#or any ps console

[24-guy]

You can decide from here on out how you take my requests: drawing and/or writing. Whichever you prefer for the specific thing.

Max and Richie playing video games. Pre or during relationship doesn't really matter.

I hope you're not sick of me-

I could never be sick of your requests. :))

And I'm gonna write it since it's easier for me where I am right now (in the kitchen, with no WiFi to be seen).

---

A new club had sprouted up at Hatchetfield High and sue Max if he joined it. He didn't exactly want to. But joining a club would help his resume to joining a good college, and when it proudly presented the advertisement of "Video Game Club", well it didn't seem like the nerdiest thing.

There were those soccer games, right? Yeah. He could just play those. Whatever. It was better than nothing.

The club occupied a computer room where every computer looked older than he was, grimy off-white mouses beside the awful clackity keyboards. It wasn't surprising that Hatchetfield High had a shit computer room, just about all of their funding went to the sports teams to beat Clivesdale in their competing events.

Nobody else had entered the room, yet, and Max found himself wondering who'd even started the club in the first place. He sat himself at the teacher's chair, spinning in it halfheartededly. As the door began to push open, Max turned and slow creeping regret settled into his bones as he saw who was behind it. He should have just taken the hit on not attending any clubs.

---

Richie had wanted to start a club for the past year. It was easy enough, just declaring it to the head and getting approval for it. Video games was a universal enough subject that meant there wouldn't be a big gate to getting involved with it. Ruth and Pete couldn't join for the first session, occupied with drama and science clubs respectively.

Richie's old, ratty PS3 weighed heavy in the plastic bag it was placed in alongside a disc case, and he considered the chance of it snapping under the weight. He shook his head, unlikely.

Richie had gotten lucky when he'd decided to bring the console in that day. He housed it in his locker and not once had Max or the other jocks come to pick on him in front of it, meaning it got kept a secret.

The computer room door was heavy as he pushed it with his shoulder, only looking up once it was too far open to back out.

Max Jägerman sat in the teacher's chair staring at him. Richie's brain set off alarm bells. Shit. This must have been an accident, right? A swift look to the room number confirmed it. Either Max had the wrong room, or he was intending on joining this club too.

Richie, numb from panic, placed the console on one of the desks close to him. He was aware of the eyes burning into the back of his neck and he jumped as the door to the room closed behind him.

The silence was thick as Richie stalled himself from turning around, but eventually he had to bite the bullet and turn, eyes immediately meeting Max's. The tension grew thicker and Richie wondered if he was living in a TV show or anime where he was bound to have unlikely events happen to him.

"So..." He awkwardly broke the silence. He drummed his fingers on the table behind him. "... Video games?"

Max looked like he was debating punching him, walking out or responding. Richie hoped it was one of the last two.

To his relief, Max responded. "Yeah."

Richie turned again and picked up the console, trying and failing to ignore how close he needed to get to plug it into the teacher's computer to get it to show on the projector. It felt like a black hole, being drawn in and pulled towards danger, ever aware of Max's presence.

After successfully turning the console on, Richie once again turned to the plastic bag and pulled out the case of games. He hesitated before handing it out to Max.

"You can pick a game." He said as Max took it from his hands.

---

Max had chosen Little Big Planet 2. Richie couldn't tell you why, but they played it. The classical music was almost humorous as the unmentioned tension sat heavy between them. Customizing their characters went as swiftly as it could have been.

Slowly, they worked their way in silence through the levels. Richie was taken aback by how well they were going through a teamwork based game without saying anything to one another.

That came to an end though as Max found an unreachable collectable. "How'd you get up there?"

"Uh-" Richie looked at the screen.

"There. Where that platform is." Max's character moved back and forth where his half of the screen was. Oh.

"Oh. That. I don't know. I haven't finished this game." Richie admitted, his character joining Max's and giving them a bigger screen to look at.

Max frowned in Richie's peripheral. "That's shit."

Richie swallowed the urge to apologise. "Yeah. Uh. A lot of these levels are difficult with only one player. And my brother's occupied with theatre and his boyfriend so..."

"Okay so we'll beat it." Richie's head snapped to look at Max suddenly. Even Max looked shocked by what he said.

Instead of clarifying, Max put his controller on the desk beside him and got up and left without a word, leaving Richie confused to process what had just happened.

[pathetic-gamer]

damn, you can really see exactly when I got my new job this year 😭

it's like 30 hours per month until May, and then it's just "See you on the other side, brother 🫡"

[superbellsubways]

top 5 games before 1999

I haven't played very many 💔fake gamer i know ok im just gonna name the ones I have played in order of which ive enjoyed more (i havent even finished most of these either 😭

super mario 64

f zero

mk64

yoshis island

zelda lttp

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[abbotjack]

Abbott with a ‘sir’ kink just feels right

(ps love your writing)

Oh absolutely—Jack Abbot with a ‘sir’ kink doesn’t just feel right—it explains so much. Man spent years in the military, still walks like command never left his body, and the second you call him "sir"? His jaw ticks. His breath catches. The air shifts. This is very him—and very you, ruined by him. 18+ ONLY. Do not interact if you’re a minor.

warnings/content: sir kink, emotionally repressed man finally losing control, rough sex, power dynamic tension, mentions of military trauma and death, alcohol (beer), reader is a fourth-year resident, Jack is Not Gentle™ p.s thank you so much to everyone who’s left kind words about my writing lately. it means more than you know <3

You weren’t supposed to be on shift. Memorial Day, supposedly protected on the schedule. But half the roster called off and you got the text at noon from Dana: we need you.

Jack was already in the trauma bay when you walked in—sleeves stained, voice low and clipped, the kind that made everyone fall in line without thinking. He didn’t say a word when he saw you. Just handed you a pair of gloves.

Now it’s past midnight. You’re outside the hospital, undershirt sweat-stuck to your spine. You could’ve walked home—it’s not far—but when Jack mutters, “You need a ride?” with his keys already in hand, you don’t say no.

His truck smells like unscented soap, clean cotton, and the faintest trace of leather—lived-in but scrubbed down, like everything else he keeps close. There’s nothing on the seats. No wrappers. No dust. Console organized, glove box latched. The kind of vehicle that’s been through things but still runs quiet—because he keeps it that way.

There’s a trauma kit in the backseat. You know without asking. Probably an extra pair of scrubs folded under it. Probably gloves in the door pocket, a stethoscope stuffed between the seats.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, wrist loose, posture upright. No music playing. Just the low, occasional murmur of the police scanner tucked under the dash.

He doesn’t talk while driving. He doesn’t fill silence for the sake of it. Jack Abbot isn’t wired for background noise. He reads intersections like patients—measures, anticipates, adjusts. Everything he does has a reason.

Even the way he glances over at you at the red light, like he’s making sure you haven’t slipped out of his orbit yet.

“You eat today?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head. “When would I have?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just lets out a breath through his nose, turns the wheel one-handed.

“You’re coming back to mine,” he says.

Not a question. Not even an offer.

Just... routine.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

You’ve done this enough times to know there’ll be cold beer in the fridge, maybe leftover pasta—if Robby didn’t steal it last time he dropped by. Jack won’t say a word when you kick off your shoes at the door like you live here, too.

The house is dark when you step inside, but it smells like cedar and clean soap and something warmer beneath it—wood polish, maybe. His kind of clean. The kind that comes from knowing where everything belongs and putting it there, every time.

He moves through the space like it’s muscle memory, like the floor was built to match his stride. The quiet step of his prosthetic against the hardwood is as familiar to you now as the creak in the cabinet hinge he still hasn’t fixed.

“You want one?” he calls from the kitchen, already pulling open the fridge.

You murmur a quiet yeah and drift in, leaning your hip against the counter as he cracks two beers open. He sets one in front of you without looking. The cap lands in the little dish on the windowsill with a soft clink—just like all the others piled inside it. A dozen, at least. Maybe more.

The house is nice. Not just for a guy like him, but nice by any standard. Exposed beams. Matte black fixtures. Shelves that look like they belong in a magazine but you know he built them himself. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t need decorating because it was built right the first time.

You take your beer and head into the living room. Sit where you always do.

He follows, lowering himself into the armchair across from you with practiced ease. Weight shifts left, then the soft tap of his prosthetic finds the floor. You know the rhythm of how he moves—how he balances, how he settles. He doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t explain it. And you’ve never needed him to.

You glance at him.

“What,” he says.

“You always sit like that,” you reply.

He arches a brow. Not challenging—just neutral.

“You lead with your left,” you clarify.

“I don’t think about it.”

You nod. “Yeah. I know.”

You both sip in silence for a while. There’s a radio scanner in the corner near the window. It’s on, low. Something crackles and fades out.

“Why do you always work Memorial Day?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Don’t like being told to take the day off.”

That makes you smile. “So, spite.”

He doesn't smile back, but his voice shifts just enough to tell you it landed. “Something like that.”

You stretch your legs out. Rest the bottle on your thigh. “You ever miss it?”

Jack looks at the wall behind you—not through you, just past. Not escaping. Recalling.

