#little man with no sense in that brain of his

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | masterlist

sow

tw: drugging, non/dub-con, somno, implied breeding

He comes to you in dreams with heady breath that bleeds through black cloth to brush against your face like a lover's kiss.

But he is no lover, nor man.

Only monster—you call him Ghost.

Ghost arrives when you're in the slick, airy stage between slumber and consciousness, where everything shines too bright and yet is shrouded in a numbra so thick you swear it will choke you. Nothing but tendrils to morph and dance in your vision as you look up at the wide mass before you.

Each time he visits, he wears a mask. Black, with a chalky skull outline along his nose and where his mouth should be—only his eyes are visible. Pools of water darker than the lowest depths of the ocean, ready to drown you. Ready to feel the way your pulse quickens when held beneath the waves that have consumed him long ago.

He never speaks. Not to you—only to himself in deep growls that your fuzzy brain can scarcely make sense of. When he first came to you all those months ago, he stood at the edge of your bed—foreboding, looming taller than any beast you've ever seen or have yet to see since. You were only able to keep your brain awake long enough to make out the way his jaw dances beneath his mask to murmur the word perfect.

You think nothing of it until you start to wake up sore. It's more than odd bruises along your hips that sting when you poke them—it's the pounding in your head when you rouse, and the swelling of your cunt. Your lip is torn; split down the center. A curious tongue pokes at the blood that oozes from the crack, and it tastes suspiciously like love.

The next time he appears, he is on top of you. Hips pinning yours to the bed, hands on either side of your head, your body jostles. Every shockwave ripples through your body, shaking the fatty tissue along your thighs and stomach—you feel each thrust in your throat.

You groan, and he shushes you.

"Soon," he hisses. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, darkness consuming your vision, but not your hearing. "It'll take soon."

Countless nights pass like this. He comes to you, body joining with yours, murmuring things that aren't meant for human ears—that aren't meant for anyone corporeal. Each time you attempt to speak, you find your vocal cords painfully paralyzed. They die in your throat. Shrivel into useless tissue. All your questions bleed through your tongue to fester, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth when you wake.

He's not real—your little Ghost. Only the most concerning reoccurring dream you've ever been plagued with.

You tell your friends about this dream. About this strange man who haunts your psyche when you can't quite get your bearings. You speak of his mask, and how he pins you with his gaze alone; how real his hands feel on you. Embarrassment forces you to omit the sensation of his cock and how it pummels you, but share the odd wounds you wake up with. Bitten lips, raw skin.

Their gazes shame you, and you do not speak of it again.

Some childish part of you had hoped that these dreams would cease the moment you spoke them out loud, but Ghost is persistent. He comes again, and again, and again. Hot breath wheezing. Tight throat growling. Firm hands squeezing.

Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon. Soon.

There is one night when your dream verges on the edge of reality, finally granting you the opportunity to talk to him.

Your Ghost.

Body rocking, legs bent and hips widened, your chest heaves as you force your eyes open as your question expels from your throat:

"Real?"

Ghost freezes. He stares down at you with the same, dark eyes he always does, and you try your best to keep your gaze locked on him. A shaky hand rises off of the bed, fingertips kissing his clothed cheek as you groan.

"Are you... real...?"

Ghost shrugs your hand off of him. "Sleep."

Unable to keep your eyes open any longer, you follow his order. Eyes fluttering shut, breath sighing from your nose, you allow slumber to capture you in her fickle grasp.

Though, you swear you feel clothed lips on yours and dull teeth piercing into your mouth before she can fully pull you under.

When Simon is finished with you, he stands at the edge of your bed like he usually does. Everything is tight. The knots that dot his back, the tension at the base of his skull—but everything feels quiet when he looks at you. There, in bed, ruined by him. Sleeping soundly, unaware of the apparition who's been taking you as his own for all these months.

Before he leaves, Simon pats the pocket of his jumper, and reminds himself to add more Benadryl powder to your sleepy-time tea mix before he leaves.

He can't have you asking questions like that again—not when he's too busy trying to make you his.

[kashverse]

based off of this request ☆ kunafamily masterlist

ah, marriage. truly a blessing, a union of souls, a sacred bond forged through love and commitment.

or whatever.

because there is nothing beautiful about it when your twelve-year-old daughter stomps into the house, still in her dusty-ass middle school uniform, drops her backpack by the door with the weight of a woman who has seen the horrors of war, and announces—

“mama. papa. i am getting married.”

...

there is a silence. a deafening, suffocating, air-sucked-out-of-the-room silence. the only sound is the low hum of the AC and the softest shuffle of mr. pickles, your ancient maine coon, who, for the first time in what seems like eons, flops in front of babykuna’s feet. a humble offering. a plea for mercy. baby the tabby? he lets out a single, horrified, “YEEEOOOWWWWWL—” like he has just witnessed a first-degree felony right before his very eyes.

you? you’re laughing. not because it’s funny, but because your brain is short-circuiting. “babe,” you choke, eyes darting to sukuna, who has gone uncharacteristically still. you swear you can hear the windows error sound effect echoing inside his head. but he blinks, snaps out of it, and suddenly—

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN MARRIED?”

you jolt, clutching your chest. “sukuna, for the love of god, inside voice.” but he is hyperventilating. actually hyperventilating.

he stumbles forward like a man on his last legs, dropping to his knees so that he is face-to-face with babykuna. “baby,” he starts, voice tight, shaking, the desperation of a father who has just been emotionally gutted. “marriage is a big deal. are you sure about this?” 

babykuna, bless her obnoxiously stubborn heart, crosses her arms.

“yes.”

sukuna visibly deflates. “but—but why?” he croaks, rubbing his face as if this is causing him physical pain. “what happened to all the other snot-nosed brats?”

babykuna huffs. “they were gross, papa.”

“EXACTLY.” he seethes. “they’re all gross! including this one!”

“nuh-uh. he’s different.”

sukuna looks like he’s about to throw up. he grips her little shoulders, voice dropping to a low, grave whisper.

“listen, babygirl. i will give you anything. anything you want. you want another cat? i’ll get you another cat. you want half of my company shares? done. a custom labubu line with your name on it? consider it already in production.”

babykuna’s brows knit, lips pursed in deep thought. there’s hope. hope that maybe, the dreaded king of the corporate world will win this negotiation. but then—

“no.”

babykuna stomps off to her room.

and as she marches away, victorious, baby the tabby lets out a final, gut-wrenching shriek, a soulful cry that echoes down the halls like the mourning of a thousand fallen soldiers. mr. pickles lets out a deep, ancient sigh, the kind only a being who has lived through generations of turmoil can muster.

and sukuna? he just slumps to the floor, lifeless, broken, defeated.

“i’ve lost her,” he whispers, staring blankly ahead. “i’ve fucking lost her.”

you pat his head. “there, there. at least she didn’t pick a finance bro.”

the next day, there is a shift in the air. you sense it first, the way the walls seem to breathe easier, the way the atmosphere in the sukuna household isn’t shrouded in impending doom. and then you see it.

babykuna walks in, her steps just a bit heavier, like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. mr. pickles, who has been mourning nonstop since yesterday, immediately flops next to her feet, a slow, dramatic descent that speaks volumes.

please, his weary, ancient eyes seem to say. do not get rid of me when you are married.

baby the tabby, however, is far less sentimental. he doesn’t even look at her. doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. babykuna notices.

“baby,” she calls. baby the tabby flicks his tail and turns away. the ultimate betrayal. she frowns, drops her backpack on the floor, and then—

“i’m not getting married anymore.”

silence.

mr. pickles exhales a long, tired sigh, as if the very gods have heard his prayers. baby the tabby, however? ecstatic.

he springs onto babykuna like he’s just won the lottery, tackling her to the sofa and kneading her chest with such fiery, unbridled passion you fear he might actually give himself a heart attack. but the real show? sukuna.

because the moment those words leave babykuna’s mouth, he goes dead still. and then, slowly, so slowly, he turns to you with the wide, gleeful, demented grin of a man who has just cheated death. “babe,” he breathes. “call a baker.”

“...a baker?”

he nods, eyes gleaming.

“i’m getting a cake.”

you blink. “for...?”

“us.”

he grips your shoulders, voice thick with emotion.

“a congratulations cake. for us. we fucking did it.”

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

Can I request an instance where jjk men surprise y/n with her dream engagement ring? 🥹🎀🩷🌷✨

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: i hope you like this!! this very sappy and of course includes a proposal, and i guess it focuses more on the proposals than and the ring being perfect is just a detail hehe. enjoy!!

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ nanami kento;

nanami is a man who values sincerity and intention. he’s not one for grand public proposals—he wants this moment to be intimate, just for the two of you.

one evening, after a long day, he takes you to a quiet, candle-lit dinner at home. nothing extravagant, just the warm glow of the lights and the comforting presence of him. after dessert, he reaches into his pocket and slides a velvet box onto the table.

“i’ve spent months looking for the perfect one,” he admits, his voice steady but laced with the slightest nervous edge. “but i realized… nothing could be more perfect than the one that makes you happy.”

when you open the box, your breath catches. it’s exactly what you’ve always dreamed of—every little detail you’ve ever mentioned in passing, he remembered.

his eyes soften as he watches your reaction, a small smile tugging at his lips. then, in a low, almost reverent tone, he asks, “will you let me spend the rest of my life making you happy?”

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ gojo satoru;

gojo is dramatic, there’s no doubt about that. but when it comes to you, his playfulness is always wrapped in genuine love.

he waits for the perfect moment—one where you least expect it. maybe you’re just lounging at home, buried in blankets, hair a mess, scrolling on your phone. he flops onto the couch next to you and casually goes, “hey babe, check this out.”

he hands you something, and you don’t even register what it is at first. but when your fingers brush against the soft velvet, your brain short-circuits.

“no way.” you whisper, sitting up.

“yes way.” he grins.

you open the box, and there it is—your dream ring, shining brilliantly in the light. you blink up at him, and he’s already on one knee, dramatically holding his hands over his heart like you might break him with your answer.

“soooo,” he winks. “will you make me the happiest man alive and let me annoy you forever?”

he doesn’t give you much time to answer before he tackles you into a hug, laughing into your neck.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ geto suguru;

geto is smooth, thoughtful, and deeply sentimental. he takes his time planning something that feels meaningful, something that reflects the love you share.

one day, he surprises you with a trip to a quiet little spot—maybe a garden, maybe a scenic temple, somewhere peaceful where it’s just the two of you. he guides you through the path, talking about the past, reminiscing about your journey together.

then, as you reach a beautiful viewpoint, he takes your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“i’ve been holding onto something,” he confesses, reaching into his pocket. he pulls out a small box and opens it, revealing the exact ring you’ve always wanted. “i knew from the moment i fell for you that i’d be doing this someday.”

his gaze is unwavering, his usual teasing smirk replaced by something softer, deeper.

“so, what do you say? will you stay by my side, always?”

his voice is calm, but you can feel the weight of his emotions behind it. when you say yes, he chuckles, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into the warmest embrace.

𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ sukuna ryomen;

sukuna doesn’t do soft. not in the traditional sense. but when he decides something is his, he means it.

you don’t expect a proposal from him—hell, you don’t even expect him to believe in marriage. but one night, he presents you with a ring in the most sukuna way possible: casually, like he’s handing you something insignificant.

“take it,” he says simply, tossing you a small box as if it’s nothing.

but when you open it, your heart stops. it’s the ring. the one you’ve dreamed of. the fact that he of all people remembered? it leaves you speechless.

your silence makes him click his tongue in irritation. “don’t just stare at it. put it on.”

you look up at him, searching for some kind of explanation, but all he gives you is an exasperated sigh before muttering under his breath, “it means you’re mine.”

his hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “if you want me to say something sappy, you’re out of luck. i don’t do that shit.”

but then, softer—softer than you’ve ever heard—he adds, “i don’t need a ceremony or vows. just you.”

it’s not a question, not a request. but in his own twisted way, it’s a confession.

and when you slide the ring onto your finger, he smirks like he’s won. because in his eyes, he has.

[redeemingvillains]

ps i love you - mattheo riddle ft. the slytherin boys

summary: mattheo plans an unexpected valentine's day surprise for you

word count: 3.3k

a/n: honestly, this healed me a little bit. this is for anyone that just needs a heaping dose of love from our favorite boys, all of whom are absolutely head over heels for you. ♡

Your eyes fluttered open slowly and you smiled as you curled into your soft sheets, yawning and stretching your sleep-heavy limbs, enjoying the sacrosanct moment of a new morning, before the noise and thoughts from the day invaded you.

But the feeling faded almost as soon as it came and within moments your brain switched on and you felt a pang in your chest as you remembered...today was Valentine's Day and despite the devilishly handsome curly haired boy that had stolen your heart and claimed you as his own, you would be spending it alone; his father had whisked him away to something urgent, and he wasn't the type of man to argue with.

Mattheo had all but disappeared last night with quick but searing kiss and a promise to make it up to you. And how could you possibly be angry with him when you melted at his touch, at the look in his amber eyes, at the feeling of his lips against your own which you sensed even now as you ran your fingers over them?

You sighed, slowly dragging yourself out of bed despite the weighted sadness you felt and began readying yourself for the day.

