#like what do they think of him?? what's his deal??

[solxamber]

And I Choose...

In which you pick the dorm you want to join

Part 1: Choose Us

Heartslabyul

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d be willingly moving into Heartslabyul, but here you were, standing at the entrance with your bags (and Grim, who was loudly complaining about the lack of a tuna fountain).

Riddle was the first to greet you, looking as composed as ever. “Welcome to Heartslabyul,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was formal, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed his excitement. “I trust you’ll follow the rules properly now that you’re part of this dorm.”

Before you could respond, Trey appeared beside him, looking far more relaxed. “We’re glad to have you here,” he said with a warm smile. “I already saved you a slice of cake—figured you’d need a snack after all the chaos today.”

Bless this man. Truly.

“Say cheese!”

You barely had time to process Cater’s voice before you were blinded by the flash of his phone. “Oh my Sevens, the new dormie vibe is immaculate! This is totally going on Magicam!” He snapped another selfie, this time pulling you into the frame. “And guess what? I’m using my clones to make moving day a breeze! You’re welcome!”

True to his word, Cater’s clones were already grabbing your stuff. You stared in disbelief as three Cater clones carried a single small bag together while laughing like they were in a cheesy sitcom. Efficiency clearly wasn’t their strong suit, but at least they were trying.

And then there was Ace and Deuce. The moment you’d announced your decision to join Heartslabyul, the duo had erupted into what could only be described as the most uncoordinated, chaotic victory dance you’d ever seen.

Deuce was spinning in circles like he was trying to summon a tornado, while Ace alternated between bad breakdancing and finger guns pointed at no one in particular. “We won! We won!” they chanted, completely ignoring the way Riddle’s eye was twitching in disapproval.

“You know,” you said, watching them make absolute fools of themselves, “I think I made the right choice.”

Grim snorted from his perch on one of your bags. “You’re surrounded by idiots, henchhuman.”

“Maybe,” you said with a grin. “But they’re my idiots.”

Savanaclaw

The moment you announced that you’d chosen Savanaclaw, chaos erupted.

Jack’s tail started wagging so hard it was like a propeller trying to take off. You half-expected him to lift into the air. “You won’t regret it,” he said, his usually calm voice brimming with excitement. “We’ll make sure you feel at home here.”

Ruggie wasted no time grabbing you in a headlock and giving you the noogie of a lifetime. “I knew you’d make the smart choice! You, me, and all this bribe cash—donuts for a whole year, easy! You’re officially part of the Savanaclaw hustle now!”

“Ruggie, I swear, if you ruin my hair—”

But the true shocker was Leona. At first, he played it cool, lounging lazily in his chair like your decision was no big deal. “Hmph, took you long enough,” he said, voice dripping with fake indifference. But then, as if he couldn’t help himself, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smug grin.

And that’s when he pulled out his phone.

“Leona, what are you doing?” you asked, watching as he sidled up to you with the confidence of a king.

“Taking a picture. Gotta rub this in a little.”

Before you could protest, he snapped a selfie of the two of you. Then, with the smoothness of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, he took another.

One went to Vil. The other went to Malleus.

The captions?

To Vil: "Looks like I win. Stay beautiful, princess."

To Malleus: "Better luck next time, lizard."

You groaned, face burning. “Leona, was that really necessary?”

“Absolutely,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket and smirking like the cat who caught the canary. “Welcome to the pack, herbivore.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help smiling. Maybe Savanaclaw wasn’t such a bad choice after all.

Octavinelle

The second you announced you were choosing Octavinelle, chaos descended faster than you could say “Mostro Lounge.”

Floyd let out an earsplitting cheer and, before you could blink, scooped you up and tossed you into the air like a beach ball.

“Shriiiimpy’s ours now!” he cackled, catching you before launching you up again like he was testing the room's ceiling height.

“Floyd, please!” you yelled, your life flashing before your eyes as you flailed. “I don’t wanna meet the Great Seven this soon!”

Eventually, Jade stepped in, placing a hand on Floyd’s shoulder. “Now, now, Floyd. Let’s not accidentally lose our new dormmate to an untimely accident. We wouldn’t want to scare them away before they’ve even unpacked.”

Floyd, grumbling, set you down but kept a firm arm around your shoulders, as if daring you to second-guess your decision.

Jade, meanwhile, adjusted his gloves with a serene smile that somehow felt a little too sharp. “Welcome to Octavinelle,” he said smoothly. “It’s wonderful to have you with us. I assure you, you’ll be treated with the utmost care here.” He looked way too pleased with himself, his gaze lingering like he was already planning your initiation.

Then there was Azul.

Azul looked like he’d just won a billion Madol jackpot. His eyes gleamed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to break into a little dance right there in the lounge. But then, with Herculean effort, he composed himself, clasping his hands and clearing his throat.

“Well, this is certainly a wise choice,” he said, adjusting his glasses like he hadn’t just been doing mental cartwheels. “I’m honored you’ve decided to join Octavinelle. We’ll make sure all your needs are taken care of.”

But then… he slid a very familiar-looking contract across the counter.

“Of course,” Azul added with a dazzling smile, “just a small formality. You see, this document simply guarantees that you’ll remain a proud Octavinelle student until graduation—oh, and a few other things.”

You stared at the contract hoping it might spontaneously combust. “Azul. I literally just joined. Can I have a minute to breathe before I sign my soul away?”

“No rush, no rush!” Azul said, not looking remotely deterred. “Take your time. But, ah—do keep in mind that signing sooner ensures the best possible benefits…”

As Jade handed you a drink (which you were very suspicious of) and Floyd draped himself over you, already talking about all the “fun” you’d have together, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d just made a deal with the devil.

Still, as Azul's smug smile softened into something almost genuine, you decided it wasn’t the worst deal in the world.

Scarabia

The moment you announced your decision, Kalim was on you like a whirlwind.

“YOU CHOSE SCARABIA!!” he yelled, tackling you into a hug so tight you thought you might pop like a balloon. Before you could even gasp for air, he was spinning you around the common room like you were some kind of trophy he’d just won.

“This is AMAZING! We’re gonna have so much fun! Parties! Feasts! Adventures! You’re gonna love it here!” Kalim babbled, his infectious excitement making it hard to even feel dizzy despite the rapid spinning.

“Kalim,” you wheezed, clutching his shoulders, “please put me down before my life flashes before my eyes.”

“Oh, right!” he said, gently setting you down with a sheepish laugh. “I got carried away. I’m just so happy!”

As you tried to steady yourself, a much calmer—but no less relieved—voice spoke from behind Kalim.

“I’m glad you chose Scarabia,” Jamil said, his expression carefully composed, though you could see the faintest hint of relief in his eyes.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes,” Jamil replied, crossing his arms and glancing away like he didn’t want to elaborate. But after a beat, he sighed and added, “You’re one of the few people here who keeps things balanced. With you around, maybe I’ll have a chance to stay sane.”

Your heart melted a little at his quiet admission, even as Kalim jumped in again, declaring he’d throw a party that night to celebrate your move.

“Let’s get food! Music! Oh, we should decorate your room! Jamil, can we hang up those golden lanterns I found last week? And—”

“Kalim,” Jamil interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose but unable to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips, “one thing at a time. Let them breathe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the dynamic, feeling a warm sense of belonging already. Scarabia might be a lot, but it felt like home.

Pomefiore

The second you announced your decision, Epel let out a laugh so sinister it would’ve sent chills down a villain’s spine. “HA! TAKE THAT, EVERYONE ELSE!” he shouted, whipping out his phone to snap a selfie with you.

Of course, Rook popped into the frame with perfect timing, striking an overly dramatic pose as Epel sent the picture straight to the first-year chat. “VICTORY IS OURS!” was the only caption needed.

Before you could even blink, Rook had swooped in, bowing theatrically. “Ah, mon cher, your choice has blessed us with the most magnifique triumph! Let us celebrate with a dance!”

You barely had time to protest before he twirled you around the room like you were in some period drama. His excitement was so contagious you almost didn’t notice when he dipped you dramatically—until you felt yourself tipping back, only to be caught by Vil.

“Honestly, Rook,” Vil sighed, steadying you with all the grace in the world. “Do try not to give them whiplash their first day.”

He turned to you, his usual poised demeanor firmly in place, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings. “Welcome to Pomefiore,” he said, his voice soft, yet commanding. “You’ve made the right decision.”

You were about to respond when Vil, ever the perfectionist, immediately began fussing over your uniform. “Honestly, you can’t be seen like this. Your tie is uneven, and—Rook, stop standing there and help them adjust their collar properly!”

As Vil worked, meticulously fixing every little detail, you couldn’t help but notice the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He might’ve been playing it cool, but there was no hiding how pleased he was to have you here.

