#like it genuinely was the best nights of my life

[raccoonsockss]

happy 10th anniversary to life is strange <3 i’m so glad that i could experience this game and the journey it’s been on to this point and that it still means so much to me

• • • 🦋 yap ahead 🦋 • • •

my first introduction to LIS was at a sleepover with my childhood best friend back in 2015. we’d play random free games that were available on steam (usually WAY too mature for our age) all night and the first episode really hit hard even on the shitty laptop that could barely run the graphics without sounding like it was going to take off. i ended up watching a playthrough of the game and enjoyed it but mostly forgot until i could finally play it for myself in 2018. by then the game was complete and i fell in love with it all over again, especially now being a bit older and able to appreciate the story more than i had as a 10 year old looking for some free horror games. it’s genuinely one of the most impactful, artistically beautiful games i’ve ever played and even if at times it seems awkward or dated it will always have a special place in my heart. i’ve played it so many times now that i could probably quote it inside and out, and i’ll probably play it hundreds more times, but i always notice new details :) it’s just very important to me and i’m grateful for not only the games that it inspired with its impact on the industry, but also the fan work that came from it and the people i’ve met. there’s so much creativity in the community and it’s clear how impactful the media is <3

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –  

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.  

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

[muhlsworld]

WHAT ARE WE?

synopsis: bumping into nika at that party did not go the way you expected.

WARNINGS: this is a part two to my previous fic, suggestive themes (no smut), cussing, italics are flashbacks, one use of y/n (sorry), yet again bad writing

it had been 3 weeks since the party. and you didn’t know why you did what you did. it was all such a blur.

“nika?” you asked.

she looked at you and her eyes went wide.

“y/n?” “what are you doing here?” nika asked in complete shock. you were in complete shock as well to even register her questions. your mind was in a frenzy. you couldn’t believe that she was in front of you. your nika. “are you okay?” nika asked, with what someone could confuse with genuine concern, again. and with that question something in you snapped.

“am i okay?” you repeated. “are you fucking kidding me nika?” you asked, your tone laced with anger and disbelief. nika looked at you wide eyed never hearing you speak to her like that.

“hey, are you ready for practice?” lily asked ripping you from your thoughts. lily had become somewhat of your rock these past few weeks. bonding during practice and spending most of your free time with her. although she doesn’t really know what happened that night or why you’ve been acting “off”.

“yeah. just need to grab my racquets.” you replied. “great, let’s get this practice over with so we can go eat.” lily said. you laughed slightly thinking how such a small girl could eat so much. “okay okay i’m going” you replied.

practice was over, it went okay. your shots weren’t as accurate as they normally are. your shots not having the normal amount of power. you weren’t surprised.. your mind was else where. the memory replaying through the whole practice.

“why nika?” you asked after her not answering you beforehand. she stayed silent yet again. your frustration bubbling every passing second. after a few moments of silence you grew tired of her not speaking. “fine i don’t need this right now nika. don’t bother talking to me” you exclaimed.

right as you were turning around to walk away back to your friends, you felt her grab your wrist. you turn around to tell her off but she cuts you off. “wait please, just let me explain” she sighs. “just not here.” she says and you look at her confused. but before you could say anything shes dragging you by the wrist throughout the frat house. “nika where the hell are you taking me” you asked her not wanting to be around her for any longer. without answering you she pulled you into an empty bedroom.

“look i know i have a lot to explain to you and i will just please hear me out” she pleaded. you look at her with a harsh look. a look you’ve never given her. fed up with everything about the night you say “you have 5 minutes muhl, better start talking.”

“i know what i did was wrong, just ghosting and completely cutting you out of my life like that. i regretted it every day. i still do” nika explained. there was something in her eyes that made it seem like she was telling the truth. but you just couldn’t believe her.

“then why nika?” you asked sounding more defeated this time. “did i really mean nothing to you, for you to cut me out like that.” all the emotion being evident in your voice. nikas heart was breaking at the sight that she caused. “i panicked.” nika answered. “what could have been so bad that you couldn’t tell your so call best friend.” you exclaimed. “you know i would’ve helped you through whatever it was.” you said while looking at her straight in the eyes. however she didn’t look at you, she was twiddling her thumbs around one another. something she used to do many years ago when she was nervous.

“because then i would’ve had to face my feelings for you.” nika whispered. almost quiet enough for you to not hear her.

almost.

you’re snapped out of your thoughts yet again but by your coach this time. “what’s going on kid?” he asked you. “you looked off out there today. is there something i should know about?” he asked immediately after the first question. “no i’m good coach.” you said with confidence.. or so you thought but he looked at you skeptically. “i’m just tired, i swear.” you said. and apparently that was convincing enough for him to leave you alone.

after that somewhat annoying conversation with your coach you opted to going to lunch with your teammates. you all had unanimously decided on chipotle, your guys favorite. you all enjoyed your meal talking about nonsense. and for a moment you felt back to normal. your normal without nika clouding your thoughts.

once your lunch was over every one had split up stating how they each had their own things to do for the rest of the day. you only had a self workout and some homework to finish for a class. so you went back to your dorm room, deciding to work out later on in the day.

the whole afternoon had gone by, it was around 8:30 pm, you were in your dorm finishing your homework. scratch that, you were trying to finish your homework. but a certain burnett kept sneaking back into your thoughts.

“your feelings for me?” you repeated almost sounding hopeful. “yes.” nika replied simply. “what do you mean?”you asked instantly. with a deep sigh nika replied “i loved you. and i didn’t know what to do with those feelings. so i did what i could and i ran from you.” you stared at her with a blank expression. your mind running at a thousand miles per minute. you stayed silent for a few minutes. the tension in the room growing. “please say someth-“ nika way saying until you cut her off, placing your lips on hers for a brief second. “you dumbass i loved you too” you stated like it was obvious.

and with those words it was like something switched within nika. she closed the distance between you two again but this time the kiss was more meaningful and deeper, you replied instantly kissing her back. but the kiss grew hungrier. you both grew hungrier for each other. your tongues dancing with each other and saliva mixing together.

nikas hands rested on your waist and you were getting impatient. so you removed your hands from around her neck and placed atop hers, slowly guiding them to your ass and slightly squeezing over her hands. you moaned softly into her mouth and that was music to her ears. she wanted to hear you even more. so with that she moved you two to the bed.

the sound of skin slapping together echoed throughout the whole room. both of you without a single worry in this moment. it was what you had always wanted with nika. your bodies tangled together.

you snap out of your own thoughts not wanting to relive the rest of the memory of that night.

since homework seemed to be out of the window. you decided to finally go do your workout. so with that you decided to get ready. it didn’t take you long to get ready, you opted for a simpler and comfier outfit. and with that you leave your dorm.

you make it to the gym and start your workout. with the music blasting in your ears you didn’t even hear someone walk into the gym. continuing to mind your own business you go on with your workout. but you feel someone staring at you so you take your headphones out and turn around. and that same feeling from years ago and the same one from the party hits you again.

there she is again. staring right at you.

you guys hadn’t talked about what happened that night. so you thought now would be a good a time as any. seeing as you two were alone. you walk up to her “hi.” you said. “hey” she replied coldly. you looked confused as you why she was being this way after what happened. but you let it slide as you were about to talk to her about it anyway.

right as you were about to speak the door to the gym opens and this guy walks in and starts approaching you guys. you were confused as ever, but what you didn’t see was nikas panicked face. he comes up right beside nika and places an arm around her waist and kisses her cheek. you were completely dumbfounded at what was going on. and then he spoke. “hey babe, did you start without me?” he asked.

and then it clicked. why you guys hadn’t spoken about what happened 3 weeks ago.

nika had a boyfriend.

and you had no idea.

A/N: okay so i really don’t know where im going with this or if im even making a part 3 to this but if you guys want it then ill post it.

[stxrsniolo]

┈̸̷┅ ̤ childlike wonder!chris x imaginary friend!reader ━̸̷︭

╁ ⠀aegan is typing . . . ⠀⠀ࡆ⠀⠀alright, lovebirds, prepare for an overload of sweetness that's gonna make your teeth ache and your heart melt, since this piece is all about those warm, fuzzy feelings that make life worth living, so get ready for some pure, unadulterated fluff that'll have you smiling like an idiot. you're welcome.

in the dim light of his room, filled with the soft glow of fairy lights strung up like stars, chris was in his element. at 21, with the world expecting him to act his age, he still found joy in the simple, the whimsical. his room was a testament to his refusal to let go of the magic of childhood - posters of fantastical creatures, a shelf of action figures, and books on mythology and fairy tales.

and there she was, y/n, his imaginary friend since he was a kid, sitting cross-legged on his bed, her form slightly translucent, glowing with an ethereal light. she was as vibrant as ever, her attire a mix of every color and style she'd picked up from the stories chris loved. today, she wore a pirate hat with a dress that looked like it was made from the night sky.

"chris, you've got to do something about your pirate ship," y/n said, her voice like the tinkling of bells, pointing at the lego model ship on his desk. "it's looking a bit too... landlocked."

chris chuckled, his laughter genuine, the sound of someone who hadn't lost the wonder of youth. "aye, aye, captain y/n," he replied, his pirate accent playfully exaggerated. "but first, we've got to rescue the princess from the dragon's tower!"

they embarked on their adventure, chris moving around his room, narrating their journey through perilous landscapes and magical forests, with y/n adding her own dramatic flair. she'd mimic the roar of dragons or the swish of a wizard's cloak, making chris burst into laughter or dive into his bed to 'escape' danger.

they made it to the 'tower', which was actually chris's tall bookshelf. "see, the princess is up there, guarded by the fearsome dragon," chris said, pointing at his favorite fantasy novel on the top shelf.

y/n feigned terror, then bravery. "fear not, brave knight, for i have the magic of... imagination!" she waved her hand, and with a flourish, chris took a broomstick, pretending it was a magic wand, casting an 'invisible spell' on the dragon.

chris climbed onto his desk chair, then onto the bookshelf itself, carefully reaching for the book. "rescued!" he declared, hopping back down, holding the book aloft like a trophy.

"and now, the celebration feast!" y/n announced, and they both settled on the bed, surrounded by a fort made of blankets and pillows. chris pulled out a bag of candy, their feast, as they shared stories from the book, each one becoming more fantastical with y/n's input.

