked and sticking to your skin. Without warning he yanked you onto the bed and spread your legs.

“Take your shirt off baby,” he said breathlessly as he slid his sweats and boxers down, his cock springing free of its confines.

You slid your shirt up and over your head, your tits on display for the man above you. You spread your legs wider as he stepped in between them, eyes glued to your covered core, stroking his cock.

“You’re soaked baby,” he groaned, reaching out his finger to press the material of your panties to your core.

Shivering at his touch, you replied, “all for you Sungie.”

“All for me,” he whispered, grasping his cock once more to drag it through your covered folds.

You let out a moan, grasping the sheets below as he slid his cock again and again through the fabric. You were dripping, your slick soaking the panties creating a sheer effect. Each stroke of his cock slipped against your clit, the tip kissing the swollen bud over and over.

Jisung let out a strangled cry, before he shifted your panties to the side, slipping his cock beneath the material. He pressed the hard appendage down, the head slipping through your thick folds, causing a squelching sound to be heard.

“Ohh my god, babe,” Jisung moaned out as he frantically began to thrust his hips, pressing his shaft to glide through your folds. Your breath kicked up, as the pleasure increased, that sensation building up once more in your belly. You moaned out as Jisung whimpered, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on fucking your lips.

“Look at that baby,” he managed to breathe out, “your soaking, can see my cock between your cute little folds.”

You looked down, your pussy clenching at the sight. Jisung was right, your panties were soaked through, Jisung’s cock clearly visible beneath the material. You looked up at your lover, watching as he scrunched up his eyes, lost in pleasure, and guided your gaze down, your eyes landing on his pelvis and then back to your soaking pussy.

You laid back onto the sheets, a sigh leaving your lips as you focused on the warm sensation, emptying your mind as it spread throughout your body. You were floating in that space you go to every now and then, as it was quiet throughout the room, the only sounds heard were your soft moans, Jisung’s whimpers, and your wet pussy. Your reverie was broken at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, your eyes fluttering open.

“Play with your tits baby,” Jisung said.

You could tell he was close, there desperation in his eyes as he sped up his thrusts, the head of his cock hitting against your clit. You whimpered and shook your head, bringing your hands to your tits, grasping the flesh in your hands. You flicked your nipples, your eyes on Jisung as he watched you, his hips never faltering. Your moans grew louder as you squeezed and pinched your nipples, shocks of pleasures running down your spine to your core.

“I’m close Sungie,” you whined, the added sensation to your nipples causing the coil to tighten even more.

Jisung whimpered and shook his head, as his thrusts became more sporadic. “Cum with me baby,” he whined, “please, please, please,” he chanted over and over before he stilled, letting out a loud groan as his hot cum spurt onto your mound and panties.

The sight of your boyfriend’s high and the feel of his tip sliding up against your clit caused you to tip of the edge, as the coil snapped, warmth spreading throughout your body. You moaned out, pinching your nipples as you rode out your high. Jisung watched you from above, his eyes darting between your face and your little hole, watching as it clenched around nothing.

Taking a breath, you dropped your hands and reached down, sliding your finger through his cum on your pelvis before bringing it to your lips and wrapping them around the digit. You moaned as you sucked his cum off your finger, the salty taste settling on your tongue. Removing your finger from your mouth with a pop, you grinned at the boy above you.

“God I love you baby,” Jisung said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

He looked down at your panties, completely ruined from your slick and his cum.

“Aww what a shame,” Jisung said, as he pushed your panties back in place. “I actually liked this pair. Guess I’m gonna have to buy you a new pair huh.”

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92

[luxxid]

precis – genshin men talking in their native language in bed. 16+ gentlemen – neuvillette (french), tartaglia (russian), diluc (german), al haitham (arabic) remonstrance – obv smut, 16+ , fingering, degrading in arabic (😃👍), i've linked the translations just click on em.

NEUVILLETTE x french.

"je t'aime mon amour." his hands find yours on the wrinkled sheets, fingers interlocked clinched as he plunged his hips against yours, his girth dragging over your velvety folds. slow and sensual were the two words you could use to describe how he made you feel right now. who knew the ludex of fontaine was so amorous?

"ne te cache pas de moi, ma belle sirène." he mumbled in a low growl, brushing away stray strands of hair present on your forehead while undulating his ambit into your glory. the only support you had were his ample muscles, which you held on to with every thrust.

every frown, every blissful sigh and every moan of his name a precious token of memory he cherishes. soft pants fall from his lips as he compels your legs to your chest in order to bury his length deeper. dithers and butterflies rafted in your stomach indicating your climax. your nails drew crescents into his toned back, engraving signs of pleasure into his back.

"je t'ai-t'aime." he groaned, broiling breath fanned over your lips, foreheads pressed against yours as he rolls his hips over your one last time before planting his seed deep inside your womb, unleashing a swarm of butterflies to uncoil the ribbon in your stomach. (oui oui baguette)

flopping down onto your chest, exhausted from your previous activities, his pristine hair covers most of your figure, his eyes array love, just love. soft kisses rain down on your neck, adorning many of the purple bruises he had marked before. his callused hands bedecked your waist, barely applying force as if you were made of glass. his girth was still buried into your heat, as if he didn't want to withdraw from the sedative serotonin.

"i love you too.."

TARTAGLIA x russian.

his arms slithered around your waist, his bistre hair splattered all around your shoulder as he latches onto your waist for support, his fingers dig up your ass, sculpting demilune shapes into the soft plush. he buckled his foot to grant him more leverage. your body weight was all amended to the male beneath you.

his soft groans vibrated in the stifling atmosphere, bobbing up and down on his stupefying dick. "ty menya tak khorosho prinimayesh, hm?" he breathed into your shoulder, his indurate hands restlessly tracing over your curves, bathing in the luxury of having you so close to him. your breasts quavering in front of him, a slinky smirk absconded over his face at seeing your zest plight.

your moans gradually started getting obstreperous, interminably quivering on his bulk. his hands pinned your ass, to the point it almost drew out blood, your whimpers and whine were like music to his ears. gosh, you made him feel so lascivious. his grip grew tighter, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as he murmured words of syrupy desire. his touch was like a fire, and you found yourself not wanting it to end.

"blyat' ty idealna." he groused, his voice raspy and bare. his cobalt eyes gulled lust and fire, you never ceased trotting on his cock with abandon, your head thrown back in sheer pleasure, your body shaking with every thrust. his hands were on your hips, guiding your movements, and you could feel every inch of him inside you. you let out soft happy grumbles of frustration, not knowing what he meant but you were assured it meant nothing other than love. archons- every hit to your nerves felt like celestia.

a bluffing beam pressed into his ephebic face as his cock obscured deeper into your warmth. your lamentations and sobs made him even more accelerated his appetite to taste you. what felt like clustered pieces of wires were coming out of you, your eyes gaped as you held onto his toned muscles, occasionally gasping and whining. he threw his head back revelry, his load whirled inside your womb as you let out a silent cry in the release of awaited feelings.

"moya krasivaya devochka" he chuckled as he adaged your rollercoaster of emotions, gentling brushing his hands through your hair, the sly smirk still remained pictured on his lips.

DILUC x german.

"ich liebe dich" he spituated, his arms grasped your shoulders ever so softly, beads of sweat dropped down from his sweltering face. a weary smile was forced upon his face, occasionally fading due to how well you sucked him in. your hands run over your body from over your belly to your waist to your mounds grabbing them as he slows down the pace of his girth.

you moan out as he starts rutting into you at a fast pace. the carmine haired male groans, tightly holding your hips for leverage and fucking his cock in and out of you. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. heat resides every corner of his body. he closes his eyes as he proceeds with his adoring actions.

"don't stop luc', don't stop" you whine, harshly tugging his hair while syncing with his body movements. a soft, hushed hum resonated from him. kisses ran down from your neck to your back. his incandescent hair ran down your chest, concealing it. fuck— you were so perfect. archons, everything about you was perfect.

the bed creaked along with his every action, his actions only bought pleasure- no pain whatsoever, your breaths and moans got faster and more louder. his girth hitting your g-spot more faster, the slapping of his balls against your warmth got faster and more searing before he finally releases his seed inside of you, as well as you cumming on his girth.

"i-ich liebe- dich" he scours, his arms still vested on top of your waist, all while his length is snuggled inside of your warmth. he sagged onto your chest, your heartbeat undulating against his own.

AL HAITHAM x arabic.

nirvana. the only word that you can use to describe how the akademiya's scribe made you feel right now. his fingers edged into your tepidity, ever so often toting more vastly. his digits were coated with your dowse, driblets of sweat coalesced on your forehead, though, the viridescent eyed male had no emotion, only pure amusement and lust in his orbs.

"waqihat qadhirat." he spat, his eyes darkening as he watched your contorting face, drool splattered all over your face, he stroked your clit with his thumb, impending his face closer to your warmth before proffering a prolonged lick to your folds, his soaked, acute tongue almost immediately earned a squalid moan from you, your eyes solidly sealed.

"haitham' more, please m-" a finger forcefully shoved down your mouth kept you silent."madha? turid almazida?" he nudged, a jiving grin swept across his face before diving into your toothsome. gosh, his tongue did wonders. his eyes averted to yours, breathing in your gaped expression, relishing in your fucked out face. his other callused hand held your waist steady, gripping it harshly to the point that his finger imprints were reflected onto your smooth flesh. pink and black scribbles clouded your eyes, fuck— you wanted more, way more, and he knew that damn well.

"ma bik habibi, turid almazida?" he inquired teasingly after taking a deepend lick of your delicacy, your grumbles and lewd mewls were like harmonic tunes. his sunken eyes glaring at your pitiful condition, a breathful chuckle escaped from his chapped lips. his tongue once more delved into your hole, in result of you gripping his pristine hair harshly, moaning and gasping at the assidissous revelry.

your heart fluttered in joyful anticipation, as you felt the knots untangle, your face betrayed a beaming smile occasionally faltering as he kept scouring your pussy inside out. the knurls and lumps soon came undone, squirting out your juices and sap onto his tongue, greedily licking it up. his lissom fingers still remained deep inside your delicacy.