Epel and Rook, meanwhile, had started arguing about who deserved the credit for your choice, while Vil made it very clear that it was his influence that sealed the deal.

And just like that, your chaotic new life in Pomefiore began.

Ignihyde

The moment the words “I’m choosing Ignihyde” left your mouth, Idia froze like someone had yanked his power cord out. His hair flickered erratically, and for a second, you thought he might actually pass out.

“Big Brother? Big Brother!” Ortho shook him frantically, his mechanical arms making a soft whirring sound. “Stay with us! They chose us! You can’t glitch out now!”

Idia finally snapped back to reality, though his face was still pale, his hair sputtering like a dying neon sign. “W-Wait, what?! You…chose here? Are you serious? This isn’t like, a prank, right? Did Ortho bribe you?!”

“No pranks, no bribes. I chose Ignihyde,” you said, trying not to laugh at his genuine bewilderment.

He blinked rapidly, processing your words. “B-But the PowerPoint… I thought it was way too cringe. I mean, I had like, fifty slides about food optimization! Who’d find that interesting?! You were supposed to be like, ‘Ew, no thanks,’ and leave!”

“Actually, I thought it was kind of cute,” you admitted, watching as his hair flared a bright pink.

“C-CUTE?! AAHH, STOP, YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THINGS LIKE THAT!” He clutched his hoodie like his heart was going to short-circuit.

“Big Brother, calm down!” Ortho interjected, practically beaming. “They chose us! Isn’t this the best thing ever?”

Idia rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting anywhere but at you. “…So, uh, do you wanna, like…celebrate or something? I-I mean, I know you probably have better things to do, b-but if you wanna…play a game or something, that’d be cool.”

You smiled. “I’d love to.”

Ortho let out an excited cheer and zipped over to hug you tightly, his arms surprisingly warm. “Welcome to Ignihyde! I’m so happy you’re here! This is gonna be the best!”

As Ortho buzzed around you, already listing off all the things you could do together, you caught Idia sneaking a shy glance your way. His hair was still flickering pink, and he looked like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You weren’t sure what life in Ignihyde would bring, but if it meant seeing Idia like this—flustered, happy, and maybe a little hopeful—you knew you’d made the right choice.

Diasomnia

The moment you announced you’d chosen Diasomnia, Sebek practically burst into flames.

“OF COURSE YOU CHOSE DIASOMNIA!” he boomed, puffing up with pride. “It’s the only logical choice! With the Young Master here, there was no other dorm worthy of your presence!”

Silver chuckled softly at Sebek’s theatrics, stepping forward with a kind smile. “Welcome to Diasomnia. I’m glad you’re joining us. Let me know if you need help moving your things—I’ll be happy to assist.”

Before you could respond, Lilia appeared out of thin air, laughing like a mischievous ghost. “Ah, welcome, welcome! We’ve been expecting you…or at least, I have. Let me go fetch Malleus so he can hear the good news himself!” And with that, he vanished in a puff of green smoke, leaving you blinking at the empty spot he’d occupied seconds before.

Malleus arrived moments later, his towering presence filling the room. His emerald eyes softened as they landed on you. “I heard you’ve made your decision. Have you truly chosen Diasomnia as your dorm?”

You smiled up at him. “Yeah, I chose Diasomnia.”

The way his face lit up was unlike anything you’d ever seen. His usual composed demeanor melted into something warmer, brighter. He almost looked…giddy.

“This pleases me greatly,” he said, his voice rumbling with quiet joy. “Come. I’ll give you a proper tour of our dorm.”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer before he gently ushered you forward, beginning the grand tour of Diasomnia. Lilia popped in and out of nowhere as you walked, adding bizarre and entirely unnecessary facts.

“And over there,” Lilia said, gesturing to a decorative suit of armor, “is what I wore when I once tripped and almost spilled soup on Malleus when he was a child. Ah, good times.”

Malleus sighed but didn’t stop him. “This area is the library. Feel free to browse the shelves at your leisure. I can show you my favorite tomes later.”

“And this hallway is where Sebek shouted for the first time when he thought Malleus was missing! Nearly shattered all the windows,” Lilia added with a grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the whole thing feeling so surreal yet oddly comforting. Silver walked quietly beside you, throwing in the occasional useful tidbit, while Sebek followed behind, grumbling something about Lilia not taking the tour seriously.

By the time the tour ended, you felt strangely at home. The eccentricity, the warmth, the oddly familial atmosphere—it all wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.

Malleus turned to you, his expression soft but sincere. “You’ll be safe here. I’ll personally see to it.”

Lilia smirked. “Safe and well-fed. I’ll whip up something special to celebrate!”

“Please don’t,” Sebek muttered, but you just laughed, already feeling like you belonged.

Secret ending: Ramshackle

When you finally dragged yourself back to Ramshackle, you were met with Grim, lounging on the couch like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Well, henchhuman? Which dorm are we moving to? I hope you picked the one with the best tuna," he yawned, tail flicking lazily.

You slumped down next to him, groaning. "None of them."

Grim's ears perked up. "Huh? What do ya mean, none of them?!"

"I told Crowley to just fix the worst parts of this place. I’d rather stay here. Everyone’s so excited for me to join their dorm—I don’t wanna disappoint them."

Grim blinked at you, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. "Eh, as long as you're still my henchhuman, I don’t care. Besides, this place has character! And by character, I mean it’s haunted, but still."

The next day, Crowley gathered the staff and shared your decision with them. You’d half-expected him to brush off his promise, but to your utter shock, the teachers actually…pitched in.

Vargas showed up first, flexing dramatically. "Alright! Time to show these walls the power of my biceps! I’ll have this place sturdy in no time!" He started hammering away, though you were slightly concerned when he tried to patch a hole in the ceiling using a workout bench.

Trein followed, shaking his head disapprovingly. "This building is a historical relic, and it deserves proper restoration." He brought Lucius along, who mostly supervised by napping in different corners.

Crewel arrived next, snapping his gloves on. "We’re not half-assing this. Ramshackle is getting a full makeover. And you’re going to help, pup. Start scrubbing those floors. Chop, chop!"

Even Sam surprised you by popping up with a toolbox and a grin. "Can’t have my favorite customer living in a death trap, can I? Plus, a little investment in the neighborhood never hurts business!"

The repairs were chaotic but effective. You spent days dodging Vargas’ overly enthusiastic demolition attempts, enduring Trein’s lectures on historical preservation, and running errands for Crewel while he barked orders like you were a rookie in boot camp.

By the end of it, Ramshackle was almost unrecognizable. The roof no longer leaked, the walls were sturdy, and the floors didn’t creak like a ghost was stalking you (though you were pretty sure the ghosts were still there, just quieter).

Grim looked around, nodding in approval. "Not bad, huh? Maybe this place isn’t such a dump anymore."

You smiled, patting his head. "Yeah, it’s still home."

And as you settled back into your slightly less ramshackle life, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful. Sure, your dorm might not have been the flashiest or fanciest, but it was yours. And that was more than enough.

Masterlist

[urstruly-ghst]

peek-a-boo ! - dorm leaders

in which you like hiding in the most random places and surprising them

authors note: like they're gonna be so mad but ykw they love u

ALSO OMG 1K FOLLOWERS ??!! ty everyoneee <3!

riddle rosehearts

you're lucky, riddle notes, he is used to these antics from che'nya. he was so blessed to know those tactics, because riddle wouldn't know what to do if he was unprepared of this situation: you were hanging upside down because you hid on top of his closet!

smiling and humming happily, you edge close to the very end of the closet door; as if you're taunting him.

"heyyy riddle!"

"you get down this instant and be careful!" riddle said mortified as he started pulling his pillows and duvets to the ground to cushion your fall. you jumped and riddle yelled and used his magic to make you float.

"my rose..." he said with a glare as his heart thumped hard against his chest. "never do that again."

leona kingscholar

herbivore is what he calls you, however he feels like that calling you "kitten" is now appropriate. you act like some juvenile kitten who just saw the world. though, leona isn't keen on that behaviour.

leona is on the verge of assigning ruggie to you now, with how your conquest to fright him with the many times you put yourself in places you shouldn't be in. for example, the dorm's tall trees.

"herbivore!" leona growled as his heart sank when he heard from ruggie you disappeared somewhere in the dorm. you whistle and shake a bit to signal to leona you were up on the tree.

"hey, kingscholar!" you said smugly as you lounged atop the tree. leona felt scared and irritated, why must you make things difficult before he has to nap or practice? he struck the tree and made into sand before catching you, his grunt and your wide eyed stare was enough to send the dorm into a frenzy.