"imagine if we could really fly on dragons," chris mused, his eyes bright with the idea.

y/n nodded, her form shimmering with excitement. "we'd have the best view of the world, and we'd visit all the hidden kingdoms."

their conversation flowed from one dream to another, from inventing new spells to planning their next adventure. chris's room was their playground, where anything was possible, where the mundane was transformed into the magical.

as the night wore on, chris's laughter became yawns, his eyes heavy with sleep. y/n watched him with a soft smile, knowing her time was limited when he was awake but boundless in his dreams.

"goodnight, y/n," chris whispered, his voice thick with the comfort of their shared world.

"goodnight, chris," she replied, her voice a gentle lullaby. "dream of dragons and adventures. i'll be here when you wake." with that, chris drifted to sleep, the book still clutched in his hand, the room silent except for his steady breathing.

⨥⠀ ⠀⠀aegan is typing ᅟᅟ:ᅟ⠀heads up, copycats and wannabe adaptors: my work is mine, period. no copies, no mashups, and definitely no translations getting thrown up here or anywhere else without my say-so.

keep your hands off unless i give you the green light, got it?

tags: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕)

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

You were never drinking tequila again. Ever.

The tequila bottle sat empty on your coffee table like evidence from a crime scene, mocking you with memories of last night's social media bravery. Your Grammy awards caught the morning light, their gold surfaces throwing judgmental sparkles across your living room walls. You'd really done it this time - slid into Aurélien Tchouaméni's DMs like your verified check mark gave you the right to disturb his peace at 2 AM.

Your manager Carmen sat in the armchair across from you, tablet in hand as she went through tomorrow's flight details to Madrid. But your attention kept drifting to your phone, to that cursed Instagram conversation where you'd actually typed out "hey, random question but would you maybe want to be in my music video? no pressure lol" - asking him to star in your video for "So Into You," a song that lived in that dangerous space between confession and plausible deniability.

“Earth to lovergirl,” Carmen's professional tone carried just a hint of amusement. “You good? Or still having flashbacks to drunk-texting one of football's finest?”

His response still sat there in your DMs, casual as anything: “The song that's breaking records? I'd be down. Though I have to ask - any particular reason you thought of me? 😉”

You'd screamed into three different pillows after reading that.

“I still can't believe he said yes,” you mumbled, sinking deeper into the couch as Carmen scrolled through your embarrassing Instagram activity history with restrained glee. The evidence was damning: every single post liked within seconds, story reactions that probably made you look unhinged, the way you'd set notifications for his account months ago after that first video blessed your FYP.

It had been innocent enough at first - a clip of him in a post-match interview, fresh taper fade catching the stadium lights. Something about the way he carried himself, that quiet confidence wrapped in genuine humility, had you hitting that follow button before the video even finished. The way he'd laugh with his whole chest in interviews, how he could switch from intense focus on the field to the sweetest smile off it - you were gone before you even realized you were falling.

Your best friend had watched your descent with barely contained amusement. “Not you making a whole Tumblr shrine," she'd cackled one wine night, scrolling through @tchouamenithoughts. “Day 43 of manifesting Aurélien Tchouaméni to ruin my life’? Girl...”

“Listen,” you groaned now, watching Carmen pull up the same account on her phone, “we all cope differently.”

“Cope? You wrote a whole chart-topping song about how he 'controls the game like he could control your heart.' That's not coping, that's down catastrophic,” she said, maintaining her composure even as her eyes danced with mirth.

She wasn't wrong. You'd lost hours to The Bridge episodes, team interviews, even compilation videos of his best plays. You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up hot and bothered from dreams featuring that TCHM chain of his dangling above you, his knowing smile as he– nope. Not going there. Not when you were about to meet him in person.

Your phone lit up with a text from an unknown Spanish number:

“Looking forward to finally meeting tomorrow. Been keeping those 2AM DMs for motivation during training 😊 - AT”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, showing Carmen the screen. “He saved the messages.”

“Of course he did,” she said, checking something on her tablet. “You really think he didn't notice how you watch every single one of his Instagram lives? Even the 3 AM ones after matches where he's just vibing to Afrobeats in his gym? Those thirst traps?”

The way he moved to those beats had no business living rent-free in your head like it did. Neither did the way his eyes got soft when he talked about his family in interviews, or how that dangerous half-smirk would appear after a particularly clean tackle. You'd documented it all on your Tumblr, built whole theories around his personality based on how he interacted with teammates, analyzed every public appearance like it was your job.

“What if he found it?" The thought hit you suddenly. “The Tumblr account?”

Carmen's composed expression cracked slightly with a knowing smile. “Girl, if he has, he still said yes to the video. What does that tell you?”

You didn't want to think about what that might mean. Couldn't let yourself hope that maybe he'd noticed you too, that perhaps those quick likes on your Instagram stories weren't just courtesy, that the way he'd immediately responded to your drunk DM meant something.

Tomorrow you'd be in Madrid. Tomorrow you'd see if that confidence you'd analyzed in countless videos translated in person, if his smile was really as dangerous as it seemed through a screen.

“Make sure you pack some lingerie,” Carmen said as she gathered her things, a slight smirk playing at her lips. “Just in case those Tumblr manifestations worked.”

You buried your face in a throw pillow, but your heart was already racing at the possibility.

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

The Madrid morning sun painted the makeup room in ethereal hues, casting everything in a dreamlike glow that did nothing to settle your nerves. You sat still as the artist perfected your look - soft glam that highlighted your warm brown skin, each baby hair laid with precision, curls falling in a carefully crafted cascade. The "effortlessly gorgeous" aesthetic you'd aimed for had, ironically, required a 5 AM start.

“He's here,” your assistant's voice cut through your reverie, and your heart performed a gymnastics routine worthy of Olympic qualification.

Here's the thing about Aurélien Tchouaméni - all the 4K footage in the world, every professional photograph, every high-definition broadcast couldn't capture what he was in person. The way he commanded space wasn't something a camera could translate.

He had to duck slightly entering the room (had he always been that tall?), the morning light catching him like it knew exactly what it was doing. The fitted white tee and designer jeans he wore were deceptively simple, the kind of casual that required serious thought. That signature "TCHM" pendant caught the light as he moved, the diamond Cuban link chain you'd written dissertations about on Tumblr proving worthy of every analysis. You'd watched enough matches to know his height, studied enough footage to know his build, but something about him actually being there, all 6'2" of him absolutely dominating the space, had your carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble.

“So," he said, that dangerous half-smile playing at his lips as he approached, “you're the one who slid in my DMs at 2 AM?”

The ground could swallow you whole any minute now. His French accent in person was a weapon that should be classified as illegal. “Listen, about that–“

“Nah, don't apologize," he laughed, the sound rich enough to drown in. "It was cute. Especially that part about my ball control being 'unfairly hot.'”

"Please tell me you're joking," you groaned, but you couldn't help smiling. His presence was magnetic - that quiet confidence you'd analyzed through screens somehow even more potent in the flesh.

"Three fire emojis and everything," he grinned, and you noticed his taper fade was fresh, clearly done for the shoot. The chain caught the light again as he leaned slightly closer, shortening the considerable distance between you. "But for what it's worth? Your voice is unfairly hot too.”

Your cognitive functions ceased entirely. The proximity brought his cologne into focus - something expensive and intoxicating that absolutely wasn't helping your ability to form coherent thoughts. The height difference hit differently in person, requiring you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“Five minutes to places!” the director's call pierced through your haze, saving you from having to remember basic language skills.

The shoot itself was a study in sweet torture. For the first time in your career, you found yourself flubbing takes - missing cues, getting lost in moments. You, who prided yourself on one-take perfection, needed multiple runs at the simplest scenes. But how could you focus when he kept looking at you like that? The way his eyes would drift slowly down your body between setups, how his hands would rub together - a tell you'd seen in dozens of post-match interviews when something particularly caught his interest. But then again, Aurélien was known for giving everything his complete attention. You'd watched enough footage to know that.

He played his role perfectly - too perfectly, really. Each take had him hitting his marks with the same precision he showed on the field, but there was something else there. Something in the way his hand would linger just a moment too long when helping you up, how his eyes would catch yours in the monitor playback.

“Last setup!” the director announced, and you silently thanked whatever higher power was listening. Your heart could only take so much.

“So," Aurélien said during the lighting adjustment, his voice dropping to a register that did dangerous things to your pussy. “Since you're such a football fan now... maybe you'd want to come to my match this weekend? VIP seats?”

Your heart stuttered. “Yeah? What if someone recognizes me?”

"Let them," he smiled, and that chain glinted again as he shifted closer. "Maybe I want people to know, especially about that DM.”

You couldn't help laughing despite your burning cheeks. "You're never letting that go, are you?”

"Never," he agreed, then added more softly: "But I'm glad you sent it. Been trying to figure out how to slide in your DMs too, especially after seeing all those likes on my gym posts.”

You looked up at him (way up - seriously, the height difference was doing things to you), catching that dangerous glint in his eye. “Oh….”

"Front row seats," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Right behind the bench. That way I'll know exactly where to look after I score.”

Your heart did another full gymnastic routine. “Pretty confident about that goal, huh?”

"I'm confident about a lot of things," he smiled, and that chain caught the light once more as he leaned down slightly. “Like how good those likes looked on my notifications.”

You were going to pass away on the spot. But then his hand found yours, and that smile softened into something more private, more real. “Sure I’ll go.”

Maybe drunk you had known exactly what she was doing after all.

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

Thank god for these VIP seats because the view? Immaculate.

Grandpa Ancelotti finally put Aurélien in his rightful position and oh my god, watching him command the midfield in person hit so different. TV did not prepare you for this. At all.

The way his orange kit stretched across those shoulders when he'd gesture to teammates? Criminal. And those calves? You'd seen them in videos but in person they were actually unreal. The entire package was just unfair - whoever said football kits weren't flattering had never seen Aurélien Tchouaméni in one. His body was sculptural, all lean muscle and perfect proportions, like god really sat down and took extra time crafting him specifically to ruin your life.