“No.”

You wait.

“I miss the parts that made sense. Waking up every day with a mission. Knowing the rules. Knowing what mattered.” He looks at you. “But I don’t miss the heat. The sand. The sound a man makes when he thinks he’s going to die.”

You nod, slow. He’s not looking for sympathy. You don’t offer it.

You shift a little on the couch, not even thinking before you say, “Do you miss the authority? Like... being called ‘sir’ all the time?”

He glances at you. Not sharply. Just long enough to let the question hang.

Then he looks away again. Back to the bottle in his hands.

“I miss not having to explain myself,” he says. “That’s about it.”

You smile a little, trying to cut through it. “Well, you’re still kind of terrifying when you want to be.”

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile.

You tip your head toward him. “Sir.”

Just a murmur. Barely there. But he hears it.

He stills.

Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t answer.

He just... sets his beer down.

Carefully. Quietly.

Jack leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s walking himself through something he already decided an hour ago.

He doesn’t raise his voice.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

He holds your gaze, steady. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t move.

Just waits—like he’s giving you a last chance to pull back, even if part of him knows you won’t.

And when you don’t—when you just sit there, breathing quiet and not taking it back—

He stands and crosses the room—measured, quiet, with that same deliberate ease he always has right before everything changes.

You set your beer down without thinking.

When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch you.

Just looks at you.

You’re still sitting, hands loose in your lap, heart loud in your chest. You tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

“Still sure?” he asks.

You nod.

That’s all it takes.

He leans in—both hands coming to your face, one curling against your jaw, the other threading into your hair—and kisses you like he’s been trying not to for a long time. His body tilts over yours, braced, sure.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rough. It’s need—heat, breath, a scrape of teeth. You tilt into it, fingers catching the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself like you’re afraid he might pull away.

When you stand—rising into him—it’s instinct, seamless. That’s when his hands find your waist, gripping like he’s finally letting himself touch what he’s wanted all along.

“You want this?” he asks, breath hot against your cheek.

You nod, already breathless. “Yes.”

He steps back—not far. Just enough to let you follow.

You do.

No words. No second thoughts. Just the sound of your breathing and the quiet creak of floorboards beneath his steps.

The bedroom is like the rest of the house—dark, clean, minimal. Black sheets. Hardwood floors. A space that’s only ever held him, until now.

The door barely clicks shut before he’s already working your pants down—no fumbling, just intent. Mouth on your jaw, breath hot and uneven as he pulls them past your thighs.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he says, almost under his breath.

You do. Of course you do. Every look, every shift in his voice, every beer he handed you with his jaw clenched too tight.

You step out of the last of your clothes. He does the same—fast, practiced, stripped down to nothing but need.

He backs you toward the bed, then pushes you gently by the hips. You go easily, falling back onto the sheets, legs parting before you even think about it.

Jack stares.

His body over yours—solid, scarred, familiar—but his face?

Wrecked.

“This,” he says, low, like he’s not even speaking to you, like he’s talking to the version of himself that told him not to touch you. “This was always gonna happen.”

Then he’s on you.

No teasing. No delay.

Just his mouth, hot and heavy between your legs, tongue dragging slow and purposeful until you’re arching off the bed with a sound you barely recognize as yours.

You grip the sheets. His shoulders. Anything.

He doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even look up.

Just groans low into you like he’s addicted to the way you fall apart under his hands.

You’re already shaking when he pulls back, mouth wet, chest rising.

“Turn over,” he says, voice wrecked.

You hesitate just a beat—enough to see the way he breathes when you do it. When you shift onto your stomach, hips lifted, arms bracing.

You hear the sound of the condom, fast. Efficient.

And then—

Jack’s hand on your lower back. Steady.

And the way he slides into you? Slow. So deep it knocks the air out of you.

He curses under his breath. Grips your hip with one hand and the back of your neck with the other—not to force you down. Just to hold you there. Like he needs you solid. Still.

You moan into the mattress. He groans above you, pace already building.

Every thrust is measured. Heavy. Earned.

“Fuck, you feel—” he breaks off. “I can’t—Jesus.”

You push back into him, and he snarls something low and wordless. One of his hands slides around to your front, fingers finding you again.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Right fucking now.”

And you do.

Hard.

So hard your voice breaks.

He groans—sharp, wrecked, desperate—and follows you over the edge with one last thrust, hips grinding against yours as he comes with a sound that tears right through your spine.

You both collapse, tangled, shaking, breathless.

Nothing moves for a long time.

You stare up at the ceiling, lips parted, chest still rising and falling.

Then, quiet—almost lazy—you murmur, “I guess I should start calling you that more often.”

Jack doesn’t lift his head, but you can feel the tension in his body change. Loosen. Settle.

“You do that,” he mutters, voice half-buried in your neck, “and I’m not gonna make it to shift tomorrow.”

You turn toward him, drape an arm across his chest, skin still hot against yours.

“Guess we’ll test that theory.”

Jack exhales, something low and rough in his throat—just close enough to be a laugh.

[dan-crimes]

LMAO OKAY SO LIKE ON THE TOPIC OF UNLEASHED like I don't have doubt in my ability to remember games that I've played but I always slightly wondered if I was like imagining the fact that I got Sonic Unleashed at one point bcuz I was an Xbox haver but NAH my Mom mentioned it today (technically yesterday but I haven't slept yet) and we both recall the fact that we just could NOT get past a part very early on in the game no matter how hard we tried (and I was young never having played a Sonic game) and I'm glad we have that shared memory bcuz it is so funny to think that my first Sonic game I ever slightly played I could NOT get past and simply dropped the game

[marsmaximoff]

❤️‍🩹; healing caresses ᜊ

content warning: gn!reader (married). comfort, fluff. his illness and cheating are mentioned.

word count: 349 ^^

author's note: the emperors' hype is dying, you say? not on my blog. this will ALWAYS be a caracalla fan account, and im gonna post more about him, i promise. i just got distracted with season two of squid game which i'm also gonna post more about (it'll be about the pink guards hehe). anyways, i think no one is gonna read this but i hope im wrong SJKSJSK. ps: english is not my mother language, im sorry for the mistakes. enjoyyy <3

divider by @saradika-graphics !!

his fluffy and slightly messy ginger locks act like the softest of silks around my fingers. the soothing gesture slowly bringing him back, melting away the agitation. all showing on the loosening of his shoulder muscles, his now even breathing, and the way he leans into my touch, seeking that unwavering love i so unconditionally provide.

“what…did i say this time?” he asks the question slowly, with caution, almost absentmindedly. i don’t know what makes me feel worse: the fact he doesn’t remember or the way he wants to. “do not worry about it.” my hand does not cease its movement. “i…i wish to know.” he shifts, pressing his head on my lap more onto my stomach, as if bracing himself. i have never enjoyed these conversations, loathing how much self-deprecation they bring. if he’s lucky enough to forget, why would i plague his mind again?

“you questioned spoke about my loyalty, my fealty”, as usual, “stated i would fancy the idea of leaving you, which i will never”, i assure him firmly. fortunately, his words don’t pierce my heart anymore. i do not let them, for it is not my husband who utters them. “they shall not get to your head, i… i did not…” i know how difficult such words are for him, acknowledging the illness that slowly rots all he has ever been.

“love, don’t concern yourself. i feel all right, what matters to me is that you do. i am already aware that you do not mean any of it.” some masters warned me i would tire of so much consolation, but it comes easy when the love is pure, i believe. “thank you, my love. i assume it is not effortless”, he continues with a sigh, “but you must know how highly i value your company and patience. it warms me”, his embrace tightens around me, as if reinforcing the genuine confession. “that will on no occasion change, you have me forever”, i say with a loving smile before pressing a soft kiss to his head. boyish giggles surround us, delightedly squeezing our hearts.

[socgf]

can you write a dallas x reader where he has to meet her family and what that is like? ps i love ur writing

meet the parents - dallas winston x reader

dally attempts to learn table manners for you.

wc: 1122

warnings: none. fluff and language. :)

"i'm not kidding, dal. if you mention a word about your bets at the rodeos, i'll skin you alive." 

you reach over the center console of buck's red thunderbird that dally 'borrowed' to park in front of your house, and fiddle mindlessly with the neckline of his white tee shirt, the cleanest one you could find in his closet for this occasion. though getting him to wear something with a collar, or god forbid, buttons, would be a tall order.

"quit worryin' your pretty head. i got it, alright? nothin' illegal." he grins over to you, leaning back in his seat and putting a cigarette between his lips. "i'll tell them i work at the library or some shit."

you roll your eyes at his comment and snatch the stick out of his hand before he can light it. "...and you can't be smellin' like smoke either when you meet them."

"awe, now you know that's too far." he reaches into the glove compartment, digging out a pack of menthols instead. "c'mon, you can't have a problem with these."

"ugh, dal…"

he groans dramatically, putting it back in the box. "fine. jesus, woman, the things i do for you.."

"yeah, you like me or something?" you can't hold back a smile.