"you are not leaving my side, understood?" leona said as he wrapped his tail around you.

azul ashengrotto

azul is still trying to get used to how legs work and being in high up places. so why must you torture him and hide in the most inconvenient of places? the most outrageous was his laundry basket, which mind you, now smells like you! (not that he minds, but still!)

he's trying to find you in the vast dorm room, azul curses his extensive dorm sometimes when it came to how you hide. azul thinks that floyd is also helping you, which is worse, now he has to deal with double the trouble.

"beryl...? come on out, we have plans remember?" azul calls out a bit wary and frustrated that it was dead silent and you may have been hiding for too long. oh, sevens, you may be hungry!

"boo." you say as you grab onto his ankles, azul shrieked and fell. his legs failing him, you giggle as you crawl out of the bottom of some floor board? azul glared as he recovered composure.

"we're making a new deal." azul says as he readies himself to make a contract with one new rule: stop sneaking up on him.

kalim al asim

it wasn't kalim's problem to find you, jamil or someone else does. it infuriates jamil that kalim joins in on your little escapades. sometimes you make it a contest to see if one can hide longer.

though, kalim does get scared sometimes. you learned some tricks from him too, and it is a disadvantage to him especially when you disappear for too long. for example, right now, you're nowhere to be seen and his spacious dorm makes the search even more difficult.

"sunshine? sunshineee?" kalim echoes in the hallway, jamil also on a search for you on the other end of the dorm. it was fun at first but it was concerning and record-breaking. kalim turned a corner and a plant grabbed onto him. kalim nearly flooded the plant until he realized it was you.

"easyy, baby!" you say as he almost sent a flood your way. kalim sighed in relief, and smiled brightly because you now were found!

"yeah, well... you know how i am with being alone!" kalim giggled nervously, as if to remind you of his status and what that entails. you nodded and said "oh" with the realization. lesson learned i guess?

vil schoenheit

you're lovable, vil would say, as his patience thin at the prospect of you disappearing. usually, it was easy to find you. predictable is what vil calls your hiding skills. also, rook hunt happily indulges in the request of finding you (unfair with his unique magic.)

today, however, vil was on his own trying to find you in the dorm. he was an expert at the little nooks and crannies of the dorm. however he was bested because you dropped by, literally, in front of him effectively startling him.

"kya!" vil said as he brought out his wand ready to attack. you smile as you brush yourself off, falling from the chandelier. he sputtered before glaring. vil checked your vitals and tried to see if any injury was there.

"hiya sweetie!" you chirped and vil clicks his tongue as he carefully inspected you. once he's done, he flicks your forehead with a glare.

"don't 'sweetie' me, potato. you could've been hurt. now, come. we are overdue for a good scolding and pampering" vil said with a glare as if he is making note of a new potion to stop your hiding tendency.

idia shroud

frankly, idia thinks you're insane. he even straight up considers bringing you to a facility to check up on your mental capacity. why? who hides in a room filled with computers with no jacket? do you know how cold those rooms are? idia and ortho found you smiling as you hid in some closet box where the power supply is.

and trust, idia keeps you under lock and key after that. but you had your ways, you'd hide under the desk, the bed. behind his clothes, anything. it came to the point idia made a software called, "find prefect."

"oh geez. ortho boot up find prefect" idia said as he saw how you're not in his room again. idia was jittery knowing that you'd bribe ortho into not revealing where you are for a prank, which ortho seems to love lately.

as ortho boots up, it takes a while, you surprise him by covering his eyes. a loud shriek occurred as the lights turned off too. idia burns up and ortho giggled as he finally finished booting up

"prefect is 4 centimeters away from your location!"

malleus draconia

how adorable, malleus says, as you try to hide from his careful eye. he's quite used to lilia and his hiding skills, so you can't hide no matter how hard you try. yet, malleus entertains this folly and pretends to be shocked whenever you try to spook him.

though, malleus gets concerned by how you take risks in hiding at the most obsecure of places. his personal fright was you hiding by the moat because it was the least expected. as malleus dries you up, he shakes his head and gently scolds you.

"you have to admit, the moat is a good place to hide" you chide as malleus uses his magic to lift you away from the moat. you drip from being sprung from the water and shiver at the wind.

"it is quite the unexpected turn. but i'd rather have my dear child of man safe and dry." malleus scolds as he dries you up and pinches your cheek to scold you.

"ahh fine" you surrender, knowing you really can't fight his logic, you were starting to cramp up from trying to stay afloat.

[ghouljams]

which of the 141 men do you think has the biggest dollification kink?

I think for turning their partner into a doll it feels like price and for being turned into a doll it's giving either soap or gaz but idk

thoughts?

Turning their partner into a doll: Gaz for sure.

Gaz craves control, but he knows how to disguise it, and he knows how to ration it. He'd absolutely adore dressing up his partner, pulling what they'll wear for the day or for date night, ordering for them at a restaurant and feeding them at home. He loves the feeling of ownership that he gets when he maneuvers you into sitting perfectly still and pretty on the couch so he can just... look at you. Unlike where Price wants to turn his partner into a perfect wife, Gaz wants a perfect toy. He wants that sweet doll that will take all his touching and care without a complaint because you enjoy it too. He wants to make you feel good but he also wants to control every step of that feeling. You want to do your nails? Gaz will set up the uv lamp and pull out his polishes. If only because it gives him a little thrill having you show off his work(which you let him do because you're his).

For becoming a doll, Oh god every atom in me wants to say: Ghost.

The man wants to be used. He wants to be a tool, a toy. He wants you to lay him on the bed and force him to take the care he can't ask for. Sinking into that heads pace of "can't move, can't speak, can only receive" is probably both incredibly scary and incredibly therapeutic for him. He cringes and tightens up in anticipation only to be met with gentle hands that ply his pleasure from him. He's a good doll, good control, won't buck, won't grab you if you give the order, he'll lay still and let you do whatever you want to him. Which is a huge amount of trust that he only gives to you, and you could break it so easily with just one punishment. So the relationship only works with the understanding that you won't be dealing out any. But I think he'd be a good doll, Gaz is pretty but doesn't need to get out of his head the same way, Price needs a different pampering as well, and Soap wants it too bad.

[fear-is-truth]

❝ WITH THE LIGHTS OUT, IT’S LESS DANGEROUS ❞

warnings — murder mention. s2 spoilers. suggestive pairing — nam-gyu x f!reader word count — 745 a/n — english is not my first language sorry

THE DORMITORY IS UNNERVINGLY QUIET TONIGHT, just the occasional cough or the faint rustle of shifting blankets break the stillness, but even those small sounds seem out of place. the events of the night before hang like a disaster on a frayed piano string, threatening to snap at any second. bodies are still sore, bruised, and battered from the chaos that erupted when the lights went out—violence erupting in the pitch black, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. the air reeks faintly of sweat and fear, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that had dried into dark brown stains on the floor.

the thanos team is completely disbanded, not that you cared, anyway. you didn’t much like the rapper anyway, but his death felt like a strange relief—a violent severing of a bond you never wanted in the first place. se-mi, though. your chest tightens at the thought of her. se-mi didn’t deserve what happened to her. you don’t even know how she died—no one does.

now it’s just you, min-su, and that asshole nam-gyu.

min-su doesn’t say much these days. he sticks close but keeps his distance at the same time, like he’s not sure if you’re allies or just temporary survivors sharing the same sinking ship. nam-gyu, though, you don’t trust that prick.

you’ve learned to sleep lightly, one ear always tuned to the sounds of the room. and tonight, something feels… off. the faintest sound of movement makes you jolt awake, fingers instinctively curling around the shard of glass tucked in your sleeve.

“relax.” even without seeing him, you know it’s nam-gyu. the last person you want to deal with in the near darkness. “what are you doing?” you whisper harshly, fear twisting into irritation as his silhouette moves closer. he doesn’t answer, just shoves your legs aside like he has every right to be there. the audacity of this man.

“move.”

“get off,” you shove at his shoulder, but it’s like trying to push a wall. he wedges himself onto your narrow bunk, his body pressing flush against yours.

“someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“not after what you did last night,” his arm bumps into your ribs as he makes himself more comfortable. “you’re better at playing dirty than i thought.” you bristle at the words. from anyone else, it might sound like begrudging respect, but from nam-gyu, it feels like a thinly veiled insult. after all, you were just trying to make it out alive.

“then keep an eye on me from your own bed.”

“what bed?” he snaps. you realise belatedly that his mattress must’ve been stolen during the free-for-all. you open your mouth to argue further, but nam-gyu suddenly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you down against the mattress with him.

“shut up,” he hisses, breath warm against your cheek. “you think i trust you after everything? you’re lucky i’m still on your side, or you’d already be dead.”

the shard of glass digs into your palm, and you loosen your grip, debating whether to stay still or stab him. the latter is very tempting. a chill runs through you, but it isn’t fear. not entirely. his grip on you is unyielding, almost desperate, as if holding onto you because he doesn’t know what else to do with thanos gone.