You watched him talk tactics with Jude, all authority and focused energy, and the way he carried himself on the field had you feeling some type of way. His whole demeanor shifted during matches - all business and pure power. The intensity in his eyes when he'd call out positions? Yeah, you were definitely going to need a glass of water.

When he made that assist - a perfect pass that had the crowd screaming - you jumped up cheering before remembering you were supposed to be playing it cool. But how could you when he glanced your way during the celebration with that smile?

Every time he'd body someone off the ball, the way his muscles flexed with the effort... Lord have mercy. You'd really thought writing a song about him was peak down bad but watching him work in person? Your brain was absolutely short-circuiting.

During a water break, he caught your eye and adjusted his shirt - a move you'd seen in countless matches but this time it felt deliberate, just for you. The stadium lights hit his dark skin just right, making him look like he was literally glowing. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut glass.

The final whistle had you watching his post-match routine like you hadn't already memorized it from videos - the handshakes, the quick interviews, the way he'd run his hand over his fresh fade when downplaying how good he was. But then he looked up at your spot again with that private little smile and yeah... you were absolutely screwed.

Because watching Aurélien Tchouaméni absolutely own the soccer pitch? That wasn't just attraction anymore. That was straight up ruination.

You made it to the designated area and only had to wait around 30 minutes before Aurélien showed up, fresh from the shower, dressed casually but still somehow managing to look like a walking problem. A clean black tee stretched across his chest, showing off the definition of his arms, paired with dark jeans that sat just right on his waist. And the way his chain rested against his collarbone? Yeah, this was dangerous.

“You waited long?” he asked, a lazy smile on his lips as he approached, exuding the kind of confidence that came naturally to him.

“Not really,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

His eyes dragged over you in a way that felt intentional, like he was cataloging every detail. “Good. Would’ve hated to keep you waiting.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could overthink it, he tilted his head. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he said, nodding toward the exit.

You followed him out, keeping pace as he led you to his car — his matte black Lamborghini Urus. Of course. He opened the passenger door for you, stepping back just enough to give you space but still managing to be close, like his presence was a gravitational pull.

“You good?” he asked, one brow lifting as you hesitated before getting in.

You nodded quickly, sliding into the plush seat, inhaling the faint scent of leather and his cologne —clean, expensive, and entirely him. He shut the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side, settling in smoothly before starting the engine. The deep purr of the car filled the quiet, and when he rested one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, your eyes traced the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers flexed slightly.

Yeah, this was setting you off.

Aurélien drove with an effortless confidence, maneuvering through Madrid’s streets like he’d done it a million times — which, of course, he had. As he looped around the Bernabéu, he nodded toward the stadium. “You should come back for a tour.”

Your head turned sharply toward him. “What?”

He glanced at you, amused by your surprise. “You liked watching me play, right?”

Like was an understatement. Watching him on the pitch, commanding the game with precision and strength, was one thing. But now, seeing him here, driving through the city with that same quiet control, his jaw flexing as he focused on the road, his fingers tapping against the wheel — it was too much.

You were obsessed. Fully.

Your crush was sitting mere inches away, effortlessly charming, looking stupid good behind the wheel, and here you were, acting all timid. No. You needed to snap out of it. Because if you didn’t make a move now, when would you?

“You like tacos?” His voice cut through your thoughts as he stopped at a red light, glancing at you with a knowing smirk.

Of course, you liked tacos. But right now? Food was the last thing on your mind.

Because tomorrow night, you’d be on a flight back to LA. Who knew when you’d see him again? Your lives were on different continents. And after everything —after DMing him, after him actually showing up for your video — didn’t you deserve this one night?

Your heart pounded as you turned toward him fully, a slow smile curving your lips. “Tacos can wait.”

Aurélien’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that sent heat rushing through you. He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Oh? And what are you in the mood for?”

The way his voice dipped on the last word made your breath hitch. He knew exactly what you meant. And judging by the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, he liked where this was going.

“Maybe we can go back to your place?” you suggested, trying to sound casual despite the thrum of anticipation running through you.

He hummed, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was weighing his options. “For something to eat…or?”

“Definitely or,” you giggled, the boldness surprising even yourself.

Aurélien let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Alright. So, UberEats later. Sounds good.”

Your stomach flipped at the ease in his tone, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Then his eyes flicked to you, warm and dark with something unreadable, and he bit his lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment was soft, unprompted, and it caught you off guard. Your chest tightened, heat creeping up your neck. “Thank you.”

He didn’t rush the drive, taking his time maneuvering through the streets, letting conversation flow easily between you. He asked about your time in Madrid, what you’d done so far, if you liked the city. And the whole time, his voice had that smooth, rich quality that made every word feel like it was meant just for you.

When he finally pulled up to his house — a sleek, modern place with clean lines and warm lighting —you barely had time to take it in before a low bark caught your attention.

Ocho.

The Belgian Malinois trotted toward the door as soon as you stepped inside, his dark eyes locked onto you with curiosity. Aurélien placed a reassuring hand on your lower back, his touch warm and grounding. “Let him sniff you first,” he murmured.

You extended your hand slightly, letting Ocho inspect you. The dog’s ears twitched before he gave a small huff, seemingly satisfied.

Aurélien grinned. “Good boy.” Then, switching to French, he said, “Va dans ta chambre.” (Go to your room.)

Ocho obeyed immediately, padding off toward what you assumed was his designated space.

“He’s well-trained,” you noted, impressed.

Aurélien shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Had to be. He’s my best boy.” Then he turned to you, his gaze softer now. “You want anything to drink?”

The fact that he even asked — so polite, so sweet —made your heart squeeze a little.

You shook your head. “I’m good.”

Still, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and a water anyway, tucking them under his arm before reaching for you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Come on.”

As he guided you upstairs, his lips found the side of your neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin as you walked. His goatee tickled, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

By the time you made it to his bedroom, you were already gripping his arm, steadying yourself against the dizzying effect of his touch.

Aurélien smirked as he nudged the door shut behind you. “Still thinking about tacos?”

Not even a little bit. “No.”

He placed the Gatorade and water bottle on the bedside table then Aurélien’s hands were warm against your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you in. His lips found yours, soft at first, tasting, teasing, savoring. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, his lips moving against yours in a way that had your heart thudding in your chest.

But then his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your hips, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier — needy. His tongue met yours, stroking, claiming, pulling soft moans from your lips that he swallowed greedily.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of your mouths working against each other, the wet slide of tongues, the occasional breathless sighs escaping between kisses. His fingers trailed up your back, making you arch into him, pressing your body flush against his. The heat between you was dizzying, his scent — fresh, clean, and something uniquely him —wrapping around you like a drug.

Your hands roamed, exploring the hard planes of his back, the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. He groaned into your mouth when your nails scratched lightly at his nape, the sound vibrating through you and making your thighs clench.

His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under the hem of your top, pushing it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to strip it from you. Then he went for your bottoms, peeling them away, leaving you in just your underwear. His dark eyes roved over you, taking you in, heat flickering in his gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands were back on you, caressing, exploring, like he needed to feel every inch of your skin.

You didn’t hesitate, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He let you pull it over his head, and your breath hitched when you got a full view of him — his abs looked even better in person, all taut muscle and definition, a masterpiece carved in 4D.

Your fingers traced along the ridges, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

Aurélien groaned, low and deep, his head tipping back slightly. “You’re really testing my patience, bébé.”

You smiled, dragging your fingertips lower, teasing along the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers worked at the button, then the zipper, easing the denim down his hips. He helped, pushing them the rest of the way until they pooled at his feet, leaving him in just his Aime boxers.

Your breath caught.

He was hard.

The thick outline of his length strained against the fabric, the sight making heat pool low in your belly.

Your hands ghosted over his erection, barely grazing him, but it was enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hips jerking slightly at the contact.

You muttered an apology, but he just shook his head, eyes dark with heat. “It’s okay, bébé.”

Then his lips were on yours again, stealing the breath from your lungs, guiding you toward the bed. You barely registered the feel of the mattress beneath you before he was pressing you down, his body hovering over yours, his heat surrounding you.

And from the way he looked at you — like he was about to ruin you — you knew you were in for it.

His hands skimmed down your body to unclasp your bra then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness. His gaze roved over you, hungry and heated, before he lowered himself between your thighs.

His mouth found your skin, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your navel downward, making you shiver in anticipation.

And then — oh.

Aurélien’s lips, his tongue, the warmth of his breath against your pussy had you gasping, your fingers tangling in his curls as he worked you over with a skill that had your thighs trembling.

He was deliberate but messy, completely focused on you, his lips wrapping around your clit while his tongue moved in slow, devastating circles. When he slipped two fingers inside, curling them just right, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

“Tu prends si bien, bébé,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you whimper. His fingers stroked inside you, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and your hips bucked instinctively. He just chuckled, holding you in place as he kept going, kept building you higher, until—

And then he pulled away.

A whimper of protest left your lips before you could stop it, and he smirked at your pout, his thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth like he was savoring the taste of you.

“Be right back,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your inner thigh before moving toward his dresser.

You pushed up on your elbows, watching as he pulled out a condom, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down. Your breath hitched at the sight of him — thick, long, and impossibly hard.

Aurélien caught you staring and smirked. “Like what you see?”

You swallowed, your cheeks heating. “Obviously.”

That made him chuckle as he rolled the condom on, then returned to the bed, his hands guiding your legs further apart as he settled between them. One arm reached behind you, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under your lower back, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal.

His lips found your neck as he nudged himself against your entrance, teasing you with shallow strokes, making your body crave him even more.

And as he finally, finally pushed inside, a deep moan left your lips, because — oh. Oh.

This was happening. Your crush, your fantasy, your dream — was now your reality.

His thrusts were slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you, but it didn’t take long before the teasing gave way to something deeper, more urgent. He kissed you through it, all tongue and heat, swallowing your moans as his hips found a steady rhythm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with pleasure. “So wet for me.”

The chain around his neck swung forward with every movement, the cool metal brushing against your skin, dangling just above your face, and god, he looked beautiful like this — face twisted in pleasure, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, dark eyes locked on yours like he never wanted to look away.

“Tu es si belle,” he groaned, dropping his head to your neck, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your throat before moving lower. His tongue flicked over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched off the bed, hands tangling in his curls as you whimpered his name.