You were in no rush to see the rest of the castle gushing over the holiday; the Great Hall would inevitably be awash in red and pink, filled with flowers and owls delivering love letters. There would be the predictable wave of students dosed by love potions, and an obscene amount of PDA that you would have loved to participate in that now made you sick to think about. Ugh. That alone made you want to stay in your room, but you took your time getting ready, grounding yourself as you did a full self-care routine.

Once dressed, you wandered down the corridor by your dormitory into the common room and found a tall, lanky figure leaning against the stone wall, eyes focused on his feet which he shuffled back and forth as he twirled a toothpick in his mouth.

"Enz?" you asked, as you got closer.

His eyes shot to you as they widened, brightening.

"There she is!" he said excitedly as he straightened up and righted his suit jacked. "You look divine today. Simply beautiful" he winked.

You blushed as you shoved his shoulder in reprimand and laughed at him.

"You're sweet" you conceded.

"You're sweeter" he cooed. "And I could keep this up for hours, babe, but it's my honor to escort you to our breakfast date."

"What?" you asked through another laugh as your face scrunched in confusion. Surely he has to be joking, you thought. Mattheo would strangle him with his bare—

"Oh! Shit! Yeah, uh here" he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and handing you a sealed envelope.

You narrowed your eyes skeptically at him as you reached for it until you recognized your name scrawled in Mattheo's small script on the front and eagerly tore it open.

Good morning. You look gorgeous. I don't have to be there to know that you do. I love starting my days with you, and it kills me not to be there this morning especially. Enz will have to do. Tell him to stop laying it on so thick, this isn't a hallpass to eyefuck you all morning—

You peered over the top of the letter to see Lorenzo smirking appreciatively at you and smiled.

—And tell him if he steps a single toe out of line with you, I will take sincere pleasure in rearranging his face.

You laughed quickly and covered your mouth with your hand. Lorenzo's eyebrow quirked inquisitively but you shook your head, dismissing it.

Tell. Him. It's for his own safety. Enjoy breakfast. PS, I love you

You folded the letter slowly, unable to contain the smile on your face, absolutely giddy at the penned words you held and the notion that Mattheo had planned something like this.

"Gorgeous?" Enzo said as he offered you his arm.

You linked arms with him cheerfully, a new pep in your step as he led you through the common room and into the castle.

You received a fair share of confused glances which Lorenzo reveled in, beaming at everyone who did a double take at the two of you together, knowing full well who you really belonged to.

"Wonder what's for breakfast?" you mused as a pair of Hufflepuffs shuffled to get out of your way.

"Oh, we're not going to the Great Hall" Enzo clarified as he took a last-minute turn down an unfamiliar corridor.

You looked up at him, surprised, and he caught your eye.

"And have you eat with these peasants? Please" he scoffed, stopping in front of a door you'd never seen before. "No, Matty boy flew you breakfast, from Paris" he said with a flourish as he pushed the door open wide and you gasped at the scene in front of you.

The doorway opened to a small balcony with an astonishing view of the grounds, the myriad pine trees frosted with snow and the Black Lake that was shimmering like a sheet of obsidian in the cold.

Despite the wintry scene, there was a small table laden with steaming cups of hot chocolate, a mountain of pastries, macaroons, croissants and treats all the way from France. Gods I love magic you thought to yourself as Enzo pulled out your seat and handed you a blanket from a large pile which you took eagerly as you wrapped your hands around the warm mug in front of you.

The hot chocolate was rich with a large helping of whipped cream that warmed you all the way through to your toes and brought you right back to the time Mattheo took you to Paris himself and you sipped on the decadent drink by his side. Your heart ached briefly at the memory, but Enzo was quick to pick up on it, and eagerly began chatting away with you about classes, quidditch, and even the Ravenclaw he had his eye on and you realized how nice it was to have this time together to sit and really talk to one of your closest friends, to hear how he was doing.

"You didn't want to take your crush to breakfast?" you teased, kicking him gently under the table.

"And miss this? Babe. This is the highlight of my month, maybe my entire fucking year" he said as he smirked at you and popped another macaroon in his mouth.

You knew he was laying it on thick, but there was a hint of truth to it too, and the knowledge that he valued your friendship that way made you awash with emotion.

His eyebrow quirked as he looked over your shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Well, my lady, this is where I leave you. Our love shined bright though brief."

You turned to see Blaise and Draco behind you, each carrying an extraordinarily large bouquet of flowers that they were peeking out behind with equally large smiles.

"Guys! This is so sweet!" you exclaimed as they set the bundles down and embraced you, your feelings starting to bubble to the surface again at the amount of love and affection you felt.

"Of course, darling, Happy Valentine's Day" Draco said as he kissed your cheek.

"Here you are, love" Blaise said, flourishing a letter that sent your heartbeat soaring.

Another? You reached for it eagerly, tearing into it haphazardly, craving Mattheo's words.

Did you like the hot chocolate? I hope it reminded you of our trip to Paris. I'll never forget how happy you were, the way you shined brighter than that whole fucking city... And what we got up to in the hotel that first night, when you wore that red lace set... Needless to say, don't let any of these idiots read these letters—

"Soooo, what's he writtennnn?" Blaise asked, peering over page.

"Nothing!" you replied, bending the top of the note protectively as you kept reading.

You deserve breakfast from Paris and everything your heart desires. The boys have my credit card, go get whatever you want in Hogsmeade. No smutty books, though, you have a real boyfriend that's better than any book boyfriend. And no clothing that's too revealing, unless it's for me... in which case, you should know, I'm partial to red lace... PS, I love you

Your eyes twinkled as you looked up at Draco and Blaise with excitement.

"It's fucking on" you said, as they cheered.

You went into every. single. store. Lollipops, chocolate frogs, candy hearts and pumpkin pasties from Honeydukes, the most divine stationary and a new set of quills from Scrivenshaft's, and then cue the full montage of you trying on outfits for hours while the two boys sat amidst a pile of shopping bags, enjoying their candy and eagerly goading you on.

"Yes, babe."

"Smashing it!"

"Absolutely."

"You have to get it, get both actually."

"Love, you're wearing it better than the fucking model."

Until Draco turned, finally, yelling over his shoulder to a passing attendant.

"We'll take the lot!"

And gods help the people in the bookstore. Draco could barely see over the bags and boxes he was carrying and now Blaise's arms were laden with every single book you've had on your TBR list, chatting excitedly with you about them.

"Nooo, isn't that the latest one in the series? Didn't that come out like, yesterday?!" he exclaimed as you held the hardcover book in your hands like a holy relic and nodded.

"Can I borrow it when you're done?" he asked quietly.

"We'll just get you one too!" you said excitedly, grabbing a second.

Both of them followed you without complaint, cheery and upbeat, treating you like the princess Mattheo saw you as, they all saw you as, as you made your way back to the castle in the pending twilight, high on candy and your shopping spree.

Mattheo had undoubtedly pulled out all of the stops today, so surely there had to be a something big for the evening?

You tried every way you knew how to coax it out of Draco and Blaise but they held strong, insistent that you be patient as they led you through the castle, down a first floor corridor you hadn't been down before as you continued to question them incessantly.

Was it a five-course meal from your favorite restaurant in London? A private concert from Taylor Swift? I mean, what could possibly top the day you'd had already? They stopped in front of a plain door and pushed it open to reveal... the kitchens, large, industrial-looking, and decidedly...not what you had expected.

But then your eyes swept the space and landed on Theo, in an apron, working diligently at the counter on something as Enzo moved quickly around him, in an apron of his own, a dash of flour on his cheek.

And then you saw the small wooden table just big enough for the five of you, replete with mismatched chairs and a few floating candlesticks.

And then the smell hit you.

"Bella!" Theo shouted, waving you over in flurry of Italian you couldn't follow.

You approached slowly, taking in the scene of him rolling homemade pasta with practiced ease and the steaming pot of sauce on the stove that smelled divine, like fresh tomatoes and roasted garlic, and your stomach growled in response.

"You're cooking for me? you asked, your voice a hoarse whisper at the overwhelming gentleness and kindness, the domesticity of it all.

You'd seen Theo break someone's nose, you'd seen him put puking pastilles in someone's goblet and trip a first year just for the fun of it, but you'd never seen him do anything so... tender.

"Yeah" he said quickly, acknowledging you. "And if you don't start rolling, we're not eating, tesoro" he said, tossing an apron at you, which you caught with a laugh, tying it on eagerly as you moved next to him, bumping his shoulder as you copied his movements and the gentle rolling of his hands.

Draco and Blaise poured wine and helped set the table and the three of you shared stories about your afternoon, all of you chatting about your day, about everything and nothing in the way a family would, natural, easy, unforced and relaxed.

Theo wiped his hands with a towel and then reached into his back pocket, brandishing your letter, which you unfolded and read as you leaned back against the counter, shifting into a world where it was just you and Mattheo's words.

Gorgeous - Theo promised he'd make you something good for dinner, and if I trust him with anything, it's food. Fuck. This one's hard. Because it should be me with you tonight. Please know there's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be than right there with you, right now. The boys will do the best they can, I know they will. Try not to laugh too hard when Theo tells you about the time his Nonna ran from the cops in Sicily. He thinks it's hilarious, and it's his way of trying to impress you. He knows how much you mean to me. Enjoy, my 'bella donna' PS, I love you

You smiled at the familiar last sentence, tracing your fingers over the ink, like you could feel him through it and you realized you were biting your lip to keep from crying. You had kept the feelings at bay all day, but this, being here tonight without him, was hard on you too. You missed him so fervently it was like your whole body ached.

"Ok, ok" Theo said, gently putting his arm around you as he guided you towards the table. "Sedere, sit down, now we spoil you."

You sniffed and swiped quickly at your eye as you settled into your chair and the boys followed suit, surrounding you. And then Theo placed the most perfect bowl of pasta you'd ever seen in front of you, more beautiful and better plated than any restaurant you'd ever been to.

"Theo, this is..." you said, looking up at him, at a loss for words.

He nodded his appreciation. "It's my Nonna's recipe. Best fucking sauce in Sicily" he said as he scooted his own chair in across from you and winked as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts" he said as you all raised your glasses alongside him.

"Here's to cheating, stealing and drinking. May you cheat death, steal hearts and always drink with me!"

The boys cheered and you laughed as you clinked glasses and settled into your meal.

You twirled the pasta and delved into your first bite, the most incredible taste taking over your tastebuds as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Mmmmm Theeeeooo" you said.

"Fuck. That was hot" Enzo whispered as you opened your eyes to glare at him.

"I'm telling him you said that to her" Draco muttered as Enzo kicked him under the table.

"It's soooo good!" you exclaimed, ignoring them all as you dug in for your next bite.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Nonna dodged the cops?"

Your eyes watered with tears at his story, just as much from laughing as from the overwhelming joy you felt at Theo telling it to make you happy, to impress you, consistently eyeing your reaction to his every word.

After awhile you gestured around the room with your fork, savoring the last bites of your meal.

"It's hard to imagine that the heartthrob of Hogwarts himself isn't doing this for one of his girls tonight" you said, teasing Theo.

Theo put down his wine glass and looked at you like you'd asked him if he wanted to be a muggle.

"This?! Bella. Please" he said, shaking his head. "This is marriage shit right here. I don't just do this for anyone. Matty boy loves you, that's for fucking sure."

You smiled and nodded as you looked back down at your plate.

"Yeah he does" you agreed, thinking to yourself just how much he'd proven that today.

You sat around the table for hours, listening to the boys talk and laugh and joke, the night washing away in a haze of a perfect meal, a full belly and a couple of glasses of wine. You eventually dropped your head onto Blaise's shoulder comfortably.

"We wore her out boys" Enzo said affectionately, tilting his head to mirror your own and smile at you.

"Let's get you back" Blaise said, standing with you.

The two of you walked with your arm wound around his in amiable silence all the way back to your dorm, and it wasn't until you were nearly there that Blaise whispered, "Did we do alright?" with a sense of vulnerability you'd never heard from any of them before that stopped you in your tracks.

"Blaise" you reassured him, grasping his arms as you looked up at him. "I was dreading being alone today, I think you could all tell I was teetering on the edge of a breakdown the entire day..."

He nodded his head sadly.

"But each of you completely swept me off my feet, and made me feel so loved, so cherished, and so special. I couldn't have asked for four better stand-in-Mattheo's" you said, smiling widely. "Thank you" you whispered, pulling him into a warm hug.

"You deserve it, and more" he murmured against you, squeezing you tightly. "Sweet dreams, YN" he said, as you unwound from each other and you made your way towards your room.

The warmth you'd felt throughout the day carried you up to bed, lingering with you as you crawled into your pajamas and under your covers as you reached for Mattheo's letters, reading and re-reading his words as you traced your fingers over his script.

I love you, I love you, I love you he'd written and you marveled at how someone could be so far away yet still make you feel so deeply cared for. Your heart squeezed, the sadness you'd felt throughout the day numbing to a dull ache as your eyes fluttered closed.

You slipped into a deep sleep, lost to all sense of time when your mattress dipped, rocking you awake. You turned slowly, groggily to see Mattheo crawling under your covers, his eyes bright, cheeks flush with exertion.

"Matty?" you whispered hoarsely, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to wake your brain, your body up fast enough to respond.

"Gorgeous" he whispered, with a sigh of relief as he reached for you, pulling you quickly into his arms and nuzzling into you as your limbs intertwined with his, your heart resting against his own.

"How are you here right now?" you asked.

"Told 'em to fuck off, he didn't need me anyway" he replied quietly.