“this isn’t necessary.”

“stop moving,” he hisses. you shift again, uncomfortable because there’s something hard pressed against your lower back. “unless you want to wake everyone up. trust me, they’ll have a field day when they see us all cuddled up.”

“this isn’t cuddling. it’s you being a creep.”

“call it what you want, just quit squirming for god’s sake.” he grouses, “you’ll just make it worse.” nam-gyu moves again, adjusting himself discreetly.

“make what worse?” the words tumble out before you can stop them, but the second they do, you freeze.

then it dawns on you.

oh.

heat rushes to your face, mortified as the realisation settles in. you freeze, hyperaware of every inch of him against you—the solid weight of his chest, the curve of his thigh pressed to yours, and now… the unmistakable press of his hardened cock slotted firmly against your ass. nam-gyu clears his throat awkwardly.

“just go to sleep.” the edge in his tone is softened by exhaustion, one that mirrors your own. “we’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[sweetlikemonie]

𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

synopsis: lil blurbs on how they beat it out the frame in (and out) the bedroom!

featuring: toji fushiguro, geto suguru, gojo satoru, nanami kento, & aoi todo x fem!reader

content warning: 18+ minors scram pls. mentions of sex duh, unprotected sex, spanking, multiple positions mentioned (w/twitter visuals 🫣), use of a sex toy in geto’s, lots of dirty talk, pet names, dom/sub elements, oral (fem receiving), hair pulling, exhibitionism, daddy kink in nanami’s, & orgasm denial and creampie in todo’s

author’s note: hey..hey…how y’all doing *miss juicy’s voice*. i’ve been gone for quite a bit. this is a lil rushed especially towards the end but comments and shares are always appreciated. xoxo hope you enjoy!

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

quite literally the one of the reasons i’m making this cause he takes your nut serious. his mission is to make sure you’re completely spent and satisfied. toji is not a mean, hard dom in my world. definitely gives me very much pleasure dom, fucking you until the sheets are riddled with your juices. when he’s satiated. just like when he’s got your back arched deep in the middle of the couch, pounding into you as if his life depended on it. “oou my god toji. y-you’re fucking the shit out me.” you moan out weakly, your hands frantically reaching out to grab at something for balance.

you try to find relief by scooting up slightly on the couch, his harsh strokes beginning to make your wetness run speedily down your thighs. you could barely keep your eyes open; and the only sounds starting to come from your mouth now were wordless grunts and gasps of immense pleasure, signaling your release. it didn’t take him long to catch on before one of his hands reached for your arms, locking them together. his free one gripped at your hair, pulling you back into his chest. “stop tryna run from me baby. you wanted this dick, so lemme give it to you.” he smirked as he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

does not fuck around. be bratty and you’ll suffer the consequences. loves rough sex and spanking, reserved especially when he thinks you’ve been stepping out of line. like when you’ve been having problems at your job with your coworkers snickering at you with snide remarks while you were working. so in turn, you’re snapping on him for little stuff you wouldn’t usually. he confronts you about this and when you finally opened up to him about what you’re dealing with, geto is deeply empathetic to your situation and offers you some stress relief in the best way he knows how, but not without a lil punishment first.

“and you better sound off too princess. you’ve hurt daddy’s feelings this week.” he spoke as he his large hands rubbed across the globe of your ass, before feeling two hard smacks on your left cheek. you lurched forward as you hissed. “fuck. i’m so sorry.” you uttered with a whine, hoping he accepted your apology. you weren’t sorry. it’s as if he knew the truth as he continued his assault on both cheeks of your ass, leaving them stinging and warm to the touch. tears rested at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. “you may not be right now but you will be soon.” you were confused as to what he meant by that but you soon understood as he positioned you onto all fours and you heard the buzzing sound of your vibrator coming from behind you.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

munchiest munch to ever munch. and eats the booty too! does it for himself and will stay down there for hours if you let him. likes to get your pleasure out the way first cause when it’s his turn to focus on his, that stamina is fucking killer. it’s like he spent your first few orgasms as a warmup and this was the real workout. big dick but not in girth; in length, so he likes those deep, piercing strokes where he can hit that spot you like. missionary because you’re pretty? no. missionary because sato thinks he’s pretty but he also wants to see your reactions? yes.

“gotta give me room to move in this tight ass pussy. s-shit,” gojo hisses with a halt of his hips. he moves from side to side, as if he’s getting snug and securing his spot inside of you. he had been at this for an hour now…pulling 4 orgasms out of you with his tongue, and promising the fifth and final one was to come from his dick. your breath hitches as he starts his strokes back up, thrusting into you with vigor. “ah-ah breathe baby. how it feel?” he coos with that stupid fucking smug on his face as he continues to stroke into you deeply. one of satoru’s hands moves off of your hips, placing it right on your puffy clit tracing it in slow, sloppy circles. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt that cord in your stomach beginning to snap, your orgasm so close you could taste it. you snapped out of your trance when you felt a hand grab at your hair, pulling you up to look at those piercing, blue eyes. “i want you to look at me while we cum together, kay?”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

soft man. gentle touches and kisses cause he sees your body like a delicate flower. isn’t real big on rough sex foreal unless it’s been an absolutely stressful and nerve wracking week. doesn’t have to do too much but you still feel him with every nerve you have in your body. loves whispering sweet but absolutely filthy things against your ear, he likes the feeling of you tightening up on him as you take in what he says. since nanami is so laid back reserved i feel like that dick is nice and heavy and is LOUD AF in the sheets. exhibit a & b:

“just like that baby…keep riding that dick.” nanami’s baritone voice spoke lowly by your ear. you were writhing in pleasure as he bounced you up and down along his thick shaft. you two had been all over each other for about an hour now. as soon as he walked through the door, he was greeted by your presence with a warm meal and after that you ran him a nice bath, which is where you two started. nanami was so grateful to have you in his life and he couldn’t think of a better way to thank you right now besides making you come so much you seen stars. “i’m so close kento…help me,” you begged, tears starting to well up in your eyes. you felt your legs beginning to tire out. you had been bouncing on him for about 15 minutes now and on the brink of your second orgasm. his large hands gripped at your hips as he started to fuck you harder and faster from the bottom, signaling his soon release. “tell me you deserve it pretty girl.” you whimpered as you tried to find the words to satisfy him. “i-i deserve it baby. please” you cried out as a huge wave of pleasure overcame you.

𝐀𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎

the other reason i’m making this. many don’t appreciate him like i do but i loveee a built man. you know that song by sexyy red called ‘mad at me’? todo thinks that’s she made the song for him cause it’s exactly how he likes to put it down. don’t tease him in public cause he’s a lil pervert and will get his when and wherever he wants to. like when y’all were doing a lil getaway to a cabin for the weekend, but you couldn’t keep your hands off his thighs and playing with the waistband of his sweats so he pulled over for a little 30 minute intermission.

“all that teasing just for you to be running? tsk, you know better than that mama.” aoi grunted from behind you, his tattooed hand wrapped around your neck, preventing you from freeing yourself from his grasp. his free hand landed three hard slaps each against your ass. part of you didn’t think he would pull over just to put you in your place. but who are you kidding? you knew how much aoi hated teasing. you just thought he would’ve tried to wait until you guys reached your destination. the fact that you were so out in the open and any car passing by could see the compromising position you were in got you so much wetter. his dick began hitting a different angle inside of you that had you squealing and throwing yourself back on him. you wanted to feel him as much as you could. “you gone come for me? i wanna feel all that shit dripping down my dick.” his deep voice rang against the shell of your ear, kissing and sucking on the lobe. you began to feel your release getting closer and closer, his strokes getting harder and wetness running down your thighs when all of a sudden it just—stopped. aoi’s strokes slowed down as you felt his dick throbbing, pumping the last of his cum into you. he pulled your panties and shorts back up before leaving a wet kiss against your temple. “thanks baby, i needed that.” you could hear the smirk in his voice as he left you there to get yourself together.

[fangsandfeels]

It's not that Rook as a project manager/leader/decision-maker doesn't work or has no value. However, what bothers me is that Rook feels like they literally exist to fulfill that role, but they have no part in the story.

For instance, in DAO Warden ends up with the mission to save Ferelden because there is nobody else. The King is dead, their Grey Warden mentor is dead, everyone is too busy playing politics - and the Warden just happened to survive. However, at the same time, they also have stakes of their own. They all have their reasons to go on, to do all that:

Cousland: "I will find and kill Howe for what he did to my family"

Aeducan: "I will take back my throne from my traitor brother"

Tabris: "If darkspawn reach Denerim, nobody will bother to protect the Alienage, so I must fo my best for Shianni and all the people there" // "I will kill every fucking shem in my way and I'm not letting the Blight take it from me"

Mahariel: "I lost my best friend to the taint and I almost died myself. I must make sure my people are safe from it, whatever it takes."