[fairyhaos]

◈ love of my life // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 2k+ words

tags: technically requested by lots of people bc everyone wants jeonghan fluff, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, crack, mutual pining, almost-confessions

warnings: light swearing

summary: in which your relationship with jeonghan isn't exactly platonic and isn't exactly romantic... but rather, it's a secret third thing.

It has to be at least two in the morning when Jeonghan's ringtone blares throughout his bedroom, and he rolls over with a groan, grappling blindly at his nightstand before finding his phone and pressing it against his cheek. 

“Who is this and what do you want?”

“Jeonghan, let's go on a date.”

He recognises your voice in an instant, even in his half-asleep state, and he huffs a laugh, flopping back against the pillows and rubbing his eyes. 

“Gee, at least ask me when it's not ass o'clock in the morning, won't you?”

“No, no, this only works if you get up right now,” you say. “Come on, Jeonghan, just go on a date with me. Right at this very moment.”

Jeonghan rubs his eyes, before taking his phone away from his cheek and peering at the screen so he can read the time. “See, you’re not presenting a very good argument,” he says, once he’s put the phone against his ear again. It’s almost three in the morning. What are you thinking? “I don’t wanna date you that much.”

You make a sad sound on the other end of the phone. “What will it take to get you out of the house?”

“Wire me an obscene amount of money right now and I’ll think about it.”

There’s a pause.

“No. Best I can offer is a pretty please.”

Jeonghan can’t help smiling at your dry tone, and he rubs his eyes once again with a yawn. “Fine. I guess I can’t expect anything better from you, anyway.” He can almost see you biting your lip in annoyance, wanting to quip something witty back at him but also wanting to keep quiet so he’ll actually come. 

“You know me so well.”

“Yes I do,” Jeonghan teases, and groggily hauls himself out of bed. “I’ll be ready in ten. Where do you want me to go?”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll pick you up,” you say, suddenly sounding excited. “Just wait for me and I’ll come over to take you out.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

You laugh, bright and happy, like it’s not two in the morning and you’ve asked your best friend to go on a date with you. Jeonghan can’t help but smile again, even as he grapples blindly through his dark room to find some clothes.

“Don’t worry. It’s a promise.”

───────────── 🌘

Jeonghan is, admittedly, more than a little confused when you just take him to the nearest playground.

Sure, maybe this entire thing is weird—you calling him up during ridiculous hours of the morning to “go on a date” is definitely not something you’ve done before—but that’s just the kind of friendship he and you have. 

It’s like how, last year, he spent an entire month calling you increasingly ridiculous pet names, ranging from “beloved” to “honey butter snuggles bunny bear”, and purposefully took you out to public cafes and restaurants to test them out for everyone to see and hear, preventing you from punching him as hard as he probably deserved. 

So this is, like, nothing new. Just a funny and silly thing the two of you do, because you've known each other for the whole of your lives, and when it comes to the way your relationship works, the lines separating “platonic” and “romantic” have always been curiously nonexistent. 

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s never meant to mean anything.

But sometimes, sometimes, it feels like it should.

“I think I’m going to end up alone forever,” you say abruptly, and Jeonghan looks over at you in surprise. You’re sitting on the swings next to him, dragging yourself back and forth as you look up at the sky. There’s nothing to see up there, with the clouds obscuring any moonlight, so it's obvious that you're just looking away so he can't see your face. 

It's so quiet; Jeonghan didn't realise that the world could be this quiet at 2 in the morning, and it makes your words echo extra loud into the abyss, before they're swallowed by the darkness. 

Jeonghan shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

Instantly, you're leaning over to swat him on the arm, and he laughs. 

“Asshole,” you say, but there's no venom in your voice, even as you level him with a glare. “You're really no help. I'm trying to unload all my deepest fears for you, here, practically begging you to reassure me, and yet all you can do is be mean.”

“You said one thing,” Jeonghan points out. “I don't think that counts as unloading all your deepest fears.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's my only deepest fear.”

“Why are you unloading your deepest fear on me?” Jeonghan asks, kicking his legs out in front of him. “We're on a date. Our first date, mind you, so this hardly seems appropriate.”

“Asshole,” you say again, but like before, the word has no bite. You glance over at him, before realising that he's looking at you, and then quickly raise your gaze to the sky. “I'm being serious about this, you know.”

Jeonghan says nothing for a long moment. Watches the way the pale light from a nearby lamppost gives you an unearthly, almost otherworldly glow. 

“I'm being serious too,” he decides to say, looking up at the cloudy sky with you. “You shouldn't be saying that stuff on a first date. Kinda makes it sound like you don't think things will work out between us, you know?”

You huff a confused laugh, looking over at him again. “Jeonghan, wha—?”

“And maybe you will end up alone,” he carries on, thoughtfully, as if he's talking to himself, forgetting that you're sitting there too. “But maybe you won't. I think you probably won't. And even if you do, it's fine, because I'll still be with you.”

It's a painfully vulnerable thing to say, made doubly so by the quietness of the night. Like a love confession, almost. Except it's not, because he's not in love with you. 

He isn't. 

“That's really sweet,” you say, almost begrudgingly, as if it pains you to admit that Jeonghan actually said something nice, and he laughs. “Though wrong. If you’re with me, then I'm not alone, am I?”

“Oh, I see. When you said alone, you meant in general. I thought you meant, like, romantically.”

“Well, maybe. But maybe I also meant overall,” you shrug. “I didn't think you'd want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Jeonghan swallows, tilts back on the swings, head still raised to look at the sky. “I want to spend every life with you.”

You look away from the sky at his words, turning to face him in surprise. The echoes of what he’d just said were already fading away, muffled and pressed into the velvet dark of the night, but the surprisingly soft air that followed in its wake still remained.

 Now, he's the one avoiding your gaze, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the shapeless, misty blur of clouds above him so he doesn’t have to look at you. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you tilt your head, and smile. 

“Oh, look at you, you sap,” you say, bright and teasing. “Face it, you like being with me. Oh! I bet you're in love with me, seeing as how you agreed to date me and everything! Isn't that right, Jeonghan? You love me.”

Jeonghan pulls a face, and you burst into laughter, so ridiculously loud and happy even though it's two in the morning and the whole playground is silent, the sound of your happiness ringing against the cool air of the night. He can't help but look at you then, exasperated and fond, shaking his head as you grip the swing chains and sway back and forth, still giggling to yourself. 

He sniffs, feigning annoyance as he leans to the side, making a dramatic show of pulling his swing away from you. 

“This isn't a real date. I could never date you.” He scrunches his face in faux disgust for good measure, and you laugh again, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And yet you still came out when I called, didn't you?” you tease, smiling widely, and Jeonghan has to admit that you're right. He's here because you asked him to be here. He’s here for you.

Hm. This was getting weirdly soul-baringly truthful for what he’d thought would be a silly little hangout in the middle of the night.

“Next time you call me at 2am, I’m blocking you forever,” he says dryly, giving you an exaggerated look of disdain just so he can revel in the laugh that it pulls out of you.

“No you won’t,” you say cheerily. “Because you looove me.”

“Um, lies.”

“No lies. You literally love me so much.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. You do, you do, you do, you’re actually genuinely in love with me and there’s nothing you can do to deny it, because it’s so obvious that I’m literally the love of your l—”

Jeonghan makes a clicking sound with his tongue and leans over to shove your arm, causing you to swing to the side as you cackle with delight at his reaction. He glares at you, again, sighing with exasperation as you continue to laugh.

“Yes, yes, I love you, just as much as you love me. Now if we’re not actually doing anything of importance, then can I go home?”

“What?” you say indignantly. “Of course not! If I can’t sleep, then that means you’re not allowed to sleep either.”

“I knew it. You called me out here because you couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Duh. Now come and push my swing, will you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and stands up from his swing, groaning and holding his knees like he’s some kind of grumpy grandpa. You laugh, mocking him for his bad joints as he walks around to stand behind you, and he snarks back something ridiculously funny and rippling with light, twisting through the cool air.

And then his hand presses against the small of your back, soft and yet sure, and suddenly all you can focus on is that gentle, feathery point of contact that connects you to him.

Your laughter subsides as he begins to gently push your swing, and you move up, and down, and up, and down, the fleeting warmth of his hand an intermittent pressure against your back. He doesn’t say a word. Everything is quiet, in your head. Like his touch alone could silence any worries that still floated around in your brain.

It’s one of the things you adore most about Jeonghan. He makes you feel safe.

“For the record, by the way,” you say, voice quiet, “I really do love you.”

There’s no noise but the metallic creak of the swing, sounding weirdly small in the yawning abyss of the dark. Jeonghan’s hand is still steady as he pushes you, again and again.

“As a friend?” he asks, eventually.

You can’t see him, and maybe that’s for the best. His voice is tinged with a colour, an emotion, that you can’t quite name, warm and cool and fleeting and present all at once.

Yet more silence greets his words. You continue swinging, and he continues helping.

It’s hard to know what he means by that. As a friend, in a hopeful way? As a friend, in a meaningful way? Or as a friend, in a way that could maybe, maybe, signal that he thinks, or wishes, that you mean... something else.

More.

These things are difficult to tell, when it comes to Jeonghan. Who wears his heart on his sleeve and yet also hides it away where no one can see.

“Yeah,” you say, after it has been far too long since he’d asked, but it’s clear that you were both waiting for your answer anyway. The word leaves you as a sigh, threadbare and thin. “As a friend.”