"no, no, that's not it. i'm losin' my mind, that's what." he retorts, though there's that familiar softness in his voice. "alright. i can see your ma lookin' through the damn curtains, let's go."

he places a chaste kiss to your cheek and walks over to the passenger side, holding the door open. he'd be a real proper gentleman if you didn't know any better.

your heart beats out of your chest as you slide the key into the front door lock. and dally must have picked up on it with the way he squeezes your hand softly, running his thumb along your palm. you can hear your parents scramble off the couch at the sound

your mother's eyes light up when she sees you at the door.

"oh sweetheart, look at you two! well, come in, come in." she beckons you and dally into the living room, smoothing her hand over his shoulder.

you swallow hard before speaking. "mama, daddy, this is -"

"uh, dallas winston, sir." he's already reached out his hand for a firm shake, and your father's eyes immediately zero in on the small, healing cut on dally's lip, though he smiles gruffly.

"great to finally meet you, son. we've heard so much about you."

"real nice place you got here, ma'am." dally's eyes dart around your living room, trying really hard to seem like he hasn't already snuck up the stairs in the middle of the night a dozen times by now. you're biting the inside of your cheek, holding back a smirk.

"well, thank you, dallas." your mother gestures to the dining room, plates and utensils already laid out for four. "dinner should be just about ready. you like pot roast?"

"yes ma'am." 

as the four of you sit down for dinner, you can sense the tension in dally's body from the corner of your eye. his fingers drum lightly against your knee.

"so, dallas, my daughter tells me you help out at the rodeos?" he asks cautiously, and dally nods.

"that's right, sir." 

your dad passes the gravy boat, keeping his eyes on dally. "dangerous sport."

"yeah, that's what makes it worth doin'."

dally catches your warning nudge to his ankle under the table, and recovers quickly. "...course, i'm uh… real careful, sir. can't have your daughter here worried sick about me."

your father softens slightly at his words, glancing between you and dally. "that's right, son, you better be. this one's quite fond of you."

dally almost looks proud at your father's reaction, dropping his gaze to his plate to hide the hint of a flush on his cheeks. 

"well, it's getting late," your mother says, gathering the dessert plates into the sink, while your father glances at the clock. "dallas, you'll drive safely home?"

"always do, ma'am." 

you can barely stifle a laugh at that one.

"and thanks for dinner... it was real good." he continues, standing up from the table and pushing the chair in all proper.

"why don't you two say goodnight on the porch?" your mother suggests, and you don't miss how dally's eyes light up for a moment.

as you close the screen door behind you, the sounds from the dining room muffled and the cool air hitting your face, dally's lips are already at your ear.

"window's unlocked?"

you nod as subtly as you can, knowing your parents are definitely peeking at you through the windows. "be careful with the screen this time. daddy noticed the holes last week."

"yeah, i got it. ten minutes, baby." he mutters gruffly. he leans down and kisses your forehead softly before heading down the steps towards the thunderbird.

you let out a quiet sigh and head back into the dining room, letting out a slightly exaggerated yawn. "think i'd better head up, mama. got some reading to do before bed."

you almost think your mother is onto something with the knowing look she gives you. "alright, honey." she pauses. "he seems like a good guy. he treat you well?"

you smile softly. "yeah. yeah… he does, swear."

"man, was i good down there or what?"

you barely had time to change into your nightgown before dally's made the climb back into your bedroom. by the looks of it, all the rules he was bound to have been completely abandoned.

you scoff slightly, sitting criss cross on the foot of the bed. he's already sprawled across your headboard, head lounging on your ruffled pillows.

"yeah, a little too good, dal. got 'em thinking you're a prep school boy… where'd you pick up manners like that?"

his chuckle is muffled softly by the cigarette between his lips.

"wouldn't you like to know, sweetheart?" he pats the spot right next to him, mumbling, "c'mere."

"dal, they haven't even went to bed yet-"

"ain't doin' nothin'. just want my girl closer." he pauses, a shit-eating grin creeping onto his face. "...what were you thinking?"

you let out a halfhearted groan but scoot over next to him anyway, sinking your head into the crook of his neck. he strokes the top of your head lazily as you take in the subtle feeling of his chest rising and falling, a feeling that's always comforted you.

"think they're asleep yet?" he mumbles after a while, his breath in your ear.

you poke him gently in his side. "dal..."

he can't hold back a gruff laugh as he catches your fingers, interlacing them with his own.

"worth a shot, baby."

a.n. i hope you like this request i'm sorry it took so long!! i was fighting for my life trying to make this not too ooc bc i feel like in reality dallas would like cuss your parents out to their face but i CHOOSE to believe he can also do this like i'm a soft dallas truther.

ps.ps. this is kinda soc reader coded…

taglist: @mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d

[nie13chen]

Player 132

This is the first part of the fiction I started to write. I'm trying to write a little slow burn, as far as it's possible since the events take place during the game in season 2 and it only lasted three days so far, so let's see where it goes.

I'm not a native speaker, I hope it doesn't sound super weird. Hope you enjoy it.

PS: I know, Player 132 is some random guy in season 2, but I just ignored that fact.

Chapter 1 - Player 132 (below)

Chapter 2 - Games and Nightmares

Chapter 3 - Whispers of the Past

Pairing: In-ho x f! y/n (3rd person)

Summary: In-ho first notices you during the vote after the first game. After he spoke to Gi-hun during the first night, he decides to approach you.

Words: 1,569

Content Warnings: attempted suicide, drug abuse

Chapter 1 - Player 132

In-ho entered the room through a side entrance. The lighting was dim. It felt strange to move without a mask. All the players were preoccupied with the voting, so no one noticed the newcomer. Some stared blankly into the void, while others whispered excitedly to each other, but no one paid him any attention. In-ho's eyes landed on his green suit with the number 001 and then shifted to the voting board in front. He was one of them again. He would play again. A faint smile crossed his lips. This time, it was different.

The voting had started in reverse order on his instruction, giving him enough time to blend unnoticed among the other players. In-ho observed the white numbers on the green suits. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on the number 456. Bringing Gi-hun back had been a risk. However, he was the first known winner in the history of the games to return. That would undoubtedly increase the game's appeal…

Player 004 made their way to their seat. A tie.

When In-ho was called to vote, he moved slowly and almost silently at first, then quickened his pace. The other players stared at him. His fluid movements were reminiscent of a predator deliberately approaching its prey. Since he had kept himself hidden behind the other players, he now had to cross almost the entire room. The other players began cheering for him, trying to pull him to their side. Halfway across the room, he suddenly felt like he was being watched. One of the gazes in the crowd felt different. He tried to look around without slowing down or turning his head. His gaze met that of a young woman.

Player 132.

For a fraction of a second, he froze, just long enough not to arouse suspicion.

Player 132.

For years, it had been his job to observe the players, to know their backgrounds, and to collect data on them. It had become something of a ritual for him to pay special attention to this number—perhaps out of nostalgia, perhaps out of connection; he couldn’t quite tell. He tried to recall what he knew about her, but for some reason, his mind failed him.

Player 132.

His jaw tightened. For a brief moment, his breath caught. He felt as though he were moving in slow motion. A stabbing sensation in his chest made him uncertain whether something was breaking free within him or whether something was embedding itself deeper, something he thought he had long since forgotten. In-ho’s dark gaze met a pair of eyes carrying the same pain shared by anyone who agreed to the terms of the games, but also a melancholy and restlessness that stirred something deep inside him—a part of himself he had buried long ago. It took effort to refocus on his goal and continue toward the voting podium.

When he finally reached the console, he hesitated. Not now, not here. These words swirled through his mind, attempting to silence whatever had just occurred. It couldn't happen. He had meticulously planned everything, removed every obstacle, accounted for every scenario—except this. If he allowed the cold fog creeping into his mind to take hold, it could mean his downfall. Perhaps it was already too late.

He knew all eyes were on him, and he didn’t have much time to make a decision. He thought briefly, then pressed the green button.

-

In-ho tried to sneak back to his bed as quietly as possible after speaking with Gi-hun. He glanced around to ensure he was unobserved and then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

The weight of unanswered questions pressed coldly and heavily on his chest, just as the shared fate between him and Gi-hun did. They both had won, yet their victory had come too late. The memory of failing to save what they had risked their lives for connected them and, at the same time, led them down paths that could not have been more different.

Suddenly, he heard a faint humming. It was a melody he had never heard before. He wasn’t sure whether it was the memory of his family, which he had just shared with Gi-hun, or the gentle sound of the voice, but the song deeply moved him. A shiver ran through his upper body, leaving behind a painful burning sensation, yet it oddly soothed him. He drew a sharp breath and looked around. Across the room, a woman sat on her bed, her legs pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them.

Player 132.

In-ho didn’t know why he followed the melody, but for some reason, he couldn’t turn away. He slowly descended a staircase between two bunk beds and then sat on one of the steps next to Number 132. When she noticed him, she fell silent.