Amell: "I was banished from the Circle and there is no place for me anywhere else, so I better get used to this Grey Warden thing" // "Fuck yeah! I got my freedom and no templars, no darkspawn will ruin it for me!"

Brosca: "I didn't survive this long just to die here. I will keep climbing out of this pit and nobody will ever look down on me"

These reasons make the Warden more than just a placeholder for team leader - they make the Warden a person with their unique struggles, motivations, and experiences.

In DAI, the Inquisitor is less detailed, but they are put in a unique situation - they have The Thing in their hand and now people think they're the Messiah. Also, the local Pope is dead, there is a gaping hole in the sky and people are losing their shit, and The Thing seems to be the key to dealing with all of that, so the Inquisitor literally has to be the leader.

(Let's ignore the fact that the Inquisitor is also appointed the leader because they can be conveniently turned into a scapegoat for the enraged mob should something go wrong.)

The Inquisitor can be a fierce believer committed to the cause. They can be a reluctant leader and a loud non-believer, but their motivation is clear: I'm dealing with this shit not just because it threatens the world, but also it affected me personally.

Rook, however? They lack that nuance and range. They join Varric behind the scenes for no other reason than "cuz saving our planet is a thing to do!". Moreover, somehow they instantly buy Varric's story that must sound like some tinfoil hat level insanity:

"Alright, so elven gods are real and one of them is hanging around right now and he wants to explode the Veil and drown the word in demons. Wanna join me and stop him? It'll be fun. Yeah, he is literally a god who can kill you in your sleep and you're the only person I've recruited so far, I think our odds are good."

After all, in DAO the darkspawn threat is obvious and very hard to ignore: Mahariel gets the firsthand experience, Aeducan and Brosca' city is literally under constant threat, and the rest of Wardens get a glimpse of what the darkspawn will do to Ferelden in Orzammar. There is no denying the necessity to fight them. But Solas, though? He is subtle. Racism and prejudice against elves play in his favor. The only people who understand the threat are the ones he revealed his secret to.

So, why does Rook join Varric without a shadow of doubt, especially if they aren't even exiled from their faction (more like asked to take a break)? They obviously has a place to return to and things to do, why get yourself involved?

In other words, Rook lacks either personal reasons to go after Solas, which makes them look inauthentic and awkward (even though they're supposed to be capable and skilled) because there is no essence to their interactions.

Moreover, there could be reasons.

Maybe, they lost someone due to Solas' machinations and actions, they realized that there was something mysterious about the tragedy and felt like they were going insane until they crossed paths with Varric who gave them answers.

Maybe they got framed by Solas' spies and lost their place in their faction, their political status, everything - so they literally have no other option but to start beef with a literal god.

Maybe they were one of the slaves freed by Solas' agents but realized that he expects them to die for him now, which rubbed them the wrong way.

It is a compelling reason: to find the mysterious and supposedly powerful being, to be able to thwart its scheming, to ask "Remember me?" right in their face or to demand answers. It's a powerful motivation to keep going, to gather allies and work with people. It would have even made Solas getting stuck in Rook's head more impactful and allowed for more personal and sharper conversations.

In fact, now I think that if Rook got absolutely wrecked due to Solas actions (as a collateral damage) and became a down on their luck depressed mess or a restless seeker of answers putting themselves into dangerous situations, it would have made for a much more protagonist.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[xoxo-lixie]

Pretty Boy Confessions ᝰ.ᐟ

Paring-Jisung x Reader

Summary- Jisung gets flustered when Y/N calls him pretty, leading to an accidental love confession that she happily returns.

The evening sun filtered through the soft cream-colored curtains, casting a warm golden glow across the small living room. The scent of lavender lingered in the air from the candle burning on the coffee table, mixing with the sound of a soft acoustic playlist humming from a speaker in the corner. Jisung lay sprawled on the plush couch, his head resting gently on Y/N’s lap.

Y/N absentmindedly ran her fingers through his soft, locks, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. She’d found herself addicted to the way his hair felt between her fingers, and by the way his eyelids fluttered closed every time she did it, she knew he enjoyed it just as much.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Jisung’s eyes snapped open, his lips parting slightly in surprise. A soft pink hue instantly colored his cheeks, creeping up to his ears. “W-What?” he stammered, shifting slightly, though he didn’t move far from her lap. “Why would you say that?”

Y/N tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Because it’s true,” she said, her fingers moving to twirl a strand of his hair. “You’re pretty, Jisung. Deal with it.”

His blush deepened, and he groaned, burying his face into her stomach to hide his embarrassment. “Y/N, stop,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her sweatshirt. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” she teased, laughing softly at his reaction. She continued her gentle ministrations, her nails now lightly scratching the nape of his neck. “It’s not like I’m lying. You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

“Y/N!” he whined, his voice rising an octave as he squirmed slightly, still refusing to look up at her. “I’m going to melt into a puddle if you keep saying things like that.”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” she replied, her tone light and teasing. She leaned down slightly, her face hovering close to where his head was buried. “Are you hiding from me, Ji?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist like a lifeline. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head in genuine curiosity. Her fingers trailed through his hair again, brushing it away from his forehead. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”

Jisung let out a shaky breath, slowly lifting his face just enough to peek up at her with his wide, doe-like eyes. “You’re really unfair, you know that?” he muttered.

“Unfair?” she echoed, grinning. “How?”

“You just…” He paused, struggling to find the words. His gaze darted to her lips for a split second before he quickly looked away, his face heating up all over again. “You say stuff like that so easily. It’s not fair.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers now running through his bangs. “Maybe I just like seeing you get all flustered. It’s cute.”

Jisung groaned again, this time burying his face into her chest instead. “I can’t do this,” he muttered dramatically. “I’m going to combust.”

Y/N’s laughter rang through the room as she gently combed her fingers through his hair again, letting them trace soothing circles on his scalp. “You’re so dramatic,” she teased. “But I love it.”

For a moment, the room fell silent except for the soft strumming of the guitar playing in the background. Jisung let himself relax against her, his breathing evening out as he soaked in the comforting rhythm of her touch. He felt safe here, cradled in her warmth, surrounded by her scent and the sound of her voice.

Without thinking, the words slipped out. “I love you.”

Y/N froze, her fingers pausing mid-stroke. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice quiet but laced with surprise.

Jisung’s eyes widened in horror as his brain caught up with his mouth. He sat up so fast that he nearly knocked his head against hers, his hands flying to cover his face. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, but not like that— I—”

“Jisung,” Y/N interrupted, grabbing his wrists gently and pulling his hands away from his face. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, his eyes darting everywhere but to hers. “Look at me.”

He hesitated but eventually obeyed, his gaze meeting hers hesitantly. He looked so vulnerable, so uncertain, and it made her heart ache in the best way. “Did you mean it?” she asked softly, her hands still holding his.

“I…” He swallowed hard, then nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I meant it.”

Y/N’s face broke into a wide smile, her eyes softening as she cupped his cheek with one hand. “Good,” she said, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Because I love you too.”

Jisung’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to cry. Instead, he let out a breathless laugh, his body relaxing as a shy smile tugged at his lips. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “You’re my pretty boy, remember?”

He groaned, though there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Never,” she confirmed with a laugh, pulling him back down to rest on her lap. Her fingers found their way back into his hair, and Jisung let out a content sigh, his eyes fluttering shut again.

“Okay,” he murmured after a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I can live with that.”

[yuechihua]

remember me as i am.

summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.

notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness

“I need you to do me a favor.”

When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.

“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”

You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.

“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”

“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”

“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”

You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”

“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal. 

Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.

You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important. 

You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky. 

“Harumasa?” you say.

At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?” 

“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”

“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”

Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.

Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.

Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.

He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”

“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”

“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”

The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.

“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.” 

“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.

Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary. 

“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.

“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”

The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.

You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself. 

“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing. 

Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.

The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set. 

In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions. 

However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance. 

“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”

“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes. 

“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips. 

“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”

“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”

“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”

“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage. 

The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard. 

“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression. 

“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.

“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps. 

“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, Mx…?” the doctor trails off questioningly.

“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”

“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”

Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks. 

“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says. 

“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”

“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”

“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”

“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.” 

A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!” 

“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say. 

Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.

Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship? 

It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.

Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.

It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.

“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case. 

“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”

Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”

“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”

“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”

“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”

“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses. 

Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”

The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.

Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in. 

You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.

Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”

“Did it match your expectations?”

“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”

“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”

“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”

“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.

“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.” 