Jeonghan huffs a soft laugh. Maybe because he believes you, or maybe because he doesn’t. You’re not too sure.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pale as moonlight. “In which case, I love you too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tipsy

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, male masturbation, watching masturbation

“do you still masturbate?” you ask curiously, leaning your forehead against rafes from where you’re sitting on his lap. you’re tipsy and he’s been letting you entertain yourself with a plethora of questions, getting more and more obscure as time goes on. 

“what?” rafe laughs, watching as your eyes drop to his crotch.

“i’m just curious.” you giggle, reaching your hand down to tug the hem of his shirt up a bit, revealing a peak of his abs. “since we have so much sex, i don’t know if you do it anymore.”

“if you want a demonstration, you can just ask.” rafe says, laughing as you give a very quick nod, eyes widening in fascination. 

rafe laughs, pushing his hips up as he tugs his sweatpants and underwear down, his soft cock flopping out. you bite your lip in excitement, resisting the urge to take it in your own hand.

rafe grips his shaft, slowly starting to stroke, watching the excitement on your face as he hardens before your eyes.

“this is so hot.” you whisper, watching the way his thumb swipes over the head of his cock to get him the rest of the way hard. you want nothing more than to sink your mouth onto him, to taste him on your tongue, but you’re too into the smooth motions of his hand moving up and down his shaft for you to assist yet.

you move your hips so your core is over his thigh, grinding yourself against him, glad that you’re only in underwear and a big tshirt as you feel the fabric of his sweatpants, knowing you’re going to soak the material soon.

“i don’t masturbate anymore.” rafe says, taking a deep breath as he now watches your pussy, turned on by it even when hidden beneath your underwear. “not since i got to feel you. my hand doesn’t feel as good.”

“i still masturbate sometimes.” you admit with a whisper, making rafes eyes snap to yours. “what?” “when you’re at work. i masturbate every once in a while, just because you’re not there and i miss you so much.” you nudge rafes hand, noticing that it’s stopped moving. he bites his lip, beginning to move again, squeezing his cock before beginning to stroke it faster, eyes briefly fluttering closed as he imagines you, alone in your bed, missing him, hand between your legs, fingers pressing into your pussy, rubbing against your clit.

you continue grinding against him, but put your pleasure on the back burner, reaching a hand down to help rafe. you hold your palm over the head over his cock, rubbing against the tip. 

“princess, let me fuck you.” rafe says, clenching his thigh and giving it a bounce, wanting you.

“no, i want to see you cum like this.” you say, taking your hand away when rafe stops his own movements. he groans and then continues to stroke himself, wanting to cum quickly so he can then reharden and get inside of you.

“you’re such a tease.” rafe says. as you continue to rub over his cock, holding back a smile as he moans.

“i want just a little taste” you say, dropping to your stomach in between his spread thighs. you lean forward and lick at his tip, collecting the smallest bit of precum that he’s leaked out.

“come on, take it all the way in your mouth.” rafe says, trying to angle his cock back towards your mouth, but you shake your head, lying your head against his thigh to get a close up view. you’re not one to admit that a dick is attractive, most of them are not, but rafes is intoxicating to you, the perfect shade of pinky tan, long and thick to fit perfectly inside you, smooth and underset by two round balls, with a pretty pink tip that makes you want to spend all day sucking on it.

“you’re really gonna make me cum like this?” rafe asks, chest heaving as he gets closer.

“yeah.” you giggle. “take your shirt off though, wanna see you cum on your stomach.”

rafe gives you an exhausted look, but you just pout at him, making him whip his shirt off. anything for you, no matter what the request.

“besides, i’m gonna lick it all up anyways.” you shrug, leaning forward to lick at his tip again, eyes following the up and down movements of his hand.

“fuck, princess.” rafe groans when you bring a hand to his balls, rubbing them gently.

“hurry up and cum so we can fuck.” you say with a drunk giggle. rafe pulls his hand away to spit on it. you take the back of his hand before he can wrap it around his cock again, adding your own spit as well.

rafe hand moves quickly the second it’s touching his skin again, and you know it’s not going to take much longer.

“want to come in your mouth, come on baby.” rafe begs, and you see his cock pulsing as he gets closer to cumming for the first time instead of feeling it inside you, either your pussy or your mouth.

“nope.” you say, popping your p. in fact, you back up a little so you can get the full effect of rafe masturbating, the way his hand strokes himself quickly, his chest panting up and down, slick with sweat, mouth ajar and tongue slightly lolled out of his mouth.

“fuck, close.” rafe warns, eyes fluttering closed despite wanting to stay on your face as he cums, thick ropes covering his own stomach, abs now dripping in white. you smile at the sight, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock as rafe stops stroking it.

you lick over his torso, lapping at the skin until he’s cleaned up completely, like he never masturbated in front of you in the first place. you pull away and rafes cock is still soft, making you frown.

“i thought we were gonna fuck.” you say, upset. “we are, just give me a minute.” rafe breaths out. “i can never get it back up as quickly when masturbating as i can when i cum from fucking you.”

“hmm.” you hum, standing up off the bed and shucking your underwear off. “i guess you’ll have to eat me out until you’re ready to go again.”

[mya-valentine]

Behind Locked Doors

Synopsis: After a rare bad day leaves the usually cheerful and outgoing reader hiding away in their shared room, Law uses his powers to get inside, only to find them struggling with their emotions. Concerned and out of his element, Law awkwardly makes a fool of himself in an attempt to cheer them up, showing a softer, more vulnerable side to his usually stoic demeanor.

It had been a rough day. You weren’t even sure what had triggered it, but by the time the day ended, all you wanted was to hide away in your shared room. Normally, your bright and outgoing personality filled the corridors of the Polar Tang, lifting the spirits of everyone aboard. You were the cheerful heartbeat of the crew, always knowing just how to make someone laugh or turn a bad day around. But today, you couldn’t even muster the energy to put on a smile for yourself.

Shutting the door behind you, you locked it and collapsed on the bed. Tugging a pillow over your face, you groaned into it, wishing the world would just disappear for a while. It wasn’t like you to shut down like this, and part of you felt guilty for not being your usual self. Still, something deep inside weighed you down, and you couldn’t quite shake it.

After some time passed, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. It wasn’t surprising when Law's voice came from the other side of the door. “[Name]? Are you in there?” His tone was neutral, as always, but you could detect a hint of concern.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight on your chest felt too heavy, and even responding seemed like too much effort.

You heard the jiggling of the door handle as Law attempted to open it. When he realized it was locked, there was a pause, followed by the faintest of sighs.

"Room."

In an instant, the telltale sound of his ability activating reached your ears, and before you knew it, Trafalgar D. Water Law appeared in the room with you. His sharp eyes immediately swept over the scene—your form curled up on the bed, the pillow partially obscuring your face, and the heavy atmosphere in the room. His brows knitted together in worry.

"[Name]..." He moved closer, kneeling by the bed. "What’s going on? Why didn’t you answer?"

You groaned softly but didn’t lift the pillow. "I’m fine, Law. Just… not feeling great today. Can you go?"

"Not feeling great?" he repeated, skepticism clear in his voice. "You're never like this. You always try to cheer up everyone else, but now you're hiding in here, not telling me what’s wrong?" His voice softened at the end, filled with a kind of concern that he didn’t always express so openly.

Law wasn’t great at emotions. He was all about logic, plans, and cool-headedness, but when it came to you, there was a different side of him that few got to see. He cared, even if he didn’t always know how to show it.

"Seriously, it’s nothing. Just a bad day." You shifted the pillow slightly, your voice coming out muffled.

Law stared at you for a moment, frustration bubbling up inside him. He hated seeing you like this—someone so full of life, suddenly dimmed. He wasn’t going to let you stay like that.

Suddenly, without a word, he stood up. You peeked out from under the pillow, watching as Law walked over to the far side of the room. He started rummaging through a nearby cabinet, pulling out random objects. A stethoscope, a chart, a spare hat. Then he started to... juggle?

You blinked in disbelief. Law—Trafalgar D. Water Law, the stern and serious captain of the Heart Pirates—was attempting to juggle three completely random items in the air, and he was terrible at it. The stethoscope flopped down almost immediately, the hat following close behind, and Law’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He grabbed the hat and put it on his head at a jaunty angle, looking at you with an exaggeratedly serious expression.

It was absurd. You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your lips.

Noticing the sound, Law raised an eyebrow. "That wasn’t supposed to happen," he said, still juggling the remaining items with little success.

You chuckled again, the weight on your chest starting to lift slightly. "What are you doing?"

He gave you a deadpan look, tossing the items to the floor and crossing his arms. "Obviously, I’m trying to be an idiot to get you to laugh. I’m not exactly used to cheering people up in the traditional sense, but you’re going to have to deal with this."

You smiled, the corners of your mouth tugging up despite the lingering sadness. Law's awkward attempt at comedy was endearing in its own way, especially coming from someone as stoic as him. You could see how hard he was trying for you, and it warmed your heart.

"Okay, okay," you said softly, pushing the pillow aside and sitting up a little. "You’re definitely making me feel better."

Law moved closer again, sitting on the edge of the bed this time. He rested a hand on your shoulder, his expression softening. "You don’t always have to be the one cheering everyone else up, [Name]. Sometimes, you need to let others take care of you too."

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, but in a good way. You nodded, finally allowing yourself to lean into him. "Thanks, Law," you murmured.

He let out a small, relieved breath, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. "Anytime. Just... don't lock the door next time. I don't want to have to teleport in every time you need me."

You snorted softly, resting your head against his shoulder. "Deal."

And for the first time that day, you felt a little lighter, knowing that even in your darkest moments, Law would always be there to make a fool out of himself just to see you smile.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[justice-artblog]

Had a vivid thought

Prior to his current friends, Saiki's room is painstakingly bare. No pictures, Books of the most normal things including obscure stories, his bed is only made for comfort but no fun. His TV is standard, his desk having no noticeable scratches or morks or doodles.

And the first time any of his friends head up to his room, it's clocked in how bare bones everything is. As if the Saiki was ready to drop and move at a moments notice sort of deal.