You pulled back to look at him, the confusion clear on your face.

"Alright, not exactly like that — it doesn't matter, I'm here and I'm so fucking sorry about today, I had this whole thing planned for us and —"

"—Matty—"

"—You deserve everything, gods everything you do for me—"

"—Matty—"

"—I just love you so fucking much, please don't be mad at me—"

And finally you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips and winding your hands up to grasp his face, to center him, to force him to hear you, to feel you, and within a moment you could feel the stress leaving his body as his shoulders fell, and his body molded against yours, his hands wrapping around you as he slid you beneath him and kissed you back earnestly, passionately.

You pulled back for just a moment, meeting his twinkling brown eyes, taking in his lips, swollen from your kiss.

"I missed you every moment of the entire day" you whispered. "But there wasn't a second I didn't feel completely loved. Thank you."

"I love you so much" he said, his head shaking slightly as his eyes met yours and he brushed the back of his fingers over your cheek. "You really have... no idea."

You blushed, nibbling at your bottom lip.

"Actually, I think I do" you said, pressing your lips to his again.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco

[sweetpupii]

cw: dub-con,　fingering,　sev’s mechanic arm vibrates,　 degradation,　 hair pulling, 　 overstimulation,　 cunnilingus (r!giving), no aftercare at all. | 2,3k words, barely proofread I'm sorry.

　coming back to the last drop after a rough deal, five in the goddamn morning, wiping blood that isn't hers off her clothes, a nasty cut on her cheek, thick eyebrows positioned into a nasty frown, a bottle of strong liquor she took from the counter ( even if the bar was open, the bartender would have not stopped her ) on her metallic hand as she went upstairs into silco's office, knocking heavily on the door, ready to speak about how jinx—living up to her name—almost turned the guy who's the usual contact for shimmer distribution into bones and ashes for whatever reason when she wasn't even supposed to be there, is definitely the worst part of sevika's job.

little shit, always getting on her nerves. sevika just wants to smack some sense into that fucked up brain but silco's the only thing that keeps her from doing so.

and of course she had to clean after the bluenette.

after all, you can't attack a trafficker without consequences. an eye for an eye turned quite literal when the man's eye popped because one of the window crystals from jinx's explosion flew right onto it and his men tried to jump at sevika. ‘bit stupid if you ask me…yes, their boss almost died and all but did they really think they could take this woman down with a few weak punches? they lack common sense, apparently.

now the drug dealer has one eye and five men nearly dead.

oh, great, just what she needed—silco is not even in his office. she wants to break something and rip her hair out.

“sevika? didn't see you coming in.” right, sometimes she forgets you come clean the mess the people at the bar make. taking care of the alcohol, the drugs, the shattered glasses, the unknown fluids, etc, that can be found on every corner just so they can do it all again the next day. cleaning up jinx's mess seems like nothing compared to your job. “everyone left already.”

she looks up from the couch to the door where you are standing with a surprisingly warm smile for someone who's working so early in the morning—god knows when your shift even started.

“silco also left like an hour ago, I was hoping I could secretly clean his office because it smells a little… funky.” you laughed gesturing to the mop on your hand before walking into the room, turning your back at sevika while picking up some bright neon, spray painted decoration from the floor to put it on his desk again. focused on getting the job done since she didn't seem in the mood to talk. ( rude but makes sense. )

how is the poor, pent up woman supposed to resist that heaven-sent view?

hand suddenly on your waist as she took one final swing of the strong liquor, pulling you closer even if you gasped and automatically tried to pull away. when did she even get up from the couch? “stay still.” she warned putting the bottle down on his desk to hold your hips more firmly against her front.

“I probably should go clean somewhere—” she could only scoff at your nervous words. yeah, like she'd want you to leave right now when all she needs is someone to pour her stress onto.

“shut up, what did I just say? stay still.”

this woman is one rough motherfucker and that applies to every aspect of her life, as you can tell by how tightly she's gripping at your hips as she moves you to bend over silco's desk. her calloused hand swiping away most of his stuff away, making sure your torso is flush against the wooden—and still dusty—surface, her fingers tangle themselves on your hair to keep your head down.

your legs go just a little weak. but hey, it's just you being tired from cleaning for hours now!

…or maybe it's the wall of pure muscle behind you sliding her mechanic hand under your pants, tracing your panties while she keeps talking.

“been a long fucking night.” her face buried itself on your neck, not even kissing the skin before nibbling on it. why would she? she doesn't owe you any gentleness. her body weight pressing you forward—the action making sure you can feel the cool metal of her fingers. the sharp tips lightly scratching the fabric of your underwear in a way that shouldn't feel this good, especially in the current circumstances but oh, well.

“are you stupid or deaf?” she pulled on your hair a little before pushing your head back down on the desk when she felt your hips moving away from her as soon as her arm made a loud mechanical sound, the rather strong vibration coming right after making you shudder.

you didn't mean to move like that, lifting your hips away from her, but you couldn't help it! the vibration was so out of nowhere it startled you. who's fault is that, hm? definitely sevika's. but I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you—you know, keeping in mind there's still blood that isn't hers on her clothes and body. just saying.

“hey, wait—”

your protests meaning nothing to her as she tugged ( ripped ) your pants and underwear down. “look at that, you whine but you're getting wet?” the most mocking scoff ever coming out of her lips while she pressed her vibrating fingers even more firmly on your now bare clit.

“it's not that much, you're just weak. get over it.”

she's right, it does feel like you're getting weaker by the second. the feeling getting more overwhelming as she gets meaner. “never thought of quitting? cleaning is definitely not your job, the brothel would work way better.” she's infuriatingly good at talking though, it's annoying.

“i mean, look at you. I'm sure people would pay more to see this ass than what silco does for you to clean his shit.” she squeezed one cheek to emphasize her own point, giving a slap to watch it jiggle, her lower lip caught with her teeth at the sight. she could get used to it, actually.

“there we go, see? wasn't so hard to keep quiet.” her fingers are no longer cold, now sticky and warm from your body heat—body heat she proudly increased by the way—while her hand starts to move back and forth to cause more sensations, moans and trembles.

you feel like it's too much? oh, baby, she hasn't done anything yet!

you realize she's actually doing something when you notice her sliding two thick fingers—lucky for you, real ones instead of the sharp prosthetics—stretching you out without a single warning as the vibration on your clit does not cease at all.

the wet sounds combined with the slap of skin and buzzing coming from in between your legs absolutely obscene in a way that's fucking humiliating. god, you shouldn't be this horny for a woman that treats you like a hooker she found in an alley but it would be a terrible lie if you said it didn't make your lower belly burn and tingle in a way you've felt before, but definitely not with that intensity.

her scent—blood, sweat, and that funky, smoky tang that always clings to her—feels pretty intoxicating, to the point it's impossible to think straight.

you bit your lip, frustrated at the way your own body seems to betray you with the moans you fail to hold back. no amount of deep breaths able to help you. the mixture of pleasure and pain seems to blur together, forcing an embarrassingly whiny whimper to escape before you can even stop it.

“what's wrong?” sevika murmurs with a mocking chuckle, her fingers curling just right, pressing against your g-spot as if she knew your body better than you and honestly with the amount of experience she has, she might as well. “guess you like being treated like a common whore, huh, is that it?”

heat goes straight to your cheeks and down yourq back at her words, and yet again your body completely ignores your internal struggles, hips rocking against her hand despite your best efforts to stay still. she noticed, of course she did, using that to give a punishing thrust that suddenly feels way too deep.

“yeah, that's what I thought,” she scoffed, voice dripping with disdain, but her movements became more purposeful. her metallic fingers pressed firmly against your clit with no mercy, the vibrations and the movements had you clutching at the edge of the desk.

“look at you,” sevika muttered, more to herself than you, as if fascinated by the way your body responds to her rough thrusts. “maybe I'll keep you here, bent over silco's desk, let him walk in and see what a filthy slut you are.”

the thought sent a jolt of humiliation and twisted excitement through you, and sevika definitely feels it, her lips turn into the most asshol-smirk you've ever seen ( if you were able to ), and she speeds up, the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers working you echoing in the small office.

"go on," she said, "are you gonna keep pretending you don't like it?"

sevika doesn't even think about slowing down as she felt the way your walls squeezed her tight enough to earn a small groan from her—your moans being her motivation to keep going through your orgasm—drawing every last tremor from your body until you're left breathless and boneless, slumped over the desk.

she finally pulled out after god knows how long, her fingers sticky and wet from your fluids. sevika raised them to her lips, absolutely shameless, eyes locked on yours as she licked the digits clean with a deliberate, slow drag of her tongue, enjoying the dazed expression on your pretty face while you panted.

“come on, to the floor.” oh, lord, she's still going?

she sat on the couch, pants lowered to her ankles before you could even register her words. shaky legs doing the best they can when you kneeled down in between her thighs. so tired that taking a nap on ‘em seems like the best idea ever, but you can't do that now—not when she's already manspread there, waiting with a cigar on her lips ( probably stole it from silco's desk or something, everything’s happening way to quick for your brain to comprehend ) while casually lighting it up like she didn't just rearrange your guts with her fingers.

free hand wrapping around your hair again, this time guiding your face to her lower abdomen, soft lips pressed on the happy trail that decorated her sweaty skin in a way that now felt sinfully good. “open.”

how could you say no when she's looking down at you like that, making you eat her out as she exhales the heavy smoke?

a low groan, almost imperceptible to your ears covered by her thighs, comes out of her when she finally feels your mouth trail down and down and down, her legs spreading further so you can taste her better.

the scent of her mixed with the smell of cigar was all you could notice. her grip on your hair tightens, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to remind you where you are. half naked, wet and sticky inner thighs, now a sticky mouth, kneeling down on some floor you were supposed to be cleaning while eating the pussy of a 185cm tall woman who disfigured a group of men a few hours ago.

almost in a trance, your lips part, tongue darting out to give her a tentative lick. the taste is overwhelming, consuming your senses until nearly all you can focus on is the feel of sevika,the taste of sevika, the scent of sevika. “that’s it, knew you were playing dumb.” huh, who would've thought you'd be doing this and liking it?

your tongue took another swipe at her dripping slit, this time lingering longer, trying to get deeper. a husky moan from her motivating you to keep going.

at the light twitch on her hips, you vary your technique—going from licking long stripes up and down to swirling your tongue around her already sensitive clit, before dragging it lower to spear into her weeping entrance. the sound of her breathing turns ragged as you lost yourself in the act of pleasing her, of tasting her, of being the cause of such raw feelings.

her hips start to move, grinding her achingly greedy cunt against your face, you grabbed at the tensing muscles on her thighs for support meanwhile she basically used your face like a toy for her own pleasure. not caring if you can breath or not. smearing your lips and chin with her own fluids just like you did with her hand. ( was it revenge? probably not since it's a win-win situation for sevika. )

lost in a haze of sensations, you barely register the heavy, strong hand pressing down on the back of your head, holding you in place—forcing you to feel every clench and twitch. the world narrows down to the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her, until you can barely recall why you ever resisted the idea of doing what she says.

oh?

oh.

she did not just come, make you lick all of it and then push you away. ( she absolutely just did, the motherfucker. )

“okay, that's it, enough.” the fucking audacity to get up, fix her pants and just leave you there, sat on the cold floor as if you were a simple stray dog who got its five minutes of petting from a stranger. “clean up the mess you made.”

“hold on—”

she just left without even listening?! great, now you're stuck having clean a messy desk, pick up the paperwork from the floor, your own panties and pants and having to get rid of the wet, creamy stain on silco's couch that apparently ‘you’ made as if it wasn't sevika's cum.

what a rollercoaster of a night.

masterlist

[meadowfics]

no mercy

yandere!cho sang-woo x f!reader

one of the players grows obsessed with you since you were similar to him

warnings: yandere!sangwoo, reader/you have questionable morals since you commit a huge betrayal due to a strong sense of survival. mentions of death. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 20-23 while sang woo is 46. changed plot from season one. the original character who is not reader is player 102.

you never thought you'd end up here.

your eyes tired, wearing a green tracksuit, number 111 stitched onto your chest like a mark of your desperation.

the scent in the room was thick with fear, tension, and unspoken threats.

everyone here had something in common: debt, misery, nothing much left to lose.

you? your debt wasn’t from reckless gambling or bad business deals like most of these other people here.

yours was from surviving.

years of hospital stays, surgeries, medications.

your childhood was spent in the hospitals, making sure that your body could grow healthily.

there were bills that kept stacking up even after you were finally healthy.

they said you were lucky to have made it out alive, but now you owed more money than you could ever pay back.

so when the salesman offered you a chance, you took it.

you didn’t suffer through years of hospitals, pain, and fear just to come here and die in some twisted game.

you were going to survive. no matter what it took.

the first night in the dormitory, you kept to yourself.

somehow, she found you..

player 102.

hot pink hair, too bright for this place, too carefree for someone stuck in a death game.

"hey, you look miserable,"

she plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out.

you didn’t respond.

just kept your arms crossed, watching the others.

"so, we’re both young. everyone else here is nearly middle aged, I think we should stick together,"

she continued, ignoring your silence.

"not a fan of getting stabbed in my sleep."

you eyed her for a moment before shrugging.