“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.

“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”

You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.” 

The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.

Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”

“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply. 

“What are you getting?”

“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”

He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”

“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.

It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.

Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”

“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.

He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”

“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 

He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off. 

“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”

“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.  

With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be. 

“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.” 

“That’s not my fault,” you protest. 

“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.” 

You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity. 

Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds. 

You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.

You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by. 

You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own. 

You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal. 

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say. 

“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling. 

He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.

You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you. 

“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks. 

“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.” 

Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?” 

“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.” 

Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light. 

You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect. 

The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song. 

“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.” 

“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.” 

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official…. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long. 

“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.

“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”

Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.

“Leaving someone behind like that… I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say. 

“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”

His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try. 

Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.

“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.

“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”

He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”

And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together. 

[mocchii-writes]

do you write for dae ho (squid game)? if so can you do one of him getting jealous but instead of being angry he just does dumb stuff to get the readers attention on him (like a little kid trying to show his mum a cool trick)

Paring: Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

Warnings: none! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

A/n: This is so Daisuke coded- anyways, I hope hcs work, this has been sitting in my req, and I didn't want to make u wait anymore ♡♡

~🍡🍡

Dae-ho seems like the type to get jealous for sure

Whether it's a friend you're talking to, or literally some stranger

But I don't think he'd get excessive with it, nor mad at you obviously

He tends to just feel small and insecure

So, he'd do things to grab your attention

'cuz he lovessss your attention!!

He would start with simple things, maybe surprising you with a task he did for you, or he'd bring you a treat, like candy or maybe chips you like

But usually, you don't get the memo :<

So, he resorts to doing things

Pretty stupid things, if I might say

You could be out at a park, talking to someone else and you suddenly hear your name

You look over n he's just like

"Watch me do this backflip!!"

"What? Dae-ho get down from there! You can't even do a backflip???"

He'll end up getting injured regardless

But when you help patch him up, he doesn't regret a thing

"Why did you do that? That was stupid, and you know it."

"I dunno..."

"Dae-ho."

Then he would totally spill and ramble about how you weren't talking to him, and he thought you didn't like him, and he thought he would look cool, and you're like oh...

Just please please give him attention and reassurance because he needs it

my poor baby :'<

He probably wouldn't stop doing it, though

I mean, it worked the first time, didn't it

And you both know it'll keep working, no matter how much you complain to him as you wipe the scrapes on his elbow

He would also say stupid things, tryna impress the guy talking to you

"Yeah, I'm a marine. No big deal or whatever."

"Uh okay"

"And I've wrested 3 bears with no weapons. And won." >:)

"..?"

Sometimes, when you do pick up on it, it's pretty funny to mess with Dae-ho

Just like, agree with him

"Mhmm I was there."

"Uh YEAH. She was there!"

"Why was she there...?"

"I was the bear."

The look he gives you is astronomically funny

The guy walks away, and he's upset like why would you embarrass him like that

You're like "bro."

But you're sure to give him extra cuddles as an apology

He's just a little puppy :<

[starrygazers]

cross my heart (hope to die)

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ haiii :3 I only write like once a year but that won't stop me from yearning for these new characters. I love Amphoreus because I was a Greek myth nerd growing up and this new update tickles me in aaaall the right ways.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : angst, established relationship, mentions of character death

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mydeimos, the Crown Prince, has no fears. He tossed away his humanity when he embraced immortality, the tool that he needed to trek on this god-slaying journey. There was no room for fear, not when he had to fight the Titan of Violence. A man such as this was not capable of human emotions; or so he thought.

"So," you hum in a sing-song tone, draping your arms around Mydei's shoulders. "When will you take me to that new restaurant in Marmoreal Market?"

Mydei huffs, but makes no effort to peel your touch off of him. He turns around to meet your eyes; you're so close to him. If it were any other person, they would have faced the wrath of the Undying Lion.

You detect no change in his expression, so you start pouting. "Mydei! You promised me you would."

Mydei shrugs. "Did I?"

You roll your eyes, finally letting go of him and sitting on the empty spot next to him. "Dying doesn't exempt you from the promises you make, you know?"

The Prince can't help but crack a smile at this; you're the only person that he can comfortably joke about his immortality with. With you, it doesn't seem like the big deal everyone makes it out to be. Not the heroic Chrysos Heir trait that Phainon envies him for, or the source of worry for Aglaea and Tribbie. It's just another part of him that you've accepted.

Because you accept all of him.

You cross your arms and look away from him, mumbling about how the restaurant's been open for a month and it's not new anymore so there won't be as many people and why do you always have to go on such long expeditions, but Mydei shushes you by taking a strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

A whisper of apology.

"It's okay," you mumble, extending your pinky. "Just promise again, for this life."

"I'll make a thousand promises if that's what you want," he says, and it comes out rough, like he's doing it to get you off his back. But you know better, you know him better.

He raises his own pinky finger to entwine it with yours. "How does the saying go again?"

"You're so forgetful," you laugh, and it's the most melodious tune he knows.

"Cross my heart..."

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. He's content with this destiny, because he knows he is not given the privilege to choose. He must lay down his god for the glory of what little humanity he has left within him. He will trade a thousand lives for peace, and he will enter a losing battle with only his faith in the infinite lives that he has.

Perhaps this is what made him forget how flimsy a life really is.

In his usual boredom, Phainon once riddled him. "How heavy do you think the world really is? Like, a thousand Dromas?"

Mydei's response, in typical fashion, was to huff and call Phainon's musings irrelevant. But now, he thinks he can answer that question.

The world is really light in his arms. The world is pale, cold, and losing a lot of blood.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you manage to say before your last breath. Your voice is hoarse, but Mydei would beg Oronyx to loop it forever because he still thinks your voice is his lullaby.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He promised to take you to that restaurant, and many more. He vowed to bring peace to this world to one day crown you as his queen.

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. But this was worse than death. For you, he would trade it all; his status as Crown Prince, his pride as the Undying Lion, his immortality.

A thousand life for yours.

"... and hope to die."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

yaaya it seems I can only write angst lol

©2025 starrygazers. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

[ylangelegy]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis Ch2/P2

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

(much love to @fadinggalaxysalad for the idea of Kon considering his own logo)

Picking out a lunch box was surprisingly hard. It said so much about a person.

Jon's was a Robin lunch box, because of course it was. Though Kon very much doubted that Damian's was a Superboy one (especially since it wouldn't be a Superboy the Second one). Kon’s own was a simple black one that he has been doodling on all year with a silver sharpie.

Maybe predictively, school was full of lunch boxes of superheroes, pop stars, geometric colors, and semi-abstract artsy patterns. Anything deemed not too “kiddy”. Eliminating the kiddy things on the shelf didn't get Kon very far. His own logo caught his eye, sitting innocently on the shelf among the Justice League heroes.

It was a little tempting. The thought of Danny carrying around his symbol through school every day brought a flush to Kon’s cheeks.

But there was no was he was going deal with the teasing from his family for that choice.

He moved away from that area of the shelves, because he wasn't going to get Danny any other superhero's symbol either, and continued on down to the abstract section. It was small and Kon was ready to rule it out until he saw it: a mostly black bag with a stylized set of stars on it. It was a little like Kon's own bag without actually matching in a way he could be teased about. It also felt very Danny somehow.

Kon grabbed the bag before he could over think it and went to finish up the rest of the list he'd been given since he was going out anyways.

-

Danny was already at the table, head buried into his crossed arms. The rest of their table was still empty. It made it easier to walk over and set the new lunch box down in front of Danny, close enough to bump his arms.

After a beat, Danny turned enough to peer at the bag with one shadowed eye. “What's that?"

“Your lunch,” Kon said with every bit of calmness he could muster. He sat down across from Danny and put his own bag on the table.

He'd drawn a new monster in the bottom right corner during math.

“My… lunch…,” Danny repeated slowly. “I… don't have a lunch?”

“Yes you do, it's right there.”

“What.”

“Lunch, you, there, eat.”

“You Kronk,” Danny replied instantly, as if on instinct. He blinked like he was rebooting. “I'm sorry, how do I have a lunch?”

“Because my dad packed you one.”

Danny slowly reached out to poke at the bag. “…right. Why did your dad pack me a lunch?”

Kon opened his own lunch and pulled out the PB&J sandwich and took a large bite. Unabashedly, he answered with his mouth full, “Because I asked him to.”

“Con…”

“Danny, it's fine. Just eat it, okay? Not, like, don't eat anything you don't like, but there won't be anything on your no list in it.”

“Oh.” Danny reached and pulled the lunch box closer. “I… thank you? And tell your dad thank you?”

“Sure, will do,” Kon said as if it was nothing and he wasn't hiding a smile by taking another bite.