And of course they go to remedy that.

Kaidou brings in old games for Saiki to play, lending him his consol time to time. It's also a perfect excuse to join him to play games. Saiki seems to know everything before even playing, but it's about the fun more than the story!

Nendou brings different books and manga's to Saiki's home, replacing some of the math and history books with books about random animal facts, one scary book, and a particularly raunchy one that Saiki immediately throws back in his bag.

Kuboyasu coming in with Plushies galore cause he has ZERO idea what to get his homie. But normies like these soft plushies, so clearly Saiki would adore them! Except he gets the weirdest ones, little guys that are very creepy but Kusuo has stashed up on the corner of his bed.

And slowly his room is filled with life that was sorely missing.

Teruhashi stashes cuter plushies alongside Kuboyasu, in order to not overwhelm Saiki with a lot, they have agreed to limit the amount they get and the size. They both pitch in to get a giant sitting pkushie on the floor that you could flop over

Chiyo and Mera tag team in pictures, decorating the frames and taking random pics of Siaki or their friends to hang up on the wall or placs on his desk. They get a pin board to pin up the photos.

Toritsuka absolutely hides magazines under Saiki's bed. The first time Saiki finds em he really wants to murder Reita, but it's actually one of the sweets magazines and none of his horndog ways. So he lets him live... For now.

Aiura stashes beads and Kandi everywhere, she has absolutely bedazzled Kusuo's lamp.

Akechi slips in movies of all kinds, detective ones where Kusuo needs to pay attention and purposefully thinking up of Random Babble so he doesnt accidentally spoil the psychic.

Saiko goes above and beyond and buys Siaki a new bed. He does check in with the other Plebians to make sure it... Ya know... Fits. It's so comfy and the new comforters are still plain in design

He does also buy a little cat house for Amp outdoors cause they all know that the cat is something Saiki secretely adores even if he doesnt outwardly show it.

Yuuta probably leaves Cyborg Cider man action figures scattered around the room every once in awhile, And Saiki has to meticulously clean them and display them so that Yuuta doesnt forget about them next times he's over.

Like i just want one moment where Saiki is there, laying down in bed, playing on the borrowed Switch with a plushie behind his head instead of a pillow and just the the realization that his room is not a room anymore. It's his room.

[moondirti]

animalic (5)

← chapter four // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 3.4k summary: an unwelcome confrontation warnings: enemies to lovers, violence, blood and injury, mentioned death, fighting, angst, morally questionable characters, miguel o'hara is not nice notes: this chapter caused several headaches and i don't even like the end result, but i can't pick at it forever sooo. enjoy!

While you’ve never been renowned for making the most accurate of assumptions, there are certain patterns you’ve come to expect in order to have survived this long. To never have a glass of orange juice after brushing your teeth, or maintain eye contact while being threatened. That a kilogram of antimatter produces ten billion times the energy of chemical combustion upon annihilation, and that any quantity larger than that should not be contained.

Of such paradigms, you’ve noted only one to be entirely reliable. That a spider-hero would always fight crime, whatever the greater good. 

“Absolutely not.”

You might’ve been mistaken. 

“Those people are in danger, O’Hara.” You strain, trembling against the cough battering your chest. Your diaphragm spasms with every stride he takes, crushed against the curve of his broad shoulder, desperate to make up for lost breath. 

He lets the plea hang, countenance obscured from your view. With the way he carries you now, all that meets your eye is navy – navy, and the bright red geometry stretched over the brawn of his back. The nanotech suit warps to fit every muscle, glinting as they push forward to meet the sun. And it dips, right between his shoulder blades, lining a clear contour of the anatomy he fails to hide. A dosser of intercostal sinew. Tapered laterals, cinched to curve at–

Your core broils uncomfortably, and his grip tightens around your knees, levelling up to the degree of his treatment thus far. After slinging off that rooftop, he’s made sure to keep you particularly close, like the effort could prevent your powers from manifesting. Like you could make it happen. 

(Though, he doesn’t know that you can’t.)

But he’s smarter than that. If nothing else, it serves as a cautionary gesture. A reminder. You’re disarmed – quite literally – the only force between your nose and the sidewalk being the behemoth of a man whose body you’re strewn across. And, if you could control it – transcend the material at any given whim – it would be the extent and end of your efforts. Not with the neon webs binding you, nor your clear lack of skill. 

The wind quivers with the distant sounds of calamity. You’re drawn back to the very real situation at hand. 

“You make for a lousy excuse of a spiderman if your first instinct isn’t to save them!” You raise your voice, hoping to be heard over the sirens that blare towards the destruction. By counting them as they pass – two, four, six – you’re able to assign a severity to it. But it isn’t, won’t be, enough. You’d heard the screeches; primordial, clawing out from beyond the capabilities of an ordinary threat. You’d felt them – seeping into your bones, grating the spongy marrow – until Miguel had gathered enough obduration to reel you in the complete opposite direction.

Speaking of– 

You tilt your head upwards, surveying the street down which he runs. It’s deserted, yet the presence of its civilians is slower to leave, a molasses that slinks towards locked doors. It’s thick with an apathetic acceptance, bordering on resignation – bitter and not unlike your own resting inclinations. You’ve never known an evacuation to happen this fast, especially this far out from the scene; people are stubborn like that, refusing to face what isn’t in front of them. That is to say, they might be used to it.

“You’re not even going the right way, dickhead!” 

Of all things, that makes him stop. 

(Of course it does.)

Your form flops uselessly as he turns to make sense of his surroundings. There’s the sign – 30 St and 7th – which should give any New Yorker an idea, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he shoots a web to wrap around the railway of a fire escape, propelling the both of you onto an accompanying balcony. Swallowing the bile that swells along your throat at the sudden jump, you shoot him an incredulous look, which he chooses to ignore as he drops you to the floor. 

His mask retreats, hair bouncing upon escape from its smothering embrace. For all that he tries to hide his pinched lips, you sense the scepticism emanating off him in waves. 

You take a moment to stew over it, examining him while he calculates the path of your previous chase. From the convenience, to the corner, and into a nearby store lot. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying notice – which you sincerely doubt, considering the efficiency with which he treats everything else. Could he really be unfamiliar with the layout of a city his job is to protect? Or–

It occurs to you steadily, washing up on the fringes of your arrogance; a realisation in pieces.  

Nueva York. 2099. 

A metropolis. Likely one with no grid system. 

Your cackle beckons his attention, severe stare snapping to your grin.

“We’re on Seventh.” You specify.

He cocks his head, nostrils flaring. Warning or question – you have a hard time deciphering the difference. 

“The convenience was on Sixth and Third. You know, third avenue, East of Fifth?” You push it, spurred by your awareness that he, in fact, does not know. 

“¡Ándale pues! What exactly is your point?” 

“We continued down east until you bit me, judging by the way the sun hit the lot upon rising. But now, we’re on Seventh, on the other side of Fifth.”

His jaw clicks, pulsing in irritation. You toe the line of what you can get away with, how long you can drag this out before he decides you’re not worth the trouble. 

“West. You’re heading West, and–” Wriggling, you adjust your posture into one more reflective of your current pride. “If you have any hope of finding that day pass, then you’re gonna need to go back.” 

The bid translates, weighty, bubbling like the arid smoke off nuclear strife. He processes it, understands – you watch as it unfolds in that intimidatingly intelligent glare – yet the circumstance takes a while to establish itself. Even when it does, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of a full blown breakdown. No. His hands just find his hips, chin sloping to the sky.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no–” 

You probably shouldn’t rub it in any further. 

“Since it’s on our way–” 

"No." He snaps, voice laced with a prickling irritation that sears through his supposed indifference. The heat of it greets you, wiping the simper that had begun stretching your cheeks. “You must think this is some game, and while that might explain the shit you’ve pulled in the past, I have a responsibility. I can’t interfere with their canon.” 

“So, what? You’re just gonna let them die?” 

His expression lifts, brows rising expectantly, like he’s imploring you to shut up without his verbal confirmation. 

Right.

It starts like a taut bowstring, straining as it verges on release. 

On one end, there’s Apollo; drawing his arrow, a god amongst men. The direction with which he aims his weapon can be seen as prophetic – plague was always meant to befall the crowd at his mercy, their fates little more than a thread of mass design. Some call it righteous – epithets dedicated to his name – agreed upon by the same men who claim that rational means right. Some craft sculptures in his visage, this muse of the kouros, likening stone to flesh and deluding the observer that the two can be synonymous. Nietzsche, Bernini. You, yourself, had managed to believe that the muscle rippling below you could be anything but an Athenian tragedy. 

You linger on how startlingly poetic it all is, and the string pulls tighter. You’ve never claimed to be a hero, but you have the instinct, just the same. He, on the other hand, seems entirely dismissive of the urge you assumed would wreck him too. 

(Partially your fault. You know better than to expect the obvious from him – that’s his pattern.) 

As the two of you veer closer to the havoc, the arrow discharges, striking the tension that’s kept you still thus far. When it snaps, it shatters, congealing to form a beset of sounds, sights, fear. Heaving sobs from a limping group of friends – the middle one rapidly losing blood from what you can tell. The pungent clog of burning debris, fed by the ash that lays suspended, mid-air. The painful creak of metal collapsing in on itself, peppered amongst the constant buzz of radio static. Miguel curbs to a stop, hidden in the notch of an alleyway, and uses the cover to reposition you in his carry. You go from slung over his shoulder to laid across his arms – not quite bridal style, but a placement similar enough that he retains a solid hold of you. 

His mask comes back up, concealing the cynicism that had begun to creep up onto you both. You scoff at the unambiguity of the action, the parallel it poses to the reality at hand. He blocks himself to the obvious, the avoidable. 