Aurélien pulled back slightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he released you with a wet pop. His eyes met yours, dark and full of intent.

“Turn over for me,” he said, voice like gravel, thick with desire.

You swallowed, your body already obeying before your mind could catch up. He sat back, watching you get on all fours, his large hands smoothing over the curve of your ass, squeezing each cheek once before dragging up your spine. The way he looked at you, eyes burning with hunger, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then he ran a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply before gripping your hips and lining himself up again.

And when he pushed back inside, deeper than before, a broken moan fell from your lips.

“That’s it, bébé,” he murmured, his fingers digging into your skin as he started to move, slow at first, teasing. “Taking me so well.”

His pace quickened, the sound of skin on skin filling the air, along with the low, guttural groans spilling from his lips. His chain swung again, the rhythmic clink of metal adding to the mix of sensations that had you spiraling.

“Feel me?” he rasped, dragging a hand up your spine to fist your hair gently, pulling just enough to make you arch. “So deep inside you. Fuck.”

You whimpered, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe with how good he felt, how he filled every inch of you like he was made for this.

“Talk to me,” he urged, voice raw. “Let me hear you.”

“I’m—” Your words broke off into a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“Yeah?” he taunted, a smirk in his voice. “Right there, huh?”

You could only nod frantically, your body trembling as he picked up the pace, chasing both of your releases. His angled his hips once more and that made you let out something primal.

“Damn, yes fuck me back,” he crooned just before you felt his lips touch the middle of spine. You shivered at the sensation, moaning out his name like a prayer.

“Aurélien….”

He rocked into you harder, faster and it made your toes curl. He was relentless and you loved every second of it. The sounds you both were making was the perfect lullaby of lust and pleasure.

“Mm…shit….Aurélien.” You couldn’t stop from moaning his name and judging by the way his hands gripped your hips each time, you could tell that he liked it.

Soon, you both were pushed over that edge, moaning as your orgasm overwhelmed your entire body. After awhile, you felt him slip out of you and then the bed shifted as he moved to throw out the condom.

Your body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, limbs heavy, breath slowly evening out. You were probably a mess — hair wild, lips swollen, body still flushed with heat — but Aurélien? He looked unfairly good.

He was leaning back against the headboard, his chest still rising and falling steadily, dark skin glowing under the dim light. The chain that had been dangling in your face minutes ago now rested against his collarbones, catching the light with each small movement. He reached over to grab his Gatorade, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip before setting it on the bedside table.

Then, he turned to you, dark eyes scanning your face, something soft in his expression. “You want some?”

You shook your head, not because you weren’t thirsty, but because you couldn’t stop staring at him.

His lips quirked slightly. “You must really like me.”

The way he said it wasn’t cocky or teasing — it was knowing, like he’d been piecing it together all night. And maybe he was right, because you couldn’t help the dopey-ass smile that spread across your face.

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head before exhaling through his nose. “I like you too. Wish you didn’t beat me to sliding in the DMs first, though.”

You lifted a brow. “You really mad about that?”

He made a little face, scrunching his nose slightly, which was unfairly adorable for someone who had just rearranged your insides. “Not that much,” he admitted. “But I would’ve liked the chase.”

You scoffed, rolling onto your side to face him. “The chase? What are you, a lion?”

That made him smile, a real one, warm and lazy, like he was letting his guard down completely. “When a guy likes a girl, he usually asks her out first,” he said simply. “You were in my likes, I was in yours… I was about to slide through, but yeah, you beat me to it.”

Your stomach did a little flip.

He reached out then, running a hand down your arm before linking his fingers loosely with yours. “But I’m gonna do the rest, okay?”

Your breath caught, your heart stumbling in your chest. This was Aurélien Tchouaméni, your crush, your dream, and now, here he was — holding your hand, looking at you like this wasn’t just some one-night thing.

“Okay,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers lightly.

His smile widened, and then he tugged you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before settling beside you, keeping your hand in his like he wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon.

You couldn’t help but stare at him — at the strong lines of his face, the sharp jaw softened by the faintest hint of stubble, the fullness of his lips, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks when he blinked. He was so beautiful.

“What?” he murmured, catching you staring.

You shrugged, biting your lip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

How crazy it was that you were here. That this wasn’t a dream. That your crush — the man who dominated the midfield with an effortless cool, the one you’d written lyrics about, the one you’d been too shy to DM for the longest time — was lying next to you, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“About how wild this is,” you admitted.

Aurélien chuckled, his dimples flashing as he turned onto his side, propping his head up with his free hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I mean, this time yesterday, I was just hoping you’d even notice me at the game. Now I’m in your bed.”

That smirk made a reappearance, but his voice was soft when he said, “I noticed you way before the game, bébé.”

Your stomach flipped. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “You think I wasn’t watching whenever you posted on Instagram? When you DM’d me?”

Your face warmed. “You didn’t answer right away.”

He grinned, teasing. “Had to make you sweat a little.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Wow, so you really are a lion.”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” he mused. Then, more seriously, “But I was always gonna answer.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. Like he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel good. Like, in some way, he’d been waiting for this too.

You swallowed. “And now that I’m here?”

Aurélien’s eyes darkened slightly, but there was something tender in his gaze as he squeezed your fingers. “Now,” he murmured, shifting closer, “I’m making sure you come back.”

Your breath caught, and before you could think of a response, he kissed you.

It was slow this time, unhurried, like he wanted to take his time tasting you. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating rhythm, deepening the kiss little by little until you were completely lost in it. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did. Maybe this wasn’t just for tonight.

Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

Aurélien pulled back just enough to search your face, his lips still brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm as he studied you with that knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

“That song,” he murmured. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

Your heart stuttered.

For a second, you thought about playing coy, maybe teasing him a little, but what was the point? He already knew. You could see it in the glint of amusement in his eyes, the confidence in his voice.

You sighed, defeated but grinning. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “It’s about you.”

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head like he’d known it all along. “I knew it,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You should write another one.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Another song?”

“Mm-hmm.” His fingers brushed down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. “One about tonight.”

Your breath hitched at the implication, at the way his voice had dipped lower, rougher.

You bit your lip. “Might have to.”

Aurélien grinned. “Good,” he murmured, kissing you again. “Make it a love song.”

[itscoucouharry]

Two Different Worlds- Harry Styles x Nurse Reader one shot

Hey yall since I’m going through a bit of exhaustion due to my week with nursing classes, I was feeling a bit inspired to write something. As always enjoy:) let me know if you want pt 2 :)

Also- it’s my boobies birthday 🥹happy birthday H🩷🩷🩷

My Masterlist🩷

The soft hum of conversation, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the warm glow of dim lighting filled the upscale bar. You sat in a corner booth, feeling slightly out of place among Harry Styles’ circle of friends—an elite group you’d met through the hospital where you worked as a nurse.

You weren’t sure how you ended up here. One of the hospital’s biggest donors had taken a liking to you, often inviting you to gatherings far outside your usual world. Tonight was one of those nights.

The contrast between their lives and yours was glaring. They were effortlessly glamorous, draped in designer clothes that likely cost more than your monthly salary. And then there was you, in the best outfit you could afford, feeling the weight of eyes subtly assessing you.

Harry sat at the head of the group, as magnetic as ever, his laugh rich and easy. But every time his green eyes landed on you, there was something guarded in his expression. Not curiosity, not warmth—just a quiet, unreadable tension that made you feel like an intruder.

You tried to brush it off, but his aloof demeanor was impossible to ignore. Every time you laughed at a joke or chimed in on the conversation, you felt his gaze—watching, calculating, almost annoyed.

“So, Y/N,” Harry said suddenly, cutting through the chatter. “What do you do?”

The question was casual enough, but the way he asked it felt… loaded. Like he was already deciding how much space you deserved in this world of his.

“I’m a nurse,” you said simply, keeping your voice steady.

His brows lifted slightly, but the smirk that followed made your stomach tighten. “A nurse, huh? That’s… noble.”

You stiffened. You’d dealt with people like him before—people who thought your work was admirable but beneath them. People who had no idea what it took to keep others alive, to be the one standing between life and death on a daily basis.

“It is,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze. “Not everyone gets to make a difference in people’s lives every day.”

His smirk faltered for a split second before he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Fair enough. But it’s not exactly… glamorous, is it?”

Your face warmed with irritation, but you refused to let it show.

“No,” you said evenly. “But some of us take pride in what we’ve earned, even if it’s not wrapped in a pretty package.”

The table went silent. The weight of your words hung between you. For a moment, Harry looked surprised—like no one had ever dared to speak to him like that.

“Fair enough,” he said again, this time softer. But his eyes lingered on you, and this time, there was no smirk.

You left the bar early, needing to breathe. The night had been too much—Harry’s coldness, the reminder that you didn’t quite fit in. The cool air hit your skin as you stepped outside, wrapping your coat tighter around you.

“Y/N, wait.”

You froze, heart sinking at the sound of Harry’s voice. He jogged to catch up, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.

“What do you want?” you asked, irritation lacing your words.

He hesitated, exhaling before finally speaking. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You folded your arms. “For what?”

“For being a dick,” he said, his green eyes locking onto yours. “I shouldn’t have made those comments earlier. I don’t know anything about you, and I was out of line.”

You studied him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But for the first time tonight, he looked… genuine. Almost vulnerable.

“Why were you being such an ass, then?” you asked bluntly.

His lips pressed into a thin line before he sighed. “I don’t know. I guess… I didn’t know how to act around you. You’re different from the people I usually hang out with.”

You scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean it,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re… real. You deal with life and death every day. You’ve worked for everything you have. That’s… intimidating.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. “Intimidating?”

“Yeah.” His lips twitched into a small, self-deprecating smile. “Most people I know are just coasting, pretending they have it all figured out. But you—you actually have a purpose. You fight for people. That’s not something I see every day.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The man who had spent the evening making you feel small was now looking at you like you were the most extraordinary person in the room.

“Well,” you said finally, “maybe next time, don’t be such a jerk about it.”

He chuckled, the sound warm this time. “I’ll work on that.”

What you didn’t know—what Harry would never admit—was that he had been drawn to you the moment you walked in.

