#luigi drill

[amvmariosonic]

Luigi Power Ups

[wario-land]

Game Boy Advance's All Stars in...

SUPER SMASH BROS. ADVANCE

A concept idea made by me, because i love GBA and it's various games

[shaymindreamy]

“I gotta help my bro!”

This scene hit more than it should for me lmao dream team was a bop

The art under most of the light and luiginoids below

[billumination]

Not-so-wonderful power ups

[bberetd]

GRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Guided Brooding

AO3 Link!

~~~

“Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro!”

The words ticked back and forth like a metronome in Mario’s head, changing in pace with each new song, but always relatively consistent in its rhythm. Inevitably a stray thought or a stumble would make him lose track, but then Luigi would call out the counts once more until he was (more or less) back in rhythm. That was probably his only saving grace, if he was being honest with himself.

Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro. Shoulders. Square. Spine. Straight. Don’t. Step on. Luigi’s. Feet. Uno. Due. Tre. Quattro.

“Okay! Ready for Phase Two?”

Luigi’s sudden interjection broke Mario’s concentration, and immediately he stumbled and trampled his younger twin’s foot (which made Incident #58, if he was keeping count correctly), yet Luigi didn’t flinch. He guided them both to a standstill, some conspiratorial twinkle in his eye.

“Phase Two?” Mario was almost afraid to ask. No, scratch that— he was afraid.

His brother immediately justified his fears. “Spin me.”

“What—”

“Spin spin!”

With that, Luigi lifted his left arm and Mario’s right, stooping to fit beneath their linked hands as he turned on the balls of his feet. Mario was forced to stand on his toes and thrust the entire right side of his body as high as possible just to keep from losing his grip, and even then, he barely succeeded. He was milliseconds from tipping too far left and faceplanting into the hardwood when it mercifully ended.

“With room to spare!” Luigi cheered on the other side. “See? You’ve got this down!”

Mario stared him down as he resettled on his feet. Luigi, in his defense, had the foresight to wear heels for this impromptu practice. But the tallest shoes he could keep his balance in still only put him at 5’8, a paltry number next to Peach’s 6’1 in her usual modest heels and 6’3 in her finest ballroom attire (read: the heels she would most likely wear during the real deal).

Mario, all 5’1 of him, did not in fact have this down.

The final notes of a mid-tempo song faded into needle chatter. Another record played all the way through. Another testament to his own failure.

As soon as Luigi let go, Mario found himself numbly shuffling towards their couch, pushed against the wall some hours earlier to give the brothers more room to practice. Not that this stopped them from colliding with the cushions or stubbing their toes against the wooden legs. The elder brother paid no mind to his twin rummaging through their music collection and casting suggestions in his direction. 

“...but since it’s kinda jazzy it might be harder to keep up with, but that could also give us a chance to practice, like, syncopation! And maybe that would…” But what did it matter? The next record would serve the same purpose as the first two: background music to accompany his downfall.

Mario plopped his backend onto the overstuffed cushions with the same grace he’d displayed dancing with his brother (which was to say, none). His legs were tired. His calves burned and his thighs tingled from overexertion. Since when did his restless legs get tired? He leaned over the back of the couch and stared up at the slats in the ceiling, as if they might crack open and bring forth some divine revelation that would make this whole mess make sense.

“...Mario? Hey, you okay, bro?”

Mario, burdened with two left feet and a heart that just had to yearn for the unattainable, was not in fact okay. 

He thought he’d known what to expect when he accepted his new role as Peach’s personal guard. She warned upfront that it would be dull and unexciting most of the time, standing through long-winded meetings and sitting through lectures about the inner workings of the Kingdom’s government. It all paled in comparison to the promise that he could spend more time at her side, and even better, the promise that he could serve her and protect her whenever she needed him.

He hadn’t really considered the social aspects of the role until that afternoon. He’d been just as excited for next week’s royal soiree as Peach was. Since he was required to hover nearby wherever his Princess went, he could easily swoop in and save her should any particularly chatty guests monopolize her time — they’d invented hand signs and covert exchanges and everything, which they practiced and perfected over tea cakes and laughter — but what had excited Peach most…

“I’ll finally get a dance out of you yet!” She’d dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, her smile naïve yet mischievous. “It would be rude for my own guard to refuse any of my requests, after all.”

And she was right. Time after time she badgered him for a dance when he attended her parties as a mere guest. Time after time he informed her that dancing with him was a disastrous idea. It was a game, a playful ongoing back-and-forth, never a serious request , surely not. But now…

She was serious. Oh, stars, she was serious.

“I’m doomed,” Mario groaned at last.

Luigi groaned right back at him, mirroring his tone almost perfectly, and Mario might have been annoyed if he wasn’t also a bit impressed. The clack clack clack of high heels against hardwood tracked across the room, then the couch dipped beside him.

“C’mon,” Luigi said, nudging his shoulder against Mario’s. “Big feelings. Let’s talk ‘em out. You won’t feel better until you do.”

Mario huffed. Feelings. Feelings were supposed to be joyful and colorful and make life more vibrant. Feelings like this served no purpose other than to dampen that color. Life was too short to waste, too beautiful to squander, and sitting around wallowing in his own misery only squandered it further. 

Wallowing with a loved one gets it over with a lot faster, Luigi was always reminding him. And Luigi, who was never one to suffer in silence, was admittedly more of an expert on the topic than Mario was, so who was he to question that wisdom?

He sighed heavily. Might as well.

“I’m gonna screw it all up, Weegee.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’ll look like an idiot. Or worse, I’ll— I’ll make her look like an idiot!”

“You know she won’t let that happen.”

“But it’s not her job to keep me from messing up! I’m the one that’s— it’s my job to—”

“It’s not a job, it’s dancing. A couple mistakes here and there won’t bother her, you know that!”

“Well, no, but…”

Mario clenched his jaw.

He could almost see it, like an image in light projected on the panels above his head. Dancing with Peach. She would guide his steps with patience and grace. He would hold her slender hand safely in his own and hang on her every instruction, and every time he tripped or stepped on her foot, she would giggle, correct him, and lead him back into a steady rhythm.

A smile tugged at his lips. Learning to dance in the haven of her private garden, the rustle of leaves in lieu of music, away from prying eyes…

But it couldn’t happen like that. No, he couldn’t waste their first dance forcing her to teach him. She deserved better. She deserved a competent dancing partner. One who could match her expertise with confidence, who she could trust to fall into step with her right away… who wouldn’t falter even when the whole nation’s eyes were on them…

Mario sat back up just so he could hunch forward, resting his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers through his hair. “I can’t mess this up.” It came out far weaker than he’d hoped. He really was pathetic.

While he sulked, Luigi patted his back and hummed, the drawn-out sort of Hrmmmmm that told Mario his answer wasn’t good enough. “Why not?”

You know why! seemed the most obvious response . Not that he could actually say as much; Luigi would make him say it out loud anyway, and he preferred to avoid invoking that impossible desire by name whenever he could, so he scrambled for an answer with fewer sharp edges.

“Because she’s…” Beautiful. Graceful. Intelligent. Artistic. Astonishing. Literally perfect. Long overdue for an entire religion revolving around her. “She’s a princess,” he eventually settled on.

“And you’re her best friend, yeah?” Luigi’s hand stilled for a moment, then he switched to rubbing circles into his brother’s back. “Look, I-I know this is important to you. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready! Just tell her! You know she won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Heat rushed through Mario’s body. He couldn’t even assemble an Absolutely Not before Luigi cut back in: “Compromises, remember? You can’t always let your pride win. I guarantee ya, promise her a dance next time, and she’ll be over the moon.”

Though he hated to entertain the thought, Mario knew he was right. He grumbled in displeasure as he mulled over the notion. Peach had never commanded him to dance. Though she’d presented it as an order of sorts, he did know she wouldn’t force him into it. It was merely a suggestion, one he was perfectly free to refuse.

…Just like his place as her guard, come to think of it.

“The motion for your appointment passed Parliament unanimously,” Peach told him that day, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes unable to select a focal point. “But please understand that you’re under no obligation to accept! It’s… unfair, asking so much of you, given how much you’ve already done. Those are my thoughts, anyway.”

Mario never intended to refuse the offer, but initially, he was apprehensive. He was plenty strong, and he had rescued her from abduction once already, and he would do everything in his power to help her. But how much power did he actually possess? Was it enough to keep her safe? Was it enough to live up to whatever expectations were laid upon him, not just by Peach, but by her government? By its people? “Bodyguard to a Princess” wasn’t a program his vocational school had offered.

But one good look at said Princess overrode his doubts. Her fingers drumming against her knuckles, the small smile she kept forcing into something more neutral, her gaze shifting between her gloved hands and the surrounding shrubbery and, eventually, Mario’s face— growing up with an autistic twin taught Mario to be extra attentive to nonverbal cues. Peach’s offer was every bit as much for her sake as it was for his and for her Parliament’s.

In her words, she expressed reluctance, but in her body language, she gave her true thoughts away. And in her eyes, sparkling turquoise in the morning sunlight, he found his answer.

Her eyes had sparkled just as brilliantly today, discussing a prospective dance with her dearest friend and devoted guard. He wouldn’t be the one to extinguish her spark.

You can’t always let your pride win.

What a silly thing to say to Super Mario, Hero of the Mushroom Kingdom, Bodyguard to its Princess. Of course his pride would always triumph. That was kind of his schtick, wasn’t it?

“Okay, enough internal monologuing.” The weight on Mario’s back was lifted, and Luigi’s hand relocated to his head, tousling his curls playfully. “You gonna talk this through with me? Or am I gonna have to drag it outta ya?”

Another rush of heat overtook him, but this time, there was no indignation. This was the heat of renewed purpose. Lifting his face, the warm lights of their living room filled Mario’s vision once more, and suddenly the empty floor before him called to him with a pull he refused to ignore.

His muscles protested as he stood, but he paid them no mind. Every obstacle could be conquered with enough determination. He’d fail as many times as he needed to so he could succeed, just once, just for her.

“Hey— external!” Luigi cried after him. “External monologue! Don’t leave me in the dark, bro!”

Mario grinned as he closed the gap between himself and the record player. “You’re right,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m not gonna screw it up.”

The clack clack clack of block heels followed him once more. “And why’s that?”

“Because I haven’t let her down yet.” He pulled the first record his hands touched out of its case and set it into place. “And I’m not gonna start now!”

“And why’s that, huh?”

“Because…” A bright, jazzy instrumental filled the air, and Mario waved his hands with a flourish, grasping for words other than the ones Luigi was goading him to say. “Because I don’t know when to quit, I guess!”

“And why’s that? ”

“Stelle santo—”

He found Luigi waiting for him at the center of the room, his arms folded, his right hip jutting outward, his high-heeled left foot tapping in expectation. The smirk he fixed Mario with was far too devious for his liking.

“Well, if my beloved baby bro is any indication,” he shot back, mirroring Luigi’s folded-armed stance and meeting him where he stood, “then I guess being annoyingly hard-headed just runs in the family.”