Glowering, you trace his line of vision to the encompassing wreckage. The street appears hauntingly familiar, thrumming with the hurried echoes of a recent memory. It lacks the colourful components – the vivid signage, the star speckled windows – yet, you recognize it all the same. The very avenue you frantically traversed only hours ago. Your companion, too, begins to grasp the truth, and you find yourself biting your cheek, a twinge of unease settling in as the revelation hits you: that perhaps you had divulged too much, far surpassing the realm of personal gain. 

Yeah, the day pass is here. And you can only hope that he won’t find it.

For now, though, it appears to be the least of your worries. 

A crimson creature prowls along the fringes of the decimated ruins – deliberate, relaxed, like a predator with its teeth already halfway dug in its meal – circling a man clad in a lab coat. Its size is menacing enough; standing at seven feet, with limbs as thick as pipes. Yet, what truly strikes you are the protruding bulges flanking either side of its jaw, and the white, emblematic eyes gazing out from upon its face. 

“Spider-person?” You whisper, not so much looking for clarification as you were putting the possibility out there. Miguel is unwavering, dead-set on waiting the interaction out. 

“Something like that.” He affirms. 

“Y’know, I remember you, doc!” The creature jibes, its inflection nearing maniacal. “You sat on my jury! Yes, yes. Hard to forget a shiner like that.” Laughing, it points to the balding patch atop its victims head. He trembles, bowing in a silent cry. 

“O’Hara–” 

“Wraith.” He warns. 

“Sixty seven years! Not even you look that old, ‘course you don’t understand how damning that sentence was! But you see, I got lucky. Some higher being must’ve taken pity on me, enough to grant me this miracle of a symbiote. Mhm, yeah–” He skips closer to his prey, considering him in the new light. “‘Cause now I can do things like…” A sharp blow echoes. The glassy spear, red as the flesh it extends from, skewers through the doctor’s chest, a spout of blood following through on the other end. “This!”

Miguel’s palm slaps over your mouth, knee supporting the portion of your body he releases whilst angling you away from the scene. You’re thankful for it, despite the overwhelming anger you bear against him. You’ve no trust in the horror that wracks you suddenly, all at once. It launches you back to that convenience, the robbery. How powerless you had been to stop the clerk from dying out, your hoodie fruitlessly wedged to her neck. You’d been spared the grief so far – the blur of the last day tamping to little more than an aching numbness. Yet you should have appreciated that it couldn’t last; guilt is far too familiar a prospect for you to have expected it to let off so soon.

(Your mistake.) 

“Oops. Did that go through your heart? My bad, doc.” It howls, stuck in its own stand-up routine. “You’d been doing your… erm– civil duty, sure.” The loud squelch of gore triggers the imagery for you, regardless of your averted gaze. The limb-turned-spear being pried out from between his ribs, caked in bits of tissue. 

Dead. You could’ve prevented it. 

He could have. 

From behind the veil of unshed tears, you watch as he ponders the risk of retracting his hand. You betray nothing, blinking back the hot dismay from your eyes, and instead meet his regard in cold defiance. Slowly, as though your apparent sensibility means anything, he removes the muzzle. 

You contemplate screaming, to coax the creature from the group of people it has surrounded and make it Miguel's problem to handle.

Then, you remember your rather unsavoury predicament. How prone you are to harm with your limbs locked; you aren’t the best in combat, but you still could’ve stood a chance at survival if it wasn’t for your restraints. 

Your captor reaffirms his grip, tucking you to his figure as he creeps up to a corner. His back remains glued to the brick wall, obscured in shadow. The stance is primed – far from the hesitant sidle he’d adopted before. It isn’t hard to figure out why; you see it too, buried under a pile of trash bags, on the other side of the road. Purple, luminescent. 

The day pass. 

As if on cue – choreographed by a sadistic deity with no favour for anyone involved – you glitch. 

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for you to fall to the ground, erupting in a pained groan. The creature twists to lay its terror on your curled frame, shaded by a man who – despite his vast height – is dwarfed in comparison to its colossal self.

“Better start learning not to ignore my spidey sense! I’d felt you tiptoein’ over there,” It growls, neck stretching in preparation for attack. 

“We’re not here for you.” Miguel urges. 

“No? That hurts my feelings, and here I was thinking you wanted to be friends.” At the feral rip of its taunt, it lunges, tearing through the space separating you. The spider-man, in turn, dodges the barrelling assault, swinging in a blur of motion to a wreck not far off. You thank God for his flashy suit; the creature seems to forget you completely, pivoting to charge at him again. 

You force yourself to look away, sickened at the unhinged savagery with which it thrashes. There are people still around, crippled by quickly debilitating injuries, the paramedics meant to aid them now amongst the lost. This is what you wanted – the opportunity to help – and of course you’re still hindered by the asshole who’d refused you in the first place. Desperation weighs heavy on your chest as your eyes scan the spoilage, seeking anything you could use to cut yourself free. And there, you catch it – the sharp end of a broken gutter, its jagged edge catching the afternoon sun.

Using your heels as anchors, you push yourself across the coarse pavement. It isn’t a long way, thankfully, but sweat already starts to dampen your shirt by the time you reach the potential lifeline. Angling yourself, you press the webs to the serrated metal, ready to start shoving. That is, until you remember Miguel; how he sat on your legs, his talons performing much the same feat. He made sure to hold your wrists apart, so you didn’t suffer damages he didn’t intend. 

You remedy your approach, arms straining to separate, then thrust downwards. The telltale signs of your success come as pops, like elastic bands splintering. Then, it’s the easing pressure on your skin, irritated and surely marked in places where the binds come undone. 

The makeshift blade catches your elbow once you’re halfway down, burying deep enough to touch bone. The world narrows to the searing intensity that blazes up your nerves, eclipsing all else. You almost forget your goal, your brain stirring signals to pull away, but the fight that rages in your peripheral is only growing more barbaric. Alarmingly, Miguel is losing. 

If he dies, you’re next, and it’d all be in vain. 

Biting your tongue, you stifle the pain and continue pressing. The gutter inches sideway, ripping through flesh and web like butter, the sleeves of your top mangling at its lip. Miraculously, you stay awake for the time it takes to finally get your arms loose. It’s harder to preserve that triumph when you sit up, though, dizziness distorting the plan of action you’d set for yourself. 

(Get… get the people to safety. Then, your legs. No–

Free your legs, get the people to safety. And… what? 

The day pass. Yeah.

But Mig–)

Your body moves with an unsettling disconnect from your own command. Unable to fully grasp the dissonance, you blanch in bewilderment as you navigate the clearest cut path through it all. A dance in a mechanical rhythm; pulling the webs off your calves, running over to the nearest civilian, and helping them up on their feet. And again. And again. 

There’s a boy, young enough that you worry he doesn’t understand you’re harmless. His cherubic face is coated in a grey layer of dust, disturbed only by the tear marks that run from big eyes. His foot has been crushed, stormy blue blotching his knee. You dismiss the agony of your numerous wounds and crouch to pick him up, hugging him to your chest. 

New squadrons of emergency services trickle in, careful to leave their sirens off as they round the corner. It’s an odd enough choice that it distracts you from the child’s fingers, which dig into your abrasion for purchase. An ensemble of prospects occur to you. 

When you hand him off to an awaiting EMT, it clicks. 

What’d the creature call itself? A symbiote? 

(You haven’t always been science-oriented.

Freshman year of college, you’d joined as an undeclared major within the school of arts and architecture. ‘Course, you only had your general education requirements to fulfil at the time; useless classes that fit your self-imposed four day weekend, meant to do fuck all as your tuition went to waste. Needless to say, your ambition had been directed at more carnal pursuits. 

Then, there was astronomy. It’d awakened your curiosity for the cosmos.

Astro 8, to be exact. Life in the Universe. Your post-midterm lesson had been on a recently discovered,  space-faring civilization. Symbiotes – they were called – based on the initial assumption that they thrived in mutual beneficial relationships with other lifeforms. But the projection that flickered for its class of drowsy students entailed another truth entirely. Darkened bullet points in big, bold letters. Known weakness. 

Fire, and sound.)

You sprint towards a nearby cop car, its door wide open and the driver's seat vacant. It’s instinctual, devoid of consideration. A singular objective dominates you, beyond the day pass – to kill that thing. Not for Miguel, who’s choked in its gnarled hand. Not for yourself, or your deep-rooted desire for heroism. No. Just for them – the boy and that group of friends, the doctor who still lays dead on the scene. For the sake of this world, and to reconcile the life you took just last night, as if such a trade-off could absolve you of the weight of your sins.

Stepping on the gas, you accelerate abruptly, gaining speed with every pothole you drive over. It looms ahead, crouched in front of a hollowed-out apartment complex, suffocating the futurist spider-man and vibrating with glee. If you can align it – aim and time it just right…

You activate the wail siren. Your hypothesis is validated when it screeches in response to the racket, throwing Miguel off to the side. 

Good. He won’t be collateral.

You grab a gun from the cupholder on the dash, throwing it on the pedal to keep it down, then jump to the backseat. 

The impact is seismic; a violent convergence of metal and brick and brawn that sends shockwaves rippling throughout your being. You become captive to the merciless momentum, forcefully propelled against the leather cushions. Chronic whiplash shreds upon the vulnerable muscles holding the weight of your concussed head; its talons raking through the fibres, pulling apart the once sturdy tissue. A relentless ring envelops the cacophony of noise, and silences it into one, tender hum. 

You’re hauled out the window, detained in the embrace of some unspecified form, which settles above you for cover as the building comes crumbling down. 

Or – not unspecified. 

That mix of patchouli and musk.

Your consciousness turns to black as you're buried beneath the rubble.

chapter six →

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[bigification]

How to Deal With Cops

Part 1: Breaking and Entering

Damien slowly stepped through the broken window, responding to a breaking and entering call. He carefully stepped around the shattered glass that was strewn across the floor. His slender build made it easy to sneak around the house without a sound, as he didn't want to alert the criminal to his presence. He turned to the bedroom, where a man wearing a black hoodie was piling jewellery into his backpack.