Both of them were saved from having to say anything more by the rest of their friends (a loose word, sometimes) arriving at the table. There was some shock expressed at Danny actually having lunch, but mostly good natured teasing and some expressions of how glad they were to see it.

Kon shot Danny a little look during it, and got a blush and little eye roll back for it. It was reward enough for Kon. He was just glad to see Danny eating.

[notenoughdragons]

so… with the. let's call it hindsight, sure, of having played veilguard………

marching into the deep roads to kill the remaining archdemons would have been a good plan, actually. like, i personally think the whole 'uhhhh yeah killing the archdemons killed or at least nerfed the evanuris they're connected to, to a degree where they're basically not a problem anymore' is a weakass copout to get out of actually Dealing with them in any meaningful way

but! ~~~canonically~~~, killing razikale and whatever elgar'nan's lizard is called, WOULD have diminished him and ghilan'nain to the point they couldn't cause any more problems. would it have fixed the blight as a whole? nope! but getting rid of the archdemons who rally darkspawn sure would've been an improvement!

………and it would also have brought the veil down. apparently. bc they decided to make it so that the life force of the evanuris themselves sustains it. which—look, okay, i'm not gonna get into it. let's just say it's a weirdass decision that feels Designed to get to the specific set-up of veilguard's ending (solas being able to promise he's totally not gonna bring the veil down, bc rook&co killing elgar'nan will do it for him)

so, pretending for the moment this was all definitely already planned exactly like this when da:i was made… why is solas so against it? it's basically doing the work for him! get the veil down and deal with the evanuris in one fell swoop!

the only thing that's LEFT is. y'know. the blight. locked up in the same prison as the evanuris.

and based on how veilguard shakes out, i don't think solas (or the devs, for that matter) actually had a plan to deal with that

like, in trespasser, the blight doesn't even come up. what solas talks about is the evanuris, and how he "had a plan", so… now we're kinda forced to assume he Also had a plan of how to deal with the blight. but given how he acts in da:i, see (far) above, he clearly doesn't think there IS a way to deal with the blight!

even in the fucking ~redeem~ ending he's like, yeah i can't cure the blight but i can try to soothe it like. buddy. my dude. the prison in veilguard is A NEW THING, bc he had to fucking pivot after he lost the orb like, what could your plan Possibly have been before that???

and look okay i can't not talk about the fact that the games/devs clearly don't want to deal with the blight anymore. yes, i know the sixth blight is all over veilguard, i know you walk across blight pods for half of that game, i know they literally explain where it comes from and what it is, etc etc

(sidenote, i just. deeply dislike the responsibility musical chairs veilguard plays wrt solas. oh the veil cutting off the fade entirely wasn't intentional actually? oh The BlightTM is fully his and mythal's fault actually?? christ, he already Had a perfectly good tragic guilt complex.)

but at the end it just… kind of gets fixed? apparently? bc the veil's not leaky anymore??? neve or bellara can get fully blighted and it's just GONE at the end, you can just walk over blight pods for the entire game and you're Fine, there aren't gonna be anymore blights-the-event bc the archdemons are all dead, there have been MULTIPLE instances of ppl cleansing the blight (merrill with the eluvian, fiona getting de-tainted, SOLAS WITH THE LYRIUM DAGGER) but it NEVER gets explained how, or is attempted to be used elsewhere

it's just, oh, we can't cure the blight nevermind that the hof has been looking for that Since Origins but we also don't need to! don't even worry about it! we just armaggedon-ed half of thedas with it but it's fine!

sorry i don't have a conclusion here this just makes me Scream

I GUESS THE TITAN SOULS ARE JUST GONNA BE LOCKED UP AND IN PAIN FOREVER BUT IT'S FINE, WE DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THAT ANYMORE

Okay so I'm giving @corseque 's super-important audio of all Solas' comments about the Blight a second (or fifteenth, whatever) listen and taking notes as I go.

Solas doesn't think for a second that once the archdemons are gone the Blight will be gone. Which really makes sense because it's the Blight that makes them an archdemon, not the other way around. Supposedly, they're blighted when the darkspawn reach and corrupt them. But of course that begs the question of why it's only darkspawn (and uh, honorary darkspawn like the Wardens) that hear their call. Anyway, the way he says it, it sounds more like the archdemons are a limiting factor than a driving factor.

Varric: "What's so confusing about endless darkspawn?" Solas: "A great deal!" So yeah, whatever the plan was, he didn't foresee darkspawn as a consequence. So did he not foresee them existing at all, or not foresee them being free to cause problems? Worth noting that it's really clear both in general and in Descent that dwarves as a whole were a huge blind spot for him.

He is really really surprised that the Western Approach ever recovered from the Blight. Pretty clear he didn't think that was possible.

He thinks that everything the Wardens have done up til now is a deeply misguided effort that's served (mostly accidentally) as a delaying tactic. Gotta say, with the information we have at hand, this point pairs about as well with the last as a nice dry red with spicy pickles. If the Wardens shouldn't have done what they've done, but he didn't think recovery from the Blight was possible, I'd love to hear what he thought the alternative was.

Same dialogue as above, but when Solas talks about stopping the Blight and when Blackwall and Varric talk about it, one gets the distinct impression that they're talking at cross purposes, because Varric and Blackwall are talking about the experience of Blights, as in, periodic events, whereas I think Solas is talking about THE Blight, that is, its true nature, which is yet untouched.

He thinks Erimond is dumb as shit, which is fair and valid. "That's madness! For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse!" he says. Well, he knows a lot more than "we" know, but it's entirely possible that he doesn't for sure know this. Increasingly clear that he thinks it, though.

I'd forgotten just how pissed off he was about the Grey Warden plan to kill the Old Gods before they were corrupted. It really doesn't give "hey you're killing my relatives" energy. It really gives "wow that would fuck us all" vibes.

Of course, with a side of my remembering that Solas' besetting flaw was always thinking people should know better even though they don't have access to the knowledge he has. That flaw I WILL grant. He displays it repeatedly--you could even say the writers went out of their way to make the point.

"The Blight is the real problem"

"The fools who first unleashed the Blight on this world thought they were unlocking ultimate power." Anyway yeah those are the absolute core of everything here. The Blight is the real problem and the Blight was deliberate. Deliberately made or deliberately freed.

Even during the events of Inquisition, Solas obviously sees Corypheus as secondary to the Blight as a danger.

Cassandra suggests that the archdemons were really just dragons--"Pets to those who no longer exist", by which she probably means the Old Gods, not specifically the gods of Elvhen, just because of her cultural background. Solas finds this suggestion amusingly wrong--a quiet snort, and "I would not go so far as that."

Last notes: he doesn't sound like he thinks the Blight can be stopped, and he's adamant that it can't be controlled. Which is presumably why he broke the world in an attempt to contain it, assuming I'm right that that was the underlying reason for the Veil. That it didn't quite work the way he'd hoped is also pretty evident, though I wanna be clear that I assume he was working from a place of desperation, and that not knowing every possible outcome of an action is not a condemnation of having taken it.

[plaidcowboy]

છ !loner!shoupe being rafe’s alibi

── ✦ .ᐟ loner!shoupe!reader

  ‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ after the peterkin situation :

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

“i can log into the system.. and cause an error so they can’t track the gun to you..” you held your phone tightly to your cheek, peering at your cracked door for any movement of your dad. rafe whispered back in response to your whispering, though he didn’t need to.

“you can do that for me, fugitive?” his low voice sounded in your ear.

you’d do anything for him. this was only the first of many instances to come that would prove that. you knew upon meeting him you would do whatever to make him stay. there wasn’t anything you were opposed to doing for him. he confided in you about his family issues which only made you feel that more protective. nothing could come between you two. neither of you would let it. what rafe did to the sheriff didn’t come close to what he would do if you were taken from him.

“of course.. i.. i don’t want them to figure out it’s yours. that would mean they’d connect you shot her. i don’t want you to go to jail, rafe. i don’t know what i’d do..”

“shh. i don’t want that, either. they think they’re testing me with this peterkin situation, if anything happens with you, i’ll show them how far i can go”

rafe’s constant reassuring words always made you swoon. no one wanted you like that. no one showed you they cared like rafe does. he showed you the standard of how you should be treated. you thrived off of it.

“but nothing’s going to happen. not with you being so good to me. what did i do to deserve you?”

you started, taken aback by his question. “i don’t deserve you. you treat me too well, i.. i can do more. i can get the cops to focus on the actual perp.. i’ll make them lock him up, you won’t have to worry..”

“no, don’t do that. you’re doing good already, it’s fine.” rafe hadn’t told you who the real perpetrator was. as much as he trusted you with his secrets, this one he still didn’t yet want to tell. you would never rat out ward, him being too close to rafe. it would only upset rafe and that was the last thing you wanted. rafe knew it would only make you more upset with ward. he didn’t need you worrying.