Luigi’s smirk wavered. “Baby bro?”

Mario huffed, if only to keep his own mask from slipping. “I was around when you were a baby. That counts.”

“You were a baby when I was a baby.”

“Well I still have twenty minutes on you, so at one point I was literally twenty times your age. Doesn’t get much more baby than that, yeah?”

Their competitive stares held strong a few seconds more, then they faltered, their make-believe tension powerless against the lively music. Both brothers clasped each other by the arms and chuckled, and just like that, Mario’s earlier angst was gone.

And these sorts of feelings he was all too happy to let himself feel.

“Thank you.” Mario pulled in closer to clasp Luigi’s shoulder. “For… being so stubborn.”

The corners of Luigi’s eyes crinkled as he mirrored the motion, clasping Mario’s opposite shoulder. “Guided brooding. That’s all it is.”

“And that’s all I need, I guess.” Mario soaked in the contentment a moment longer, then he let his arm fall to Luigi’s waist, releasing his opposite arm to take his hand. “C’mon. We’re losing moonlight.”

Luigi nodded firmly. “Way ahead of ya.”

Maybe Mario’s newfound drive didn’t grant him lighter feet or better coordination, but his heart felt so much lighter. He was able to laugh and joke with his brother when he made mistakes and celebrate each minor victory with sincerity. Nothing miraculous, maybe, but he could certainly work with it. And each time he fell out of sync, Luigi was right there to guide him back in.

“Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre! Quattro! Uno! Due! Tre!”

[viasdiary]

can you write more frat luigi you actually eat every single time

similar to the jerk with benefits fic!!

☆ hazing (luigi mangione x reader)

☆ word count: 845

☆ warnings: rough sex, intoxication, overstim

☆ asshole frat luigi takes your virginity not so gently

☆ based on this p!link and these pics

you’re so fucking drunk. you lay in the middle of luigi’s bed as he roughly kisses your neck and pulls at the straps of your top, trying to work them down your shoulders. he feels so good on top of you, his skin slightly sweaty, smelling faintly of cologne.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot” he says breathlessly against your skin. you run your fingers through his soft dark curls as he plants kisses down your chest, pulling your top down completely. he runs his hands over your bare skin, his touch sending shivers through your body. 

he pauses to look you in the eyes, his silver chain dangling above you.

"this is gonna be the best you’ve ever fuckin’ had, trust me." he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“it’s gonna be the first i’ve ever had,” you reply, barely a whisper.

“you’re a virgin?” he scoffs, the arrogant smile on his face growing. he continues kissing along your jawline as he runs his hands across your bare thighs.

"don’t expect me to be all gentle, alright? you’re gonna have to fuckin’ keep up."

he sits back to take off his white tank top, revealing his broad chest and defined abs, a few freckles scattered across his torso.

he gets back on top of you, pulling your skirt down your legs and letting it fall onto the bed. he kisses his way down your stomach, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and sliding them off.

he kneels between your legs, kissing his way up your inner thigh. he pauses when he reaches your hip, sucking on the tender skin. he pulls back and grins, admiring the faint mark already forming.

"i want everyone to know what i fuckin' did to you" he says, licking his lips.

"i want every guy to see it and wish they had a chance with you"

you moan softly as he runs his hands over your breasts, lightly rubbing your nipples. you gasp as he presses his tongue against your clit, moving in slow circles.

"fuck." you breathe, grabbing his hair.

"you like that?" he asks, grinning up at you.

"fuck yes,"

he slides his hand up your thigh and rubs his fingers against your wet pussy, causing you to squirm under his touch. he slips one inside, thrusting slowly.

"so fucking tight."

he adds another, picking up the pace. you can feel your climax building, your moans growing louder.

he pulls his fingers out and you whine at the loss of contact. he gets back on top of you, his hands traveling your body.

"you think i'm letting you fuckin' finish without me?" he chuckles softly, running his hands over your breasts.

he leans in to kiss you, his tongue pushing into your mouth. he tastes so good, faintly like beer. he kisses his way down your neck, nipping and sucking on the soft skin. he kneels in front of you on the bed, unbuckling his belt and pulling his jeans and boxers down. his hard cock springs free, his tip glistening with pre cum.

"you ready for this baby?" he asks, pumping his hand along his shaft.

"i'm gonna make you mine"

he leans over you, lining his cock up with your entrance. he slowly pushes inside, the stretch slightly painful. he groans as he buries himself inside of you. he holds your thighs open, pressing them into the bed as he drills deeper.

"so fuckin' tight...fuck..." he breathes.

you moan as he pounds into you, each thrust hitting your cervix. he watches your tits bounce as he slams into you, the sight driving him fucking insane.

"oh god," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs firmly, pushing them against your sides.

"it's too much" you whimper, as he practically folds you in half, pounding into you harder.

"shut the fuck up" he pants. "you can fuckin' take it." he picks up his pace, his moans growing louder.

"i'm so fuckin' close," you cry, arching your back.

"fuck yeah, i can tell." he replies, his breathing labored.

he leans forward, looking down at you as he continues pounding into you.

"say my fuckin' name."

"luigi," you moan, the intense feeling of him stretching you out almost sending you over the edge.

"louder baby." he urges. “let everyone hear me fuckin’ ruining you.”

"luigi, please" you beg, feeling your orgasm building.

"cum for me baby" he groans, fucking you so deep it feels he's breaking you. you can feel yourself getting close, your cries growing louder.

"that's right. fuckin' cum all over my cock" he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. he grips your thighs tighter as he pumps into you a few more times before letting out a deep groan, filling you completely.

you both stay like that for a minute, breathing heavily. he lets go of your legs, causing them to fall to either side of him. he falls on top of you, burying his face in your neck. you wrap your arms around him, your fingers gently brushing his soft curls.

"not too bad for a virgin." he chuckles against your skin.

[homestylehughes]

4 times luke wanted to kiss you and the 1 time he did.

pairing(s): luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: 4 times luke wanted to kiss you and the 1 time he did.

warning(s): absolutely none. pure sweet fluff.

wc: 2.1k

an: hi loves!!! back with another Luke fic...are we surprised? I'm a big fan of this little prompt, I was stuck between writing this for 3 different players, so I had google pick a number between 1-3 and 3 was Luke so here we are!! I love writing for luke, especially, cute and soft luke. more coming very soon!! I hope you guys enjoyed, like and reblog if you do! much love as always.

happy reading <3

1.

The first time Luke saw you, he thought he had experienced love at first sight. He was running late to practice, waking up only 5 minutes before he had to be there. quickly throwing on random clothes, slipping on his shoes and running out of his dorm at lightning speed. 

Not paying attention to his surroundings, his only focus was getting to practice on time to avoid having to do extra drills on the ice, given to him by his coach. Just as Luke turns the corner, he feels something or another person slam against his chest. Quickly pulling back to see the prettiest girl he's ever seen on the ground, with her books surrounding her. 

“Oh my gosh. I'm so so sorry '' Luke gushes out to the nameless girl in front of him. Quickly reaching down to help her grab her books. 

“Its okay, i should have watched where i was going” she says softly

“No it was completely my fault, I was in a rush, '' Luke says, offering a hand to help pull the girl from the ground.

“Oh, thank you” she says smiling as he takes his offering hand. Getting up, she brushes herself off before looking up at Luke, who's holding her books tightly in his hands. The pair staring at each other before Luke clears his throat, suddenly remembering he has a practice to get to, that's definitely late for now.

“Here's your books” he says handing her the stack, “again I'm so sorry for crashing into you” he finishes. 

“It's okay, things happen. No worries” she says, pushing a piece of hair behind her ears as she looks up at him.

“I'm really sorry to cut this short, but I have to go to practice, which I'm already late for..” he says, Luke's voice trailing off in embarrassment. 

“Oh! Of course! You better run” she giggles out 

“I'll see you around!” he shouts out as he begins to jog away from her. 

“My name's y/n!” he hears her shout from behind him 

“Luke!” he yells back to her, turning around quickly to find her standing there with a smile on her face, sending her one last wave. 

Luke couldn't help but have the same smile on his face as he ran the rest of the way to practice.

 Not caring about the ear full he was going to get from his teammates, and coach, or the drills he was going to have to do after practice. The only thing on his mind was you. wanting to know more about you, and maybe, but maybe how it felt to kiss you. 

2. 

Ever since Luke ran into you, 5 months ago, it's like gravity had forced you two together. Luke immediately looked you up on instagram the same night, following you instantly, hoping he'd have the chance to talk to you again. 

It seemed like god heard his wish, because now here is he with you in a spirit halloween as you guys try and find matching costumes for a halloween party, that you two had gotten invited to last minute.  

“Luke, what about this one?” you ask, holding up an adult sized mario costume. 

“Absolutely not” 

“Why not?? I think this fits you” you say giggling 

“WAIT. I have a better option.” turning around on your heel, picking up another costume, “Luke you are sooooo luigi” she says laughing

“Why do you hate me?” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“I do not! Stop being dramatic” yn sighs, “you've hated every option I've shown to you, this is the best option we have so far. If you don't want to go, just say so” 

The sound of your tone, towards the last part of the sentence is enough to make luke lift his head up in confusion. 

“Woah woah. I never said I didn't want to go, I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like that” he says, his hand finding your arm pulling it slightly, so you look up at him. 

“I'll love and wear anything you choose for me. Hell, I'll even wear a paper bag, if that makes you happy” he says, looking into your eyes. 

“Really?” 

“Yes really, now let's be the best mario and luigi the worlds ever seen” 

A smile spreads over your face, as you register his words, Luke can't help but get lost in your eyes, the plump of your lips, taking in every part of you, as you look up at him. 

Not caring if you were in the middle of an aisle in spirit halloween, in that moment luke really wanted to kiss you. 

3. 

Luke's hands couldn't help but shake as he sat on the couch with his brothers, today was the day. A day that could change his life for forever, the NHL draft. Everything he’s done, all of the blood sweat and tears he put into the sport, that he considered his life. it all came down to, today. 

The pressure of following in his brother's footsteps, wanting to be as good, even better than them. to play at the same level as them, had always been a goal of his. Now that he’s finally here, he can't help but be scared of what's to come. 

The lights and cameras are making it harder for him to calm his nerves, he knows he’ll get drafted, he knows he's good at what he does, but is he good enough for the NHL? 

His heart starts to beat even faster as the devils are about to select their pick for the draft, it would be a dream come through to be able to play with one his brothers. When they call his name, Luke can't help but be in complete shock. His family, and friends are all cheering and yelling around him. He can feel Jack jumping beside him yelling in his ear, as he stands up. Hugging his family, cheering with his friends. 

Turning around he sees you standing with his friends, cheering and clapping for him, seeing a few tears fall down your face, looking at him with the biggest smile on your face. Luke begins making his way to you, weaving through the crowd of people that separate you two. 

When he finally reaches you, your arms instantly wrap around him, his arms finding your waist as he pulls you off your feet, spinning you around before sitting back down you. 

“I'm so so proud of you luke” you say with a wide smile on your face