"fine."

you didn’t trust her, not yet.

she was right...it was better to have someone.

however, there was another player keeping a lookout on you.

player 218. sang-woo.

the man who kept his expression unreadable but watched everything.

at first, you didn’t notice him.

however, he noticed you. immediately.

you weren’t like the others.

you weren’t crying, begging, or making desperate alliances.

you were calculating. quiet. smart.

and he liked that.

before the second game is when you knew that 218 existed.

you overheard player 067 whispering to 218, the words

"melting sugar" slipping through the cracks.

your brain clicked instantly.

dalgona.

so when the masked men led you into a room filled with symbols

circle, star, umbrella, triangle.

you didn’t hesitate.

you immediately walked toward the triangle line, yanking 102 with you.

"what the hell? why so confident?"

she asked, letting you drag her along.

"just trust me."

sang-woo saw you move first.

his lips twitched.

you knew.

not a second of hesitation.

not a moment of doubt.

you had figured it out just like him.

he almost smirked when he saw you pull your ally along without question.

good girl, he thought.

you know how to survive.

he didn’t take his eyes off you as you worked on your honeycomb.

you handled the needle too well.

precise. careful. controlled.

when your triangle popped out perfectly, you even gave 102 a little smirk.

"told you,"

you murmured to her.

sang-woo clenched his jaw, barely paying attention to his own work.

you were dangerous.

smart.

capable.

and he wanted you.

he watched the way your fingers moved, steady despite the sweat on your skin.

the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

the way your lips parted slightly as you concentrated.

you had no idea he was studying you like prey.

"don’t worry, y/n," he thought.

"i’ll protect you."

"i’ll make sure you survive. you don’t even need to know."

because in sang-woo’s mind, you were already his.

back in the dorms, you and 102, who turns out to be named anya, sat on a shared bed, splitting the bland, dry rice and kimchi they gave you.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you alive.

"so, what brought you here?"

you asked, poking at your food with the tiny spoon they handed out.

anya stretched her legs out, sighing dramatically.

"oh, you know. influencers, shopping sprees, lavish trips. that kind of stupidity."

you raised an eyebrow.

"influencer?"

she scoffed.

"was. past tense. brand deals, sponsorships, all that shit. i thought i was rich when i really wasn’t. I got "cancelled" for some stupid shit and now I am here!"

she rambled for nearly thirty minutes, talking about her reckless spending, the money she blew through, the fake friends who ditched her when she went broke.

you let her talk, not minding the conversation.

she was easy to listen to, and at least she had a sense of humor about her downfall.

she turned the question on you.

"what about you, y/n?"

you took a small bite of rice, hesitating for a second before answering.

"hospital bills."

anya paused mid-chew, glancing at you. then, she nodded.

"ohhh okay."

something inside you twisted. maybe you should have kept that to yourself.

maybe that was something she didn’t need to know.

did she see it as a weakness?

did she think you were fragile?

you didn’t know her true intentions yet.

from across the room, sang-woo was wondering the same thing.

he leaned against the metal bunk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he studied you and anya.

he didn’t trust her, not when she was getting that close to you.

she seemed harmless, but so did a lot of people before they revealed their true colors.

the girl had bright pink hair.

she didn’t exactly scream dangerous.

still, he didn’t like how easily you opened up to her.

as gi-hun talked to play 001 beside him, he looked ahead at you.

anya was the first to notice him watching.

she smirked, leaning in slightly.

"don’t freak out, but that player has been staring you down since we got back from dalgona."

you frowned, confused.

"who?"

anya subtly tilted her head toward player 218.

you followed her gaze and met his eyes.

sang-woo was staring right at you.

the first thing that crossed your mind?

he's sexy.

it wasn’t just that.

he wasn’t like other people who got caught staring and looked away quickly.

he held eye contact, unbothered, as if he was waiting to see what you would do.

only when player 456 called his name did he finally turn away.

anya snorted.

"oh no. you’ve got that look in your eye."

you blinked.

"what look?"

"the ‘i think he’s hot’ look."

she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"don’t fall for it, y/n. he might stab you in your sleep."

you giggled, nudging her.

"shut up!"

even as you joked, you could still feel the heat in your face.

from across the room, sang-woo nearly smirked.

he had seen the way you looked at him.

he was going to make sure you kept looking at him.

when it was lights out, you lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the slow, steady breaths of the other players.

the dorm was eerily quiet, except for the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their sleep.

beside you, anya was curled up, her pink hair spilling over the pillow.

the girl's breathing was soft and even.

peaceful.

untouched by the paranoia that clawed at your mind.

you waited, making sure she was truly asleep before you carefully pushed yourself up from the bed.

this was stupid.

you knew it.

you didn’t care.

moving quickly and quietly, you weaved through the rows of bunk beds, walking across the open floor and walking through bunks until you reached the other side of the dormitory.

you knelt down in front of player 218’s bed.

sang-woo’s eyes were closed, but the moment you got close, you could feel it...he was awake.

sangwoo's breathing was too steady, his posture too tense, as if he had been expecting something.

his eyes flickered open.

and the second he saw you, he sat up.

"sorry if i woke you up,"

you whispered.

he stared at you, his face unreadable.

then, his lips twitched just slightly.

"no, you’re not."

you swallowed, caught off guard by how easily he read you.

"i just… i just wanted to talk to you."

"can’t sleep?"

his voice was low, smooth.

you shook your head.

he studied you for a second, then shifted, making space beside him.

without thinking, you scooted closer, sitting down next to him on the bed.

both of you sat in silence, eyes scanning the dark dormitory, watching the scattered bodies of sleeping players.

"what brings you here?"

he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

you hesitated, already regretting your answer before it even left your mouth.

"hospital bills."

as soon as you said it, you cringed.

you had made the same mistake again.

telling people things they didn’t need to know.

you had no idea what sang-woo’s intentions were, no idea what kind of person he really was.

when you glanced at him, there was nothing threatening in his expression.

he nodded, and his voice was calm when he said,

"debt."

you nodded in return. most people were here for that.

suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit you, making your body feel heavier.

you let out a soft yawn, rubbing your arm.

sang-woo noticed immediately.

"you should get some sleep,"

he said.

you sighed, not wanting to go back just yet.

"i don’t know if i can."

he thought for a moment, then said,

"i’ll walk you back."

you looked at him, surprised.

the idea of him walking with you made you feel… safe.

some kind of invisible shield was around you just by being near him.

you nodded, and together, you slipped back through the darkness.

when you reached your bed, you laid down beside anya, adjusting under the thin blanket.

sang-woo crouched beside you, his presence lingering.

you blinked up at him sleepily.

"you don’t have to stay."

but he did.

he stayed for another half hour, sitting silently by your bed, watching.

making sure no one tried anything stupid.

making sure no one touched his girl.

later on after the tug of war game, something inside you shifted.

the feeling of your body being pulled toward death, the sheer force it took to survive, the way you had to trust complete strangers just to stay alive

it made you realize something.

trust was temporary.

survival was everything.

you could feel some of your morals slipping, piece by piece.

it was only a matter of time before trust meant nothing.

anya didn’t seem to take the same lesson from it.

she was freaking out.

you noticed how she started muttering under her breath, shaking more often, picking at her nails until they bled.

she wasn’t built for this.

sang-woo? he was the opposite.

cold. calculating. calm.

you found yourself sticking closer to him, not entirely sure why, but knowing he was the safest option to be around.

when it was time for the glass bridge game, all hell broke loose.

you were in front of sang-woo, anya was in front of you, and some random man was in front of anya.

the tension was suffocating.

one by one, players were screaming, falling to their deaths, bodies smacking against the floor below like insects against a windshield.

the only ones left were 456, 067, sang-woo, you, anya, and the man at the front.

the man was trying to inspect the glass, claiming he could tell which one was weak, taking his sweet time.

the clock was running out.

three minutes left.

anya snapped, her voice sharp, full of panic.

"can you take any fucking longer?"

the man turned back, offended, but didn’t say anything.

two minutes, thirty seconds.

finally, he made his move.

he chose wrong.

the man's scream echoed, his body disappeared into the void below, glass shards flying.

"all of that for nothing,"

player 067 muttered.

you nodded, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

now, it was anya’s turn.

she froze.

the slavic's hands were shaking, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps.

you tried to keep her calm.

"anya, it’s okay, you’ll pick the right one."

she didn’t move.

sang-woo suddenly stepped onto your glass tile.

your breath caught in your throat.

for a split second, you thought.. was he going to push me off?

no.

instead, he pressed himself right behind you, his body warm, solid, steady.

the man's big hand found your arm, gripping it gently, keeping you in place as you both watched anya.

"anya, come on!"

your patience was wearing thin.

anya sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting between the two tiles in front of her.

"i’m sorry, i’m trying to guess."

two minutes.

finally, she jumped.

the right one.

everyone let out a breath of relief as they followed onto the next safe glass ahead.

except sang-woo.

he stayed right behind you onto the next glass.

you smirked slightly at the way his body heat pressed into yours.

one row left.

you looked at anya.

"okay, you got it right last time, now do it again."

you hear player 456 from the far back yell.

she was trembling, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"i don’t—i don’t know."

one minute, thirty seconds.

"anya, pick one, goddammit!"

your voice cracked, frustration leaking through.

"i’m sorry,"

she whispered, eyes darting between the last two panels.

one minute.

something inside you snapped.

you couldn’t wait anymore.

sang-woo shifted slightly, sensing it.

you turned, moving him off your back slightly.

then, you did something terrible.

you jumped onto the same glass tile as anya.

the russian's breath hitched, her whole body going rigid as you stood right behind her.

"anya, i’m sorry. forgive me."

she barely had time to turn her head before you shoved her forward.

she hit the glass.

it shattered.

anya's scream pierced through the air, her arms flailing as she plunged onto the ground below.

the pink hair was the last thing you saw before she disappeared.

you didn’t even breathe before hopping onto the correct glass, your heart hammering against your ribs.

twenty seconds left.

everyone else followed...sang-woo, 067, 456.

all of you had survived.

when you turned back, searching for any sign of anya’s body, it was too far down.

you couldn’t process it before—

the entire bridge exploded.

glass shards flew in every direction, slicing through your skin like razor blades.

you shielded your face, feeling the sting of cuts across your body, blood trickling down your arms.

everything blurred.

you felt yourself stumble, someone’s hand grabbing your waist, holding you upright.

sang-woo.

his grip was firm, keeping you from falling.

when 456 and 067 walked ahead, sangwoo stayed beside you.

the man's lips were close to your ear, his breath steady while yours was ragged.

"you did what you had to do."

your hands were shaking.

anya was gone.

the girl who had slept beside you.

the girl who had joked with you.

you pushed her to her death.

the worst part?

you didn’t regret it.

by the end of the last game.. the dorms were empty now.

just you and sang-woo.

no more screams.

no more bloodstained floors.

no more players, just two survivors standing in the aftermath of hell.

you had won.

you both had.

the massive room that once held hundreds of people was now eerily silent.

the beds, the sheets, the steel walls.. it all looked the same, but it felt different.

everyone else was dead.

you turned, facing sang-woo.

the man's expression was unreadable, always was.

the man's eyes locked on you like he was memorizing this moment.

"so," you exhaled, voice hoarse.

"we made it."

he nodded.

"we did."

"and we split the money."

the words left your lips, but something about them felt off.

sang-woo agreed.

he had said it himself.

you would split the money, go your separate ways, start over.

the way he looked at you now...

you knew that was never his plan.

"right,"

sang-woo murmured, stepping closer.

"we split the money."

sangwoo's tone was smooth, but there was a finality to it.

you understood exactly what that meant.

he wasn’t letting you go.

he had killed for you.

067. 456. gone.

you weren’t stupid.

he and 456 had some sort of a connection, something deeper than just the games.

maybe they were friends? you had no clue since he did not tell you.

shoot, he did not even tell you 456 and 067's real names.

you had seen the way they looked at each other before it all came crashing down.

however, sang-woo chose you.

he had to.

there was no hesitation when he ended 456.

no second thoughts when 067 bled out.

he did it all for you.

the 45.6 billion wasn’t just his money.

it wasn’t even just your money.

it was yours together.

blood money. tainted, filthy, but yours.

"i hope you understand,"

sang-woo said, his fingers brushing against your wrist, his touch deceptively gentle.

"i didn’t do all of this just to watch you walk away."

sangwoo's grip tightened slightly, firm enough to send a clear message.

you were his.

the man's breath was warm as he leaned in, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"you're coming with me."

you didn’t argue.

you didn’t fight it.

deep down, you had already accepted it.

you didn’t mind at all.

masterlist

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Now we know Bill tried to enter post-memory gun Fiddleford's mind and found it was simply too shattered to work with--- but what if he slipped in at the beginning of Fiddleford's decline? Rooted like a pleased little maggot in the decay of Fidds' memory, he twists and molds and shapes them in a way that convinces Fiddleford to return to Ford- and use the gun on him, too. "It's the only way to save him," Bill says, in the form of God or an angel or something similar, and a wilted Fiddleford is convinced.

Cue a horrific Groundhog's Day-esque cycle where Ford's mind is mostly wiped, with Bill keeping just the minimum knowledge required to build the portal; from the seeds of those thoughts, however, Ford is able to remember the truth of Bill's manipulation (but not how he lost his memories in the first place, just assuming Bill pulled them from his head like he did in TBOB), thus leading a desperate, manic Fiddleford to erase his memories again. Fiddleford is using the gun on himself at the same time (although he attempts to act normal, and as a caretaker for Ford, feeding him curated information), and they both teeter on the precipice of pure madness; Bill plans on keeping them from falling over the edge only until they complete the portal.