“Please, don’t stop…”

The woman looked at him questioningly, but his smile convinced her to comply. It didn’t quite match the rest of his expression, but she sensed it was genuine. There was something questioning and quietly desperate in his eyes. 132 closed her eyes and began the song again. For a while, they simply sat next to each other, letting the melody transport them to a world beyond this island—away from the games, away from fear and death. When the song ended, they sat in silence for a moment.

“I saw you during the vote. Why did you decide to stay?” she finally asked.

In-ho didn’t answer immediately.

“And you?” he countered, gesturing to the green circle on her jacket.

He caught a brief glimpse of the long scar on her neck, but she seemed to notice, as she pulled her jacket’s zipper higher. Then she let her arms drop so that her hands now rested gently and soft on the mattress.

“You’re trembling,” he noted.

He resisted the sudden urge to place his hand over hers. After a few moments, she quietly began to speak into the silence.

“It’s a rare neurological condition. I was a pianist. Music was my life, but because of the disease, I couldn’t take on any work anymore.”

She lifted her trembling hand as if to demonstrate.

“The pain comes in waves. Normal medications don’t help, and the doses doctors prescribe me are a joke. So, at some point, I started obtaining sedatives on my own.”

She paused for a moment. Now In-ho remembered. He had read in her file about her spiraling debt due to drug abuse, about the measures she had taken to get money, and how he had judged her for it. He swallowed.

“Over time, I needed more and more of the stuff to get through the attacks, until I finally decided to quit. The drugs are gone now, but the pain remains. And so do the debts.”

She smiled at him through the silence.

“May I ask your name?” she asked quietly, averting her gaze as if uncertain whether the question crossed a line, since she was clearly younger than him.

“My name is In-ho—” he hesitated, then continued, “But the others here know me as Young-il. I… I’d appreciate it if not everyone here knew my real name, if you understand…”

She nodded.

“I’m Y/N.”

Why had he told her his real name? He knew it wasn’t an accident. He wasn’t supposed to trust anyone—trust made him vulnerable. And yet, for some reason, he didn’t regret his decision, even though he knew how dangerous it was.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. You should get some rest,” he said abruptly, standing up.

He was about to leave when she lightly touched his arm to stop him. Her touch took his breath away for a moment, spreading warmth and softness over his entire body. He didn’t dare move, hoping to prolong the moment.

“In-ho,” she said, so quietly only he could hear it. He turned back to her.

He swallowed. Only now did he realize how long it had been since he had heard his name spoken aloud. Here, he was Young-il or The Frontman—never In-ho. The last person to call him that had been his brother, just before falling off the cliff. Hearing her voice say his name unsettled him yet comforted him at the same time. He looked at her. Now it was he who trembled.

“Are… are you all right?”

There was something about her that drew him in, and that scared him. It was pointless to deny it. Perhaps it was her sharp intuition, her gentle voice, or the quiet despair in her gaze that seemed to seek refuge in him. For a while, he remained silent. He had already lost everything once on this island and wasn’t ready to take that risk again. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her presence. In-ho tilted his head slightly to the side, trying to appear as unaffected as possible.

“Why do you ask?”

Y/N looked down at her knees, as if hesitating to answer. Then, slowly and seriously, she continued:

“Your eyes. They look like you’ve been through a lot. More than most of the people here.”

In-ho looked at her for a long moment. He knew she already knew the answer. Finally, he smiled, turned, and walked back to his bed without another word.

Player 132 watched him leave for a long time.

-> Chapter 2 - Games and Nightmares

[deadhands69]

Tomura Shigaraki Proposing

soft!Shigaraki x Reader

1000% tooth rotting fluff Sorry for the boring name, I wasn't sure about posting this one but figured it's Valentine's day. Hope someone else enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Preface: Canonically, Shigaraki isn’t really the type to care much about getting married. He’s never really thought about it in relation to himself. Plus, you never showed any interest in that so he never had reason to. But. Things happen and for whatever legal reason, you find yourselves in need of a marriage certificate. 

So, it’s decided.

He doesn’t make a big deal of it at first, returning to his game quietly. He continues to think through the evening and something about it feels off. Tomura’s never been set on any particular tradition but he’s not stupid. He knows how people usually do things and he’s adaptable. Even if you are just doing it for a sheet of paper, one of you is supposed to actually ask. Right?

Abruptly, he drops the controller after a match and brings it up. He wants to propose, would you be okay with it? After some reassurance that he doesn’t have to, he tells you that, now that he’s thought through it, he wants to. When you ask what he’s planning on doing he scoffs and says that even he knows that part’s supposed to be a surprise. 

“Pick a game,” he says, tossing an N64 controller in your direction. You push the Pokemon Snap cartridge into the console, still not looking reassured by whatever Tomura would consider a surprise.

“It’ll be cute,” he comforts you, “don’t worry.”

“As cute as a pikachu?” you ask as one jumps across the screen.

“I'll try,” he says quietly while subtly smirking.

Over the next week, Tomura is quick to rush to the door whenever a package shows up, being sure to grab them before you have a chance to look. It’s a bit odd, but not completely abnormal. He did the same thing a few months ago when he was excited for a special edition action figure he ordered so you don’t think much of it.

Your sleeping schedule has been fucked since you started spending time with Tomura so you’re never entirely sure what time it is when you wake up. Based on the light peeking through the blinds, you’d guess early afternoon. Typically, he’ll sleep later than you so it comes as quite the surprise when you roll over and throw your arm around an empty blanket.

Almost empty. 

A pokeball shaped envelope filled to the brim lays on his pillow. When you open it, you find a stack of energy cards and a small note in Tomura’s messy handwriting:

they’re in order, you know where to find them.

❤︎ Tomura

ps: you can always see the next one from where you’re standing 

A fire card lays on the top of the deck. You sit up, trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes as you glance around the space trying to figure out what he means. Something glints from the corner, above the heater. Pressing out of bed, you walk across the room to find a charmander card. Cute.

The next energy card is water. You search your room again to no avail. Standing in the same spot you found the charmander, you realize can see the bathroom through the cracked door. There’s a gyarados card in the shower. 

This continues for a while as you pull cards from the envelope.

Rayquaza on top of a mountain painting.

Joltik by a lamp.

Bulbasaur in a houseplant.

Leafeon in another houseplant.

Articuno stuck to the freezer by a magnet.

Squirtle in the kitchen sink.

Finally, you find a cute pair of pikachu house slippers hidden in the cords behind the tv. You put them on, pulling out a dark card next.

In the kitchen, you see a post-it stuck to the cabinet. 

Night ❨

When you open the door, an umbreon plushie falls out. With the prizes getting bigger, you must be getting close to the end. Looking back in the envelope, there’s only one card left: you pull out a lone purple psychic energy.

“Hmmm,” you mumble to yourself while trying to think of where else you could find a pokemon in your one bedroom apartment. You look out the window to the park across from your building as you think. 

Then it hits you.

The next one isn't in the apartment.

You have to go to the (tall) grass outside. Swapping your cute new slippers for some sneakers, you throw on a jacket and make the trek to the park. It’s freezing but you barely notice the chill in the excitement as you rush across the street. 

Turning onto the path into the park, you begin looking for…you aren’t sure yet, but you’ll know it when you find it. 

After a short walk through the trees, the faux forested area opens up into a grassy patch still covered in frost. On a bench near the edge of the grass sits Tomura in a mimikyu onesie, strands of his white hair poking out from under the hood. It suits him. Even his red shoes with black laces match the outfit perfectly. Seeing you, he stands and walks over. You make a mental note that this is the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

“I know you wanted a pikachu, but this seemed more fitting.” 

“It is,” you giggle, running your hands over the soft fabric. “You look cute.”

He smiles bashfully. He’s practiced this at least a hundred times before today and he knows you’ll say yes, you already did. That doesn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach now that it’s actually happening.

“Uhm,” he drops to one knee. As he looks up at you, the oversized hood falls over his face. He moves it back slightly, along with his messy hair and his crimson eyes find yours. 

“[y/n].”

“Yes, Tomura?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course,” you exclaim, pulling him to his feet and smashing your lips into his. His cold nose presses into your cheek as he kisses you back. 

While the decision had already been made for practical purposes, you’re surprised at how excited you feel. Honestly, you didn’t expect him to make so much of an effort either. 

“Can we go home now,” he grumbles against your lips, “it’s cold out here.”

“Yeah, let’s go!” You grab his hand, tangling your pinkies together as the two of you make your way back to the path. 

As you walk the short distance back to your apartment, you think of how nice it will be to spend the rest of your life with him. Starting with this evening: cuddling your mimikyu on the couch with a hot cup of tea.

bnha masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter

[lovelyahoy]

Haikyuu: One-Shot. Word Count:4,184.

Warnings: lowk cringe ending i can't lie but idc😭, fluff, and Kuroo being everywhere. PS idk shit about animal crossing new horizons, blame google for anything i got wrong.

Summary: Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, [Y/N] and Kenma are the prime example of this, except the hate wasn't exactly...hate.

TL: @akiqvq💖

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

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[Y/N] hated Kenma.

Hated the way he always beat her in every game, smirking to himself when she'd groan loudly and kick an empty can away.