“I wouldn't have been able to do it without you, thank you for standing by my side” 

“There's no one else I'd rather cheer for than you,” you say, running your hand across his cheek. Luke couldn't help but feel a rush of heat spread through his body, as you touched his face. Wanting nothing more than to pull you into him, because he really really wanted to kiss you. 

4. 

With the hockey season coming to an end for the devils, after a rough year, luke wanted nothing more than to be in michigan away from all things hockey. Most importantly he wanted to be around you, only seeing you about 5 times a year was taking a toll on him. He missed you more than he’d admit, so when he had asked you to come to the lake house for two weeks during the summer, it was an offer she couldn't turn down. 

Pulling up the Hughes lake house was like a dream come true. The bright sun hitting yn’s skin, taking in the smell of the lake and the view around her, the summer breeze blowing on her face. As yn makes her way to the trunk of her car, she hears the front door open, turning around to see Luke running towards her with a smile on his face. Pulling her into a bone crushing hug as soon as he reaches her, your body feeling like home against his. 

“I cant believe youre actually here” luke says looking down at her

“Well you invited me, of course I'd be here. I wouldn't trade it for the world.” 

“I missed you so much” he says softly leaning down loser to her face

“I missed you more luke” yn counters, their faces are so close together that luke can feel yn breath fanning his face, from each breath she takes. 

Just as he's about to connect their lips together, he can hear Quinn and Jack run out the door, interrupting their almost kiss. Luke pulled away quickly, before his brothers could see. 

“LOOK WHO IT IS '' Jack shouts to yn, before jogging over bringing her into a hug. 

“So glad you're finally here, moosey here has been whining about how much he missed you.” Quinn teases him, wrapping his arm around yn’s neck pulling her towards the house, as both him and Jack begin to talk her ear off. 

“Hey! That's not fair you're taking my guest away from me "Luke shouts to him, a slight pout paints his lips and he watches them walk away with you.

“Oh suck it up lover boy, you'll see her everyday for two weeks straight.'' Jack quips at him as they head into the house. 

Luke lets out a loud sigh in response, turning around to grab her bags out of the car. Thinking only a few minutes ago, you guys were so close, so close. Luke really wants to kiss you, and he doesn't know much longer he can go without it. 

1+

Luke thinks he's going crazy, being around you for a little over a week during the heat of summer, seeing you walk around and tiniest swimsuits, and barely any actual clothing, was beginning to play tricks on his mind, or maybe it was the heat he couldn't tell. But what he did know was it was getting harder and harder each day to not pull your lips against his. 

Everyone always seemed to be in the way of Luke getting you alone, so he can tell you how he feels. Whether it was his brothers, his friends or family, something always got in his way, and he's had enough of it. 

“Luke, do you wanna go on a walk?” yn asks standing in the doorway of the kitchen as luke grabs a bottle of water from the fridge

“Yeah of course, let me grab my shoes” he says smiling at her

Turning around, Luke makes his way to the front door, slipping on a pair of beat air forces, “ready?” he calls to yn. 

“I am” she says, trailing behind him as he heads out the door. 

They walk in silence for a few moments, before Luke breaks the silence that surrounds him, “is everything okay?” he asks 

“Yes everything is fine, I just wanted to be around you alone. I feel like I've seen you, but not at the same time?” 

“I definitely get that, I just want you all to myself.” luke responds 

“You must really like me huh?” 

“More than you even know” Luke says before he can catch himself, his words causing her to stop dead in her tracks, turning to look at him.

“What do you mean” yn asks 

“I-i like you” luke quickly says 

“I like you too luke” 

“No yn, I mean I like you, I love you. I've loved you for the past 2 years, ever since I ran into you. You know the first thing i thought when i saw you was gosh this girl is so beautiful. I was so tempted to skip practice, just to talk to you more. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to admit that you '' he finishes, yn’s eyes wide as she looks at him. 

Luke can feel his heart almost beating out of his chest as he waits for her response. 

“What do you want to do right now?” she asks 

“What?” luke asks confused by her question 

“What do you want to do right now luke.” she asks again, her eyes still locked with his 

“I'd really like to kiss you” he says slowly

“What's stopping you?” she says, with a small smile on her face

Luke wastes no time leaning down and connecting their lips together, her lips are warm against his, as they move together. His hands are on her hips, pulling her closer to him, as their lips continue to move together as one. Pulling back, Luke rests his forehead against hers as they catch the beaches looking at each other. 

“I love you” yn says softly, luke cant help but smile at her words, before connecting their lips back together again. 

Because all that luke hughes wanted to was kiss the girl that he was in love with, and this time he was. 

[scoutofmymind]

fratboy!Luigi x i-dont-wanna-be-here!Reader just randomly had the thought of Lu being a rowdy frat boy and got kinda Tingly

Divine Timing Bullshit { Luigi x Reader }

Content: pretty much SFW (if you read about an alleged assassin at work), kissing, existential crisis, Fratboy Lu is actually a sweetie

W.c: 2,485

Notes; Yeah he’s an aggro-frat boy, but he’s also a stoned philosopher, and you appreciate that, because you’re kind of losing it.

Ohh, oh, oh. Yes, yes, yes. Frat boy with a brain and heart, reader is lowkey Going Through It.

Second-year frat parties had lost their theoretical allure. Gone was that first-year thrill of living the quintessential college experience, of checking off every box in the collegiate party manual.

This year, though. This year felt different.

"Who's going to be there?" You mumble through a mouthful of scone, eyes fixed on your screen. The pastry, a hasty purchase between classes, sits half-forgotten in your cheek.

"Since when do you care?" Your roommate swivels from her desk—a chaos of textbooks, scattered lip glosses, an open laptop, and uncapped mascaras. She brandishes her lip pencil like an accusatory finger, eyebrows arched. "You're turning into such a second-year hermit."

You flinch at the accusation, phone dropping to your chest as you stop mid-chew. "Fuck," you mutter, brushing pastry debris from your hoodie — the same one you've been living in for... three nights? Four?

She doesn't need to spell it out. You've become a ghost haunting the same tired circuit: dorm room, library, labs, class. Any moment of freedom dissolves into endless study sessions or mindless TikTok scrolling until you drift off to the white noise of ASMR or satisfying slime crafts.

"Don't make me go alone." Her voice cracks with a plea you can't dismiss. "We're supposed to be doing college together. We promised."

The pact.

The fucking pact.

You'd both sworn, hands clasped under string lights in your shared room during orientation week, that you wouldn't let each other miss out on anything. Not the midnight donut runs, not the questionable decisions, not the memories that were supposed to make these years matter.

And so, it was settled.

•

The house loomed before you, nothing like the usual frat dungeons. This was old money — a sprawling estate with an infinity pool that cut into the manicured lawn like a slice of sky, and a home theater visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bodies pressed past, each collision a reminder that you'd rather be elsewhere.

"Whose fuckin' house is this?" The words barely leave your mouth before your roommate's giggle floats up, her shoulder bumping yours as she shrugs.

The question evaporates into the thrum of bass and chatter.

You knew the drill by now.

She'd disappear into the crowd, hunting for tonight's conquest, while you'd drift through rooms like a wandering spirit in limbo — observing the drama unfold, helping yourself to whatever expensive snacks rich kids kept in their pantries, and sometimes, when the night got boring enough, investigating medicine cabinets.

Eventually, your travels lead you toward clusters of laughing girls, some familiar faces from lecture halls, others newly christened friends after thirty seconds of slurred introductions.

The living room couch has become your sanctuary, a perfect vantage point for the night's theater.

"God, he's fucking hot." Liz's whisper cuts through the ambient chatter, her eyes fixed on the kitchen where the imported marble island has devolved into a battlefield of red cups and spilled beer.

A tall figure commands the space, radiating the particular brand of arrogance that comes with being undefeated at beer pong for the past hour.

"Who?" Your eyebrows knit together before shooting upward in realization. She can't possibly mean -

"His name's Luigi." Her voice takes on that dreamy quality, like a third-grader confessing her first crush behind the jungle gym. "He's studying Computer Science."

Your face contorts into an expression somewhere between horror and disbelief.

"I know," Liz breathes, mirroring your shock. Luigi wasn't unattractive — that was the problem. The universe had already dealt him the unfair hand of conventional beauty; the revelation of actual intelligence felt like cosmic overkill. "Wouldn't think he was aiming any higher than a business degree, huh?"

You watch him slam another cup, arms raised in victory, and try to reconcile this frat god with the same person who probably spent hours debugging code.

The image doesn't compute.

Every other CS major you knew was either passed out in the engineering building or mainlining caffeine in their dorm, not holding court over a beer pong empire.

"Just gives typical aggro frat vibes," you mutter, unable to tear your eyes away from the spectacle. He's exchanging those elaborate, ritualistic handshakes with his bros, throwing back shots like water. Your body instinctively recoils, but there's something magnetic about the train wreck unfolding before you — like watching a perfectly coded program crash in spectacular fashion.

He's performing, you realize — a master of his craft, painting broad strokes of the perfect college experience. Creating stories he'll tell at reunions and job interviews, memories that look better through the lens of a camera than they feel in real time.

You study Luigi's practiced grin, the way he looms over his temporary kingdom, and something shifts.

Does he have someone to call at 3 AM when the world caves in? Or are these connections as deep as the beer puddles on the marble counter — evaporating by morning?

The room tilts slightly, your earlier drinks and that passed joint finally catching up, making everything sharper and softer all at once.

Your gaze drifts over your own circle, these girls laughing and sharing secrets like best friends, some of which you'd only learned most of their names moments ago.

The thought hits you like cold water: who among them would you trust with your real stories? Who would pick up your call at 3 AM? Are you any different from Luigi — just playing your own part in this performance?

The night air slaps you awake before you even realize you've fled, your feet carrying you to a hidden corner of the garden where a stone fountain whispers secrets to itself. Here, the party exists only in echoes — distant laughter, scattered arguments, and drunken declarations of love or war floating across the manicured lawn.

You tilt your head skyward, searching for anchor points among the stars and the world narrows to just this: the cool stone beneath you, the rhythm of water, the infinite above -

"Hey."

Your body jolts to attention, the peaceful moment shattering like glass. Your eyes drop from the constellations to find a different kind of celestial body standing before you — broad shoulders blocking out stars, dark features caught in shadow, curls tumbling across his forehead.

Your mind scrambles for a name, like trying to catch smoke.

Luis? Lucas?

Luigi.

The beer pong champion himself, somehow materialized from your earlier observations like a summoned entity.

"Hey." Your body performs an awkward dance on the bench, caught between making room and trying to collapse into nothingness.

"What are you doing out here?"

The question, though innocent enough, triggers your defenses. Your response comes with teeth: "I could ask you the same thing." It's a warning label, bright and clear: Approach With Caution.

The garden's twinkle lights catch him in their amber web, transforming the beer pong champion into something softer — sweat-sheened skin, features gentled by shadow.

His posture reads like an open book written in a language you can't quite translate, neither defensive nor inviting.

Just curious.