As more and more of his memories simply... stop coming back, Ford starts leaving himself notes and clues for the next time his memory is erased. As a final resort, he sends the postcard to his brother, who he figures at the very least can remind Ford of his own name when his thoughts are wiped from his brain; finding his brother's address at the cusp of when he senses his mind is to be erased again, he jots it down quickly on his arm for future reference.

Finally, Ford figures out Fiddleford is the root cause. In a scuffle in the lab, Fiddleford manages to gain the upper hand, and they accidentally start the portal; with a final blast of the memory gun, he sends Ford careening into a world unknown. Torn apart by guilt, he uses the gun on himself, as well; deeming this iteration of the portal a lost cause, Bill lets Fiddleford fully lose his mind.

Stan arrives a few hours later. He finds a strange, wide-eyed, amnesiac engineer in his brother's house, with no sign of his twin, except for--- hundreds of mostly nonsensical notes, detailing childhood memories but also incomprehensible horrors. With no other choice, at the very least in order to take advantage of having access to an actual home with a roof, Stan stays in Gravity Falls, trying to coax answers out of what appears to be a raccoon in a human form with no clear idea of who he is or his relation to Ford. Stan has dreams--- nightmares--- of something great and dark watching him, but his mind remains untouched- for now.

A thousand galaxies away, a young man wakes on an unfamiliar planet, with no idea of how to get home- no, he has no idea what or where home is, or who he is. All he has is something scribbled on his forearm in hasty permanent marker: an address, and what he has to assume is his own name: Stanley Pines.

[sashaisready]

Valentine's Disaster

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky is determined to give you the Valentine's Day he believes you secretly want, it's the least you deserve. Unfortunately, things don't go quite to plan...

This is a sweet little fic I've been working on for Valentine's Day, hope you enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Happy V-Day to you all in this lovely community! ❤️

One shot / allusion to smut but nothing explicit / Bucky is trying, ok?!

Wordcount: 2.6k

💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

February 12th

He hasn’t ‘done’ Valentine’s Day in the best part of a century, and back in the days when he did, it was a handwritten card and a box of candy for the girl you liked. Simple, sweet. An excuse to go dancing and make-out.

But now? The shops are awash with pink and red, large hanging signs in the aisles are practically screaming at him ‘not to forget!’

And how could anyone forget? It’s a full-on assault of the senses. Enjoy this Valentine’s limited-edition doughnut! Buy those matching heart-print pyjamas for you and your valentine! Buy perfume! Flowers! Teddy bears the size of toddlers! Enough chocolate to take down an elephant! Take a couples’ trip, book a romantic spa day, spend a rent payment on roses! He’s seen cards meant for pets, cards from pets. As if Alpine would ever entertain such nonsense, even if she could read. Every time he runs errands, he feels like his brain might fall out. 

Thankfully, home is an oasis of calm. He sits on the couch half-watching some documentary while your head lays in his lap, scrolling idly on your phone. Alpine is curled up across your legs, occasionally purring in her blissful sleep as you give her a head an absent-minded scratch. 

He runs his metal fingers through your hair without even noticing he’s doing it – muscle memory at this point, basking in the comfortable silence - a private sanctuary from the outside world. The world he still doesn’t fully understand. The man out of time.

But you, you he understands. It all moved quickly, sure. But when you know you know, don’t they say? He sees that now. He saw that on your first date. Watching you laugh, your eyes sparkling - he was sorry that he zoned out while you told him that funny anecdote, but he just couldn’t stop looking at you.

He knew he was in trouble. 

First date. First kiss. More dates. Inseparable, easy. Like visiting somewhere new for the first time but somehow knowing exactly where to go. Maybe moving in together after six months had been hasty, sure. But it just felt right. 

No logic, just a feeling. He’d wasted so much time, so much life - why waste even more? ‘You’re here all the time, anyway, why not just make it official?’ Yes. Yes, you’d love to. Your clothes moved into his closet as smoothly as you’d moved into his life. It was as if you’d always been there. Kitchen dances and late-night chats. New recipes, old sweatshirts. Gymnastics in the bedroom. One failed attempt at a shared bubble bath that had gone so badly wrong you’d both laughed until big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. Misjudging just how much room he took up, easily done. So much for romance, you had joked. 

But it was romance for him. 

And what about for you? 

You hadn’t been together for a Valentine’s Day yet. Sure, he’d bought flowers and cooked for you before. You had shyly thanked him and kissed his cheek. But you didn’t need big gestures, you’d told him. Didn’t care about giant teddy bears or rose petal trails. ‘Make me a good cup of coffee, fix the leaky sink and keep the oil in my car topped up and I’ll be happy’ you’d said. Well, he could do all that. And he did. He took care of you and your home. You’d told him once that his love language for you was acts of service, which meant he liked doing things for you – practical help. Fixing, bringing, making. He didn’t know about all that, but he knew he would always look after you. He wasn’t always the best at words and romance, but his actions spoke for him when he didn’t know how to say it.

He’d bought you a card. A silly one. One to make you laugh, about pancakes. Not one of the vulgar ones, some of the sentiments he’d seen printed made him wrinkle his nose. He was no prude, but his Ma would’ve turned in her grave at some of them. Not everything needed to be an innuendo. He’d already written a note inside it. A little sappy, but he meant every word. He’d also planned to pick up a bouquet of pretty flowers, maybe take you to lunch out at your favourite coffee shop. 

But now he glances down and sees what you’re looking at on your phone. You’re scrolling that photograph app, the Instagram one. It’s not for him but he doesn’t mind. It’s cute when you post a picture of your coffee on there, even if he teases you for it. 

You must be on a Valentine’s trend. Trend, is that what they call it? Hashtag? He watches you flick through endless pictures and videos…rose petals scattered on immaculate bedspreads, champagne glasses posed perfectly against a sunset backdrop, endless hauls of flowers and chocolate, balloons stretched to spell out names. Perfectly put together young women posing coyly and peering through their lashes, showing off diamonds and designer handbags...

…is this what you really wanted? You’d never said…but you were looking at those pictures so intently…

Had he really got it so wrong?

His heart sank as he imagined your disappointment. A jokey card? Lunch at the same old place you always went? Is that all he’d done for you on this apparent big day?

Maybe the stores were right.

You wouldn’t say anything, of course. You’re too sweet for that. Too empathetic, never wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings. But he pictured the dismay in your eyes at his meagre offering and felt a physical ache in his chest. He’d never want to disappoint you, to let you down. 

He slowly got up from the couch, carefully cradling your head to put you back down onto the cushions as he slipped away.

“Just starting dinner, doll,” he muttered as he headed to the door. 

“Okay baby,” you replied distractedly - your eyes still on your phone. Alpine miaowed in protest at the sudden change in movements. You scoffed at the latest image, a hotel room decorated ceiling to carpet with helium balloons and ribbons - practically fit to burst. “What a waste of plastic,” you exclaimed to yourself. “Who really needs all of this? What a joke…”

“What did you say?” Bucky called from the kitchen. 

“Nothing important,” you called back as you shifted Alpine and got to your feet, flinging your phone back onto the couch. That was quite enough hate scrolling for one evening.

“Buck, I’m coming to help”. 

💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

February 14th

“Fuck!” he muttered to himself as yet another balloon popped. He kept overstuffing them, underestimating how much air his lungs could hold as he blew them up. Super soldier problems. 

He sighed and gathered the few intact balloons, spreading them around the living room. There weren’t as many as he’d have liked, but they would do. 

Next, he eyed the banner, sagging down at the corners after his ill-fated attempt to hang it. He thought a hand-made banner was a bit much, but Sam had insisted it would tie everything together. DIY decorations show you’ve made the effort, he’d said.

He squinted up at the carefully drawn letters, HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY. The paint was a little uneven, and he cursed himself for not being better at crafting. The smattering of glitter in his hair was further proof of that. But it was up there, at least.

Sam had better know what he’s talking about.

You were due home from work any moment, he’d spent the last few hours rushing around trying to give you the Valentine’s Day you apparently secretly wanted. Dinner was nearly done, rose petals had been sprinkled from the hallway to the living room, champagne chilled, and the largest teddy bear he could find sat staring at him from your favourite armchair. 

He frowned; it all seemed a bit much. But he reminded himself he was doing it for you. He’d do anything for you. He’d walk through fire if he had to, swim an ocean. He could handle a few balloons and a fancy dinner if it made you happy.

Speaking of dinner…what was that smell?

Oh…fu-

He rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a dish rag, fanning the smoke away as he cursed and popped a window. He flung the oven door open and pulled out the now charred dish with his vibranium hand. He cursed more, cursed louder, slamming the dish onto the stove top as he tried to figure out what the hell had gone so wrong. After all, he’d followed the recipe to the letter…

He looked at the oven and quickly saw his mistake - he must’ve knocked the temperature dial somehow as it was turned significantly higher than it should’ve been. Great. No wonder everything was burnt to a crisp. He angrily switched it off and stared at the mess he’d made. What the hell was he going to do when you got-

“Babe, I’m home- happy Valentine’s Day! Wait, what the-?” Came your voice from the hallway as the front door opened.

Fuck.

“Buck, what’s going on - did something burn? Are those rose petals?”

He sheepishly moved into the hallway. You lit up as you saw him, smiling as you took off your coat. “Hey you, what’s going on in here?”

“I tried to make you dinner,” he sighed. “Didn’t go to plan, I’m sorry…”

You smiled warmly and moved to him, kissing him sweetly as you brushed your hands over his chest. “Oh Buck. That’s okay. Thank you…that’s very sweet of you. Don’t be upset, it happens - we can order in”.

Your reaction simultaneously filled him with relief but also a sense of self-loathing. He’d messed it up already, he’d let you down. You looked relaxed, but he wondered if you were secretly disappointed.

“What is all this?” you giggled as you followed the petals. “Don’t tell me you did all of this for me…”

As the trail guided you into the living room, you gasped at the scene in front of you. Your heart nearly burst at the effort he’d put into all of this. “Oh, Buck! It’s…”

But before you could finish your sentence, disaster ensued.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and all at once. The banner collapsed suddenly, curling at the edges before crumpling to the ground with a quiet thunk – somehow taking out the champagne flutes along with it, knocking them to the floor and shattering them. Almost simultaneously, another balloon popped – causing you both to jump.

And the absolute cherry on the cake?

Alpine, who had been carefully studying the giant teddy bear in the armchair the whole time, leapt up on top of it…

…and began humping it.

“Oh. Oh my god…” you whispered.

“Oh, my god,” Bucky echoed with horror. “Alpine, stop that!”

His chest ached, shame washed over him as he looked at the failure of a Valentine’s Day in ruins around him. He couldn’t give you the day you’d really wanted, the day you deserved. He turned to you, preparing himself to have his heart broken by your disappointed face.

Except…

…you were laughing.

You were shaking silently, your hand over your mouth as you tried to restrain yourself. But you were clearly laughing. You looked back at him guiltily.

“I’m so sorry Buck,” you whispered, your voice strained, “I know you worked so hard on all of this…I promise I’m not laughing at you…”

He glanced around the room at the warzone of his living room – the broken glass, the buckled banner, the remnants of pink balloon rubber, the smell of burning in the air, Alpine’s shameless amorous activity…

It started as a tickle in his throat, a twitch of his lips – and then a hesitant chuckle escaped. And then another. And then both of you were gone, laughing uproariously as you leaned on each other for support. Bent over, hands on knees, desperately trying to regain some sense of composure as hysteria reigned. Loud, hearty laughter filling the room – becoming high squeaks as you both tried to catch your breath.

Alpine, unimpressed by this egregious interruption, finally stopped her assault and left the room indignantly.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed breathily as your thumb wiped a tear from your lash line. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m grateful, really, I am – this was so sweet of you. I’m sorry it didn’t go to plan; I know you must’ve worked really hard on it…”

“It’s okay,” he replied as he took a deep breath. “I guess I’m not great at this stuff. But look,” his tone shifted to something more serious as he took you by the shoulders and held you close, “I’m sorry I fucked it up. I know you wanted the whole Instagram Valentine’s thing…”

You cock an eyebrow in confusion, “what? Says who?”

“I saw you,” he admits sheepishly. “Looking at all the Valentine’s stuff on your phone. I know you wouldn’t say anything, but I was trying to surprise you. I’m just sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

You sigh as realisation hits you, taking his hands in yours as you rub your thumbs soothingly over his knuckles. “Baby…I didn’t want that stuff, I was just hate-scrolling. That’s not me, you know I don’t really care about all that junk…”

His eyes widen. “You don’t?”

“No! It’s all performative, it doesn’t really mean anything. I just wanna be with you…I’d have been happy with just a card…”

As if on cue you notice the little envelope on the side table with your name on it. You pick it up and open it.

“Oh, it’s dumb…” Bucky shrugs. “It’s just because we always make breakfast together…”

You giggle at the cute image on the front of the card and flick it open to read.

Doll,

Getting to make pancakes with you in our apartment is honestly a life that didn’t seem possible until recently. Thank-you for showing me what love is.

Happy Valentine’s Day, here’s to the first of many.

All my love,

Bucky x

You smile, the tears forming in your eyes as you clutch it to your chest like it’s your prized possession.

“Thank-you, it’s perfect,” you tell him softly as you pull him closer.