Hated his effortless factual rebuttals on anything gaming-related, leaving her stumbling over her words like a headless chicken.

Hated how she always made sure to berate whoever tried to mock him, if looks could kill—they'd be further down than the Titanic.

God and worst of all? She absolutely hated the way she couldn't look away when he'd blush from a simple brush of her finger on his hand, when his lips quirked up in a soft smile, and when his eyes would widen slightly, giving her a better view of the pretty cat-like pupils.

Hated. Fucking hated that she was whipped for him.

"How the fuck did you roll another six?!"

"Luck."

[Y/N] held the Nintendo tighter, talking herself out of throwing the damn thing against the wall. You'd think she'd have a better chance at winning on Mario Party, except no, because Kenma was a god when it came to video games.

Sneering as he got another star, bringing his total up to four stars while she had zero. Finishing up the rounds, [Y/N] turned off the device and avoided gazing at his victory scene.

Kenma smiled, seeing her childish pout from the corner of his eyes. He gently took her DS and turned it back on, opening super bomberman and inviting it to a lobby he made.

[Y/N] took it back, blinking up at him.

"Let's team up."

And that was the first time she had won.

"Kuroo, what does he say about me?"

The tall rooster head stopped whistling, twirling a volleyball on a finger, and side-eyeing her. They crossed paths near the park and now he was walking her home.

"Not much, think he talks more about that orange crow he met." [Y/N] fidgeted with the melon bread in her hand, taking a bite and grumbling incoherent sentences. "Why are you asking?"

That was a question she didn't have an answer for, wondering the same thing herself. She hated him, right? So why did he plague her mind like a pretty persistent parasite, consuming her every thought, messing with her sleep by making her think of what he could be doing at times. Was he playing that new god of war game he bought last week, or did he go back to replay monster hunter?

"The quicker you accept that you like him, the easier your days will be." He chuckled, feeling her fist weakly hit his shoulder, glaring up at Kuroo like he had just exposed her.

"I don't. I hate him."

"You hate him because of how he makes you feel." Kuroo didn't miss a beat, dropping his teasing smirk and settling his lips into a very tender smile. [Y/N] sighed, crumpling up the wrapper in her hand and throwing it into a nearby bin.

"The last time I liked a dude, he fucked my best friend. I had to move schools because whenever I'd see their disgusting faces in the hallways, I'd be plotting their deaths and my own." He knew she had past troubles with boys, but he never thought it had that much lore, he made a mental note to ask for more gossip information later.

Kuroo tossed the ball from hand to hand. He understood why she felt so hostile when dealing with her feelings, however, comparing Kenma to that guy was not even remotely the same thing.

"Have you seen him talk to any girls who aren't you?"

"No, but that's not saying much, considering Kenma is very reserved."

"Okay, well, how many people does he let use his gaming consoles?"

That made her stop. Kuroo followed suit, his teasing smirk came back, and the girl looked up at him with her lips parted, face blushing slightly.

"Just me..."

"Just you."

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Kenma wiped the sweat from his forehead. This practice match had been going on for far too long, and he needed out. Now. The gym was unbearably hot, and the third set was not helping.

His only saving grace was knowing [Y/N] had stepped out a few points ago, yelling out that she'd be right back. She always did the same during hot days, watch him play for as long as she could stand the heat then leave, going to the nearby store and getting them popsicles.

"Kenma, just two more." Yaku patted his shoulder reassuringly then got back into position. The whistle was blown, and everyone moved accordingly. Kenma's eyes sharpened, hands in the air waiting to touch the ball and guide it towards an awaiting Fukunaga.

The moment it came in contact he decided to simply tap it over the net, hearing the whistle confirm the point and he breathed out—doubling over in pain when Kuroo smacked his back with an obnoxious laugh.

"A setter dump, good timing."

"HURRY UP!" They all turned to look at an impatient [Y/N] holding a plastic bag with the cold goodies. Knowing they were about to receive a treat had their blood pumping, and they scored that last point like their lives depended on it.

"Thanks." After saying their goodbyes and changing into their regular school uniforms, Kenma took the popsicle she had handed to him. The rest of the boys walked further, leaving the pair to stray in the back in silence.

A very comforting silence to him, but [Y/N] weirdly longed to hear his voice. She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks heat up when he tilted his head to the side, observing her while biting into the cat-shaped treat.

"Can I come over today? My dad got me the Nintendo Switch and I...I really wanna play Animal Crossing with you..." She whispered the last two words, Kenma looked away from her pretty [E/C] eyes, and felt his own face turn red.

"You can come over whenever you'd like, [Y/N]."

Her name feel from his lips like sweet honey and she quite literally melted on the spot.

"Ah! It's getting on your hands—"

...

...

Kenma softly snored into the pillow he had clutched to his chest. Next to him lay a focused [Y/N], determined to get the last 5k bells they needed for the house upgrade. Tom Nook was a greedy little man, but she needed the extra space to decorate, and no way in hell could she sleep right now.

His body rolled onto his back, head lolling to the side and facing her. [Y/N] confirmed the selected items to sell and smirked in victory as she ran to Tom for the long-awaited upgrade. She sighed quietly, saving the game and setting the console on the bedside stand.

[E/C] eyes shifted to the side, observing Kenma's peaceful expression, she lifted a hand to brush the pads of her fingers on his cheek, softly dragging them down to pass her thumb over his lips. A strand of hair loosened from behind his ear, [Y/N] reached to tuck it back.

Half-lidded yellow eyes fluttered open, and Kenma didn't move an inch, just observed her. Her warm hand rested on his cheek, cupping and caressing.

"[Y/N]?" Whispered groggy words, [Y/N] smiled and scooted closer to rest her head on his shoulder, looking up at him, she could feel her heart race. "You're lucky it's the weekend."

"You only fell asleep early because of the volleyball match." His gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips, to Kenma, [Y/N] was a dream. A dream he didn't think could ever be real, a dream he didn't have a chance with.

It hurt him to like someone like her, funny, kind, and beautiful. They had become friends when Kuroo lost to her in a sandbox fight, and Kenma stepped in to help his friend get sand out of his nose. He remembered that day so clearly, especially her very humored giggles.

For this night, he'd risk it a bit, mind still half asleep. Kenma adjusted her head to be on his chest instead, arm wrapping around her shoulder, and chin resting on her hair. When [Y/N] hugged him in response, Kenma hoped she wouldn't worry about how shaky his breaths had gotten.

"Will you stay today too?"

"I'd love to."

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Kenma loved [Y/N].

Loved the way she'd never shy away from anyone, speaking her mind and keeping everything in control.

Loved when she smiled brightly during his volleyball games, screaming the loudest and buying him victory treats.

Loved her pouty lips, red cheeks, and especially her [E/C] eyes. They were clear windows to him, knowing how she was feeling in that moment with a simple look-over.

The best part of it had to be those late nights when they'd play together, shoulders touching, munching on junk food and energy drinks, whispering to avoid waking up his parents. When she'd muffle her laughs into his sweater, clinging onto him like he was her lifeline.

Loved. Absolutely loved everything about her.

"Where's [Y/N]?"

Kenma scanned the sitting crowd, and he saw her friends, but no sign of the girl. The whistle rang out, and he was forced to tear his gaze from the people, settling into his position on the court.

She promised she'd never miss a game, no matter what, and he believed her. Recalling the day she had gone down with a severe flu, wearing three sweaters and two facemasks, cheering for him while coughing.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to bring along a stray." Coach Nekomata rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin on his face, Kenma's frown slowly quirked up into a cute smile—[Y/N] waving from behind the old man enthusiastically.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Smiles. Blushing faces. Something he loved and she hated.

"Alright, alright, stop drowning in each other's eyes. Sit down and you get into the setter spot." Kuroo playfully patted their backs and dragged Kenma to start the game.

[Y/N] took her place on the bench, fidgeting with her fingers above her shorts, a little nervous to watch the game this closely. She wasn't allowed to enter the gymnasium, having lost her entry ticket and clinging to the poor coach trying to get a drink nearby.

The world around her went mute, not even the annoying squeaking of their sneakers could penetrate her concentration this time. Everything but Kenma blurred out, his slightly long, cute, pudding-colored hair, his focused yellow cat eyes, lips set into a thin line, and cheeks red with adrenaline.

He was perfect in her eyes.

[Y/N] didn't hate Kenma, she hated what she couldn't have.

"Careful where you spike!" A meek boy on the opposing team shrieked and quickly bowed to Kenma, as he had almost hit the ball into his face.

"Don't mind her, she goes a little cuckoo when it comes to him." Kuuro offered a gigantic smirk, sending not-so-subtle glances towards the duo, who blushed in unison.

The game continued on smoothly, both teams giving their all and keeping a balanced score. First set was given to the opponents, in the middle of their second, a time out was called.

"Their middle blocker is good, but gets sloppy when you all charge in. Keep an eye out and track him, bounce the damn ball as many times as you can." Coach Nekomata received a loud 'hai' from the group, proudly smiling at how they all contributed more ideas to increase their points.