"Well, you could." The words roll out with the same casual grace as the shoulder he shrugs, a yet-unlit joint dancing between his lips as his thumbs tap out a message on his phone's glow. "And I'd just say I live here."

The universe, it seems, has a sense of humor.

A groan slips past your defenses as mortification sets in. Of all the backyards in New York, you had to stake your claim in this one, then challenge its owner about his right to be there.

"To answer your question though-“ The words come filtered through the joint until flame meets paper. He exhales, and his next words ride out on a cloud of smoke: "I came out here to call my mom." His phone screen glows with evidence — his mother's contact photo, her name bookended by heart emojis and a simple Mama.

Something about Luigi — maybe the lingering beer pong bravado, maybe the way he wears this vulnerability so casually — still begs to be challenged. "Gotta make sure she doesn't suspect you have about one hundred NYU students in her home, hm?"

He shakes his head, the sound he makes sliding down the scale like lazy jazz. "Nah, she doesn't care about that shit." His thumb hovers over the keyboard, apparently deciding a text will suffice for tonight's check-in. "And there's definitely not a hundred people in there right now."

You study his posture — the way confidence and caution occupy the same space in his frame, like watercolors bleeding into each other. "Where's she?"

Luigi's eyes lift from his screen to find yours. "Seychelles." The message swooshes into the digital void before his phone disappears into his pocket. "Your turn."

The garden's ambient soundtrack fills the space between you, water music from the fountain where a bronze boy — who bears a suspicious resemblance to a younger Luigi — plays eternal lifeguard to the trickling streams.

Your eyes lock across the dim space, neither yielding.

"My turn to what?" The question is a stalling tactic, and you both know it.

"Your turn to tell me what you're doing out here."

Your gaze wanders the curated wilderness around you — the fairy-lit canopy, the fountain's eternal performance, the swimming pool framed by trees sculpted into shapes that belong in a vintage Playboy spread.

Everything here speaks of a life so different from yours, yet something about the engineering student standing before you, texting his mom from his own party, suggests a truth you hadn’t expected; the distance between your worlds might be shorter than it appears.

"Just needed some air." The lie falls flat, each word a domino tipping toward the truth you're trying to outrun—that existential spiral triggered by watching him earlier, wondering about the depth of his connections, only to find your own relationships reflecting back just as shallow.

Luigi claims his spot beside you, the bench suddenly alive with shared warmth. His knowing smirk and raised eyebrows speak volumes while his lips stay sealed, the silence between you stretching like taffy until -

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting some air." He mirrors your words back to you, a perfect echo with an undertone of challenge.

Your hands scrub across your face as if trying to erase something, and when you turn to face him, he's already there, matching your position like a choreographed dance. His eyes lock onto yours — steady, focused — as you stare back with the wild gaze of someone about to jump off a cliff.

"Do you ever think maybe you're just kinda... existing?"

There it is — your midnight confession spilling out into his garden, raw and unfiltered as the joint smoke curling between you.

Luigi catalogs you with the quiet satisfaction of someone who's just solved a puzzle — noting the timbre of your voice (hoarse from shouting over beer pong champions and top-40 hits), the way moonlight catches in your hair, how your eyes betray every thought. "I know that's what I'm doing," he nods, conviction steady as a heartbeat. "And that's enough."

"But what about the connections? What about true and real bonds?" The words tumble out as you watch him draw from the joint. He offers it your way — a bridge between strangers — but you wave it off, earning a laugh that somehow makes your existential crisis feel less like drowning.

"What about them?"

"Don't you miss having them?"

His shoulder grazes yours as he makes a face that suggests you're missing something obvious. "Existing doesn't mean I cease to create bonds or connections." His voice intensifies beside you, taking on the weight of someone that had something to convince you of. "They happen everyday."

The stare between you holds with magnetic force, compelling you to consider his truth: maybe you're the one who's been building walls instead of bridges, hiding in recycled hoodies and social media scrolls while real connections knock at your door.

"You think?" Your vision shifts, the aggressive frat facade dissolving to reveal something unexpectedly gentle around the edges.

"Well, what do you call this." His finger traces an invisible line between you, the gesture casual but weighted. "I think there's reason for everything, besides, like, cancer, or something." The statement perfectly gift-wraps his essence:

A walking contradiction — the frat boy who steps away from his own party to text his mom, a beer pong champion who philosophizes between 'likes,' an engineering major who can turn existential crisis into comfortable conversation.

"Well, it's interesting, to say the least." You're not sure if you mean this moment, this revelation, or Luigi himself. All you know is that Liz will either lecture you about garden rendezvous with her biggest crush, or demand a word-for-word replay.

Probably both.

"You think there's a reason we're both out here, then?" The question follows him as he leans forward, stubbing out his joint in a tray by the fountain. "Some sort of divine-timing bullshit?"

"I do." His conviction stands unwavering against your skepticism. "That's exactly what I think."

The sigh that escapes you carries the weight of self-awareness — maybe you're the one standing in your own way.

"Give me your phone." His shoulder nudges yours again, and you find yourself digging through your purse without hesitation, unlocking it before passing it over.

No questions asked — maybe you're already buying into this divine timing thing.

He returns your phone with a smile that seems to know something you don't. His own phone lights up with urgent news about a friend's overindulgence, likely greening out on the front lawn. "Gotta split."

You straighten your back, body still glued firmly to the bench beneath you, “Wait,” the request comes out steady, but hurried, afraid he might evaporate somewhere into the midnight air. “How - how do you do it, then?”

He settles back down, closer this time, “Do what?”

“Make it easier — connections, parties, being..” You gesture vaguely at all of him. “Present.”

Luigi considers this, his smile softening. "Maybe because I don't overthink it. Like right now — you're probably wondering if this is the right moment to ask the right question, when really..." He leans in slightly, voice dropping. "Sometimes you just have to let things happen."

The air shifts between you, heavy with possibility.

You're acutely aware of how close he is, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips as he speaks.

"Is that what you're doing?" Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Letting things happen?"

"I'm letting myself do what I've wanted to since I saw you having an existential crisis by my fountain."

And then he's kissing you — or maybe you're kissing him — the distinction lost in the warm press of lips and the lingering taste of smoke. It's gentle at first, questioning, until you lean into it and his hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

When he pulls back, that knowing smile returns. "See? Divine timing bullshit."

His phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. "Duty calls," he sighs, standing. "But text me. We'll work on your overthinking problem."

Read pt 2 Here ☁️

[green-lion-antiques]

Your post about Brian Thompson really resonated with me. "I think a huge part of the apathy is because we spent our entire upbringing having shooting drills at school every other week to the point we are entirely desensitized to gun violence in general."

For some of us it wasn't even just a drill. I survived a school shooting. 4 of my classmates were killed. I have gone through something that (hopefully) most people will only have to see on the news.

My community became a talking point. We are just another number to them. The people who had power to change things? The people who could have provided mental health support? Their sympathies were empty promises.

I hear about Brian Thompson's death and feel nothing. I feel nothing when thinking about the attempted Donald Trump assassination. They genuinely do not care about us. Why should we care about them?

They're getting all the help money can buy. Luigi is being charged as a fucking terrorist. Trump is president.

Any empathy I might have felt is gone. No sympathy here either.

(saying this on anon for obvious reasons)

You're so real for this and I'm really sorry you went through that.

Maybe because they've declared the president is a king above the law and gets their past crimes forgiven the dems could run luigi in 2028 as a hail mary unifying figure citizens united will never let that happen but it'd be neat

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | EXTRA 01 | Monster

Pairing | yandere!gangster!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3,9k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, knife wound, memories of past trauma and abuse, references to an attempted murder and escape attempt (present in the main story), Stockholm syndrome, guilt, Hoseok loves to psychologically torture MC, references to MC's traumatic past (hard yandere Jimin) and her love-filled present (soft yandere Jimin) that MC calls before and after, smut (fingering, wet kisses, nipple sucking), non-sexual choking attempt, fear and anxiety, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You thought the worst was over, but the dark shadows are denser than you thought.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!

After receiving many comments asking for an extra chapter for Dark Moon, I decided to write one, I hope you enjoy this glimpse of how things turned out later, thanks for loving Dark Moon 🥹❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie @btsuga-d @dragons-flare @takemeaway5402 @m00njinnie @seokjins-luigi @pjmsneverland @ajkwww @jimincrystal @ungodlyjoon @hecateslittlewitchling @namjoonsbuspass @darkuni63 @xicanacorpse @jiminismine4ever @btssimplove @antisocial-mochi267 @reallygenerouskoala @velvet-stardust2002 @angelicsmileworld @dabishou @ke1k029 @lennieharper @pantara @superrsstaargirrl13

➢ Main Story

➢ Happy Ending Series

➢ Side Note | The first two stories - Happy Ending and Dark Moon - were written in the third person, which had been my style for a long time. However, I’ve recently started writing all my new stories in the second person, as I find it much more immersive and enjoyable. As a result, the new stories in this series will continue in the second person. Thank you for reading this far ❤️

Jimin's return from a mission is announced by many heavy footsteps, some even shuffling, you hear excited whispers and words left unsaid.

You jerk open your eyes, your blurred vision in the dark making you dizzy, but that is not the reason for your nausea.

Jimin.

You jump up with your heart in your throat, it's not unusual for him to come home late from work, it's the other agitated voices that startle you. Something has definitely happened that has alerted the others as well.

You quickly grab your robe and tie it in a tight knot at the waist, you don't even bother to put on shoes, when you lower the handle the click resonates like a gunshot and a shiver runs down your spine, you will never get used to that kind of life, even though Jimin has become your whole world, and as a result his life is yours too.

You move your feet toward the living room, where surely everyone else is gathered, and you bring back an unruly lock of hair, tongues of fire sway sinuously throughout the hallway, someone has lit the fireplace, a sign of a long night they will spend here.

“Squeeze this, man,” you hear someone say, you recognize him as Jungkook and frown, "It's going to hurt, but you know the drill by now," he continues and your heart misses a beat.

When you reach the living room and the heat of the fire invests you, two heads turn in your direction, you simply feel the ground missing from under your feet.

You see Jimin, lying on the couch, pale under the mop of once again black, blood-stained hair; you don't know if it's his, but the one on his uncovered side that Jungkook is taking care to stitch up with needle and thread definitely belongs to him.

“What happened?” you simply manage to ask with a choked edge to your voice, rocking on jelly legs before collapsing at your husband's side, who clutches a leather glove between his teeth to suppress the pain.