"Police! Don't move, put your hands behind your back." Damien shouted.

The slowly stood up and raised his hands. Damien approached him and reached to grab his right hand. The man suddenly pulled out a needle from his sleeve and swung it backwards. The needle jabbed into Damien's arm, and the man injected the green liquid before Damien could react.

"Ah fuck!" Damien yelled as he pulled the needle out of his arm.

The man bolted out of the room, making sure his face was obscured the entire time. Damien quickly followed, running through the thin hallways of the house. At first he was catching up, his days running track let him have the jump on most criminals when they tried to run. But it didn't take long for a lethargic feeling to overcome his body. Every step, he felt heavier and heavier. He ran more and more out of breath, until he had to stop.

He stood in the hallway, bent over with his hands on his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. He looked down at the small belly that was now pushing out his uniform.

"Damn, -huff- I've gotta cut back on those doughnuts, -huff- I think they're starting to catch up to me." Damien whispered to himself as he rubbed his belly. "I'm fine, I've just -huff- gotta sit down for a sec."

Damien stood up straight, and slowly started to make his way back to the bedroom. With every step his belly grew. At first it was barely noticeable under his loose uniform, but it didn't stay that way for long. He soon looked pregnant, with his belly spilling over his waist line. Even his softening pecs started to press against his uniform.

His stride started to widen as he walked. Fat piled into his ass and his thighs, making him spread his legs more and more until his was practically waddling down the hall.

His gut started to widen as the fat started to fill in his love handles, and his moobs grew large enough that the fat started to fill in his armpits. This in combination with his fattening arms, made him hard to spread his arms further and further out from his body.

His sharp jawline sank into a cushion of fat as his double chin connected to his neck. His cheeks fattened, making his face look wider and softer.

His gut continued to grow, threatening to burst through his uniform. The fat started to overhang, only being held up by his tucked in shirt. And as his walk became more and more like a waddle, his gut started to swing back and forth with each step.

After what felt like forever, Damien finally made it to the bedroom. He squeezed through the door frame and flopped his fat ass down onto the bed. He could feel the fat ripple around his body as ripping sounds echoed from multiple parts of his uniform.

He sat back and laid his fat hands on his growing gut. Rubbing it felt nice.

"I think it might be time for a new uniform." He mumbled to himself.

Damien sat there for a few minutes, adjusting to the way his new body felt. The way the rolls sat on his back, and the way his fat pad engulfed his dick. Though, to him nothing had changed, he was still the same old fatass cop that loved doughnuts a little too much. He never ran track, he just threw shot put in high school.

"I should probably report this and get back." He grunted as he heaved himself off the bed.

Part 2: The Office

Damien waddled back to his patrol car and squeezed in. His slid his seat back and sped off back to his precinct.

He walked into the office as if nothing had changed. Confused glares shot from every direction, as no one recognized the man who so confidently strolled in. Though the confusion soon turned to concern as his colleagues realized it was Damien.

"Oh my god man, what happened to you?" One of Damiens work buddies approached him.

"What do you mean?" He responded, oblivious.

"Your... You're so fat."

"Ya and you're so skinny, what about it." Damien brushed him off and made his way to his boss's office. He squeezed through the door and stood over his boss at his desk. His boss slowly looked up, past Damien's hulking gut and up to his face.

"Damien!?" The Boss looked shocked as he pulled his cigar out of his mouth.

"Yes sir, I just came here to-" Damien paused as a loud growl erupted from his stomach. Moments later, he let out a loud burp that echoed through the office. A green gas, similar in color to the liquid he had been injected with, filled the room.

The cloud made it hard to see even a few feet in front of him. All Damien could hear was a series of grunts, then fabric ripping, then a few burps. The cloud soon disappeared through the cigar vent in the corner of the room. This revealed the boss laid back in his chair, smoking his cigar. His massive gut spilling out of his button up and onto his lap. His ass now pushes out the sides of his chair, and his clean shaven face now had a thick white beard covering it.

The boss stood up with a loud grunt and a squeak from his chair. He pulled his suit back to show off his now impressive gut. He gave it a good rub, as if he was just getting used to the feeling of it weighing him down.

"Oh, Damien. Where were we." The boss asked.

"Oh I uhh-" Damien stuttered.

"Nevermind, I have an announcement to make." The boss interrupted as he walked to the door.

Many people turned to the boss as he stood to make his announcement. All of them jaw slack as they see their boss now with 200 extra pounds added to him. The boss goes to speak, but is interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach. Then another green cloud erupts from the boss as he lets out a loud burp. The cloud quickly spreads around the entire precinct.

People grunted and uniforms ripped as men grew tens of not hundreds of pounds. Six packs turned to beer guts, pecs turned to saggy man tits, and fat pads engulfed dicks. Perky asses started to widen and dag under their own weight, and hands and feet were pumped with fat. It didn't take long for the sound of office chairs breaking to fill the room. By the time the cloud dissipated, every man in the precinct was left with a hulking beer guts. Some lucky ones still had their clothes on, but most had ripped through all of them. And some had grown big bushy beards to top off their bearish look. Even the men in lock up weren't safe, needing a new pair of clothes before they were set free.

The next plan of action was to call over officers from other precincts to share the news. Soon enough, no cop in America will be fit to chase after criminals.

[charlottes-diary-entries]

HELLLOOO :) could I request a wolfstar x reader where there’s an upcoming exam that r is super stressed about and how the boys would help or comfort them? (This is indeed self indulgent bcuz I’m stressin for finals 😭)

oh my god darling, i'm aware this is two MILLION years late, but i fear i was ALSO stressin for finals :( i hope all of your exams went completely swimmingly and if they didn't then here is a little comfort for the start of your summer <3

"academic avalanche" poly!wolfstar x reader, very fluffy, mostly comfort

This was it. You'd considered it might come to this, but today seemed to make it official. You were now living, to eventually die, and then rot forever, beneath a wall of books in the library that completely obscured you from view. It was ridiculous. One gentle breeze and you'd be a victim of an academic avalanche.

As you once again desperately tried to cram information about the giant wars of the 19th century into your brain, tears began to slip down your cheeks. Hopelessly, you thumped your head against the horrid tome before you and let the tears fall. Hiccups and sobs also began to escape before you could stop them, and soon enough, you were trying as hard as you could to break down quietly as to not disturb the peace of the library.

They would write your name and death date on your gravestone, paired with the phrase, "Killed by History of Magic."

"Dovey?"

At the sound of a familiar, endlessly comforting voice, you wished you could pull yourself together and only fell apart more. A miserable moan left you from your place faceplanted in the evil textbook.

"Is that you tucked away there, darling?"

One of the shorter stacks was shoved aside before the voice cooed and you were suddenly shoved by an overly-aggressive hug. The voice chided your attacker with a quiet, "Sirius..." but was ultimately ignored as you were squeezed within an inch of your life.

"What have they done to you?" Sirius pulled you upright and gasped at the tears that still flowed down your face. "Scratch that, how did we let you hole up here like this?! Oh, dovey..."

You hiccupped through another sob as Sirius shushed you, pressing kiss after kiss all over your face in attempt to cheer you up.

"I think-" You began, "I think this exam is going to kill me. Actually kill me, I can't do this."

Remus perked up from where he had begun to deconstruct your cavern of books. "Alright dove, it's okay. Why don't we take a break, hm?"

This only served to upset you more as you moaned, flopping completely into Sirius's arms. Frustration only continued to bubble up and out of you as Sirius cradled you.

"I've got to pass this exam. I think I'm going to fail otherwise and I can't fail. I hate this stupid professor, I hate History of Magic, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!"

Sirius cooed and pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you tighter. "I think passionate declarations of hate are a pretty decent sign you're due for a break. Just a little one love, and then we'll help you study after, yeah?."

"I second this plan, besides," Remus said, now a little sheepish, "we've missed you dove."

"Missed them! Missed them, he says!" Sirius scoffed, "You've been holed up in here for nearly a week and your absence has actually taken a toll on our health! I swear, I've never felt so sick as when you're stuck studying!"

At this, you sniffed and smiled a little up at Sirius, who only grinned down at you, allowing himself to kiss your forehead.

"Starting to feel better now, though."

You giggled and Remus rolled his eyes fondly, having now successfully returned most of your books to their respective shelves. Sirius then easily pulled you up and you didn't have the energy to resist. Now with you on your feet, he began to speak before you were tugged away from him and into Remus's bone-crushing hug.

Whatever dramatic protest at you being stolen from him died on Sirius's lips as he watched you deflate even more in your boyfriend's arms. A few more tears rolled down your face as he joined the hug.

"C'mon dovey," Remus said as he eventually pulled away, leaving his hand tightly entwined with yours, "let's all go cuddle for a bit, yeah?"

You nodded and let him pull you along, Sirius attaching himself to your unoccupied arm. You continued to hang off them as they walked you back to their dorm feeling endlessly grateful for their ability to carry the weight of the conversation on their own.

There was something indescribable about the comfort that came from Remus holding you on his bed with Sirius on your other side telling you both about some muggle band he loved. You felt loved. Completely surrounded by love, actually.

And exam be damned, there was no where you'd rather be.

this isn't very long, but i hope you enjoyed love! <3

[chaiifluuf]

That's that me espresso! — c. nakahara

synopsis. chuuya struggles to fall asleep again after thinking about you and his unexpected dreams

content. fem!reader, fluff, suggestive in one part, chuuya is lovesick and he doesn’t know it <3

notes. i don’t know if i got his character right.. i tried my best tho ! and yes this is inspired by sabrina carpenter’s song espresso hehe (*´꒳`*)

chuuya doesn’t dream. 

or well he didn’t use to because tonight was the first time he had a dream in a really long time.

the fact it wasn’t a nightmare shocked him even further and out of all things he could’ve dreamed about, it was about you. why you? he isn’t sure himself. chuuya let out a silent sigh as he rubbed his face, trying to recall everything he saw because a part of him is still in disbelief that he had an actual dream.

the first thing he remembers is you wearing a summer dress while walking at the shore of a beach. the gentle waves crashing into your bare feet as you carried your flip flops in your hand. then you turned around and your face was beaming. chuuya swore you had the happiest smile he had ever seen on you. something seems to catch your attention when you look at him.