“okay.. i’ll call you tomorrow once i finish.”

 ‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ visiting rafe in jail :

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

“no, don’t tear up, you tried your best” rafe wished he could reach through the glass to wipe your tears. your plan to sabotage the computer system did work.. but your father came up with a different way to figure out who the murder weapon belonged to. which led to you and rafe being separated by aforementioned glass.

you softly sniffled, bringing up your sleeve covered arm that went past your wrist to swipe at your nose. “i know.. but..” you hiccuped. “..now you’re in there” your nose twitched.

“i don’t want those tears messing with my little fugitive’s pretty face. i’m not mad at you, alright?”

you sighed out a breath, collecting yourself. “okay.. do you need me to do anything? check on your sisters?”

rafe appreciated your willingness to help. you were always willing. whatever made rafe happy. even messing with the law. or talking to his sisters for the first time..

“nah, don’t talk to them. ’specially not sarah. i’ll deal with her myself” he trailed off to a mumble, slight vengeance forming in his eyes. it should scare you, the inference of what rafe would do to his sister. but you didn’t like sarah’s traitorous actions. family or not, anyone who didn’t care for rafe like you did didn’t stand out in your book. of course, you’d yet to find out what rafe did to sarah.

“okay.. anything else?”

rafe leaned closer to the glass, assessing you. “i’d love if you could visit everyday..”

“i will. i’ll come see you everyday” you rushed out before rafe could finish his sentence. he smirked at your eagerness.

“..but you can’t make your dad suspicious of where you’re going everyday.” you slightly pouted, knowing he was right. you only were able to get away and see rafe now because your dad was called to a scene. usually, he wouldn’t be letting you out of his sight.

“so.. you still got that camera, right?” he referred to your polaroid that you kept on your dresser. that you two used to take pictures of yourselves to keep. you two couldn’t always be around each other what with your dad’s relationship with rafe and reluctance to let you out of the house. “yeah..”

“could you take some pictures for me? don’t think i can go too long without seeing that pretty face.” rafe spoke with an awe to his voice. you wouldn’t get enough of his compliments.

“okay. whatever you want.” you attempted a smile at him.

୭ 𝜗𝜚 ⠀ ┈─⠀ִㅤ ░ ㅤׄ

‧₊˚ ׁ  ׅ part two..

[sugarikiz]

MOOD SWINGS

୨ৎ ─── when the mood swings and cramps get too much, your down bad lover’s always there to help you deal with it…

&&엔하이픈니키 ✦ 𝑏𝑓. niki x 𝑓. reader ♡ l’avis . . . est. relationship fluff crying periods pda wc384

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mick’s 注記 ─── first day of my period and ive already cried once and rage quit on homework… (so annoying istg) im so annoyed with myself and everything and everybody else that I just can’t even anymore. so, to make me feel better, here I am presenting you with my man and how he would be when he makes you cry on accident!

NIKI NEVER EXPECTED TO MAKE YOU ACTUALLY CRY.

today did not have a wonderful start; you realised your period started as soon as you woke up in the morning, and called off your date with niki because of your crappy mood and cramps. him, being the sweetheart he is, insisted on coming over and cuddling with you, totally fine with helping you out if you needed it.

one moment, you were just debating on what was better — chinese food or korean — when suddenly tears welled up in your eyes for no reason. damn mood swings.

his eyes widened as a sudden panic set in, immediately taking a step closer and cupping your cheeks in his hands with a touch so gentle, one could think you were made of glass. ( read more below the cut >< )

he knew how bad your mood swings and cramps during your period were, sometimes making you a raging ball of fire and tears once a month, but he didn’t expect to make thick tears start to form in the corners of your eyes.

“baby… what’s wrong? did i do something wrong?” his tone was soft — so soft it was barely above a whisper. you shook your head slightly, signalling that it wasn’t his fault.

he gently wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you let out a few, small sobs. his heart ached with each one, even knowing that he didn’t do anything to cause it.

even when your sobs stopped sounding, he continued to hold you, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back that he knew would somewhat help the relentless stabbing pain in your abdomen.

you pulled away from his chest, eyes still teary. “i’m sorry, I just couldn’t control it…” you mumbled, slightly embarrassed at having cried for absolutely no reason like this. “it’s not your fault, y/n. in fact, it’s good that you let it out,” he spoke, voice gentle as ever. “so, how about some of your beloved chinese takeout and a movie? and cuddles, of course.”

a smile room over your features in an instant, a stark contrast from the tears that were just beginning to dry on the apples of your cheeks.

“do you really think I’d say no to that, ki?”

thank you for reading !! likes + reblogs are really appreciated ><

PERMANENT TAGLIST 𐔌 ﹒ @liya07v @strvvy-anniee @flufflights @eunandonly @hannamoon143 @irasvr @ateez-atiny380 @amoressb @ikeulove @gudkc @mrsjohnnysuh @sol3chu @nerdywitchcrown @sol3chu @puma-riki

[sinofwriting]

Faking It - Max Verstappen

Words: 850 Summary: Max finds out his girlfriend faked an orgasm. Note(s): NSFW, Talks of Sex, Mention of Semi-Public Sex. Part of a kind series where drivers find out reader faked an orgasm.

Max pauses just before the entryway to the living room. “Have you ever y’know?” His brows furrow at the vague question from his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Have I ever what?”

“Faked it. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

She scoffs, “Before Max, yes.”

His cheeks turn a bit pink at the conversation he was overhearing, but he also stands a bit taller.

He knew that their sex life was good, that she was getting orgasms, they had of course talked about it, but it was different hearing her talk to someone else about it with no idea he was there.

His brows furrowed in confusion when she speaks again, “well, I don’t really know if it counts as faking it.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s been a few times when we’ve had sex where I didn’t orgasm.”

His mind starts screaming at him, because what? He always made sure she came, usually before he did.

“Not because it wasn’t good or because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t.” He can practically see the shrug she gives. “The sex was still good though.”

“Y/N!” Her friend screeches and it breaks up a little through the phone.

The words replay in his head as he goes back to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He tries to think of when she would have faked it but nothing comes to mind. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t hear her call his name or get onto the bed until she’s laying down on top of him, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her.

“What you thinking about?” She asks, pressing kisses to his jaw.

It normally relaxes the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin but not quite where he wants them, a lovely prelude to before she kisses him, but he can’t get past what he heard and he’s never been practically shy.

“When did you fake it? Having an orgasm with me?”

Her fingers pause where they had begun to lift his shirt to slide under. “Max, it’s not a big deal.”

His frown deepens and he’s pushing her upwards so they can look at each other. “Yes, it is. I always thought that I made you orgasm, usually first. And now I’ve found that isn’t true.”

She shakes her head. “You do! I promise you do.”

He doesn’t say anything and she sighs.

“It’s only happened twice.”

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that it only happened twice or pissed that he failed twice. It should have never happened but twice was far too much.

“The first time was after the FIA gala last year.”

His eyebrows furrow, “But you talk about that night a lot.”

“It was a good night. I felt good, amazing. I loved everything we did, I just wasn’t able to orgasm. I didn’t feel unsatisfied or anything. Especially not with my wake-up call.”

He smirks at the reminder of the next morning. He had woken up just as the sun was rising and had ducked under the covers and ate her out until she was begging for him to stop. His jaw and tongue had ached for hours after, but it was worth it for the taste of her stayed just as long.

“The second time was in China. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what if someone walked in.”

“So, I didn’t fuck you good enough.”

She slaps his chest lightly, sending him a disbelieving look. “I was limping a little after. And you're lucky I was wearing those heels and everyone believed me when I said I twisted my ankle.”

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes again, picking up her hand and kissing it. He still felt a little bad that their first foray into semi-public sex had been so rough. “Why didn’t you tell me though? That I didn’t make you come?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.” She tells him. “I love having sex with you, it always feels good regardless of me orgasming or not. And in those two instances I was just happy to be that close to you.”

He stares at her, looking deep into her eyes. He still feels like he’s failed but the way she’s looking at him, all gentle wide eyes filled with truth. “I’ll let it go.”

She snorts and he covers her mouth with his hand.

“But only if you tell me next time. Just so I can immediately make it up to you.” He says, removing his hand as he says the last word.

“Okay, I’ll tell you next time.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing their lips together.

She hums into the kiss, her one hand slipping out of his and returning to the hem of shirt, drawing it up so she can slip her hands underneath and his stomach flexes at the feeling of her fingertips and he’s rolling them over. Easily putting himself in between her legs.

“Feel like making a mess for me?”

She lets out a happy little sigh, teeth lightly sinking into her bottom lip as she nods. “Please?”

“Of course.”