The man weakly lifts his eyelids in your direction, two shiny black pools look at you affectionately and with weary hand tries to caress your face, you immediately clasp your fingers to his, they are cold you find yourself noticing and this startles you.

You glance at the wound, it is just below the ribs and Jungkook's quick hands move the needle expertly, there is ice wrapped in a cloth abandoned on the couch, perhaps to try to make the area around the wound less sensitive, you also notice a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze.

Jimin winces all the same, clenching the glove between his teeth so as not to show you his pain, not out of shame, but because he doesn't want to worry you further.

Your mind involuntarily goes to that day.

The day you hurt him trying to escape, those are hard memories to swallow, you don't like to remember the before, but how can you not think back when you have the same scenario before your eyes?

“I'm fine,” hisses Jimin fulminating Jungkook when he presses the tip of the needle a little too hard, ”It's superficial.”

“One more inch and we could have run to the hospital, though,” mutters the third man's voice, you try to ignore his disturbing presence.

It was not difficult to bond with all the members of Jimin's family, all except him.

Hoseok never showed any interest in being your friend, and you always mentally thanked him for that. Since that time at the Dark Moon, you have had no direct contact with him and you are more than okay with that, he is a real monster. You can see it in his eyes, the evil that he harbors and is not ashamed to let it out whenever he can.

That day, you would have died by his hand if Jimin had not gotten in the way, despite the wounds he had. You owe everything to Jimin you think, kissing his sweat-soaked forehead softly. The boy closes his eyes at the pleasant warmth of your lips against his smooth skin.

“You're not well, Jimin,” you whisper in his ear, Jimin's eyelashes flicker a little, you can see the shadow of a smile amid the pain.

“You're always so anxious, my love,” he chuckles with difficulty, in response you inhale into his dark hair his masculine fragrance, mixed with gunpowder and blood, “I'll survive, as always.”

How many more times must you wake up with your heart in your throat, with Jimin wounded and lying on the couch sweating and bleeding. The only thing sweet about that image is the bold smile he gives you every single time.

“And you always try to downplay everything,” you say bitterly, kissing him on the lips.

Jungkook looks at you out of the corner of his eye without saying anything, but he is clearly more relaxed now that you are there to look after Jimin, Hoseok on the other hand snorts.

“You women are so complicated,” there is boredom in his tone, it irritates you but you tighten your lips into a thin line to ignore him, ”Even though you were more like us that time than you want to admit, remember?”

The reference to that day freezes you, you widen your eyes and lift them to his.

His hair is no longer as red as blood, now it is as black as his soul, but his sadism is still there. He loves to hurt physically, but he doesn't disdain psychological hurt. Especially if it is to hit you, after all, resentment is his best friend and he never considered you part of his family.

Jimin's eyes go wide, the black has stopped sparkling, the sweetness has been replaced by anger.

“Shut the fuck up, Hoseok,” he hisses with a latent snarl. He is hurt, but that doesn't mean he will allow Hoseok to disrespect you, ”She is not to blame!”

He always says that, but is that really the case?

“Or what?” the other challenges him, leaning against the back of the sofa.

“Please... stop,” you mutter dejectedly to both of them, agreeing - reluctantly - with Hoseok. True, you were no different from them that day. It is a guilt you will carry with you forever.

Perhaps because of your tone, perhaps because of your look, or perhaps both, Jimin vibrates with anger and disdain. He jerks up ignoring your arms trying to pick him back up, managing to grab Hoseok by the collar of his black leather jacket, landing a punch right on his mouth that he dared to say too much to his wife, this set of movements blowing out a few stitches, making Jungkook growl in frustration.

“That's really enough now!” Jungkook has never been a go-between, he has always reasoned with physical force, and it doesn't even take a moment to force Jimin back to his seat, weak as he is, and push Hoseok away with an irritated shove, “You've both pissed me off.”

Hoseok rubs his split lips, blood smears his black gloves - the same kind of gloves Jimin had on the night he caught you - his teeth have torn flesh as a result of Jimin's punch, but he doesn't seem to show resentment.

He knows he has gone too far. Even if he doesn't regret it.

He also seems at times amused at his friend's reaction, love is a feeling he does not understand, he finds it ridiculous, and he also finds Jimin and Jungkook ridiculous for getting “tamed.”

Hoseok disgusts you.

“You didn't have to react that way, we all know what he's like,” you whisper softly on your husband's lips, Jimin is breathing heavily out of anger and grief, Jungkook seems to have abandoned the path of kindness and is stitching him up carelessly, perhaps even with a hint of malice.

“I don't tolerate-” I don't tolerate  anyone disrespecting you, you block that sentence by kissing him again, losing yourself in the soft lips and sugary taste of the boy who brought you to your knees, in every sense of the word.

You block him because you don't feel you deserve all that respect, Hoseok is right.

That evil man is like a virus in your brain, he wanted to hurt you that day and for a just reason, you almost killed a member of his family, you are unforgivable and you willfully ignore the reasons that led you to such an extreme act. You remain a murderer, the man you hold in your arms now, he would not be here now if you had managed to escape without giving him help.

“Christ, I want to go home,” Jungkook whines, envious of your intimate contact, he wants to go home to his wife and spend the rest of the night with her, but he has to stitch Jimin up first and some stitches are blown out, this thought makes him nervous and that hint of malice sneers a little more.

Jimin finds himself screaming in an instant with no more glove to help him, he casts a shocked glance at Jungkook, more blood stains his quick fingers, and yet he looks innocent, as if he has not just voluntarily stuck the needle deeper than was really necessary.

“Be kind, Jungkook,” you smile at the pigtailed boy, who rolls his eyes in response, “Please.”

“At least there's someone who knows politeness in this room,” he mumbles back, Jimin snorts throwing his head back on your soft, cozy chest, you lift your gaze and pin it on Hoseok, he's looking at you with a strange smile. He knows what you're thinking.

You pull the blankets up to Jimin's chin, he is shivering with cold and that worries you. Jungkook instructed you which antibiotic to give him once a day, then closed the door behind you, careful to let Hoseok out first.

Jungkook didn't trust you to be alone with him either.

You swallow a knot that tightens your throat, you feel suffocated. You need to get some air, even though it's probably cold outside that would freeze the soul of even the devil.

“Don't do that,” you hear yourself say, turning to Jimin.

He has pulled himself up from the blankets and looks at you harshly.

“What?” you ask pretending to arrange something in a drawer, your attitude exhausting him.

“Don't think of another man,” the blackness of his eyes is darker, the jealousy is always there, ”I hate that my woman thinks of another.”

This makes you smile incredulously, “I don't think of another man, Jimin, you are my man” you clarify with your hands on your hips, you see him melt a little as a sad smile finally comes to light.

Oh.

He means to say...

“You think about the things this man says,” he points out to you, ”But it's all bullshit, stop this guilt, it's killing me.”

Tears accumulate between your eyelashes, you blink quickly to chase them away.

“But it's true, I did-I almost killed you,” your lips tremble, Jimin instantly notices.

He doesn't like to resume the before, it disturbs him. But he has to if he wants to calm you down somehow.

“And before you tried to kill me, I hurt you willingly,” he emphasizes the last word with a grimace of contempt, to himself, “I pushed you to the limit and at that moment I liked it.”

Jimin never hid his darkness, he promised to love and respect you after, but it was not so before.

It was hell, just thinking about it leaves you paralyzed, the memories of pain are suffocating. Those of the pleasure you did not accept but yearned for are even more so.

Still, you shake your head, whichever way you look at it, you feel guilty.

“You were drunk; you didn't really want to” you try to justify him.

“I was drunk because I was fucking pissed, pissed at you,” the man points out to you, now bleary-eyed.

He would never hurt you now, in the after.

Right?

“You can justify me, but not yourself?” the pain in his voice leaves you stunned and pained, the shadows of your past are dense and heavy, Hoseok wallows among them, you think angrily.

But Jimin doesn't feel the same way, the problem is not Hoseok, he knows that very well.

You two still haven't gotten over the before, that's what reinforces the pain.

“I can't accept what I did, because I was never this” you were never a monster, no need to say that, Jimin already understood, “But I acted like one, you at least do it for a living.”

The man shakes his head, “I did it out of anger, and anger led to making my hate-based reality also a job” for a moment he sees the exhausted little boy collapsing at Seokjin's feet again and accepts his offer.

He will not deny it, it was the best choice ever, even if the circumstances that led him to meet you were terrible.

But he doesn't regret his love; he could let you go, but he won't.

He is too involved with you, you are too involved with him, you are a family now, in the after.

He just wants to take that weight off your shoulders crushing you. Even though it will hurt both of you.

“Come here, babe,” he invites you, moving a hand to draw you to him.

It doesn't have to happen again, you find yourself already sitting on the bed by his side, it was instinctive, the need for him overwhelming.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper in a choked voice, truly sorry for the dark thoughts you are giving him while he is in a pitiful condition.

“Straddle me,” he says bluntly, squinting your eyes.

“But... are you crazy? Jungkook finished with the stitches not even twenty minutes ago, I could hurt you, the wound is fresh!” you protest with your chest heaving up and down rhythmically, you cannot deny that the request tickled you.

But Jimin grabs you by the hips and intimates you to do as he told you, “Ride me, Y/N” his voice sounds sensual and needy, a giddy feeling tightens in your lower belly.

You lick your lips lifting yourself up on Jimin, surround his hips with your thighs, the robe opens over them and let Jimin look at your soft skin with desire. He has stopped shaking, you notice.

Paying attention to his wound, he opens the robe over your chest as well and slowly pulls down the thin straps of your nightgown, the man's eyes darken at the seductive sight of your delicate breasts and already turgid nipples, he would have gladly spent the evening another way if a half-dead bastard hadn't stabbed him out of spite, you'd be under him crying and moaning in pleasure, instead he has to settle for that position.

But he can always make up for it somehow, right now - in your after - he thinks, closing his plump lips around a stiff, rosy tip that asked for nothing more, the sensation of his wet tongue playing with your breasts makes you hold your breath, your clitoris throbbing and your entrance moistening, already ready to receive him in all his tantalizing thickness.

A dusting of pink colors your cheeks, Jimin loves your sensitivity, you could come just like that.

Your husband licks a streak of saliva down the column of your neck, you tremble as he finally reaches your lips before imprisoning them in a fiery and lively kiss, the sensual and soft entwinement of your tongues makes your thighs wiggle against his skin, you clench his legs and Jimin lays one of his hands on your hip and thrusts toward you, you mew meekly feeling the thick tip of his cock pressing against your panty-covered entrance.

Ignoring the glowing twinges in his side, Jimin sensually moves his pelvis against your pussy, playing with the tip of tongue, which grasps and tickles yours. You could really cum exactly that way and it would still be sublime and overwhelming, but Jimin sneaks his other hand inside your panties and puts some pressure with one finger on your swollen, taut clit, circles around it mischievously and then presses again, making it throb repeatedly and to his liking.