“chuuya, your hair is in your face!” you tell him with a light giggle. as soon as you mention that, he notices how his hair strands start to obscure his sight as the wind blows from behind him. you make your way towards him as if an idea popped into your mind. “wait, stay still,” you say and swiftly move behind him while chuuya couldn’t help but blink in confusion. “what?”

you don’t say anything in return but it doesn’t take him long before he realises what you’re doing as he can feel your fingers gather his hair into one place. you were making a ponytail for him. 

“there! now it won’t be bothering you,” you say once you are done, looking at him in satisfaction and glee. chuuya touches his head for a moment, not used to having it like that. it indeed felt nicer. he thanked you before the two of you start walking again.

“no problem. you look really good with a ponytail too…” you mumble the last part and chuuya almost misses it. he glances at you, about to say something and he’ll never know what because that was the moment he woke up.

chuuya believes there was probably more going on in the dream but this is as far as he remembers. he casts a look to the side, scanning over the clock that reads 2:56 am. there is more than enough time to get his much needed sleep. because it is a rare occurrence for him to not be exhausted from a usual workday, he’ll take any bit of rest he can get. 

with that in mind, chuuya shifts his body to the other side and closes his eyes, a soft exhale leaving his lips. it was just a silly dream and he will forget it soon enough anyway. although he still doesn’t quite understand why you were there. you were one of the closest people to him, he’ll admit that. you knew him better than most people and he has lost count at how many times you have made his day so much better. the two of you were good friends and that’s it. yeah, this is fine.

except it isn’t.

falling asleep turns out to be a much more difficult task than he anticipated. he isn’t even that tired anymore which did not help. chuuya’s mind is still stuck on his damned dream. he can’t help but picture again your radiant smile, how your hair blew in the wind, the way you stared at him and that pretty dress… he quickly shaked his head to snap out of it. he can’t believe himself. chuuya decides to get up and find something to distract himself since he couldn’t sleep now anyway.

he wished that would’ve been the one and only time he dreamed of you. this was the third time in the week that he hasn’t slept well. all of them had you in it and at this point chuuya thinks something is wrong with him. how does anyone dream about the same person so many times in such a short time? 

chuuya groans into his pillow as he suspects yet another badly slept night. of course you were on his mind once more. he is glad that these aren’t nightmares but at the same time he doesn’t know how to feel about these dreams either. he’s also shocked by just how vividly he remembers all of them. 

in the second dream, chuuya was at a restaurant with you. if he’s going to be honest then it felt like a date. the dimmed lights, the romantic atmosphere, a lit up candle placed on the middle of the table and two glasses filled halfway with red wine. he still remembers the simple yet elegant carmine dress you were wearing. your gaze was filled with so much warmth and adoration that he felt his heart falter. then you laughed at something he said and god your laughter seemed sweeter than the desserts the two of you were having.

the entire time his eyes were stuck on you as if you were the most breathtaking person he had ever come across. and you were. while the conversation was hazy to him, the scene of you intertwining your fingers with his was still clear in his mind. your rosy cheeks afterwards made you look even prettier. thinking about it alone made chuuya’s heart rate fasten.

the third dream however, the one he had tonight, was a different story. because with each time these dreams seem to get bolder and chuuya doesn’t know how to handle it. 

you were pushed against the bed with him hovering over you. he was kissing you and they weren’t some kind of gentle kisses either. more like they were filled with desire, need and many other strong emotions he couldn’t pinpoint. he pulled away for a moment, his lips still brushing against yours. your hair had gotten rather messy, your lipstick was smeared and it was obvious that you were breathless as he could feel your breath on his skin. 

“chuuya, please…” he couldn’t fight back the shiver that went down his spine when he heard your pleading voice. your arms were wrapped around his neck as you held him close. his lips slowly trail down from your lips and he can’t help but start sensually kissing your neck. chuuya relished the soft noises that left your lips.

“want you s’bad,” you murmured to his ear and chuuya swears his heart skipped a beat. were you even aware of the effect you had on him? “i’m right here, doll.” his tone was low and husky as one of his hands sneaked below your shirt, lifting it up as he traced your waist. he didn’t miss the subtle tremble of your body when his bare hand came in touch with your abdomen. god your skin was so soft and your flushed face was the most adorable sight. he grinned before going for your lips again and then—

chuuya can feel his face heat up as he realised what he was thinking. he buried his face into the pillow once again because that was just a little too intimate. and goddamn it, he feels like a schoolgirl who just talked to her crush for the first time.

why the fuck is this happening to him?

he hasn’t seen you in a while since both of you were busy with your missions lately. you did text him though, and even if he always didn’t have the time to respond, you liked talking to him about your day as well as your frustrations at times. chuuya didn’t mind and when he had a chance would type you back. with a lot of things going on, you and him were still in touch. so are his dreams supposed to be some kind of sign to see you again?

if only you knew how much you have driven him insane. he needs to do something, anything to get these dreams out of his head. a night with actually good rest does sound nice right now. however he won’t get that, not tonight at least. suddenly chuuya gets an idea. a stupid idea perhaps, but he believes he will only continue to suffer if he won’t do anything about it. he grabs his phone from the bedside table and opens the messages app.

Me 4:03 am

you up?

chuuya sighs, there is no going back now. he hopes you’re asleep but a small part of him wishes you would respond because he has no idea what to do at this point. five minutes later, he hears his phone vibrate.

Y/n 4:08 am

mhm, something wrong?

his eyes slightly widen in surprise. so you were awake. for a moment he thinks what to text back.

Me 4:09 am

not really, just can’t sleep

Y/n 4:09 am

what a coincidence haha

now that i think about it i still haven’t seen your motorcycle that you promised to show me one day

maybe wanna meet up? ^ ^

chuuya’s mind pauses because this might be exactly what he needs — to see you again. without thinking too much he starts typing.

Me 4:10 am

sure

i’ll come and pick you up

Y/n 4:11 am

YAYY 

i’ll see you then!! 

he can’t help but smile a little. a genuine smile that he hasn’t had in a while. he quickly changed his clothes, locked his apartment and began making his way to the garage. 

he might never admit it but even with you in his dreams, he still missed you. the real you.

fun fact: initially, i had put a winky face after the “i’ll come and pick you up” text but then decided against it bc i’m still not sure if he would do that LMAO

[mattiesgf]

scribbles - m.r x reader

summary - dash&lily!au, mattheo and reader communicate through a book, and perhaps its comforting to rant to someone without knowing them?

word count - above 2k

a/n - okay omg, this is literally my first fic ever so don't judge? and I really wanted something like an anonymous romance because I think it fits mattheo. enjoyy

The Hogwarts library was insanely huge—everyone knew that. Its sections seemed to stretch endlessly, shelf after shelf, book after book. And it wasn’t just academic texts; there were novels too, tucked away in those maze-like aisles.

So here he was, Mattheo Riddle, probably the last person you’d expect in front of the literature shelves, fumbling through titles in a half-hearted attempt to find A Farewell to Arms for his Muggle Studies class.

Professor Charity Burbage wouldn’t shut up about the so-called "sappy Muggle romance." For the sake of his grades, he had to find it. After scanning what felt like every spine in the row, he finally spotted it.

“Finally!”

He grabbed the book without hesitation. Staying in the library wasn’t on his agenda—it never was. The place didn’t exactly hold the sweetest memories for him. The silence, so absolute, seemed to lure the worst thoughts to the surface. It was the perfect breeding ground for overthinking, and Mattheo had no patience for that. He much preferred the controlled chaos of the dorms or the common room. Maybe he’d been alone too long. People could be annoying, sure, but they kept the silence—and his thoughts—at bay.

Just as he was about to leave, something caught his eye: a bright red book on the same shelf. It wasn’t a novel, not with that unmarked spine and leather cover. Curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled it out. The journal smelled faintly of Chanel—a stark contrast to the old-book musk around it. Stickers covered the spine, obscuring what might’ve been the owner’s initials. Lana Del Rey. The Smiths. A tiny “A” tucked in the corner.

He opened it.

The first page was written in delicate cursive, the kind that practically screamed “perfected over years of writing essays on parchment.”

“Do you dare?”

His first instinct was to chuck the thing out the nearest window and let it flop onto the frozen lake below. This felt eerily close to one of his father’s tricks. But then again, when had Voldemort ever cared for indie aesthetics or Muggle music?

Curiosity won. He flipped the page.

“Ah, so you do dare. And no, I’m not trying to lure you into the Chamber to kill you. I just figured if you’re in this aisle, maybe we have something in common.”

“I’ve left some clues for you. If you want them, turn the page. If you don’t, put the book back on the shelf, please—this is kind of my one shot at finding a literary soulmate.”

The handwriting, undeniably feminine, had that neat, practiced vibe. Someone who probably spent way too much time perfecting it in their first year. Definitely not him.

“ALSO, if you’re not a teenage boy, I’d suggest putting it back. And if you’re Madam Pince, I’m definitely a Gryffindor. ;)”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle. She was funny. Slytherin vibes, or so he thought.

The next page revealed a string of numbers:

“1111111”

Some sort of code?

“Solve it, decipher it, and it might just lead…”

He sighed, already feeling the time he’d need to spend on this. But he was hooked. What better way to pass the time than chasing cryptic clues from a journal that promised not to kill him, right?

Tucking the book under his arm, he headed for the exit, but of course, Madam Pince’s sharp voice cut through the air like a spell.