Kenma separated from the group, needing a breather. Walking up to [Y/N], who held out his water bottle, he thanked her and took a much-needed sip while sitting down. She gently took a folded towel to wipe away the sweat dripping down his forehead and neck, knowing Kenma hated sweating above all else.

Could she really live on like this? Acting as if this weird situationship wasn't happening? She wanted something more, something clear. [Y/N] finished and placed the towel to her side, she turned back to look at him already with his eyes on her.

"Think we can win?"

"Of course." She cackled. "Can't lose when I'm over here cheering for you."

Kenma laughed quietly. She hadn't seen him lose yet, and he was not going to let today be that day. He stood up when the referee mentioned the fifteen minutes were up, as he bent down to leave his bottle, [Y/N] snatched up the collar of his jersey, bringing him down further, in turn making him need to place a hand on the side of her thigh to balance himself.

"If the winning point is a setter dump, you can make me do one thing. If it's not, then I'll make you do something. Deal?" Her [E/C] eyes were filled with a mischievous sparkle, wanting to spice the game up. Kenma blinked from the close proximity, the words got caught in his throat, but he made sure to nod, already knowing what he'd like to ask of her.

"He looks locked in." Lev stood tall with his hands on his hips, observing the way Kenma's face was blank, no trace of the usual complaints, only utter silence. Kuroo had noticed their little interaction and swore by everything he loved that they had kissed.

Kenma set the ball like a precise hawk, earning his team the second set without a hitch. Coach Nekomata had never seen him so focused, he needed to know what had been said.

"[L/N], what'd you say to him?"

"Uh, nothing in particular..."

"I'd like to know, maybe with those words I can make him take matches this seriously every time."

[Y/N] held in her laugh, turning to look at the older man with a smile.

"I don't think it'll work if you say it."

"Ah, young love. I understand."

He looked away and monitored his players, purposely ignoring the shocked girl next to him. Great, now even this dude was teasing her.

...

...

"The poor thing didn't even see it coming." [Y/N] skipped over the cracked lines on the cement, chuckling when she remembered the shocked faces of everyone, including his teammates.

"Yaku almost tackled me, he was very amused with it."

The sky had gotten dark, leaving them to walk under the lamp posts and hurry on home, aka his home, because she lived further away and he didn't want her walking alone at this hour.

"So, you won. What are you gonna make me do?"

Kenma stuffed his face into his sweater's collar, hiding the bottom half from her. His eyes darted to the side and avoided meeting her curious expression.

He wanted a kiss. When he was dragged down to her level, her words almost didn't reach him, wanting to lean closer and connect their lips. Kenma wanted to ask for it, but now all his confidence had dissipated like the petals of a withered flower.

What if she thought he was some sort of pervert after this? Would it ruin what they had built together?

"Kenma, don't overthink it."

They stopped walking, standing underneath a light. [Y/N] was expecting him to ask for a game or make her play that scary one she refused to even touch.

He breathed in, feeling goosebumps take over his covered arms. Countless times, she had mentioned hating past relationships, and anyone who confessed to her was shot down quicker than a bullet. Why'd he go and fall for her despite knowing this?

"[Y/N], you can say no."

"Tell me then."

Now she was beginning to feel nervous, giving her the option to decline was starting to look like a red flag. But this was Kenma, her sweet little pudding angel, there was no way he'd ask for anything she considered bad.

"A...k..."

"What?"

"Uhm, a k..."

[E/C] eyes blinked rapidly, straining her ears to try and decipher his low mumbling. She took a step forward and squinted when he looked away shyly, k? k what. Kenma suddenly began walking again, [Y/N] matched his pace with confusion building up inside of her.

"Never mind, you don't have to do anything."

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"K-word that causes embarrassment? Why would I know?"

"Well, I can't exactly ask him, now, can I?" Kuroo threw a pencil at her face, scowling playfully at her blatant sarcasm. [Y/N] told him about the silly deal, needing feedback on this matter before going straight to the source.

"Just because he's my best friend doesn't mean I can read his mind."

"No duh—okay, sorry, find out for me please? I'll set you up on that date you wanted with Claire." Kuroo's eye twitched at the stupid puppy look she was making. He hated it so much because it worked, plus the reward was something he wanted.

"Fine, get out of my face and classroom."

"Awww, you're the best." This time, the pencil hit the back of her head as she ran away.

He sighed. Of course he knew what Kenma wanted to ask. The boy had mentioned it multiple times at every damn sleepover or hanging out time they had. How these two were so oblivious to each other was a greater mystery than the Bermuda Triangle.

Kuroo and Kenma were practicing alone in the gymnasium, [Y/N] was needed at home, so the others were sent for drinks. The tall boy ruffled his black hair, wondering how he should bring the topic up, stressing out slightly until he realized this was Kenma.

"You chickened out."

"Huh?" The volleyball Kenma had thrown in the air landed at his side, startled by his friend's sudden words.

"If you ask her to kiss you, she'd do it in a heartbeat...actually a bit longer cause she's as dumb as you when it comes to this." Kenma pouted when Kuroo laughed, walking closer to him.

"[Y/N] says she hates you, and she does, but not you in specific. Hates you because she has feelings for you, someone she doesn't think would ever like her back." He yawned into his palm. "See why you're both dumb?"

"I can't ask her...and I can't do it either."

"So you're going to let the girl who likes you back be a missed opportunity?"

"I can't do it Kuroo..."

Well, he didn't need to. His best friend had a plan set in motion, going straight to [Y/N], standing in front of her locker the very next morning. Holding her there until all the students left the area, once the coast was clear he grasped both her shoulders.

His 'plan' wasn't much of a plan per se, but it'd work nonetheless...he hoped it would at least.

"[Y/N] kiss Kenma. Next time you're alone with him, grab his school tie and pull him in for one."

She frantically blinked at his hushed words, feeling heat rise to the tips of her ears. K, k as in kiss? Kenma wanted a kiss? From her?

"Is that what he wanted?"

Kuroo nodded with a serious expression. He needed this interaction over so he could plan his date with Claire instead of playing cupid for these two airheads.

"...I'll tell Claire to text you..."

"Pleasure doing business with you." With that, he finally let go of her and ran away into the halls. Now it was her turn to think things over, Kuroo would never lie about something like this, and that scared her a bit.

Oh wow. Okay. A kiss, pretty straightforward and easy. She lost the deal, and that was okay. Okay. Okay. Oh my god. She looked redder than the color red itself, fanning her face at the mere thought of kissing Kenma.

"You okay?" Claire jumped back when [Y/N] freaked out. "Damn! Okay calm down."

"Okay? It's not okay, Claire help."

"Okay....?"

"Stop saying okay, okay?!"

"...alright?"

"I need to kiss Kenma." [Y/N] rushed her words, "Well, not need, want. Both actually, need and want."

"Then just...do it?"

Claire was severely confused. She thought they were dating already, there is no way you look at someone the way they look at each other without being together.

[Y/N] activated her puppy look once more, adding a pout this time, Claire's specific weakness.

"Ok—alright. We'll talk about it during lunch."

...

...

[Y/N] spent the entire school day mulling over the pros and cons of the kiss, the kiss itself? check. The embarrassment after? cross. She kept going back and forth, annoying both Kuroo and Claire, mostly Claire, who found out she was trapped in a date she did not want. She did.

"Are you two sure he likes me?"

"Noooo, we want you to make out with a dude who doesn't like you—shut up and do it!" Kuroo pushed her out of the school gardens, guiding her towards the gate where Kenma was waiting for her—they'd be playing more Animal Crossing today.

He lowered his head, whispering. "All jokes aside [Y/N], if you don't make the first move, you two will be stuck in a state of limbo. I promise it'll be fine."

Kuroo ruffled her [H/C] hair and once again pushed her forward. She gulped and walked up to Kenma. He noticed her from the corner of his eye, so he saved the game and put his console away.

"Let's stop by the store first." [Y/N] nodded, and they began their walk in silence. The streets were a little crowded, leaving them to bump shoulders every now and then, hands brushing by one another.

If she planned on kissing him, holding hands wouldn't be that big of a deal, right? Kenma felt his nerves rise, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the amount of people near him, almost suffocating.

Before his 'flight or fight' activated, the soft, warm feeling of her hand holding his dulled all other senses. Kenma turned his head to see her looking directly at the ground, gnawing at her bottom lip. He didn't dare say anything, worried he'd make her let go.

Kenma didn't let go, not even to try and hold more snacks, paying at the counter, and holding the heavy bag. He couldn't, and he wouldn't. This continued all the way to his house, [Y/N] unzipping his backpack to get the key out and unlocking the door, walking up the stairs, and into his bedroom.

"..."

Yellow met [E/C], both glancing down at their joined hands and then up to each other again. Hesitantly, she let go, shrugging off her bag and lying on the floor. Kenma did the same, settling himself right next to her. The bag of snacks was set in front of them, Nintendo Switches turned on, and they loaded up their save.

"It kinda sucks that you can't build on my island, that'd be fun."