You are forced to separate from his wonderful mouth to catch your breath, narrowing your eyes at the bite he leaves on your neck, before gently sucking on the same spot. You don't doubt that there will be a bruise when you wake up, but it's a pain so pleasurable that your juices flows from your slit shamefully, you know it when you lower your eyes and notice the wet spot spreading across his pajama pants, at the height of his cock that continues to rock against you.

He continues to seduce you with his mouth until the first contractions of orgasm leave you breathless.

“Oh God... Jimin... I'm close,” you whisper in a shrill tone, your eyes watery with pleasure.

Jimin stops the movements of his pelvis, and before you can beg him to continue, he clamps his teeth on one of your nipples, flicking it repeatedly with the tip of his tongue, and penetrates you with his middle and ring fingers, leaving his thumb to stimulate your contracted clitoris mercilessly.

The urgency of your pleasure is like an electric shock, your walls sucking his fingers instantly into their silky softness, vibrating softly as they are penetrated and every single sensitive and receptive point stimulated, the orgasm shooting powerful and fast, you haven't even given him time to get to the last thrust, you come with raging shivers all over your body.

Just as you open your mouth to scream out all your pleasure, the hand Jimin was holding on your thigh goes up to your neck, his fingers tightening around it, but there is something strange about it.

It's not just erotic pressure, the fingers clench, so much, too much.

You open your eyes wide, searching for a miserable trickle of air, you try to tell Jimin with your eyes that you can't breathe, that he is hurting you, you even dig your nails into his arm, but nothing. Jimin's gaze is distant, remains intensely focused on you and doesn't seem to want to let go, fear and agitation blind you, you need oxygen as soon as possible, and eventually your brain shuts down and your body's response kicks in.

You strike Jimin in the face several times, heedless of his reddening skin, scratch his chest bloody, almost reopen the wound and fill him with fists. He accepts every single blow you give him in silence, because the feeling of your pulse desperately running under his fingers disgusts him, repulses him, but it must be so or you will never understand. When you try to grab him in your turn by the neck, to do the exact same thing to him, he finally releases you and you both regain air.

But for you the coming of air is painful, terrible, you take in so much that you can't really breathe and you choke, beginning to cough. You rise from him in shock, but you collapse to the ground with your head spinning and your peripheral vision almost completely obscured, your ears ringing and you are unable to think. You feel only shock, but also much, too much anger.

You thought the before was over, that the after was only full of love, you do not understand and when he reaches out to embrace you, your body instinctively rejects his touch.

Your still-dull mind loves him, your all too reactive body rejects him because of the danger, you are confused, you can only rely on instinct, which tells you to run away and get to safety.

Despite everything, Jimin comes back to embrace you and this time he does not accept your rejection, your body trembles in response, and when your mind finally manages to generate a thought, you can only ask…

“Why?” you cry, pressing your forehead to the floor, “Why did you do that?”

You touch your neck, it hurts, just as your lungs hurt. It was just horrible, why did he do such a thing? He said that... he said that...

“Because I love you,” he whispers miserably, "And that was the only way to make you understand," his voice sounds strange, as if trying to hold back sobs.

“I love you,” “The only way,” “To make you understand.”

You let him embrace you without trying to push him away anymore, but the terror is still there. It flows through your skin like a raging river.

“Now tell me, did you hit me because you wanted to or because it was your body reacting to what I was doing to you?” he asks softly in your ear, staring motionless at an undefined spot in the room.

Now you understand, he used sex to distract you and the threat of death to remind you of the danger and fear of that day.

You don't die from violent anal intercourse, but you die little by little inside if it is repeated day after day. Your mind had not held, your body had rebelled against that fate.

It was instinct, survival instinct.

“I didn't mean to do it... hit you I mean,” you sob, his lips brushing one cheek gently, as if to soothe you.

“You are not a monster, my love,” he whispers, remaining silent a few moments before resuming, “I am the monster” there is still self-loathing in his words, with the tip of his nose he brushes the marks of his fingers on your neck.

You know he's sorry, but you also know he won't regret it, not if it helped you understand.

You are not a monster, you just reacted to what was done to you, your mind and body were broken. Your mind more than your body.

You forgave Jimin and you will surely forgive him even now, in the after, because he helped you understand, understanding was the last step to forgiving yourself as well.

The shadows are less dense and Hoseok no longer wallows among them.

It is Jimin's words that matter, not Hoseok's.

Hoseok hates you and would do anything to kill you, whether physically or psychologically, it matters little.

Jimin loves you and would do anything for your welfare, even pass as a villain in an effort to help you understand.

Remember what you thought when Jimin confessed after saving you.

It is a sick love, but one you need to feel safe.

And you don't regrets anything.

“Jimin?” you call out to him, get a murmur in response, “Thank you.”

He kisses the fingers of your hand, some of them stained with his blood, but he regrets nothing.

“You are the most precious thing I have, Y/N,” he confesses, ”Hurting you disgusts me, though in this case it was necessary, forgive me.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you finally relax, “I have already forgiven you,” you reply.

Jimin cannot block the emotion he feels, he kisses you in your soft, fragrant hair, he knows he does not deserve it, but you are his whole world, “Thank you.”

[midnight1nk]

EPISODE CONCEPT #5

What if... WOTFI 2024 had a very different ending?

[more below cut]

For context, this was an idea I saved in my back pocket, based on my early theories of Marty being the villain for WOTFI ‘24. It obviously isn’t what we got at the end, however, this concept is not out of the realm of possibility…

“You asked for this.”

SMG4 placed a protective hand on Mario’s shoulder, glaring at that cardboard cutout for that comment. This is ridiculous; how did Marty went from creating poisonous spaghetti sauce to building a whole CARNIVAL to trap them here? All because Mario left him behind in prison for spaghetti.

An eye for an eye, there was always two sides of the same coin.

Marty, a cutout whose sole purpose was to take over Mario’s Pizza stand, felt underestimated. Under appreciated. What more did he had to approve to show he was friends with his own creator? Four supposed he could share that sentiment but there is a line where revenge can be mistaken for justice.

Mario, known to be an icon for Nintendo and the Avatar of the universe, has the ability to break reality for two consistent things: (1) spaghetti obviously, and (2) his friends. Mario simply couldn’t help going after his favorite thing, didn’t intentionally leave Marty in prison. To betrayal. Whatever happens, the Crew would stand by Mario's side.

This domino effect of misunderstandings has lead up to this, a feud between a creation and its creator. And this has to end.

From on top of the unmoved Ferris Wheel, Marty looked down at them and let out a robotic laugh. They don’t stand a chance. With a puff of smoke, he disappeared. The Crew, who was watching him from below, exchanged glances at each other.

This was WOTFI, they knew the drill, but what were they supposed to do? Marty without a doubt made it impossible for them to escape when they are playing in his territory. A rather flashy territory, that is. The lights, the theatrics, if SMG4 knew anything, this wasn't Marty’s style.

Saiko: “Well, we can’t just stand around and do nothing. Anyone got any ideas?” Bob: “I’d say we start blowing stuff up.” [*SMG3’s eyes lit up with excitement*]

SMG4, Karen, and Mario shared a look. The three knew Karen still had a mission to finish off Marty and this would be her last chance to do so. With the expertise that she has, she could lead the group, have a plan. But SMG4 and Mario don’t want to out Karen to the Crew that she’s a former assassin. Realistically, Karen wouldn’t be the odd one out of their mix-match Crew. For meme’s sake, they have a melon goddess and a goofy Avatar that could bend time and space.

But the men wanted allow Karen to have that choice to tell the Crew or not, giving her a nod. Her secret was safe. She nodded back in gratitude.

Karen: “It’ll be best if we split up and search around the grounds. There might be something that could help us get out of here.” SMG4: “It’s worth a shot. Just to be safe, guys. Grab a buddy and we’ll meet back here in half an hour.”

They all hummed in affirmation or gave a thumbs up, splitting up into different directions. Since Four was the only one left without an available partner, he decided to join Meggy and Mario.

Going through the game stands, Four prayed to the spaghetti gods that nothing was going to pop out of them for a scare. A cheap one, Meggy added.

Marty has shown to be incredibly resilient against attacks. Not even a nuke could leave a scratch.

Meggy upgraded her Splattershott with some of the parts from a water shooting game, now twice the power.

In a Whack-a-Mole game, Mario grabs a couple of hammers for himself and SMG4. They were similar to the ones he and Luigi used in combat in past adventures and Mario being his Avatar, Four could easily learn a few of his tricks.

Four, unlike the other two, was distracted at one of the stands. With a slingshot in hand, he aimed the small rubber balls at the targets. Perhaps it was muscle memory or something, he didn't miss a single one. He sighed in lament, maybe the Crew would’ve enjoyed spending a day at the carnival if they weren’t trapped here against their will. When Four was readjusting his cap, he felt that a bump inside. In the strange pocket dimension that was Four’s cap, he reached in to find one of Three’s bombs. After a second, it clicked for him. Right, SMG3 hid this back when the cafe went through that fake inspection visit. A bomb and a slingshot, an idea came to mind. He stuffed the both of them under his cap, it might come in handy later.

As he turned around to return to the others, something caught his eye. By where the stands end, there’s a couple of small tents set up. He couldn’t tell from any of them what was lurking in the darkness. Except for one.

Four went to clutch his right wrist. Louder and louder and louder, he could feel his heart trying to burst out of his chest. That…

Meggy: “SMG4! Our time is up, we should head back to the others!”

Pulling back from the blur of his mind, he let out the air caught in his throat he unknowingly had. He released his grip, shaking his hand until he could feel it again. Why here? And why now?

He looked back at the tents once last time, his expression numb.

.・*-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-*・.

WOTFI has ended, Marty has been defeated, and Karen completed her mission by delivering the finishing blow. Three’s bomb came in clutch at the right moment when the Crew was backed into a corner and it was thanks to Four’s aim that got them out of it. Naturally, the Crew celebrated and they all went home to rest after such a long day, leaving Four alone in the Castle. After splashing his face with water, Four gripped the edges of the sink. Whatever made his mind spiral is twisting his stomach. He felt sick but he swallowed it back down. No, it was already too much as it is.

This is what you asked for.

He was never exactly a fan of his reflection. At times, it showed how tired he looked. In others, it became its own person, taunting him. Just as it was doing now. After some thought, he dared to face at the bathroom mirror and his determination looked right back at him.

Karen wasn’t the only one who needed to finish a job.

He dried his face. Grabbing a hoodie, a flashlight, and a cap loaded with his combat tools, he left the Showgrounds without anyone noticing. He made sure no one followed.

.・*-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-*・.

The carnival was mostly destroyed due to their winning battle against Marty, left abandoned. Not even the Ferris Wheel was lit up, its presence only noticed by the shadow against the sky. Retracing his steps, Four let his light guide him through the grounds. The rustle of branches and dirt from under his boots was the only noise that broke through the silence. Despite being here just a few hours ago, it felt like the first time.

Things were never truly the same in the dark.