The two of you hold each other for a moment, then move in for a saccharine kiss. You press your foreheads together and stand there like that for a while, basking in the warmth of each other – serene in the stronghold of your home, despite the Valentine’s debris around you. Bucky feels relief that he didn’t let you down, finally at ease again.

You look around the room with your hands on your hips, your expression thoughtful as Bucky recognises your ‘action mode’.

“Okay, well I’ll go get your card…and you clean up that glass so Alpine doesn’t walk in it…and then rather than order in - how about we cook something else for dinner?” you tell him softly as you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah? What you thinking?” he grins.

“Pancakes”.

“Perfect,” he nods, then his hand glides down your lower back as his voice drops. “And maybe later I can make it up to you in the bedroom…”

“Well, you don’t need to make anything up to me…but I wouldn’t say no to an offer like that…” You flirt as you bite your lower lip. His hand travels lower…

“Happy Valentine’s Day, doll”.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck”.

💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝💝

[peachsukii]

I’ve got arranged marriage on the brain this morning.

Your parents don’t even give you the time to protest the idea, a man already lined up for you to “marry” as they tell you their plans. It’s a family friend’s son, one you’ve met a few times in passing, but don’t actually know.

You two meet up for lunch, and shockingly, bond over how stupid this arrangement is. He tells you all about how his parents are overbearing and insistent on finding him a wife rather than letting him take his time. Your parents were the same, urging you at the young age of 24 to find a husband and settle down. Things flow easily between you two, almost a little too easy. Months, and plenty of headaches later, the wedding plan is set in motion. You two agreed that living together for a year and then casually “divorcing” was the best option, how you’d keep up the act around friends and family but be open to each other dating in that time. It all seemed like a good plan, a decent plan. Everyone got what they wanted.

That all goes out the window on the day of the wedding.

He’s awestruck when the doors open to the ceremony and find you standing there, beautifully done up and dressed in the most flattering dress imaginable. His palms start to sweat, his heartbeat deafening the world around him as you walk up to the altar to join him. Little did he know that your own heart rate was through the roof, his gorgeous features on full display for you to admire. The wedding goes smoothly, the act you two are playing becoming more natural as the night progresses.

And then comes the time to go back to the hotel, forced to be alone in the same room. You’d secretly booked another room for you two to have space, but you don’t find yourself heading there just yet. He lets you rest on the bed, your heels finally off your sore feet as he pours a glass of champagne for the two of you. A lot of laughter and causal conversation about the wedding later, you’re exhausted and attempt to get up to leave and head back to your own room for the night. He gently grabs your wrist when you stand, a pleading look in his eyes. “Stay.”

He pulls you back to him, almost tugging you into his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Don’t go.”

The air in the room shifts, all of the emotions of the day swelling between the two of you as you stare into each other’s eyes. This wasn’t the plan. This isn’t the plan.

You smile and sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. An unfamiliar warmth flows through you, a sense of safety and…admiration.

“I won’t,” you whisper. “I’ll stay.”

[megapteraurelia]

hiii just saw your post about needing distraction and if i can help you even a little bit then i’d be happy to!! so id like a drabble with akaashi, f!reader or gn!reader, fluff, at uni?? if that’s fine?? have a lovely day <33

zeugmas and feelings.

summary | akaashi keiji and you found each other while trying to survive deadlines. or: how to not get anything done because akaashi keiji is just so damn pretty. warnings | none! it's meet-cute and fluff :3; fem!reader word count | 4449. a/n | elie, i love you, you precious!!! thank you for this and i'm sorry that i didn't keep to the idea of a drabble. for the life of me, i could NOT pass up writing several moments of akaashi so there's 4.5k words full of them instead T_T i hope i made it justice, though :3 please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

the library was silent on sunday; eerie yet comforting in a way. 

the sun had long since set, the last of the rays that came through the windows bathing everything in a light that felt more nostalgic than it actually was before it dipped everything outside in a dark cloak. among the typing sounds on different kinds of laptops, their engines more than ready to take off after being used for so long, there was only the ticking of the clock, sometimes a soft clearing of throats or the gentle clink of a thermo cup being set down.

looking up from the mock exam you were taking for your cultural studies class, flexing your cramped fingers and rolling your shoulders, your eyes found the only other person sharing your space that late. you didn’t mean to look over at him lest you made anybody feel awkward, but in an entire picture of stillness before you, the movement drew your eyes naturally.

his fingers were swift, flying over the keyboard, gaze trained at his screen, trusting his hands to instinctively and automatically follow the letters. you couldn’t see his eyes properly, though, the glare of the laptop reflecting off his glasses. though you could see the little furrow of concentration in his brows, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he halted for a second, thinking. then nodding to himself, they resumed their display of a gear having turned in his brain. 

your eyes wandered away from him to your own screen, the words staring at you, and you wondered once again whether you should have chosen a different topic to cover in this assignment. would american history work better? did you have enough characteristics to explain the relevance in the corresponding text? or did you perhaps want to stay focusing on orientalism? 

after all, american history was your current topic discussed in class, its myths and ideologies, transformation of gender roles, the age of realism and science. it would be easier to just focus on any of those: the harlem renaissance, counterculture and postmodernism, the gilded age— 

you rubbed your eyes, and a sigh escaped your mouth, strong and carrying a lot of exhaustion; your lungs pushed the air out forcefully. you were too far in to scrap everything and start anew with a whole nother topic, so there was only one plausible and logical conclusion to draw:

get more coffee and force your brain cells to work.

standing up from your spot, senses tuned into the stillness of the library, you noticed something. or lack thereof. no typing noise anymore that had accompanied you for hours on end; the seat in front of the man’s laptop empty, his notebooks still open on the table, though no cup on the empty coaster. 

as you walked by with your empty mug and passed the little area that his pens and his dispersed papers claimed as his for the time being, you let your eyes flit over his screen. walls of paragraphs comparing two different works of literature on one half of his desktop, another document open with several similarities and differences listed on the other half. 

“japanese lit, huh?” you mumbled to yourself, tired eyes straying away from his possessions and your feet automatically carried you to the coffee machine at the entrance of the library that the students of various classes had invested in to aid them during their emotional breakdowns…uh, quest to finish their essays and assignments in time. 

zoning out, gripping your mug in one hand, you barely recognised the familiar movement of a person occupying the space in front of you out of the periphery of your eyes as you neared the coffee machine, so you only came back to reality when your nose was suddenly squished against a warm barrier that smelled like cappuccino and old books. 

“easy,” a deeper voice than yours called out close to your head, one hand having already come up to steady you when you lost your balance. his hand was warm against your back, the heat seeping through the layers of your woolen turtleneck, and for a second you both occupied the same space, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

“oh, sorry,” your response was automatic, sheepish and you stepped back, “i probably saw you but my brain didn’t work quick enough to actually see you.”

your gaze found the missing person whose laptop you snooped through (did it count as snooping if you only quickly looked at the screen enough to see what he was working on? you didn’t even touch anything, promise), and this time you could see his eyes, unhindered by any light reflection. 

pretty, you thought off-handedly, really pretty eyes.

“no stress,” one shoulder heaved up, and when his fingers stopped supporting you once he saw you didn’t need his help anymore, your back felt weirdly cool. it was nice having felt the heat of his arm around your body in the absence of any human contact in the face of studying. 

he filled water into the reservoir of the coffee machine, a cup of beans already measured from before you walked into him. you cleared your throat and nodded in thanks; he bowed his head quickly, waving off your thank you, his hand nudging up his glasses perched on his nose when they threatened to slide down. 

they were a bit big, but the earnest look of the dark blue eyes accompanying them made them all the more alluring; like they caged a ton of unsaid thoughts behind them, like there was so much those eyes wanted to tell but they had to get through the barrier of the glasses first. 

a transparent mask to hide behind.

“sooo, how’s the coffee?” you asked to fill the silence when your eyes met again, looking away just as quickly, because you hadn’t expected that his sharp pupils found you the same way your eyes found his. stupid question, to be honest, when the coffee machine whirred in answer, and there was a slight smile playing on his lips.

“i don’t know yet,” he held up his opened thermos cup to show you the lack of liquid that he could not judge on yet, and your cheeks flared up at the obvious demonstration, mumbling quietly to yourself, thinking that the coffee machine was too loud for him to understand: “sorry, that was…an incredibly stupid question.”

“you’re okay,” his quiet and steady voice came back to meet your ears, held back amusement lingering in the folds of his tenor. he heard you just fine, “though probably just like bitter water.”

leaning back against the wall, he joined you in waiting, and then there was comfortable silence between you both. he was close enough to feel the air warm up, close that if you glanced up again, you could see his lashes brush his cheek as he closed his eyes for a quick reprieve, the curls of his hair, messy and falling over his ears, his lips sitting together calmly, sometimes twisting when he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

you looked away again, to the coffee machine that went from grinding the coffee beans to finally pouring the hot water through it and dripping into the pot. you thought you recognised him from somewhere, this boy with the gentle, kind eyes and the charming glasses. you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, trying to gauge where from, whether you had met him on campus before.

“i can feel you staring.”

whirling your head away from his still closed eyes and the fingers messing with his hair, you felt embarrassment brewing within your chest alongside the coffee in front of you. stupid, stupid.

“sorry.”

“don’t be. i don’t mind,” he said, still the same reserved amusement hiding behind his words, and then he did open his eyes to turn to you, and you returned the favour of looking over him again. your gazes met for a split second, dead-on, before they parted again to look at other features, “you’re in professor yoshida’s class, right?”

“right! that’s where  i know you from,” recognition finally bloomed, and you tested out the name that was continuously popping up in your mind during the short wait, wondering whether it was him, “akaashi keiji, right? you looked familiar.”

akaashi opened his mouth to respond, but halted for a split second; his cheeks and ears using this one moment to turn into a soft pink. when he caught himself and talked, you had an inkling that he meant to say something completely different: “yeah, exactly. what are you working on?”

“cultural studies. incredibly boring.”

“japanese lit,” he nodded in sympathy, then moved to pour coffee into both of your cups. you wanted to thank him, take the cup yourself and move, but he beat you to it. reflexes sharp and swift movement, he maneuvered around you easily to carry both of your coffee mugs back to the table you both shared. 

“thank you,” you said at last, seated away from him at your own laptop with the steaming cup warming your hands, the same old words on the screen staring back at you, and he responded in likes; his voice comfortable and easy, deep and as warm as the drink in your hand, “of course.”

both of you continued working, though amongst the clicking of keyboard keys and the silent breathing were the little glances both of you threw at the other now that there was some common ground found. when you got stuck with how to phrase a certain sentence, chin supported on your hand, your eyes wandered to him out of their own volition and instinctually, and you watched him focus on his work. 

the way his teeth would not stay still, constantly picking on his lips, his fingers rubbing his chin when he thought; the light warming up his face and making it seem like his hair was draped over him like a dark curtain. 

then you’d attend to your work again, and it was akaashi’s turn to let his eyes and mind wander over to you to watch you get stuck with another paragraph, biting your nail while the other hand was tapping on the keys lightly without pressing too hard, eyes intently focused on the words. 

you had an intense look in your eyes, and everytime, there were little butterflies erupting behind his ribcage when he felt you dedicate it to him.

those moments in between, when both of your eyes passed the others, belonged to nobody but the empty library. moments, in which you allowed yourselves to bask in the heat of fading instances, of arcane glances, interrupted by little sighs here and there or random occurrences, in which you both just couldn’t help but talk to each other:

“i’m jealous of your concentration,” you groaned at some point, allowing your forehead to thump onto your arm to bury your face away from the screen and its cruel, glaring light, “you look like you’re about to solve all the problems in this world.”

akaashi had stilled in his work, startled, eyes glancing up over the rim of his glasses up to you, and his teeth finally let go of his poor, swollen lower lip; mouth curling into a small embarrassed smile, “not quite. but i may be able to help you with yours, if that’s a start.”

you laughed at yourself for the strange thump your heart produced, hand waving him off, “sweet of you, but i just need some of that laser focus you’ve got.”

“sending you some.”

pretending to catch the energy he threw your way, you perked up in your seat and flashed him a grin, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“oh fu— shit.”

he was already beside you with napkins, big hands dabbing up the spilled lukewarm coffee as you worked to put away your electronics and books lest they’d get ruined by the deep brown liquid. he was close, leaning over you, hands working fast and precise, feeling his chest bump against your shoulders ever so slightly. your body warmed up at the contact, and you had to try not to lose your mind over that.

“ugh, i swear this is not my usual.”

“i’ll believe you when i see you prove the opposite to me,” he said quietly, a certain openness in his voice, a silent offer to spend many more moments together like this. 

you looked up at him, a smile stealing itself on your lips, “i suppose if you’re asking to be humiliated and be proven wrong, then i won’t say no.”

the skin underneath akaashi’s glasses had warmed up, and as he went back to his seat, he had stuttered back, “that’s— i didn’t— nobody said anything about humiliation! also, you’re the one who barely escaped electronic and academic death. gotta tone down the murderous intent a little.”

“never. every essay is my arch-nemesis, so they got what was coming for them.”

akaashi had shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself; the sound as honeyed as your favourite dessert. 

when he returned from his bathroom break later on, he brought you back a new cup of coffee, anyway, despite his fear of you murdering your hard effort of having added only three extra paragraphs to your text in all the time (you were a little busy staring at akaashi keiji’s pretty eyes; nobody was allowed to judge your slow pace).

you fell back with a big oohmpf and a yelp. 

dazed, you looked up at the ceiling, the low warm light of the library in the midst of the dark outside looking enticing enough to fall asleep right there. you stayed on the ground for a second, most of your fall cushioned by the chair, though your butt still throbbed with the impact. 