Kenma made an 'mhm' sound, collecting anything he could and fishing nearby. He watched her character zoom past him multiple times, decorating the outside of her house.

An hour into the game, [Y/N] got the trade offer from Kenma, said boy didn't mention anything, not even looking at her. She clicked accept, and in her inventory was a desk, the yellow cute DIY table she had been trying to get.

Her [E/C]'s were wide. Giggling, she ran into the house to place the pretty little thing in her bedroom.

"If only we could get married in this game."

That made him flustered, and he continued his fishing. His hands were a bit shaky, and he found it so silly he was this affected by the thought of marrying her in a game.

"Stardew Valley lets you marry villagers...and other players..." He awkwardly coughed when she turned to look at him. This time, he didn't shy away, meeting her gaze. Subconsciously darting his yellow eyes to her lips, like always.

[Y/N] didn't miss the change of attention, not this time. She never hated Kenma. Who was she trying to fool?

"Kenma, close your eyes." His attention snapped up to see her serious face. Did his staring make her feel uncomfortable? He complied with her ask, eyelashes brushing by the top of his cheeks, and he stayed silent, anxious for what came next.

A million possibilities ran through his head, but nothing could've prepared him for the mellow kiss she had initiated. Pleasant, soft, warm, and more words came to mind, but the best one for this situation was perfect.

[Y/N] pulled back, watching him flutter his eyes open and gaping slightly at her. She smiled nervously, scanning his face for any sense of rejection.

"I'd like to be your girlfriend and marry you in Stardew."

Kenma felt like his chest was relieved of all the worry that had built up, feeling fresh air fill his lungs, and a wonderful bliss taking over. He leaned back in, giving [Y/N] a quick, shy, chaste kiss.

"I'd like you to be my girlfriend too...and my Stardew wife..."

Animal Crossing was quickly forgotten, both of them buying and downloading Stardew Valley the next day. (They clocked in 80 hrs in a mere week.)

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"How do you die that much in a farm game?" Kuroo had googled the game on his phone. If Kenma never died in those dragon RPGs he loved, how was this farm more difficult?

"[Y/N] kept making our characters kiss, I couldn't attack the bats coming for us."

"Hey! We're rich enough for the medical bills already." She grinned, scrolling through screenshots she had taken of them in the game, passing by an occasional selfie.

"No more kissing in the mines, I lost the sunflower decoration I was going to give you."

"We'll get a new one. By the way, let's have a baby today."

"Have to visit Robin so she can put back the crib you exploded."

Kuroo packed up his lunch and left them alone on the rooftop, tired of the weird conversation.

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[shiiro-arts]

Question: How can we say Natsu treats Lucy differently compared to the rest of his nakama? We have seen him being angry emotional during Erza "funeral" (in the first season) and his reaction when topic of Lisanna's death comes up. He even blushed when Lisanna used to talk about marriage and all (just before she passed away when Happy and Natsu have another fight). He never really expressed any physical interest in Lucy EVER and is mostly lukewarm in his reactions unless she is in danger or hurt. He didn't even hesitate when he was asked to kiss Lucy.

So how can we say that Lucy is different from all these people? I hope you understood my question.

(PS I am a huge NaLu shipper but I hate how they handle serious moments)

Well, I think that we have to clear something up, and its that Lucy and Natsu are more than Lucy and Natsu.

Natsu's world doesn't revolve around Lucy, and Lucy's world doesn't revolve around Natsu. They are their own persons with their own dreams and goals (and this is completely fine)

Natsu is a very passionate person, who loves his friends and family, he has known Erza and Lisanna since they were children, it is obvious that he will be emotional about their "deaths". Just like he was with future Lucy's.

Why do I think Natsu treats Lucy differently? Well, because he does. Literally. Not only does Natsu avoid any kind of (serious) fight with Lucy, but he is emotionally vulnerable with her, he becomes soft. I'm going to focus on Erza and Lucy because we don't have enough interactions with Lisanna.

Natsu is an extremely violent person, even when Erza was distressed his solution was punching her (even if it was for her own good or not),

Now, we have never seen Natsu use violence to console Lucy (or in general), they are always soft, comforting moments

He just can't hurt her, at least not willingly, it's beyond him.

Just like when he had to fight snake lucy and completely stopped thinking she was back

I want to pinpoint his reactions to different deaths, because even those are different

When Lissana, erza or even Igneel died, Natsu felt helpless and sad

Lucy? He wanted to burn the world down, kill his best friend out of grieve and then kill himself in the process just because he thought he had lost her forever. (I talk about this here)

-.-.-.-

About the physical interest, I kind of disagree, It is true that he doesn't show as much physical desire like other men in FT but he does in his own way. We have seen natsu fantasize over Lucy

be jealous of other men for her attention

and become possessive of her

He is not responsive because almost every time they have a physical moment he sees it coming, is mentally prepared for it or he initiates them.

NOW, what happens when Lucy initiates or he doesn't see it coming?

My man becomes a blushing mess (this is mainly shown in official art tho)

but he never shows jealousy or possessiveness towards erza, because Erza is not Lucy

[sgiandubh]

Not really an Ask, just wanted to say I’m thrilled for you that you got to the Con and met Caitriona, though admittedly I’m seriously jealous 😉😊. I too am a BIG fan of Lauren, delightful and talented, and you must check out her podcasts, they’re unfailingly interesting, and fun at the same time! It’s been awhile since I’ve been to Paris and personally I did love the Orangerie, it was lovely! My big regret is that I haven’t gotten into d’Orsay yet on any of my trips, only managed to hit its closed doors on state days and strike days, sigh… I console myself with having made it to Monet’s Giverny home twice and leaving it with the memory tattooed on my soul of the scent of roses hitting me like a wall as I entered his garden!

I look forward to more of your reportage on the Con, AND on Paris! Bisous! 😘😘

Dear Bisous Anon,

How melancholically thoughtful and sweet of you to send this! These submissions are just the best. I don't know, can't figure out and do not even want to know who you are, but keep them coming 💖!

First of all and for all purposes and intents, the Landcon's schedule was grueling, especially for people who made a substantial effort to travel far and wide, in order to get there. By the time we managed to coordinate everybody, Versailles was sold out at the right visiting hours for us on Friday and closed on Mondays (as always). My mistake and I am taking full responsibility for being sloppy about it. And Monday's cruise lunch was deliciously rich, but also tiresome to many, who could have rather used a welcome nap. So, we had to limit ourselves to whatever we could quickly do, which is - I admit - almost a crime and certainly butchering our best laid plans.

The reason I chose the Musée de l'Orangerie is purely pragmatic, since it is compact enough to easily navigate and definitely off the beaten track. It is one of the most poetic places I have ever had the joy to see and it is, of course, very French ;). Once a glass house built on purpose to accommodate the Tuileries Gardens' citrus trees, it is now home to eight compelling late Monet murals, depicting - as you rightly pointed out - the painter's garden in Giverny.

With an absolute focus on the water lilies, or Les Nymphéas:

To me, this is a perfect, deeply introspective place, designed on purpose by Monet himself - who donated his labor of love to the French Government, in recognition of the First World War victory - to make people pause and meditate. Color and light and shimmering shapes are a synesthetic invitation to deeply explore one's own feelings and reactions. I can assure you they are never the same.

The best way to fully enjoy this is very, very early in the morning, with as few visitors as possible. This time we were not that lucky, but I think we still managed to share a special moment there.

Paris being lately a ridiculous mess, because of Mayor Hidalgo's stupid new traffic policy, we were unable to be in time for the Sainte Chapelle. But perhaps that allowed for more compelling memories, who knows?

PS: The Orsay is one of my favorite museums, on par with the Hermitage, in Saint Petersburg. I particularly love the subtle game of light and shade through the huge train station clock glass dial.

Off to take Baby the Lab back home. More about the Landcon - later ;) But thank you for this, Anon - and welcome!

[obsessivevoidkitten]

I could use some comfort as I approach the big 3 0…for some reason, the older I get, the more over it I feel about living. Nothing to do with getting older, existing is just so tiring. How would any of the Yan boys console their darling when they feel this way?

Ps your writing is the only thing that makes me feel something other than tired, so thank you for all you do ❤️

I am so extremely sorry that I am so extremely late in replying. Every time I tried to answer my mind went blank.

I have chosen to answer with two of my yans. Arrin and Lox.

Arrin would dote on you, cook for you, take you out to experience some of his culture and fill your life with new experiences to get immersed in. Then, of course, feed you his aphrodisiac cum and fuck the ennui out of you. In the longer term if you wanted a big change like some kind of job to keep you occupied or having children he'd make it happen.

Lox would mostly fuck you. Have you bounce on his knot until you were drooling and couldn't have any other thought but how good his dick felt in you. He'd also be extra sweet and put on a performance of his magic fox tricks. And if it really came down to it he could brew up a potion to dispell your world-weariness.