Long at last, he arrived at the tents that were miraculously still intact. He stopped at the entrance of one in particular. Right above was a simple sign, a metallic ribbon with five golden stars. He took a breath and turned off his light. Marching through the curtain and into the dark, he waited.

“I got to hand it to you: you do know how to keep an audience waiting in suspense.” SMG4, scoffed: “Mr Puzzles.”

Mr Puzzles snapped his fingers and the flame on the candles magically sparked to life, lighting as much as it possibly could for Four to take in. The TV man sat across from where Four was standing, a table being the only barrier between them. The candles, the hanging beads. The typical crystal ball. Four rolled his eyes, how fitting. It seems that Puzzles has read his mind, based on the grin he has now.

Mr Puzzles: “Here for a fortune…? SMG4, interrupting him: “Cut the bullshit. Don’t think I haven’t figured it out that you were the one helping Marty.”

Puzzles, unfazed by Four, merely shrugged.

Mr Puzzles: “Well, he did lack creative vision.” SMG4, a dark aura settling upon him: “How’s this for an idea, you son of a glitch: if you EVER put my friends in harm’s way again, I’ll make sure to TEAR every. Single. Damn wire off of you.” [*eyes narrowing*] “Starting with your throat.”

It took all of Four’s willpower to hold himself back from throwing the nearby chair at Mr Puzzles’ face. His eyes flashed a dim magenta. Puzzles looked up and down at him with an expression that Four couldn’t decipher. Tired? Unimpressed? Pulling out a deck of cards, Puzzles focused his attention in shuffling them.

Mr Puzzles, monotone: “My my, and what will your audience think of your attitude?”

Four steeled his expression, not caring for this "distraction". His hand was on standby, ready to pull out the hammer Mario gave him earlier or a Meme Poké ball from his cap.

Mr Puzzles: ”We're entertainers, SMG4. It's our desire to make the audience happy, no matter the cost.” [*flipping each card in between his fingers*] “And you would know better than anyone that sacrifices are bound to happen.” SMG4: “My friends aren’t for your amusement!” Mr Puzzles: “As if you aren’t doing the same thing.” SMG4: “Getting them in random situations is one thing but I’m not the one using them as puppets.” [*shakes his head*] “So, no, I don’t know whatever the hell you mean.” Mr Puzzles, looks up at Four with an amused grin: “You chose to sacrifice the USB to save SMG3.”

Four blinked. A wave of unease passed over him, just for the fact alone of Three’s name coming out of his mouth…

One of the strings that held him back snapped. He could feel his right eye slightly twitch, pinch a bit of the velvet tablecloth.

Mr Puzzles, mutters curiously: “Hmm. A bit of a touchy subject, huh?” SMG4, forcing himself to recover: “Alright, spit it out already. What do you want from me? Otherwise, I’ll start counting down until sunrise for you to leave the Mushroom Kingdom for good.” Mr Puzzles: “I’m not the one sneaking off in the middle of the night into a fortune teller’s tent, SMG4. Well, since you insist…” [*holds up a card of sunflower being stabbed by a sword, it’s petals swiped with blood*] “Curious to see your fortune?” SMG4: “If this is one of your Puzzlevision tricks—” Mr Puzzles: [*puts the card back in the deck*] “A parlor trick, nothing more. If you let me read your future, then I'll give you what you want.”

Mr Puzzles’ hand gestures to the empty chair. An offer. A risky one at that, Four hesitated. He scanned Puzzles’ face for a sign, anything that would reassure him that this couldn’t be trusted.

…Nothing.

Of course, he could simply leave. But that would also risk Puzzles’ getting away again. Another plan to destroy his friends. He would need to keep an eye on him.

Four pursed his lips into a thin line and took a seat. Slouching against its back, he crossed his arms with the attitude of a moody teenager. Puzzles started shuffling the deck once more.

Mr Puzzles: “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, SMG4. The cards will be doing the talking, not me. They will be the ones that will see your past, present, and future.”

Puzzles played the cards in every way he could with pizzazz, his limbs moving in complex motion. A peculiar dance of sorts. Despite it all, Four didn’t appreciate him showing off. What are you up to, Mr Puzzles?

Mr Puzzles: [*spread the deck into a fan within his hand*] “Just pick three. Let them see through your heart and soul.”

Four did what he was told, leaving the cards he picked on the table. With a twist of his wrist, Puzzles made the rest of the deck disappear. The TV man picked up the first card, showing an image of Four’s USB.

Mr Puzzles: “Now you, young Meme Guardian, were the original glitch, affecting time and space to the universe. Reality was rewritten by your presence.”

Somehow, with a flip or the swipe of the card, Puzzles created a colored moving scene. Where once was a picture, it has changed. What once had a back was no more. It wasn’t any pictures either, they were in a gentle watercolor. Almost as if they were a peek at Four’s memories.

“You were fulfilled with the adventures you went through, the friends you gathered along the way.”

As Four sees, there was now an old picture of the Crew…

“Even having a rival gave you a thrill.”

…SMG4 and SMG3 in their classic models, looking at the other with hostility. Ready to go after each other’s throats…

“Back then, you couldn’t ask for anything more. After all, you had a dream… To make everyone happy.”

On the final swipe, it showed Four’s former self, looking over his shoulder with a smile. Ever so happy he was, editing a video in Peach's castle.

Four rolled his eyes. What does he know about his past? Nothing, that’s what. But he couldn’t deny it, it really was his dream. Nor was it something he tried to hide. Puzzles flip the second card, a picture of people crowding over a cowering Four. Their faces were replaced with large eyes.

Mr Puzzles: “However, it came to a cost. To them, it was never enough. You could never forget all of the things they have said to you, the unimaginable. What is the point of art if it can not survive beyond its creator? What is love if not sacrifice?”

A bittersweet series of portraits came raining down, one on top of the other….

Desti.

Axol.

Terrence.

SMG0.

And…

“Your sacrifice.”

Unlike the other cards, Four’s portrait was in carbon charcoal, his sketchy face staring back at with immense paranoia and horror. Possessed. The only color it had was the pink highlighting his scars and eyes.

“You were lost in your own potential, this addicting high… and you were saved by that man you called your rival.”

With a swipe, Puzzles revealed the next picture: a smiling Three, appearing almost angelic with the light shined behind him, gently holding a broken Four into an embrace. Watercolor and charcoal, blended together like it was meant to be.

Four’s gaze soften. He could never forget the ‘perfect’ incident. Endangering his friends, leaving Peach to a horrible fate. Ruining everything. All because he was selfish. And indeed, SMG3 saved him, in every way he can be saved. If only Four could do the same.

…Focus, Four. He’s just trying to get into your head.

“No matter how much you apologized, it was never enough.”

The picture changed to a white silhouette of Four against a dark background. Floating vertically right above his head were a series of glowing white lines. As if….

“Your burdens became your crown. As heavy as it was on your head, you remind yourself: ‘at the worst of times is when you put your biggest smile’. But you wonder how long will it take your friends, your audience, to see through your lies.”

With swipe, it changed to Four smiling at the viewer. An empty smile but a smile nonetheless. Four reached for his right arm, once again by instinct. His body tensed. Was I too obvious? How did he…? Puzzles paid no mind, picking up the last card and stand behind Four.

Mr Puzzles: “But don’t fret, SMG4, for your future I see: Your efforts won’t be for nothing…”

He presents the card over Four’s shoulder for him to see. The final picture: Four standing proudly on a pedestal, a light shining behind him.

“…for you to become the man you always wanted to be.”

Four slowly takes the card from his hand, allowing Mr Puzzles to sit back where he was. Puzzles crossed his legs, steepling his fingers in anticipation. One might wonder what is going on in Four’s head.

The truth is, Four didn’t know himself. His mind was clouded, spiraling in thought. And yet it also went empty. He’s fine but he felt like he was going to puke. Empowered by emotion but numb. Everything and nothing.

Awaken.

He tosses the card onto the table with a huff.

SMG4, tempting to hide his unease: “There. You read my future.”

Four gets up from the chair and starts to head out. He needed to get out. When he reaches for the curtain with his right hand, he looks back one last time to see Puzzles’ nonchalant smile.

SMG4: “Now, do your end of the deal. You’re lucky you get a head start.” [*turns back around*] Mr Puzzles, hums: [*nodding*] “Why, yes. I believe I should give you exactly what you want.”

Just as SMG4 was about to leave, a sudden pain coursed through his fingers. Four let out blood-curdling screams, dropping to his knees and onto the floor. This agonizing sensation crawled up to his arm, he felt as though he was being boiled alive. Out of desperation, he took off his glove and rolled up his blue sleeve.

The secret that he kept under his clothes, they glowed pink. No one knew of the scars he’s gotten from the incident.

SMG4, gritting his teeth: “How did… What did you do to me?” Mr Puzzles, unfazed: [*stands up from his chair, picking up a prepared suitcase*] “How naive. Did you really think I wouldn’t have a plan in the event that Marty failed to destroy your stupid friends?”

Four felt sick to his stomach and threw up what was clogging his lungs. To his horror, what he saw, was another secret. One he tried flushing away so many times before.

The black goo.

Its consistency was thick as slime, and it was as dark as ink. Just as how he remembered. Puking his insides out in the toilet, hiding the worst parts from his friends.

Only this time, it had eyes, all sketchy and glowing. And they looked back at him.

Mr Puzzles: “I needed a failsafe, and what better option than my fellow showman?” [*winks*] “Don’t forget: you and I, we’re entertainers. The audience demands for more, SMG4.”

From the shadows of the candlelight, the red eldritch creature emerged, its appearance quite familiar for the two men as it was the same one that consumed the old castle and corrupted Peach. To Four’s surprise, a tentacle reached for Mr Puzzles and he responded back with a friendly pat. As if it was a pet.

The pink veins have reached to Four’s neck, his cries being caught in the burning sensation.

Mr Puzzles: “We made sacrifices to keep them happy.” [*walks towards Four*] “Memory and body were the cost I had to pay to be eternal alongside my creation. I understand this must be painful and death may be a mercy, but what good will that do?” [*stops before Four and knees down to meet the other’s eyes*]

Four rolled himself over from his back, his forearms trying to hold him up.

SMG4, his voice cracking: “B-but it’s impossible! The keyboard is gone, along with Peach’s castle!” Mr Puzzles: “Oh, SMG4.” [*his face changed to red with realistic eyes and grin*] “It never left. What other explanation is there when you need a second more of speed, a hand of strength, or your good aim?”

Puzzles reached for the black goo but it squirmed away, hissing.

Mr Puzzles: “Though, I never understood why my own creation hated me, and chose you as its host. Not that it’s my problem anymore.”

Puzzles stands up, swiping away the inexistent dust off of his clothes, before heading towards the exit with his suitcase. The red creature slithered inbetween the wires of his body.

SMG4, wincing: "You... liar..." Mr Puzzles: “I haven’t told a single lie. I gave you your future and I’m giving you what you wanted: a chance to become the man you always wanted to be. You had unimaginable power right between your fingers and you foolishly gave it all up for him. Hmm. I suppose, if I put it that way, I can see why he did the same for you."

Four’s body begged for the end of its pain, his limbs twisting and turning in all the wrong ways. He could hear the sound of cracking from his bones. His clogged-up lungs searched for air as the veins spread across his eyes. The goo he puked was immediately attracted by the vulnerability of its host.

Four’s eyes fully turned magenta.

Mr Puzzles: “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll leave the Mushroom Kingdom. Whatever you end up doing to your friends, it's their blood in your hands.” [*his voice glitches*] “Now, may I remind you: I get a head start.”

Puzzles leaves the tent with a wicked laugh, a gust of wind from his exit blows the candles out.

SMG4: “Puzzles…. When I get….”

Four could feel the goo slithering up his severe wounds. It whispered, dozens of voices merged together into a mess of words. He tried everything to get this thing off of him but it only made the goo consume more of his body.