“hey,” a couple steps resonated before a messy head of curls peeked over you, one hand holding the glasses in place, while the other was reaching towards you to help you up, “you alright?”

“y-yeah,” you sat up, shaking your head a bit to clear it from the zoning out you were doing before gravity decided to take you down, “i suppose that’s why teachers always say not to rock your chair back and forth.”

suppressed laughter, mild concern, and a warm hand engulfing you, “what a delinquent. i bet the teachers loved you.”

“hey! what’s that supposed to mean? they loved me! incredibly so!”

“okay. i think i need help.”

“of course, what do you need?”

“do you understand what i’m trying to convey when i phrase it like that? ugh, i’m scared it’s too convoluted.”

“give me a second,” he finished up his sentence, then came over, “let me see.”

his chest pressed against the back of your (now upright) chair as he leaned over you to read your run-on sentence was distracting you. he wasn’t touching you per se, but the placement of his hands on the arms of the chair could cage you in, make you feel like he was embracing you from behind, so much taller than you. the warmth emitting from behind you made you want to fall asleep and let your head land in the crook of his neck.

he was breathing softly, the air caressing your hair, and when he reached out to point at your words, your eyes followed the red knuckles, his clean nails and the size of his hands. 

“you mean that the west created orientalism as a cultural and intellectual framework, right?” — a quick nod of yours — “alright, then i think if you cut this in two sentences, for one to showcase the interpretation of the east and then dive deeper into the colonisation in the next sentence — that would make it more understandable. say, am i making you nervous?”

blinking, “w—what? where did that come from?”

he leaned down slightly, face hovering next to yours, his voice slightly raw and close to your earshell, “don’t forget to breathe. also, you have a typo — row three, the fourteenth word.”

“evil,” your breathing was clipped from the insinuation that he may have had an effect on you, heart pumping blood through your body like crazy as if it was held at gunpoint, “i bet the teachers really disliked you.”

despite that, you brought him a cup of coffee when you returned from your bathroom break, too.

“you alright, akaashi?” you asked.

akaashi keiji looked up, his hand rubbing his neck, kneading the knots out of his tense shoulders. his eyes, until just short of when you called him, had been glazing over, a little bit of a vacant look entering the blue of his eyes, but when you called his name, he had snapped out of it, and his features relaxed slightly, away from his troublesome thoughts. his dark brows furrowed deeply above his eyes.

“yeah, just thinking about all the deadlines coming up. it’s…” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink, and he leaned back in the uncomfortable library chairs; another big sigh escaping him, “...a lot.”

“yeah,” you agreed and stood up, walking over to him. his surprised gaze followed you, and when you stood right next to him with his head tilted back, the wavy strands of hair following gravity, looking up at you with those eyes, you felt a tug in your chest that told you to kiss him. you didn’t. 

instead, you nodded to the window, “let’s take a walk and a breather,” and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, “a zeugma. get it, mr. japanese literature?”

his shoulders stayed relaxed, and he laughed again; a brilliant smile on his lips and you thought of how you wanted to kiss him even more. his eyes felt lighter, too, when he pushed back his chair and stood up, body entirely too close for what probably should have been appropriate for two students who had only properly met today for the first time. or was it already the next day?

but neither of you moved for a second, drinking in the presence of each other, before he grabbed his jacket off his backrest, “i think you can do better.”

“well, i think it was pretty good.”

akaashi shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes, competing with the sparkle of the glasses when he turned and the light hit him just right, “and i think i have you beat there.”

you grumbled but caught up to him nonetheless.

it was cold outside. 

the kind that slithered through between the folds of your clothing to nestle deep in the crevices of your soul. the kind that had you shuddering and sending remnants of cannons into the air with every breath, the moisture immediately misting up. 

akaashi keiji was walking next to you, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, though his exhales were shaky too, chest trembling with compressed and suppressed shivers. you were already as close to him for warmth as possible without being weird or too straight-forward, though you wish you could just cling to his arm — it was that icy.

“i feel like i can’t even think,” you mumbled, already feeling your lips starting to numb, the tip of your nose burning. 

“me neither, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he breathed out, the warm air blowing past your temple, and his cheeks were so pink, it was cute, “sometimes it’s all too stressful, and i wish i could turn off my brain.”

“does that happen a lot?” 

you referred to the way his face looked like there was a headache incoming, how his fingers froze and his shoulders locked in; the way he seemed to absolutely crumble under the prospect of the things he needed to do and that awaited him. 

akaashi had an embarrassed smile on his face, shoulders drawn up for some warmth, the fuzziness of his jacket’s hood surrounding his reddening cheeks, “sometimes. there’s a lot of expectations riding on passing my classes. not just passing them, but passing them well.”

“by whom?” you leaned forward; curious eyes trying to catch his, “expectations set by the profs or by yourself?”

he stared at you, and his lips were slightly open; with every exhale, condensation snaked up the air like smoke, dissolving in the cold atmosphere all around you, though the air between you was slightly warm. his eyes looked kind and vulnerable for a second, “what a callout. guess i can’t even pretend that it’s not me, huh? you caught me.”

“not yet, i didn’t,” you dared say, and he stopped walking, even though it was colder to stay still than to move. you stopped, too. a snowflake floated between you, landing on his pink nose, melting at the warmth. 

the entire evening long — ever since you had bumped into him making coffee and you both went from studying alone to studying together, little jokes and jibes passing between you, curiosity and interest swapping between you with every glance, solitary and shared, you felt there was maybe a chance for something more. not necessarily all the way if it didn’t work out, but more to explore, more of him and you to meet.

“what does that mean, miss cultural studies?”

you blinked up at him, “i don’t know, mr. japanese literature. you’re the one who reads between the lines of books and analyses everything.”

“i’m not that far into my course,” he told you, seriously, and for a second you almost believed him, but then his eyes crinkled as he hid his smile behind the fluff of his jacket, and you pulled out one of your hands from the pockets of your coat to lightly pull his ear, not enough to cause pain but enough to chide him.

“you liar,” you said with no malice, voice soft and as your hand trailed down to hide your fingers in warmth again, his hand, fast as ever, pulled out of his own jacket, grabbed yours and stuffed both your hands in his pocket instead. 

incredibly warm, fingers locked between each other, soft skin kissing yours, “let’s go, it’s too cold.”

sometime around 2 am in the morning, you decided that you were going to fall asleep right then and there. sadly, coffee barely had an effect on your body anymore after having put your body through caffeine abuse for so long. 

during the hours of studying together, one of you moved closer to the other, so both of your books and notes were strewn together, sharing a space. his thermos cup stood next to a bunch of other cups both of you had drunk out of, because you kept forgetting to take the mug you were using with you and were forced to bring new ones. 

scrutinising a well-read book in the dim light, you ask, “is this mine?”

“unless you want to take home a copy of the setting sun with you and dissect the theme of youth in crisis, then i’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“ugh, i can’t even read anything anymore,” a beat of sly silence, “or you know, maybe i do want to. then i’ll have an excuse to see you again.”

“or,” akaashi butted in and gently offered you his phone, his smile straightforward yet a shy edge sweetening it up, “you can give me your number and we’ll meet up for another study session when you’re available. how’s that sound?”

in lieu of an answer, you saved your contact in his phone; your fingers caressing his under pretense of giving it back to him, and his movement was delayed, allowing the contact between you two to linger for a moment more.

“i’ll walk you back.”

“it’s not that far, so you don’t have to. it’s cold, too.”

akaashi sent you a look that very much told you he did not care how cold it was, there was no way he would let you walk alone at night. and when he did, your hands were buried in his pocket again. 

the world was quiet and still, as if you were caught up in another plane of existence for the past hours. a limbo of sleepy nature, perpetually falling snowflakes, the constant of the warmth akaashi offered, the bumping of arms as you walked in silence, subtly pulling him either to the left or the right when you needed to change the path.

“when is your assignment due?” you asked, lips barely moving from the cold, so you had to hiss out the words, barely understandable.

“four days ‘til friday. yours?”

“monday.”

another shaky exhale, the tremble evident in your shoulders, and you opted to walk a bit faster, even though you didn’t want to part with him yet. but cold was cold, and you would like to keep your toes still alive and kicking. so, it was no wonder that you arrived at your dormitory relatively fast, though even then, both of you stood in front of the entrance, not ready to say goodbye yet, not ready to leave the world of the dead and wake up the next day to greet the same usual bullshit. 

“meet me tomorrow,” he said with blue lips and red cheeks.

“okay,” you responded, heart fluttering when he didn’t let go of your hand. instead he took a step back and you were forced to follow, because you didn’t let go of his hand, either.

one step, another, a third one, then the tentative meeting of cold mouths. his breath was warm, his tongue warmer, and gradually your lips returned to their soft, mellow state. kissing him felt gentle, it felt safe and it felt like you could sink into him, like awaiting and catching you was a giant cloud that kept you floating up.

he kissed like he was a romantic. like he lived and breathed words meant for you, with the dedication and attention to detail only a writer or an artist could have, every stroke, every painted image on paper. he kissed like he had known you for a long time and intended to know you for even longer.

when you both parted, your lashes were brushing the rim of his glasses and your nose caressing his cheek, lips only inches away so it was only natural to kiss him again. 

“see you,” he let go of your hand at last.

later, an unknown number texted you, and you thought yourself corny, but you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your features at the cheesy line akaashi keiji thought he had you beat with:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i left my other book and also my heart with you

and then:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i really do need the book though, bring it tomorrow please :( goodnight x

[iguessitsjustme]

When It Rains It Pours Ep 3 & 4 Thoughts

Listen. I am currently at work and not about to watch this show (for at least a few more hours) but I after deciding to wait to watch the next episode and sleeping on it, my little brain wheels started turning and I have some thoughts to get out about the first two episodes before I start the next one. So this time there is more than just a liveblog under the cut:

I wrote that and then immediately had to actually do work. Alas. Anygay

So I was thinking about why the relationship between our boy and his girlfriend felt off to me and I think I puzzled it out. She takes immaculate care of his nails. To the point that other people notice. But his nails are where her care starts and ends. He is initiating all of their conversations basically. She will engage with him but she won't start anything. Except the nail thing. It's why he wants her to be jealous. Because then he will have some sort of proof that she cares. Cause at this point it doesn't feel like she cares about him as a person. She cares about his nails and their appearance because if they look bad that is a poor reflection on her as a girlfriend. But his actual well being and how he feels? She's not present for it. Sure, she'll turn around before she leaves and asks for a hug, but it's so out of character and out of place that our boy doesn't even realize that's what she's asking for at first. He needs to communicate his needs with words, but he has definitely been indirectly communicating his needs and she's not paying attention. Or she is and she doesn't care. And she is not communicating anything either. Their beds have separated to the point there is a table between them. A clear indicator that what they had before is changed. It can easily be moved back to how it was but neither one of them is doing it. No one is even making an attempt. Who put that bedside table there? Because my bet is that it was her. A signal to him that something had changed, but she doesn't have the guts to actually say it. Or even to admit it to herself probably. Anyway I still think she's cheating.

And now I want to talk about Sei and his boyfriend (?). It seems like Sei has made an awful lot of compromises. Does Sei have any say in anything to do with that relationship? How much of himself has he given? Way too much. And I'm not saying his boyfriend (?) needs to compromise on having sex with him if that's not something he wants. But he can compromise on other things. That's what a relationship is. He gets jealous of Sei having someone else to talk to. But Sei can't be in the apartment because of an interviewer coming over. Sei is obviously a homebody but his boyfriend (?) seems to go out a lot. Does he ever make the time to stay home with Sei. Sei has proven he is willing to leave the apartment for his boyfriend (?). So why not invite him to something. Even if it's just the two of them. Why is Sei supposed to give up all of himself and have no control over anything at all?

Okay. That's a lot of words and I haven't even started episode 3. I didn't even mention the plastic umbrellas. Lord jesus.

OKAY. The fact that she TOLD him he has rice on his face instead of removing it for him. Something is not right. She doesn't love him. At least not any more. They don't have any sense of domesticity.

Oh so not boyfriends. Best friends. Okay that tracks. Except the jealousy thing. Also Sei has still given waaaayyyy too much of himself to this dude. He needs to be free to be himself. There's something there about being closeted.

I am watching. I am listening. I am learning. *hyper focuses on arms full of umbrellas*

Man I really wish I had the spoons to talk about the music in this show cause it is phenomenal. Someone remind me this weekend. That is if anyone wants that.

Something something framing. My brain is currently hibernating.

They are about to find out aren't they? God bless.

THEY BOTH EMAILED ABOUT THE STATUE. ARE THEY NOW GONNA LOOK AT EACH OTHER?

God bless.

Episode 4 time? Episode 4 time. (but only if this truck goes away it's shaking my whole apartment.)

Truck is gone. I am free. Episode 4 let me look at ya with my eyeballs

…have I mentioned that I haven't been getting much sleep lately?

Something something going down an escalator. He's going down. Towards hell? Making poor decisions cause he's gonna cheat on his girlfriend? Going to hell because he's going to learn about his attraction to men? And obviously gay people go to hell? I need a shot of those two together going up the escalator or I'm gonna scream.