It wasn’t just your beauty, though that had certainly caught his eye. It was the way you carried yourself—the quiet strength that radiated from you. He hated how defensive he’d gotten, how his own insecurities had made him lash out.

But seeing you stand your ground, refusing to let him or anyone else diminish you, had only made him admire you more.

As he watched you disappear into the night, he knew one thing for certain: he was in trouble.

Because he had an overwhelming attraction to you, and he had no idea how to make you see that he wasn’t the man you thought he was.

[perkwunos]

It is my final night in my twenties. I think there are a lot of ways I’d like to live more than I currently do—be more physically active, more socially outgoing, learn more skills—but on the other hand it is hard to judge the true character and results of a life, and I’d like to think that ultimately I’ve been nourishing and keeping alive a certain spirit that is genuine and worth continuing to nurture; that there's something unique and marvelous unfolding I ought to have some confidence in, even if there are plenty of things I could genuinely do more of and better (and a level of cogency about what more I want to do is itself something like a hard-won gain). At any rate, my adult life has been dominated by twin passions: one is the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, concerning whom I am now a published author with (I'd like to think) some serious credibility; the other is poetry, and I've recently been writing some of what I might be able to seriously consider my best poetry, in a way that does feel like me executing a style I've practiced at for years. Of course, I reflect on all this at the beginning of Trump II and what appears to be an incipient moment of world-historical stupidity, repression, and decline. It feels impossible to really guess what things will be like by the end of this year, but I do feel a strong urge to try to maintain some hope. Well, here comes my 30s.

[undomesticated-animal]

Honestly, body euphoria has done WONDERS for my ability to keep a physical self care routine, and I keep thinking back to Young Domi being so fucking OVERWHELMED by the thought of having to haul myself through the daily gauntlet of mirrors, lights, smells, self-shaming, and dysphoria inducing body modifictions made in a desperate bid to feel worthy of my skin. The idea that this could ever be anything but NEUTRAL AT BEST was laughable to me, so much so that I didn't even realize how terrified I felt by the possibility it could be real.

I can't go back and tell Past Domi all the things I understand now that I know would have mattered so much, but I can say them on the internet and maybe someone gets to learn them faster than I did.

Body euphoria isn't just for trans and intersex folks. And I mean this more than just "oh cis people should get gender ephoria too" (it's true!) because I also mean that the idea that body euphoria/dysphoria is neatly segmented up into little slices of life with no crossover is unrealistic and painful for everyone. Thinking that I was only allowed to care about my euphoria around gender actually made it REALLY hard to recognize I was having DYSphoria around my gender at all. After all, I avoided thinking about that in exactly the same ways I avoided thinking about the dysphoria around other aspects of my embodiment! I must just be bad at body positivity, "it's always easier to do for others than for myself 🤗 teehee" was a go to blow off for me when people asked me to confront how visibly uncomfortable I was in my body.

Because the thing is, it ISN'T easier to do for others than yourself. It really isn't. The part that's easier is avoiding the shame we feel about it. But once we confront the shame, loving your body is the easiest thing in the world. <- this is gonna be where Past Domi went "oh fuck this noise" and bounced but HEAR ME OUT

A body you cannot live with is a body you cannot care for, and a body you can't care for is a body you will almost always struggle to live with. This feedback loop is the CORNERSTONE of body dysphoria for a lot of people. It's a chicken and egg situation where it's nearly always going to be impossible to know what came first, but once either is present, the other will kick into gear to really hunker down in your psyche.

The feedback loop works the other direction too though. This is why people tell you to find the little things that make a tiny difference. They are (usually) not telling you that it'll be enough on its own, but every one of those you find uncovers new ones, and little by little you start feeling up to bigger pieces of self care because you've recovered enough to start putting int the front-loaded work for the worthwhile outcome

When that upwards feedback loop clicks? It's night and day. Like I genuinely don't know how to describe what it's like to just sort of.....wake up different. But it happens all the time, and it KEEPS happening. And you start to realize you're not "waking up different" you're just....getting to know yourself without feeling so uncomfortable with what you're learning that you shy away from yourself

I dunno man, I don't have a point here, but I've been processing old grief lately and the grief of how long I spent viciously hating myself and truly believing that's what neutrality feels like.....Little-Domi deserved better, and so do yall

[dinosus]

Playing Favorites, Are We ? 𓂃 ࣪⋆💿˚ ༘

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ Cobra Kai! x Reader Summary : How each Cobrai Kai character might feel if the reader called them their favorite person! Pairings : Hawk[Eli], Miguel Dias, Robby Keene, Demetri Alexopoulos, Samantha LaRusso, Tory Nichols x Reader Warnings : SO FLUFFY WILL MAKE YOU SQUEAL

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Hawk (Eli) ☠︎︎ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

-Bro FREEZES. Like, fully short-circuits. -His cocky smirk? Gone. His usual confidence? Nowhere to be found. -“Wait, me? Your… favorite?” His voice is softer, like he’s making sure he heard you right. -Tries to play it cool—leans back, crosses his arms—but his ears are bright red. -Inside? Absolute chaos.

She really said that… I’m her favorite??

If you’re dating? Oh, he’s using this against you forever.

"Damn, babe, didn’t know you were so obsessed with me.” But he’s grinning like an idiot the whole time.

-If you’re just friends? Oh, this is dangerous. He’s never gonna stop thinking about it. -Later that night, staring at his ceiling: Favorite person, huh?

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ Miguel Diaz ✧˖°🌻

BLUSHES. SO. HARD.

His entire face lights up like a Christmas tree—he literally can't stop smiling.

"Wait—seriously? Me?" His voice cracks a little, but it's adorable.

If you're dating, expect a bone-crushing hug and a million kisses on your forehead.

"You're my favorite too, you know that?" 🥺

If you're just friends?

He grins like an idiot, rubs the back of his neck, and probably says something super sweet like,

"Wow, that—uh, that means a lot. You’re seriously the best.”

Miguel Diaz is WEAK for words of affirmation. Congrats, you just made his entire week.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Robby Keene .☘︎ ݁˖ᯓ★

Oh, you wanna see Robby Malfunction™? Say this to him. -He doesn’t know how to react at first.

His whole life, people have left him. He’s never really been someone’s favorite anything.

So, his immediate reaction? Skeptical.

Is she messing with me?

But when he realizes you actually mean it?

His walls crack. Just a little.

His lips twitch into a soft, genuine smile.

"Damn. I—uh, I don’t know what to say.” - If you’re dating? He kisses you. No hesitation.

“You’re my favorite too. Like, by a mile.”

If you’re just friends? He nudges you playfully.

"You sure you got the right guy?" But deep down? He's touched. Like, deeply.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Demetri Alexopoulos ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"Excuse me, can you repeat that?" -THIS BOY IS FLUSTERED. Immediately goes into ramble mode.

“I mean, I totally get it, I’m an excellent friend, I provide top-tier sarcasm and intellectual conversation, but I just wasn’t expecting you to outright admit it—”

You have to physically stop him before he spirals too hard. - If you’re dating?

Oh, he’s writing this in his journal. He’s gonna bring it up years from now like,

"Hey, remember that time you said I was your favorite person? Yeah, that was the highlight of my existence."

If you’re just friends? Expect him to bring it up ALL THE TIME.

“Well, as your favorite person, I feel like I should have first dibs on the last slice of pizza.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Samantha LaRusso ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

Blinks. Then smiles so wide her cheeks hurt. -"Oh my God, that’s so sweet—COME HERE." -Immediate hug. No hesitation. -She’s squeezing you like she never wants to let go. -"You’re my favorite too, duh!" 🥺 -If you’re dating? Happy giggles and nonstop kisses.

"You can’t just drop a cute bomb like that on me!"

If you’re just friends? This means the WORLD to her.

“I swear, you always know how to make my day.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Tory Nichols˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

-Pauses mid-action.

If she was tying her gloves? She just stops.

If she was drinking water? She chokes on it.

Looks at you like you just spoke another language.

“Wait- You serious?”

Tory has never really had anyone say that to her. Ever. -If you’re dating? Oh, she’s pulling you in for a kiss.

Slow, deep, and full of emotion.

"Say it again."

-If you’re just friends?

She gets awkward for a second, then smirks.

"Damn right I am." But inside? She’s SOFT.

Later, alone in her room, she’s just sitting there like, Huh. I’m someone’s favorite. ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

WASSUP BABY >:D i need another version of 'Favorites' in cobra kai, last one i had done it in Arcane lol LEMME KNOW IF YOU WANT PART 2- WITH THE NEW CHARACTERS OR ANYONE ELSE :D stay hydrated 🌊 ignore these haha <3

[n1ghteeea]

UNIVERSITY RGB HCS BC THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO SHARE THEM ‼️‼️

Disclaimer: this only contains Egon, Ray and Peter as they are the ones who were in uni together (sorry Winston and Janine). Also this is long and self indulgent as hell.

I am NOT taking up the responsibility to say at what exact ages they got into uni, but let’s say that during their first year Peter is 18, Ray is 17 and Egon is 19.

Now, Ray is doing electrical engineering, Peter is doing engineering in hopes that it relates to trains (spoilers: it doesn’t, but he doesn’t find out until after his second year), Egon.. well Egon actually isn’t a student, but rather an instructor. I got this idea from an uncited wiki trivia point, and just ran with it. Maybe he was in uni instead of school bc he’s just that smart, maybe something else, idc really. He’s a physics instructor who is the same age as most of his students.

Ray and Peter are roommates and while it takes some time, eventually they bond and become best friends. And when I say best friends, I mean it to an almost unhealthy extent. In my head, Peter was always alone. Absent family, constantly moving around the country, unconventional interests, autism - I don’t think he ever really had friends. In the show we see him TRYING to be a charmer, but most of the time people do not buy his act, and I think the same thing happened in uni. He wanted friends, desperately wanted to fit in, but never really managed to. So when suddenly his roommate turned out to be a great guy who genuinely liked his company he immediately grew almost unhealthily attached. We won’t blame him.

Ray, on the other hand is liked by many due to his kind and charming personality, but doesn’t have many close friends, again, due to his unconventional interests and hyper behaviour towards them (ADHD). He isn’t that bothered by it, though. Good for him.