The host must survive.

Suddenly, hallucinations of the Crew appeared. He tried to reach out, pleading to be saved. Their vacant smiles were the only response. One by one, they faded away as the goo dripped from his mouth and the corners of his eyes.

Meggy... Mario...

…Three.

I never wanted this!

But this is what you asked for. P̶͖͙͕͓̒͘é̴̖̔r̶̼̱̰̼̰̂͐͒͘f̶̞̐͗́̓̄͜e̴̬̮̜͕̻̐̈̋͑̈́c̴̢̛̅̂t̸̢͓̩̹͒͠i̷̲͈̪̱͐͋̔͝o̷͈̎̃͗̚n̸̘͌͆͐.̸̡̣̋̌

[arquimidna]

Hello, I'm still alive and loving Luigi very much. Also I really like Mario Wonder and I'm trying to complete it 100% Btw the drill powerup I made it for my linde y preciose panita @drakuqueo-elempalador . Te quiero mucho panita linde y adorade. ♥♥♥

[silly-inky]

You will not believe how long I've wanted to ramble about my boy to someone other than my irl bestie.

So Darlington has a lot of mobility issues due to being half dead from birth so he need mobility aids. He also gets sick really easily again because he'd technically the undead. He looks very human but does have a couple Boo features. He also almost always has his tounge sticking out for no apparent reason (part of the Boo heritage) it's also a slight shade of purple (again from KB). He was also born with albinism and has KB's violet eyes. He does have the ghostly hatred for the sun along side burning very easily so he very much doesn't like being outside. He does have some ghost powers but it's only floating and being able to phase through walls. Despite his disabilities he somehow still manages to scare the crap out of people, for example sneaking up on Peach and Mario when they visit and making them scream bloody murder. He's also a thin child because he's so sickly but he does get better as he gets older so when he's a teen he's actually quite chubby. I was also thinking his eyes would glow in the dark like KB so there's another way he scares the living fuck out of people.

He also has an unholy obsession with opera like KB. That is because off all the times he was bedridden KB would put on records or recordings of operas for Darlington. He also learned a language due to opera but instead of Italian it was French, he already knew Italian because of Luigi. Also Darlington is a rather shy kid, soft spoken too but if he's on stage he can project his voice like none other. He also does the Boo thing of covering the eyes and getting flustered when being introduced to new people.

Also Darlington's first Halloween (that he remembers) Junior was there with them, Junior's costume was an inflatable Boo costume (think those inflatable Dino costumes) Darlington was dressed as the Phantom of the opera. KB has drilled it into his head by the time he can talk that the Phantom of the opera is not an opera but rather a musical with operatics

Awww I love hiimmmm

Darlington sounds like a lovely kid and I'm glad he got a bit healthier as he got older, his dad (KB) essentially made him a vampire lmao.

I'm glad King Boo has someone to share his love of opera now, I'm sure Luigi feels a little singled out for it but I'm sure he loves to his boy's having fun

King Boo going full opera nerd on him about Phantom of the Opera from such a young age is so him and I love it, it seems like something my dad would do honestly lmao

I'm curious as to what characteristics and quirks he shares with his other dad, and I can imagine him being spoiled rotten as kid, but it doesn't seem to have gone to his head which is good

I hope being able to float helps a bit with his mobility issues, do you think if he found another source of power like King Boo did it could possibly help with his powers?

I hope he gets all the love he deserves from his family, and I can imagine him being swarmed and fussed over by all the small Boo's which is just so cute

Thank you so much for sharing

[taelophone]

this won’t come out for a lil bit but I wanna write smth for me later🎀 which one

[accidentalsoravoice]

WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK FELLAS

Okay, so Nintendo dropped the Direct this morning and I went NUTS.

First of all, they lead with a FUCKING MARIO & LUIGI GAME. I AM NOT KIDDING. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. MARIO & LUIGI IS BACK.

Then later on they announced a new Mario Party so HELL FUCKING YES

And at the end of course was Metroid Prime 4, FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY YEARS

But that's not what I'm mainly excited for (except Mario & Luigi because holy shit I can't wait for Brothership to come out).

They dropped a new Zelda. One, it's a top-down title, and not even a remake of an old one. It's just a brand new game!

But the other thing....

ZELDA FINALLY GETS TO BE THE MAIN CHARACTER LET'S FUCKING GO

[fullpenguincupcake]

Luigi's sweet glide towards your recovery.

For the full excerpt, check it here.

The soft hum of the hospital room buzzed in the background, a sterile symphony of beeps and hushed footsteps. You shifted awkwardly in the stiff bed, your body still aching from the accident. The fluorescent lights overhead felt like they were drilling into your skull, and the antiseptic smell of the room made your stomach churn. You were supposed to be recovering, but all you felt was discomfort and frustration.

That was until the door creaked open, and in stepped Luigi. Luigi Mangione.

He was holding a small bouquet of wildflowers, their bright colors a stark contrast to the dull, lifeless room. His signature mustache twitched as he smiled, his eyes warm and concerned. You hadn’t seen him in years, not since high school. Back then, he was the quiet, kind-hearted guy who always seemed to be in the background. Now, he was here, in your hospital room, looking like he’d stepped out of a dream.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice like a warm blanket. “I heard about what happened. Thought you could use some company.”

You blinked, surprised. “Luigi? Oh my god, I didn’t—I mean, it’s been so long.”

He chuckled, setting the flowers down on the side table. “Too long. I should’ve reached out sooner, but… well, life gets in the way.” He pulled up a chair beside your bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid of disturbing you. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitated. How were you feeling? Exhausted. Pain. A little lost. But something about the way he looked at you, with that genuine concern, made it hard to lie. “Honestly? Like I got hit by a truck.”

His lips twitched into a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I bet. But hey, you’re here. You made it through. That’s what matters.”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I guess. It’s just… hard to feel positive when you’re stuck in a place like this.”

Luigi nodded, his eyes scanning the room. “Yeah, hospitals aren’t exactly the most uplifting places.” He reached out, his hand hesitating for a moment before gently resting on yours. “But you’re not alone, okay? I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His touch was warm, comforting. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed that—a simple human connection. You looked down at his hand, then back up at him. “Thank you, Luigi. Really. I… I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Anytime. I mean it.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Then, he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Even before I heard about the accident.”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Oh? Why’s that?”

He chuckled, a hint of red creeping into his cheeks. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been remembering how things used to be. Back in high school. You were always so… vibrant. Full of life. Seeing you like this, it’s just… it’s not right.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. “Luigi…”

He shook his head, his hand tightening slightly around yours. “I’m not saying this to make you feel bad. I just… I want to help. However I can.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something about the way he was looking at you, the way his voice sounded—it was like he was seeing you, not just the broken version of you lying in this hospital bed. “You already are,” you whispered.

His eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had vanished. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “Can I…?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yes,” you breathed, the word barely audible.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and gentle, like he was afraid you might break. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, the feeling of his mustache brushing against your skin. It was a kiss filled with tenderness, with care, with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

When he pulled away, you were both breathless. His eyes searched yours, as if he were waiting for you to say something, to tell him to stop. But you didn’t. Instead, you reached up, your hand trembling as it cupped his cheek. “Luigi…”

He smiled, leaning into your touch. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You chuckled softly, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “Me too.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stood up, his hand slipping out of yours. You felt a pang of disappointment, but before you could say anything, he was moving the chair out of the way and sitting on the edge of your bed. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your heart racing. “More than okay.”

He smiled, his hand finding yours again. “Good.” He leaned in again, this time more confidently, his lips capturing yours in a deeper, more passionate kiss. You moaned softly, your free hand tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

His hand slid up your arm, his touch light and careful, until it reached your shoulder. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

You shook your head, your breath coming in short gasps. “You won’t. I promise.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his hand moving to your waist. He leaned in again, his lips trailing down your neck, his mustache tickling your skin. You shivered, your hands gripping the sheets as he worked his way down, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

His hand slid under the thin hospital gown, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. You gasped, your back arching as his hand moved higher, until it found its way to your breast. He cupped it gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, making you moan softly.

“Luigi…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice rough.

You shook your head, your hands reaching for his shirt. “It’s not. I want this. I want you.”

He groaned, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he pulled it off, revealing his toned chest. You touched him then, your hand slipping up through the hair on his chest, feeling the muscles there tighten at your touch. He let out this low moan as your fingers found his nipple, pinching it lightly, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

His hands found the hem of your gown, and he slowly pulled it up, revealing your body to him. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You blushed, your hands moving to cover yourself, but he stopped you, his hands gently pulling yours away. “Don’t hide,” he said, his voice soft. “Let me see you.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your stomach. He kissed his way down, his hands sliding up your thighs, until he reached the apex of your legs. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. “Yes. Please.”

He smiled, his mustache twitching as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You gasped, your back arching as he explored you, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans filling the room as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

“Luigi…” you whimpered, your body trembling with pleasure.

He didn’t stop, his tongue driving you wild as he pushed you closer to the edge. And then, with one final flick of his tongue, you were there, your body tensing as pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your hands gripping his hair as you rode out the wave, your body trembling with the force of it.

He pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal, and he looked up at you with a satisfied smile. “You taste amazing,” he murmured, his voice rough.

You chuckled breathlessly, your hand reaching down to cup his cheek.

To unravel the depths of their connection and step into the heart of their raw, unfiltered intimacy, click here. Beyond this moment lies a world of desire and transformation, where every whispered word and deliberate touch weaves a story of surrender and self-discovery. Dare to explore what happens when boundaries blur, and the extraordinary begins.

If this story ignites your imagination, and you yearn to craft an alternate reality of your own—one filled with raw emotion, layered characters, and transformative intimacy—click here to begin building a world where desires shape destinies, and every scene leaves a lasting imprint.

Step inside and discover the tools to not only read but create stories that resonate deeply and linger endlessly.