Oh he's me. This is the literal exact thing I would say to my friend in this situation.

Okay I get it. I get it. I'm gonna be thinking about this scene for a while. The way Sei thought the messages as knew them were over. The way instead he was asked out to dinner. Because both of them need each other. They understand each other in a way no one has understood them before. They see themselves in each other. I'm fine. I'm totally and completely fine. Where are the umbrellas.

Oh the toe.

DID HIS FRIEND DESIGN THE CARD HOLDER? IS THAT WHAT THE SOMETHING IS. Or one of the somethings. Everything is connected.

"When he shows his masculine side it kills the mood" girl WHAT. Are you even attracted to him? Do you even like men? Girl. Be so fucking for real right now.

So I hate both of their partners. The girlfriend and the best friend. They are both keeping these two trapped and I HATE it.

Should I watch episode 5? *looks at the time*

[promiscvus]

Pugnacious

• Eren Yeager. Rough sex. Intense orgasm. Eren being a little mean. Squirting. Overstim. Reader Cries. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+

song to play while reading; Harder~ Chris brown

Eren watched intensely as your ass smack against his pelvis with every single angry thrust. He had you in the nastiest arch as you keep trying to pull yourself forward to get a sense of relief from the pleasurable pain. Eren has never fucked you like this he was a gentle and giving lover so imagine your surprise when he comes home angry and fucks you like he hates you. He was pissed, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 he came home after having another argument with Jean. He usually never lets Jean get under his skin with the shit he says — but this time Jean crossed the line. Jean had mentioned how he could fuck you much better than Eren could. The really pushed his buttons because 𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 could make you feel the way he could and he’s proving that to you right now. Just thinking about another man having his hands on you had him thrusting into you hard harder. Your moans and squeals just encourages him even more.

“𝙀𝙧𝙚𝙣! 𝙛-𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠! 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣! 𝙖𝙝𝙝!! 𝙥-𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!!!”

Your desperate pleads for him to slow down are falling upon deaf ears. The most you could do is try to reach backwards and push on his stomach to get him to ease up just a little. He smacks your hands away from his stomach and reaches up to grab your bohemian locs wrapping it around his hand and pull your head back using it as leverage to pull you back onto his dick. Hot tears forming in the corner of your eyes, your pussy clenching as a sign of your impending orgasm. Eren’s heavy and veiny hand comes down hard on your ass with a loud smack.

“𝙀𝙧𝙚—“ “𝙎𝙝𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙪𝙥 𝙮/𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙠”

That made you shut your mouth real quick. The only noises coming from you are moans and squeals adding onto the squelching sounds of your pussy. You loved when Eren got like this when he made you take his dick. He was getting tired of you trying to run from him. He needed you to feel how nobody could ever compare to him.

You were moaning and screaming out for him. Moaning out his name as you squirt all over his dick. It bullied you in a delectable way and you couldn’t help but to continue to cum all over it. In time you knew wouldn’t be able to take much more of this but he made you.

It wasn’t your fault — 𝙞𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩, he knew that it wasn’t your fault but he 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙙 you to understand nobody can do this to you but him and 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙞𝙢.

So he made you cum time and time again. Until that fact became imprinted into your brain.

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

What if the ROs and Mc switched bodies for a day?

Cassandra: Very confused on multiple scales, biggest concern? Switching back expeditiously. She does not like all these magic shenanigans, the idea of messing around and playing pranks while in your body doesn't even cross her mind. Her demeanor comes across very obviously still, despite wearing your face.

Valeria: Amazed and bamboozled, because like; what is even happening right now? She is still very animated while in your body so it might be a bit uncanny if your MC usually has a stoic expression, she would like to investigate how to switch back but only after she pulls some pranks on her brothers while they think it was you who did them.

Tomás: His brain is broken, like... what? how? Why? All that aside though, he too would like to switch back as quickly as possible, although... it is in fact kinda nice to be in your body, in a different sense than the usual. He would admire you with a whole new pair of eyes, your pretty eyes; would probably be easily distracted every time he passes by a mirror. Would probably make you say things he always wanted to hear while he has the opportunity; "You are so amazing Tomás, the best thing to ever happen to me. The only man I ever need in my life. You are so much stronger than me and I rely on you for so much." The more unlikely MC is to admit these things, the more he enjoys saying them while wearing your face and watching your annoyance while wearing his.

-

Ludovica: Also very bamboozled, but not as desperate to switch back for her own sake. If MC wants to swap back quickly than she too will help in any way she can, but if there is no rush? Then she is very happy to not be herself, being the person she loves the most in this world is an immense upgrade. Would probably look at herself/yourself in the mirror a lot and be positively beaming.

Aurelio: He is slightly shaken but is not is a rush to switch back, his first priority... is to see what sex feels like if the roles were reversed😏. Oh come on, how can you pass up on this wonderful opportunity! He get's it might be a bit uncomfortable if you are technically looking at yourself the whole time but, hey! He thinks your attractive! He also thinks he's wickedly attractive and will have no issue sleeping with himself. 😚 On the plus side, you and he can technically say you both have actually gone and fucked yourselves at least once.

Elio: Is only mildly surprised, he would be very curious how this happened and if this phenomenon could be studied. Be very unnerved how little this effects him and how normal he is treating all of this, although. The number one benefit he sees to this, is that he can probably use your face to get away with things he cannot. While he is a very attractive man, he himself does not see himself able to seduce people to get what he wants (on occasion; he knows to some degree that he is cute and can pout his way to get what he wants). But he sees you as sexy, and thus he figures he can make you act in a way while wearing your face to seduce people into doing what he wants. MC better stop him lol.

[fmhobeus]

house and you as pill/smoke buddies is on my brain rn mhmmm...

it probably starts when he catches you on the roof, blunt in hand, sighing into the void. your lab coat is abandoned on the sill. hard day at the hospital, child patient. couldn't save them. you know this is a high stress job, emotionally draining and you've never been good at coping. so there you are. some diazepam you swallowed down thirty minutes prior already in your system. must've kicked in already. house see's you and he's instantly intrigued by the arch of your back and the curve of your hips. perfect in those tight pencil skirts you wear. he doesn't know you but he's dying to figure out.

"i think you've stolen my spot." he clambers up to you. he's surprised you hadn't turned when you heard the cane. were you so deep in thought? you turn to look at him. register him. disheveled looking older man, 5 o'clock shadow, piercing blue eyes... and so you're type. you try to recall who he is. definitely a physician from the absence of a lab coat. is this the infamous...

"dr. house," he states. obviously the speed of your reaction, or lack thereof had intrigued him. your pupils were dilated and your breathing was irregular... though you might attribute that to present company "and you should not be this high while still in the hospital."

you breathe out the smoke you inhaled with a slight smirk. it makes him smirk too. you turn your back to the view and face him and subsequently eye his frame. he returns the favor, a lot less suggestively then you were. but of course he can't hold you to it, the way your eyes flutter is mostly because of the weed. heavy, intoxicating eyes. something tells you he doesn't mind it.

"don't tell. i'll leave in a minute and you can have your space back" you say.

"i said you stole my spot... who says you have to give it back?"

you smile and scoot over, tilting your head slightly gesturing him to join you. he pops two vicodin innocuously but you notice.

"damn, you swallow your pills dry? you're a sociopath" you giggle.

"i thought you as a doctor would be careful throwing around serious medical terms like that" he says, feigning an accusation. there's something about the intensity of eye contact you're holding. you've just met the guy and there's wayyy too much sexual tension in the air.

"not in the psychiatric department so no one can hold me to it," you say, blowing smoke in another direction. some part of house wanted you to blow the smoke right at him, not breaking the mutual eyefucking going on at the moment.

"how else did you get the lorazepam you've taken?" he asks, a sly tone like he has you all figured out. this was just a question to get you to spill the beans about your department. god you made him so curious. rarely had he seen a hot young doctor brazenly smoking after, presumably, taking a little something something. one so open to converse with an old man whose in her business.

you chuckle at his self assuredness.

"wanna take another guess?"

house uses this to shamelessly eye you. you're well put together, great sense of fashion. nice proportions. your body, not the outfits... he'd prefer you without them surely. no tremor. no injury, so no usual pain medication. you let out a heavy sigh and house darts his eyes towards your chest. great rack, he thinks, almost like he's going to put it in this mental patient report he's creating.

"hmmm, haloperidol? you don't strike me as the psychosis type though... valium wouldn't give you selective hearing. diazepam?"

"you know your anxiety medication, doc," you smile. he sighs abashedly. god he's hot. something about that rasp in his voice, good god, paired with the vanity radiating off his skin... it does something to you. you finally introduce yourself, partially because you need him to call you by your name in the same raspy, smug tone.

"pediatric pulmonology..." he puts a hand to his chin, scratching his stubble as if contemplating something serious, "it's always the childcare specialists trying to overdose on the hospital terrace. dont blame you, if i had to deal with those parasites i'd want to kill myself too."

you shoot him a look. your sure you dont need to tell him the stakes of the job, the weight on your soul when a child with an obvious chronic and fatal condition comes into intensive care. the cruel hand fate plays on a mere baby. "kids are a product of their environment." you put plainly. you look away into the distance. "and i'm not trying to kill myself. not yet anyway." he stops prodding, obviously he's ticked you in some way.

"are you trying to kill yourself? doctor house?" you stare at him now, and then move your eyes to the almost empty bottle of vicodin.

"oh, i'm an addict. an addict whose due for a refill." he puts the bottle at eye level, as if examining a test tube. you can't help but give a defeated smile at his bluntness. you stare off into space again. a hollow silence follows. you don't dare look at house once.

"you mind if i take a hit"

his question catches you off guard. there's an earnest in his blue eyes. almost as if involuntarily, almost hypnotized, you hand him the joint. your fingers brush as if on purpose. your breath hitches again. and house notices, coloring his eyes a different shade of vain. he puts the blunt to his lips, your eyes follow his every move with heed. the pink of his lips soon emit the familiar smoke. he looks you right in the eyes as he blows it onto your face. you bask in the smoke letting it cloud you. cloud your judgement for a split second as you lean forward. for a kiss? maybe but

house puts the blunt to your lips this time, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. you look up at him through your lashes, eyes blown out wide. he's so tall, even with his cane. he lets you intake the smoke for a second longer than you like, maintaining the intense gaze on you. there's a kick in your stomach. maybe it's something. maybe it's nothing. maybe you're just high. but you swear you've never been wetter.

[sunmooncups]

Day 11: Lovestruck

Little ps: I drawed one headcanon. And translate this text. This not my headcanon and idk who author. But, if you author, please, can you come to comments? (I hide Author. This is someone Okti. I hope i right)

Headcanon:

Sonic is excited by Shadow's voice. At the stage of falling in love in their relationship, Sonic's brain could not forget Shadow's voice and constantly played it. Blue got such a thrill from hearing Shadow talk, it was impossible to compare it to anything. The green-eyed man did not receive such inspiration, the feeling of butterflies in his stomach, but at the same time calm and warmth from any sounds, as from Shadow's voice. His voice is something incredible. Music to the ears.

When Red-Eyed realized that Blue liked his voice, he began to play with tones more often to figure out what would bring Sonic the most joy. Often whispers all sorts of things in his ear before going to bed, or in general in everyday life.

Even after some time of their relationship, when they have already passed the stage of "falling in love" and are already sharing their life together, Sonic is still turned on in every sense by Shadow's voice. That's why often in the evenings/nights Sheds gently whispers sweet pleasant words and compliments to Sonic in a half-tone, and Sonic sighs lovingly and smiles, getting goosebumps all over his body, until he falls asleep like this in the arms of his beloved black and red hedgehog

[thecosmickight]

I just got off a night shift and am now at the mechanic for a brake light. This may not make any sense as I am exhausted.

Since I am not all that great at writing A/B/O stories, I have decided on new horrors to put Woo Jinchul through.

Mana in the solo leveling universe (whether fanon or canon) can do an array of things. My brain has decided pregnancy is one of those, and yes, I have thought about mana pregnancy in depth. It will not be graphic in this post, however.

Jinchul is the 'mother' in this story. Poor man works himself to exhaustion and starts passing out. It's small little naps at first. Someone notices when he passes out on his way to the break room one morning.

Poor healer that's called in thinks they are going crazy when they detect another life in Jinchul. Possible parasite, cause what else could it be, means mandatory hospital visit.

Ultrasound proves it's not a parisite, and Jinchul is just as confused as the doctors at the image on the screen.

Jinchul, as far as the doctors can tell, is at least 2 months pregnant.

There is a 'cloak' of mana surrounding the baby, acting like a womb.

The hospital moves Jinchul to a research institute for mana anomalies.

Go Gunhee finds out since Jinchul now has to do work from the institution. The doctors ask Gunhee for help in getting Jinchul to give up the information on how he got pregnant.

It comes to light that Jinchul made a parents worse nightmare come to life. He hooked up with a random man, in a different country, at a masquerade, and got pregnant.

He has no idea who the man was, he noticed how weird their mana acted during intimacy and that the other hunter is a S-rank. He thought nothing of it and has no way, yet, of finding the man. He would prefer to handle one problem at a time.

Gunhee inquires footage from the event when he leaves for the association. In the meantime, he teases/lectures Jinchul.

A month/ two months go by before Jinchul is able to identify the 'father'.