“Mr. Riddle, you must check that out before stuffing it in your bag and leaving.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He handed over A Farewell to Arms.

“And the other?”

“That’s mine. Just a journal,” he lied smoothly.

“Right.”

He nodded quickly and slipped out before she could've said more.

As he walked away, a soft voice called out behind him. “You took the journal?”

He turned, spotting a fifth-year—a library volunteer, maybe.

“I did. Why?”

The kid shrugged, barely pausing. “Solve the riddles and put it where you get. She’ll answer.”

“Wait—”

But the kid was already gone.

“Wait—”

But the kid was already gone.

So, it was a girl. Cursive handwriting, fancy perfume, and riddles designed to intrigue. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a waste of time after all.

He made his way back to the dungeons, the familiar stone hallways feeling like they were meant for him, even if he wasn’t sure what “home” really meant anymore.

He reached the dorm, the one that was always a bit of a mess, the one he shared with Theodore and Lorenzo. The air had that funny, almost burnt toast scent to it that Mattheo had gotten used to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his.

But his mind wasn’t on the dorm or the mess. It was on the journal. It had been... interesting. Why would Mattheo Riddle, of all people, take the time to talk to someone who had no idea who he was? Maybe that’s exactly why—someone who wouldn’t judge him for the name or the bloodline.

“Oi, Enzo, give me a hand with something?”

“God, Matt, do you ever think maybe I have my own stuff to do? Maybe Enzo has plans, y’know?”

“Shut up and help. I totally covered for you with Greengrass about your stupid book, remember?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.”

Lorenzo flopped down next to him on the couch, eyeing the journal in Mattheo’s hand.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re talking to a girl—who could very well not be a girl—and you want me to solve the riddles and help you, because you’re actually interested? AND, you're intrigued by one line? the one line she wrote-?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s a good line.”

Lorenzo gave him a skeptical look. “A good line? She could be some weird third-year with a collection of creepy journals. I’m just saying, don’t get too attached.”

“Relax, I’m not getting attached,” Mattheo said, but the words felt hollow even to him.

Lorenzo snatched the journal from his hand, flipping through the pages. “You’re telling me you’re not intrigued by this?” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, ‘Do you dare?’ That’s some serious mysterious girl energy.”

Mattheo leaned back, watching as Lorenzo scanned the riddles, his lips curving into a smirk. “Just help me solve it, alright?”

Lorenzo paused, glancing over at Mattheo. “Fine. But don’t blame me when this turns into some weird obsession.”

“Alright, mystery guy, string the letters together and let’s see where we end up.”

Mattheo leaned back, watching as Lorenzo eyed the list of riddles. He was already beginning to look like he was about to fall asleep.

“Okay, Enzo, do them for me,” Mattheo said, tapping the page impatiently.

Lorenzo groaned but took the journal from him, reading the first riddle aloud.

“There’s a light that never fades,

Shining bright even through melancholy haze.

Name the song that calls out for comfort and trust,

It’s about heaven, but grounded in the just.”

Lorenzo paused, scratching his chin. “Okay, that’s definitely an old one, maybe like Lana? Considering the stickers?”

Something seemed to have clicked for mattheo, “No, no, no The smiths! SHE LIKES THE SMITHS, ENZO- oh my god, there’s a light that never goes out, thats it!”

Lorenzo kept going, flipping to the next one, sighing at Mattheo. "Once again, same music taste does not equal soulmate- god, do you ever learn?"

Mattheo rolled his eyes, "Alright, shut up, go on"

“If sweets are your craving, step through my door,

From Chocolate Frogs to Fizzing Whizbees galore.

In Hogsmeade’s heart, where sugar dreams thrive,

Name the shop where treats come alive.”

“Honestly, that’s a no-brainer. It’s Honeydukes,” Lorenzo said without hesitation.

“Right, right. You’re on fire,” Mattheo teased, as Lorenzo moved on to the next.

"I’m often served up cold or hot,

A liquid refreshment, I hit the spot.

I come in flavours, both sweet and bold,

What am I? Guess me, I’m quite old."

Lorenzo grinned. “Coffee? Like, uh, lets say expresso? ”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d get that one first try.”

Lorenzo continued to read, now with a slight smirk.

“An ode to a woman with a celestial name,

Her vibe is electric, not one you can tame.

From the album that rocked the world wide,

Name the track.”

Lorenzo stared at the riddle for a moment, clearly deep in thought. His lips curled slightly, as if trying to put the pieces together.

Mattheo watched, his mind already racing through possibilities. "Come on, Enzo. It’s not that hard."

Lorenzo looked up, clearly struggling to connect the dots. "I dunno, man. Celestial name... electric vibe... It’s throwing me off."

Mattheo’s eyes widened. “Wait... Arabella,” he said suddenly, catching the reference. “It’s got to be ‘Arabella’ by Arctic Monkeys.”

Lorenzo blinked, then nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense. Good catch, Riddle.”

Mattheo grinned, feeling a little bit smug. “I know my stuff.”

Lorenzo looked at the riddle like Mattheo was crazy.

“I’m a serpent, sleek and sly,

With emerald scales and cunning eye.

In the house where ambition reigns,

What’s my symbol? Speak my name.”

“Matt, come on. The locket, duh.”

“Oh, right,” Mattheo muttered, tapping his fingers on the journal.

Lorenzo barely hesitated before moving on to the next riddle.

“I’m the one who guards the goalposts tight,

Stopping the quaffle with all my might.

I block and deflect, keeping the score low—

What’s my position? Now, let me know!”

“Keeper,” Lorenzo answered with a smirk, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Should’ve known,” Mattheo grumbled, half to himself.

Lorenzo moved on, flipping to the final riddle.

“I’m a potion that makes truth come clear,

In Hogsmeade, I’m sold with no fear.

A drop or two, and secrets unfold,

What’s my name? It’s liquid gold.”

Lorenzo grinned. “Veritaserum. Honestly, these riddles are too easy.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “You really think you’ve got this figured out, huh?”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Well, if I’m solving all the riddles, maybe I should be the one old-timey flirting with her through a book. What do you think?”

Mattheo’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What? Absolutely not. I found the book. Plus, you think she could be a possible psychopath—what about that, huh?”

Lorenzo shrugged, unfazed. “Eh, it’s a possibility. But if she’s that crazy, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

Mattheo shook his head, but couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips. "Not happening."

“Anyway, let me put it together. It says ‘string the first together,’” Lorenzo said, already scribbling down the letters.

Mattheo watched, tapping his foot in rhythm. “Uh, T, H, E, A, L, K, V…”

Lorenzo stared at the letters for a moment before glancing up. “Alright, so… ‘THE ALCOVE.’” He shrugged. “Sounds like the one by the lake.”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, like our Alcove, Alcove?”

Lorenzo gave another shrug. “Could be. Or maybe something else. Who knows? It’s just a game, Matt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mattheo said, leaning back with a grin. “I’ll go check it out.”

Lorenzo chuckled, tossing the journal back at Mattheo. “Right, because you’re definitely not getting invested. Go ahead, find the weirdo.”

Mattheo smirked, flipping through the journal and eyeing the letters. “I’ll figure it out. But, uh, if she’s leaving clues like this, she’s got a decent sense of humor.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t get too carried away with it, alright? Since it’s just a game.”

Mattheo sighed and plopped down onto the stone steps, resting the journal beside him. He leaned back, his gaze wandering aimlessly around the alcove, still trying to make sense of the place. The stillness of the moment almost felt like an invitation to relax, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this. There had to be.

He scanned the surrounding area, eyes tracing the worn edges of the stone, the lake shimmering faintly through the trees. And then—there it was.

That familiar "a".

On one of the tiles, nearly hidden beneath the edge of the stone step, was a small sticker of the letter “a”—it wasn’t much, but Mattheo immediately recognized it. The same letter from the journal. The same one that had popped up in the corner of the pages, taunting him with its mystery.

Mattheo’s heart picked up pace, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Now we're getting somewhere. He bent down, carefully peeling the sticker off the tile, wondering what kind of clue this could lead to.

Whatever it was, he was definitely invested now.

Mattheo stared at the sticker for a second, waiting for something to happen, but when nothing did, he was about to brush it off. Then, in a blink, the sticker seemed to melt away, its glossy edges rippling like the surface of the lake on a windy day. Before he could process it, the sticker was gone, replaced by a folded note.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Hogwarts magic, never a dull moment.

He unfolded the note, the handwriting neat and familiar:

"Leave the journal, I'll answer."

The next day, Mattheo found himself walking past the alcove again. The events from the night before still lingered in his mind, but he'd almost convinced himself it had all been some weird fluke, or maybe just a one-off game.

He hadn't returned to the alcove since he’d left the journal there, figuring he’d check back in a day or so. But as he passed by, he couldn’t resist stopping. The place seemed quieter now, the magic of the night before no longer lingering in the air.

But when he got to the spot, he was surprised to see that the journal was still there. Nothing else had changed. Mattheo stared at it for a moment, debating whether to just walk away, but something—curiosity, maybe—kept him rooted to the spot.

He bent down, picking up the journal and flipping through it. 

"Aha, u so could be kinda smart huh? I can’t believe someone’s actually answered, that journal was probably there for a year? And good job with the riddles, I guess? I’m surprised you got the Smiths and Arctic Monkeys one, maybe u have a similar taste Mystery Boy. Your chance now, you give me the dare and I’ll follow through."

- A,

xx

Mattheo leaned back against the wall, grinning to himself. So, she was serious about this. A dare, huh? This could get interesting.

He quickly scribbled in his response, his hand steady as he wrote. "Alright, mystery girl, you asked for it."

omggg, I actually wrote this? I'm very happy about it, and i'd love if people interact w it, also ty @sunkissedscribbles for helping since my first draft looked like a seven year old wrote it 😭 also yes, this will be a series and I'm very open to suggestions and any improvements. (I should probably make a taglist?) - rey