Now Egon is taking his unique position very seriously. He is no doubt popular at the uni - people have to be curious about this super young, clearly genius and handsome (canon in the show, not my words!) guy who works as an instructor. However, he does not engage in personal conversations, doesn’t seek out human connection or fun activities. He is focused on studying, working, getting experience and progressing in the field. He has many older mentors, but no friends of his age and is perfectly fine with that.

——————————————————————

So, first semester, first year. Both Ray and Peter take Egon’s physics class (though in different sections). Ray and Egon do not interact in class whatsoever, Ray is simply a good student: he studies well and does all his assignments on time (or mostly on time). They have no reason to talk and so do not know each other personally.

Peter, on the other hand, hates physics, finds it extremely boring and useless and makes a loud statement of not studying for it. It upsets Egon, who doesn’t want such morale to spread around his class, so he invites Peter to after-class talks.

This attitude pisses Peter off immensely because the audacity of this guy to tell him what to do and what to study for?? And from that point on Peter makes it his life’s mission to piss Egon off at any chance possible. He doesn’t bully him or set him up in front of people, he just acts like a dick and shows his disrespect in any way he can. Egon doesn’t like him back. This goes on for a while.

Now, aside from classes and physics, Egon also does parapsychological research on the side, as at the end of the day, that is his main area of interest. One day, as he goes into a lab to work on some experiments, he meets Ray who, very expectedly so, is also doing parapsychological research since that is his biggest interest, too. They bond over it and become lab partners and eventually friends.

I also want to specify that a moment when their relationship transforms from formal to friendly is one silly heist of sneaking into the patron section of the uni’s library at night to borrow a book necessary for their work. Adrenaline and oxcytocin do their job well and they go from “Mr. Spengler” and “Mr. Stantz” to “Egon” and “Ray” 🫶

⏩️ Fastforward to the second semester. Neither of the guys are taking Egon’s class anymore, but Ray and him are still working together and progressively becoming better pals by widening their conversation topics as well as hangout occasions. Peter still hates Egon’s guts, luckily they don’t have to meet too often. At least until one day.

That day electricity malfunctions in Egon’s room right when he needs to mark his students’ assignments. As usual, he does it late at night when the library is already closed. Ray, as a good friend, offers him a spot in his and Peter’s room to work which Egon accepts, becoming a horrible surprise to the latter. After spending about fifteen minutes trying to get a reaction out of Spengler with no visible result Peter notices just how exhausted the guy is and for the first time it really hits him that surprise!! Egon is human too. He even grows slightly worried, after all, he doesn’t want the dude to pass out in their living room. They don’t begin interacting more after that, but Peter as if slightly cuts back on the teasing. But he still calls him “Spengs” out of disrespect.

⏩️ Fastforward to the second year. Egon and Ray hang out more, forcing Peter and Egon to interact, and good news! They now tolerate each other. And yes, they do go to “Egon” and “Peter” though “Spengs” and “Mr. Venkman” are still present, mostly to show annoyance and displeasure.

At some point in the semester Ray makes a new close friend named Max and that fact makes Peter crash the fuck out. Ray is super excited about this new guy who also studies engineering, loves comic books and horror movies, is super smart and funny. They hang out a lot and study together and whenever Ray comes back to the room he just cannot shut up about how good of a time he had. And Peter (need I remind you, lonely and self-conscious Peter who was always left behind by everyone in his life, including his father) watches, listens, gritting his teeth, until he just can’t anymore. Did I mention he has an unhealthy obsession with Ray?

He goes through a full mental breakdown, and they talk about it and partially resolve the situation (though the one-sided Max beef in Peter’s head continues, it’s hilarious).

⏩️ Christmas break comes and Ray announces that he is going to be leaving to spend it with his family in Bronx, and only here do we see just to what degree both of these people really are dependent on him.

Peter crashes out, yes, again. He’s lonely, he’s bored, his plans are ruined and he has no idea how he is going to survive three weeks alone in the dorm.

Egon takes it more calmly, he’s Egon, after all. He doesn’t complain or act upset, but two things happen. First, his work slows down significantly, and second, with his support system being gone he falls back into the unhealthy habit of overworking himself to a point of total exhaustion (speaking from experience here, it’s really hard to stay consistent with your healthy habits and routines when the person who is usually there to help you with them isn’t around).

To not die of boredom and exhaustion, Peter and Egon organise hangouts, sometimes sitting in the library and trying to get work done, sometimes watching TV or getting lunch together. Their relationship improves significantly during that time, and Ray is very happy to see that upon arrival.

Not much to say from that point on. All three of them become best friends, Peter switches his concentration to psychology, they rent an apartment together and go on with their academic lives. If I had to somehow describe their relationship I’d say they are a qpr. Not in love whatsoever, but still very emotionally intimate, physically affectionate and are the most important people to each other.

Also they don’t know it yet, but the moment they met each other they met the rest of their lives 🫶

[goshikisbaee]

Spending Valentine’s Day With Haikyuu Characters (part 1)

content: Fluff

[ Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi ]

———-

TŌRU OIKAWA

Valentine’s Day with Oikawa is nothing short of extra. From the moment you wake up, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting for you with a note in his neat handwriting: “For the most beautiful person in my life.” He insists on making the day perfect— though his definition of “perfect” may include a little too much of his dramatic flair.

He shows up to pick you up in his favorite casual but classy outfit, grinning like he’s just won a championship match. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you, my love?” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He takes you to a cute café where he spends half the time holding your hand across the table and the other half bragging about how he managed to snag the “best date” in the world. The barista can’t help but roll their eyes at his antics, but you can’t stop laughing.

In true Oikawa fashion, the evening involves stargazing—because of course he has to incorporate something romantic and dreamy. Lying beside you, he points out random constellations, only half accurate because he’s too busy sneaking glances at you.

“I dont need the stars when I’ve got you,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Cheesy? Absolutely. But with him, it’s always endearing.

The night ends with him pulling you close, a soft, genuine smile replacing his usual cocky grin. “Thank you for being my Valentine,” he whispers, his voice quieter than usual. “I promise, you’ll always be my number one.”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI

Valentine’s day with Iwaizumi is simple but meaningful. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but he makes sure you feel loved in the ways that matter. When you wake up, there’s a nearly wrapped box on your nightstand—inside is a practical yet thoughtful gift, like a hoodie that smells like him or your favorite snacks. “Didn’t wanna get you something useless,” the note reads.

When he picks you up, he’s dressed casually, but you cant tell he put in a little extra effort—his hair is styled just right, and he’s actually wearing that nice cologne you love. He greets you with a gruff, “you look nice,” before quickly looking away, ears slightly red.

Dinner is at his favorite spot—nothing fancy, just good food and a comfortable atmosphere. He doesnt gush over you like someone like Oikawa would, but his small actions say everything: making sure you get the last bite, keeping his hand on your knee absentmindedly, sending a death glare at anything who looks at you for too long.

After dinner, he surprises you with a late night drive, ending at a quiet scenic spot. Sitting beside you, he lets out a deep sigh, looking up at the sky. “I know I dont say it a lot, but… I’m really lucky to have you.” His fingers find yours, squeezing them gently.

Before you part ways, he pulls you into a warm, lingering hug, resting his chin on your head. “Happy Valentine’s Day idiot,” he mutters, voice softer than usual. You smile, knowing that even without the over the top romance, every moment with him is real.

TETSURŌ KUROO

Valentine’s Day with Kuroo is fun—because, of course, he turns everything into an opportunity to tease you. You wake up to a text that reads; “Happy Valentine’s Day to my favorite nerd. Yes, you’re my favorite. No you can’t tell anyone.” A few minutes later, another message: “wear something cute. Not that you need help looking good, but, you know… for my sake.”

When he picks you up, he greets you with his signature smirk and a ridiculous gift—maybe a cat plushie because “it reminded me of myself. Handsome, charming, and definitely your favorite.” But before you can roll your eyes, he hands you something real—your favorite snack or a small thoughtful present that proves he actually pays attention.

Dinner is at a casual yet surprisingly nice restaurant, where he spends half the time making flirty comments and the other half pretending to listen while secretly just admiring you. “You know, I’d let you ramble about anything if it means I get to keep looking at you.”

After dinner, he takes you somewhere unexpected—maybe a late night arcade or a rooftop with a city view. Sitting next to you, he finally drops the teasing for a second, nudging your shoulder before saying, “you know, I joke around a lot, but I mean it when I say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Before the night ends, he pulls you into by the waist, looking down at you with that lazy grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe. Hope you’re ready for many more.” And with that, he finally gives you the kiss he’s been holding off all night.

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

Valentine’s Day with Bokuto is non stop excitement from the moment it begins. You wake up to a spam of texts:

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!”

“WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS???”

“IT’S THE DAY I GET TO SPOIL YOU, DUH.”

When he finally picks you up, he’s practically bouncing with energy, holding a massive bouquet—probably way bigger than necessary. “I didn’t know which flowers to get, so I got all of them!” He grins, handing them over like he just won an award.

Your date is a mix of everything fun—he takes you to an arcade, a cute café, and maybe even a spontaneous adventure like ice skating (which he’s surprisingly good at). Every few minutes, he reminds you, “BEST. DAY. EVER.” And insists on taking a million selfies.

At dinner, he’s a mix of loud excitement and soft admiration, stuffing his face one second and staring at you like you hung the moon the next. “I’m so lucky,” he sighs dramatically between bites, before pointing his fork at you. “Hey. You know that, right? That I love you?”

The night ends with him wrapping you in the biggest hug ever, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he declares, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Then, with a cheeky grin, he adds, “same time next year? Actually, scratch that. Every day should be like this.”

KEIJI AKAASHI

Valentine’s Day with Akaashi is quietly romantic, filled with soft gestures that show just how much he cares. You wake up to a neatly written note left at your bedside—“happy Valentine’s Day. I hope today is as wonderful as you are.” A little later, he texts: “Are you free? I have something planned.”

When he picks you up, he hands you a small but meaningful gift—maybe a book you mentioned wanting, or a handwritten letter sealed in an envelope. “I wasn’t sure what to get you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “so I just got something that reminded me of you.”

Your date is simple but perfect—maybe a quiet bookstore café, a scenic walk, or a cozy home-cooked dinner. He pays attention to everything you say, responding with soft hums and amused smiles. “I love listening to you talk,” he admits, twirling a piece of his food with his fork.

At the end of the night, he lingers at your doorstep, eyes gentle but hesitant. “I, um…” He exhales, gathering his thoughts before finally meeting your gaze. “I just want you to know that I’m really, really happy with you.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs, lips curling into the faintest smile. “I hope I get to spend all of them with you.”

———

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The Case of Us.

Summary: You and Namjoon are an unlikely pair, clashing from the start. He’s a seasoned detective, used to working alone and running on instinct. You, a rookie, fresh off acing your detective exam, ready to prove yourself. At first, you butt heads—your sharp, hardheaded approach grating against his calm, measured demeanor. But there's an undeniable pull between the two of you, an unspoken understanding that begins to form as you both tackle case after case. Through the chaos of the job, you rely on each other more and more. And though you're still figuring out the balance between the stubborn rookie and the seasoned detective, you both know one thing for certain—you're a hell of a team. A/N: Oh Hey everyone... So, I did it again—I got overwhelmed by life and felt the need to write... And you know the drill. (I ended up re-reading Chapter 4 of Holiday Pretense so many times that I couldn’t tell what was repeating and what was just my brain spiraling. And i guess I rage-quit for the day) So instead, I ended up writing something completely different. But this time, it's really random and far "into the story". Also, that pancake dialogue is loosely inspired by a conversation from "Castle"-oldish detective serries i love to this day. Call it a teaser if you will? (I wanna know if anyone would be interested in something like this.) (besides those 5 wips i have already lol. i need professional help 😓🥲) (thank you always @callmenoona25 for proofreading. love you) Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: detective/ thriller. neo noir(?) Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: Guns. Mentions of serial killers and bodies. Crimes. Corpses. police/detective lingo. Detective Yoongi and Jungkook being the best duo. (Also, if you know me. I tend to keep it light- not very gore. But i do have a genuine obsession with true crime/detective stories/criminology. So this might turn off some readers. proceed at your own discretion) tag list: @uniquetravelerone @sexytholland @codeinebelle @annyeongbitch7 @rpwprpwprpwprw @goldietigers294 @amarawayne @oneshallsmile

The dead of night. The scent of rain still clung stubbornly to the damp, heavy air, even hours after the downpour had stopped. Your tv was on, though it was on mute.

Then you heard it.

A sound—a shuffle by the doorway.

Instinct took over. The lights went dark in an instant, your hand moving with practiced ease to the gun at your hip. You gripped it tight, steady, breath held as you listened.

The sounds didn’t stop. The lock turned. The knob twisted.

Before the intruder could take a step inside, you struck—slamming your full weight against him, pinning him to the doorframe, gun pressed firm against his throat.

“Holy shit-!”

A familiar voice. Your grip tightened for just a second before recognition set in.

“Namjoon?”  you didn’t lower the gun.

“Who else would it be?” his tone was maddeningly casual, one hand gripping your wrist, pushing the barrel down to his chest, right above his heart. “Just— don’t shoot the face.”

Your pulse was still hammering in your ears, the rush of the adrenaline refusing to fade. You let out a slow breath, easing the gun off his chest but not fully lowering it.

Namjoon let out a short chuckle- half amused, half exasperation. “Nice to see you too,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the impact.

“You could’ve called.” you shot back, eyes still sharp, scanning his face in the dim light. he looked tired, damp hair falling messily over his forehead, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been running all night.

“And argue with you over the phone?” he asked, rubbing at his throat where the gun had pressed, “I think it worked out better this way.”

Your gaze flicked to the door, still slightly ajar. “You picked the lock?!”

He shrugged. “Old habits.”

You exhaled through your nose, finally lowering the gun all the way. “What the hell are you doing here, Namjoon?”

His smirk faltered slightly. For the first time, you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way is fingers curled slightly over the damp paper bags he was carrying.

“I-” he took a breath, like the confession hurt, “I’m worried about you.”

You huff, incredulous, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Clearly.” he gestured vaguely towards the gun in your hand. “Doesn’t change the fact that as your supervisor and partner, I worry about you.” He moved with ease, setting the bags on your kitchen table, leaving a trail of wet footsteps all across your tile floor.

“Namjoon, I’m not a rookie anymore.”

Namjoon let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning against the counter. “I never said you were.”

You crossed your arms, watching him. “Then stop treating me like one.”

His eyes flicked to yours—sharp, unreadable. “If you want me to stop, then quit making it so damn easy to worry.”

That shut you up for a second.

The weight of his words lingered in the space between you, thick as the humidity still clinging to the air. You glanced at the paper bags on the table, the edges crumpled from his grip. “What’s this?”

“Dinner.” He peeled one open, pulling out a takeout container. “Figured you haven’t eaten.”

You frowned, but your stomach betrayed you with a quiet growl. Namjoon heard it—of course he did—and the smirk that tugged at his lips made you want to shoot him just on principle.

“I was going to eat.”

“Yeah?” He arched a brow, flipping open the container. “What, exactly? Stale instant noodles? Maybe those grotesque granola bars you like to keep in your purse and only eat after they expire?”

You huffed but didn’t deny it.

Namjoon grabbed a pair of chopsticks and held them out. “Sit. Eat.”

“Is this standard procedure with all your trainees?” The sarcasm was thick in your voice, but you still took a seat across from him.

“Just the ones that get themselves targeted by serial killers.”

Your grip on the chopsticks faltered for just a second.

Then you scoffed. “That supposed to be a joke?”

Namjoon didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m serious.” His voice had dropped, low and steady, the kind that sent a chill down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You eyed him warily, then set the container down. “About what?”

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing at his temple like he already regretted this conversation. “There was another one.”

Your fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the table. “Where?”

“Downtown. Two blocks from our last case.”

You didn’t need him to elaborate. Your mind was already connecting the dots, pulling up images you didn’t want to see.

Same M.O.? You almost asked, but you already knew the answer.

Namjoon watched you carefully, like he was waiting for the realization to hit.

It did.

“That’s why you’re here.” The words tasted bitter. “You think I’m next.”

His jaw tightened. “And you clearly agree. Why else would you sleep with your gun strapped to your hip?”

“I think you guys are overreacting.”

“Is that why you called the protection detail off? You were supposed to have uniforms watching you right now.”

“The captain is being absurd.” You take a bite of rice “Much like you are right now.” You argue between mouthfuls.

“You’re impossible.” He watched you with that usual superior look of his, that challenging glare that made your blood boil.

“So, what? You decided to break in and deliver takeout because you think I have a target on my back?”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, his silence spoke louder than any answer he could’ve given.

Your stomach churned—not from the food, but from the implications hanging between you.

He wasn’t here just because he thought you were in danger.

He was here because he knew you were.

“I’m staying the night.”

You snapped. “Oh, like hell you are!”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. He just set down his chopsticks and looked you dead in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

“I’m staying the night,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You shot him a look that could cut glass, but his expression didn’t change. There was something in his eyes—something you couldn't quite place.

“Not a chance, Namjoon,” you snapped, pushing yourself away from the table. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, you need to not get killed.”

The words snapped like a gunshot between you, sharp and final.

Neither of you spoke.

Outside, the rain threatened to start again, fat droplets tapping against the glass.

You held his stare, your jaw clenched and shoulders squared, the air between you so tense it felt like either of you might snap.

“Fine.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “But you sleep on the couch.”

Namjoon’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Deal,” he said, nodding in silent agreement as he slowly backed away from the table. He didn’t argue further—there was nothing left to say once the terms were set. “I also got us a bottle of wine to celebrate you finally taking an order from me.”

“You’re impossible,” you counter, using his earlier line.

You resumed eating, though the rice had lost its appeal. Each bite felt heavy, burdened by the tension between you. Every clink of chopsticks and scrape of ceramic against the table punctuated the silence like a metronome counting down the moments until something else would shatter the uneasy calm.

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting toward the kitchen counter, where the bottle of wine sat like a silent witness to the strange turn of events. He seemed content to let the silence stretch between you, his presence still an unspoken weight in the room.

The tension was thick, almost suffocating, but you didn’t care to break it. Not yet. The thoughts swirling in your head—the things you hadn’t said out loud—kept you rooted in place. The noise of the rain outside, once soothing, now only added to the discomfort that crawled under your skin.

Namjoon poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow and deliberate. When he placed one in front of you, you took it without a word. He watched you for a beat, his eyes searching, trying to gauge what was really going on beneath the surface.

You took a sip, the warmth of the wine doing little to ease the cold unease that wrapped around you. The day, the case, everything was starting to feel too close, too personal. And Namjoon’s silent presence wasn’t helping, no matter how much it was meant to comfort.

After a few minutes, Namjoon cleared his throat softly, watching you look down into your glass. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I set up my gear in the living room?” he asked, voice low. “Just in case we need to move fast.”

You frowned, glancing toward the door where the muted TV light played over the wall. “It’s your turn to be my backup tonight,” you muttered, half teasing, half warning.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I never leave your side—even if I’m on the couch,” he replied, a trace of amusement in his tone that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You shot him a sidelong look, then set your glass down. “Get your things, Namjoon. And for the record, I’d prefer not to have a detective rummaging through my living room,” you added, attempting to lighten your tone despite the unease creeping in.

He smirked. “I’ll try to behave,” he said with a wink that belied the seriousness behind his words.

Moments later, the quiet hum of preparation filled the apartment. Namjoon unpacked his duffel bag with the methodical precision of someone who’d been in high-stakes situations far too many times. You found yourself glancing repeatedly at the window, where the rain began to fall again in earnest, drumming against the glass like a ragged heartbeat.

“I’ll fetch you some blankets.”

“A few pillows too.”

You chuckle, “Do you want a facemask too?”

Namjoon looked up from his bag, a playful glint in his eyes despite the tension hanging in the air. “Only if it comes with a side of earplugs,” he teased, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table and moving toward the closet “Yeah, baby boy needs his beauty sleep.”

You tossed the blanket and pillows onto the couch, but as you straightened up, the sound of the rain outside seemed to deepen, becoming almost repetitive in its heaviness. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just the low hum of the apartment and the soft drum of water against glass.

Namjoon broke the silence with a more serious note. “Try and get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”

You paused, turning to face him, your gaze met his, and for a moment, the usual banter was gone, replaced by something more sincere—something that tugged at the edges of your own quiet worry. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come right away, and you debated if you even wanted to let them out.

“Thank you.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened, the seriousness in his face fading into something just slightly softer.

He nodded slowly, as if accepting your gratitude, though his lips didn’t curve into a smile. There was something grounding about the way he held your gaze, like he understood more than you were saying.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured, his voice low, but the words carried weight. “It’s what we do.”

You exhaled quietly, finally giving in to the tension in your shoulders. “Yeah, well... it’s still nice to hear.” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding, the soft edge to your tone. “Thank you for being here. And for dinner.”

“It’s no problem,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. “You know I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah.” You still sigh despite yourself, pushing towards the bedroom “Goodnight Joon.”

Namjoon watched you as you moved toward the bedroom, his eyes soft, but there was a hint of something unreadable in them. He remained silent for a moment, just watching you before speaking in that calm, reassuring tone of his.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, though his voice lingered in the space between you, grounding you in the moment.

You didn’t turn back, but his presence, quiet and constant, felt like a weight lifted, even just for tonight. The quiet murmur of the rain outside seemed softer, less oppressive as you closed the door behind you.

~~~

The smell of pancakes felt foreign in your apartment. The rich, buttery scent filled the air, its warmth cutting through the cool, damp atmosphere of the morning. You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess, your mind still hazy from sleep. It took a few seconds for you to process what was happening.

Namjoon.

You could hear the faint sound of him humming, the clink of utensils, the quiet sizzle of batter on the griddle. The peacefulness of it felt almost surreal after the tension of the night before.

Rubbing your eyes, you stepped out of the bedroom, the coolness of the floor beneath your feet grounding you back in reality. You walked toward the kitchen, where Namjoon was flipping pancakes like he’d done this a hundred times in your kitchen—like he belonged there.

He glanced up when you appeared, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The weight of last night still hung in the air between you.

“Morning,” he greeted softly, the scent of coffee following the pancakes.

You blinked at the scene, still a little dazed. “Did you... make this?” You gestured toward the stack of golden pancakes, the syrup bottle, and the neatly placed plates.

“I wanted to make eggs. But they expired last year, and your bacon had something growing on it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We need to go to the precinct.”

“Will you relax? Just sit down and eat.”

You shot him a look, but he was already plating another pancake, as if he were completely unfazed by the chaos that had defined your life for the last few days.

“I’m serious, Namjoon. We don’t have time for breakfast. The precinct is waiting, and you’ve got a duty.” You gestured vaguely to the mess of plates and syrup bottles, your voice tightening slightly despite the absurdity of the moment.

He turned to you with an almost exasperated expression, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You need food. We both do. The precinct will be there when we're ready. In the meantime, we sit. We eat. You get a few minutes to breathe.”

You huffed in frustration but couldn't deny the logic behind his words. He was right, you were barely functioning on caffeine and adrenaline, and you needed a break—even if just for a few minutes.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting down at the table. “But as soon as we're done, we're out the door. No more distractions.”

Namjoon gave you a nod, his tone still light. “Oh, I forgot the newspaper.” He turned off the stove and did his little half-jog to the door.

But as soon as he twisted the doorknob, the door slammed open against the weight of the body propped against it. A sickening thud reverberating through the apartment. Your heart skipped a beat as the sight of the corpse registered in an instant—its pale, lifeless face staring up at you, eyes vacant and unseeing. The air in the room felt like it had thickened, the weight of the situation crashing down on you.

Namjoon froze for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob. Then, without a word, he stepped back, his body moving with precision as he grabbed his cell and tossed it to you.

“Call the precinct.” He instructed, fetching his gun in an instant “And stay back.”

Your fingers trembled as you caught the phone, the shock still running through your veins. You barely registered the coldness of the device against your palm, too focused on the scene in front of you. The body. The blood that had pooled around it, seeping into the carpet like it was part of the apartment itself.

You fumbled with the phone, dialling the precinct, your breath hitching in your throat. The line rang once, twice, before someone picked up, their voice professional, unaware of the horror unfolding in your living room.

“112, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Detective Hwang, badge number 1209. There’s a body on my front door.”

The voice on the other end of the line shifted instantly, now alert. “Detective Hwang, stay on the line. Is the scene secure? Do you need assistance?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to steady your breathing. “We have a body. It's… propped against the door. Get someone here immediately.”

“Understood, Detective. Stay where you are. Officers are on their way. Do not engage with the scene further.”

You glanced over at Namjoon, who was crouched by the body now, his gun trained at the door as he assessed the situation. He didn't flinch or pause, moving with the practiced calm that had always been his trademark.

It took less than 8 minutes for your apartment to be crawling with uniforms, CSU, and of course, Detective Yoongi and Jungkook.

“So,” Jungkook was talking to Namjoon, merely a few steps away from where you sat at the kitchen table across from Yoongi. “Wine glasses.”

“Yeah, Namjoon brought dinner and wine.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Namjoon with a smirk. “Dinner and wine, huh? Cozy night in?”

Namjoon shot him a deadpan look. “It was supposed to be breakfast, too, until we were rudely interrupted by a corpse.”

Jungkook let out a low whistle, shaking his head “Pancakes?”

You glanced over at him, confused.

“So, nothing else happened?” Jungkook continued undeterred.

“Jungkook what are you on about?”

“Well, you know what they say about pancakes.” Yoongi replied, though his eyes were still glued to his notepad.

You narrowed your eyes, glancing between Yoongi and Jungkook. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do they say about pancakes?”

Jungkook grinned like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Pancakes are the best way to say ‘Hey, thanks for that amazing sex last night.’”

You choked on absolutely nothing, spluttering as Namjoon let out the world’s longest sigh beside you.

“Oh my God,” Namjoon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now?”

Yoongi finally glanced up from his notepad, entirely unbothered. “It’s a well-documented theory.”

Jungkook nodded, very seriously. “Classic post-hookup breakfast. Means it was so good that one of you felt compelled to whip up something warm and sweet the next morning.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “It was just breakfast, Jungkook.”

“Was it?” Jungkook teased, crossing his arms. “Because the way I see it, there are two wine glasses on the counter, Namjoon sleeping over, and pancakes on the table.”

Namjoon made a noise somewhere between a groan and a death rattle. “I hate all of you.”

You threw up your hands. “For the last time, nothing happened!”

Yoongi huffed, and Jungkook shook his head as he jotted down on his notepad “witness refuses to cooperate.”

You gawked at him. “Are you seriously writing that down?”

Jungkook nodded, scribbling dramatically. “Refuses to acknowledge the overwhelming evidence of post-coital carbohydrates-”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Namjoon, looking moments away from actual homicide, turned to Yoongi. “Please arrest him for obstruction.”

Yoongi barely held back a smirk. “Tempting.”

[rekino2114]

Valentines prompt 5. a heartfelt love letter 🩷

This, of course, is going to a request for our best Spooky girl. In danganronpa despair time~ Veronika grebenshchikova, I feel she'd be the most interesting for this given her personality and interests. It'd probably be the most unique love letter in existence.

Veronika writing you a love letter

Valentine's prompts #5

Prompt list

Pairing:Veronika grebenshchikova x gn reader

A/n:I actually thought about making an actual letter on canva for this but it was to short and I was too lazy

Tw:a bit of talk about self-harm

Dear y/n

First of all, I am so sorry for leaving this in your dorm without permission, I know you said you don't mind, but I'm still sorry, I promise i didn't touch anything but I did leave another thing with this letter I'll give you some clues it's cute fluffy and may or may not be possessed by the spirit of a dead child....I know it's not that in theme for valentine's day but it was so adorable I couldn't not get it.

And before you freak out, this letter is written in red ink, not blood, turns out you can't write a full letter in blood, it's way too liquid, and also you'd need a ton of it.........so if you see me with a bandage around my finger You know why.

I know I'm sorry, but I thought it would have been so romantic to write my love for you in my own blood. It would have been like a sign that our love will be eternal, not that it already isn't. I would gladly rip my heart out and give it to you just to show you that it beats only for you if I could survive without it, like a zombie or like corpse bride I love that movie...........I just got the best idea for a couple cosplay.

Looks like I'm rambling even in a letter, sorry, but you do always say you love when I ramble about stuff I like, even with how gorey and creepy it may be, you still listen with so much interest, that's one of the many things I love about you.

And that's why I'm writing this in the first place, to tell you all the things I love about you, well not really I would need way more than a piece of paper to list all of them, your smile, your hair, your face, your screams, your laughter, your voice,your blood, your eyes, your inside (granted I've never seen them but I bet they look just as amazing as the rest of you)

The point is I love literally everything about you and just wanted to put it to paper on valentine's day, I assume you're already my valentine probably, is that how it works? Does it come in the package once you start dating? We become each other's valentines for all the following valentine's days? Anyway, still I love you and just wanted you to know that you're the love of my life and I wouldn't change that for the world.

The last thing I want to say is....thank you, just thank you for being in my life, I know we already talked about this and you don't like me to bring this up since it's in the past but I've stopped with the cuts ever since I met you and I think that just shows how great you are, you've helped me past the worst stage of my life and I genuinely could never thank you enough for that, every time I look at the scars I just smile and thank you, because you did that, you helped me move past that and you deserve the world for it, but my love will have to do.

Wow, it's been a while since I got this emotional over anything, but I guess that's kind of the point of valentine's day, to show the person you love just how much you love them, and i hope you felt that in this letter.

So let me say this one last time here, thank you darling, I love you with all of my heart ❤️

Veronika grebenshchikova

P.s:don't think you're getting out of horror movie night just because it's a holiday. You'd be surprised at how many horror movies there are about valentine's day or love in general, I'll wait for you in my dorm in a couple hours darling~

[atattookiss]

this tour changed my life too and i’m not even exaggerating

[urfavedumbcunt]

Putting her shirt on and having my brain go fuzzy bc it smells like her >>>>>>>>

[theythemmer]

missing ERS….