[angelcakegirl]

ʚ she's not me ! ɞ

re2!leon kennedy x fem!reader

wc; 1.3k

cw; smut (mdni!), p in v, unprotected, no use of y/n, mentions of cheating, bestie!leon!!!

note; hiii!!! this is my first tumblr post so im kinda new to this hehee, so sorry if my english isnt the greatest but hope u enjoyy<3 (ps, let me know if i missed any cw!!)

the night was all too relaxing. just the typing at your keyboard and sipping at your coffee, while raindrops painted the glass windows. accompanied by that sweet tapping sound, this was the life.

what you weren't expecting was a wild leon knocking at your window, hair all soaked and dark from the rain. "leon, what the fuck?" you ran over to the window and opened it up. he's lucky you live on the first floor of your apartment.

once you're actually close to him is when you realize he's in tears. "she cheated on me!" he exclaimed, followed by a few sad cries.

honestly, you warned him this would happen. everyone did! his ex girlfriend was a whore, to put it nicely. yet you decided to hold back all your i told you so's, and let him in kindly.

so here he was. on your couch, with your towel slung around his shoulders, and even finishing your coffee. unsolicited. seriously, who does that?

but he's your best friend. he's sweetheart, really. you love him... as a friend. so of course you'll console him.

"she didn't deserve you, lee. you're too good for her." in all honesty, you wanted to just say that she's notorious for cheating on all her men, but that's not what he needed to hear right now.

he stopped his crying a while ago, yet you could still hear the strain in his voice. like he was ready to get the waterworks running any second now. "i just don't understand– you say i'm a good guy yet she still cheated. am i not worthy of love or something?"

oh, now you wanted this bitch dead. cheat on leon? that's one thing but he'll get over it. however, she had to ruin his self worth too? now you've got a problem.

you gently placed your hand on top his which was resting on his knee. looking into those sweet blue eyes, as the damp tips of his hair kissed his eyelashes. "you're worthy, leon. i think you're worthy of love."

leon was ashamed to admit it, but your hand on his, paired with your sweet words and probably even sweeter lips? yeah, you had him shivering under his skin. seriously, he just got cheated on not even thirty minutes ago and here he was blushing from his best friend. even worse; his blood ran south.

he gulped in response, that pretty adams apple bobbing in his throat. "uh– if you say so. thanks." your hand lingered for a moment, yet you quickly let go of him and cleared your throat. getting up off the couch. "want more coffee? i'll go make some." you offered. "yeah, sure." what he really wanted now was you.

you returned with the coffees, letting him sip at it for a moment before placing them both down on the coffee table. of course you had to bend over in those little things you called shorts. right in his face. he had to bite back a groan, even shift a bit in his seat pathetically.

poor guy, the smallest things turned him on. "you look pretty today." he complimented, more so thinking with his dick than anything. which earned a small chuckle from you. "oh, really?" you were just wearing whatever shorts and tee you found that day. so what on earth was that about?

you took your seat back down next to him, looking at him for a good awkward thirty seconds before he lunged forwards into a hug. "thank you so much... seriously, i wouldn't know what i'd do without you." he mumbled into your shoulder.

you smiled, wrapping your arms around him and letting your fingers run through the back of his hair in a soothing motion. "it's all good, lee, don't worry about it."

suddenly, you felt it. his erection pressed against you. "um?" and he immediately pulled back a bit panicked. beginning to ramble an apology on. "shit– i'm sorry! i didn't mean to or anything just, fuck, i'm sorry–"

someone had to shut him up! you just did it the more convenient way. lips pressed against his, and it didn't help that they were so soft too. like little pillows. you pulled back, and his jaw was to the floor. "holy shit."

in an instant, he laid his head on your shoulder. face buried into the crook of your neck. "i need this." he whined a little. "i need you." okay, no one warned you this man was so whiny. whiny, and convincing.

and that's how you got here. sitting pretty on his lap, in a full make-out sesh with your best friend. to be fair, best friends kissed all the time.. you think! so yeah, you were wrong before. this was really the life!

your lips moved in sequence, until he pulled back panting for air. "may i?" as he tugged at your t-shirt. "you may." met with the plush of your tits, immediately kneading them in his hands with a soft groan.

after that, the rest of your clothes were quick to go. his too. you pressed your lips to his with a few more quick kisses, taking his length in hand. to say your best friends cock was pretty was an understatement. with a slight curve upward, and a flushed tip, you knew this thing was gonna feel pretty damn good.

"haah–" he immediately gasped as your hand up and down his width. you were nearly in shock to see your friend mindlessly bucking into your hand. holy, he was effortlessly sexy.

to be honest, he could finish like this alone. but where's the fun in that? "i'mma need more, baby, please." and just like that he had you kissing his swollen lips as you aligned your entrance with him.

once you sunk your hips onto him, he immediately took hold of them. being met with your velvety walls all tight around him had put him in a trance. not that he didn't have a similar affect on you. the initial burn and stretch was a lot but after a few small minutes it all subsided for pleasure.

"holy fuck!" leon threw his head back for a split second, before picking it back up to look at you. eyes half-lidded and dewy with pleasure. "you like that, baby?" you had to tease with a smirk. "fuckin' love it."

lewd squelching and skin slapping filled the room. that, paired with you and leon's moans and whimpers in sync was a godsend. he tried to hold himself back, he really did. but not even seconds later he found himself bucking into your cunt, balls deep. his pretty tip kissing your cervix with each hit.

you gasped out as your nails dug into his muscular shoulders. which painted some red scratches along his skin for him to admire later. both of your hips moving in sync. you immediately began to sing out your pleasure, all just for him to hear. "fuck– lee, just like that!"

of course leon took that as his cue to mess with you back. "oh yeah? you like that, baby?" typical. you could tell he was close by the way he began to grit his teeth. luckily for you, the sight alone was enough to cause that knot to form in your stomach.

one of his hands let go of your hip. bringing the rough pad of his thumb down to your puffy clit to rub in a few figure eight's. earner even louder sounds from you. "you gonna cum, hm?" he spoke through grunts, feeling your walls inclose on him. "fuck, cum for me, baby." cause' a true gentleman never finishes first!

your release quickly washed over you after those five magic words, going momentarily dumb on his cock. the second you came, he followed right behind. shutting himself up by pushing his lips onto yours. entangling his tongue with yours as his hot seed began to fill you. all while he just continued to thrust it up into you.

as you both came down from your highs, you slipped off leon. before crashing down to lay against his shoulder as you caught your breath. leon watched his remnants spill out you, biting his bottom lip in a smirk. he had a split reminder of his ex, but not one that did her any justice at all. "should've known she had nothing on you."

[chessholic]

Emotions

12th Doctor x Reader

(That GIF is a masterpiece aka me with emotions, and I suppose it fits, quite well if you look closely enough. ps. Capaldi really is something else as an actor.)

Summary: You didn't know anymore if the Doctor really wanted you to travel with him.

Author's Note: Still practicing how to write this character, rather a difficult one. The reader in this one, is not a romantic partner, maybe like a daughter? Nothing is really said so you can always decide for yourself. Enjoy. :)

ー

You and the Doctor were back from a we-almost-died-again-mission and he was quickly pressing buttons on the console. Like nothing happened.

You used to always hug after these missions, but with this... Face, it wasn't like that anymore. You were switching weight to your other foot and twisting your fingers anxiously.

"Next I was thinking we could go see this-"

"Doctor?"

You got something in response deciding it was an acknowledgment and encouraging you to continue. However, you hesitated.

"Well, spit it out", the Doctor said sounding rather frustrated making you want to vanish.

"Could we go to the field?", you asked carefully watching your shoes intensively.

You could almost hear how his brows rose up. His resting face almost always looked like he was mad and it made you feel insecure.

The field was your happy place. Like from movies. A tree and fresh green grass under it. It was surrounded by a hay field that swayed in the slight wind. The Doctor had put a swing on the tree. You remembered giggling when he gave you speed.

"Of course if it's not-", you tried to say quickly, you didn't want to mess up his plans.

A scoff escaped his lips when he pulled a lever making your anxiety rise through the roof.

"I was walking in the market last week near my house. The music was rather loud there, but the woman in front of me was even louder. She was loudly telling the cashier that they needed to have more of the sweets that she liked, because her grandson wanted them when he visited her. And when I was listening to that-"

"Shuttity up up up! Could you just shut your mouth for a moment, all that nonsense is making my thinking harder"

Rambling was a bad habit that you did when anxiety and nervousness got ahold of you. However it had never bothered the Doctor, he had never complained. His tone was annoyed which made you feel... Bad. Like you were a burden, he didn't really want you here.

The TARDIS had landed making you rush towards the door swinging it open and shut. You were faced with the field, however it didn't make you feel any better at all.

It made you feel worse. All the memories. The Doctor hadn't changed, he was still... Him. But it didn't feel like that, at all.

You rushed towards the swing sitting on it and finally letting yourself break down.

Tears made your vision blurry before they started to fall down your cheeks.

"Blimey", you muttered wiping them away.

The Doctor used to say that a lot, but now he didn't really use anything he did before. Sarcasm was now something he used a bit too much.

The Doctor was left bewildered. His eyebrows had shot so high that it might have been a new record. The Doctor instantly had the feeling that if Clara hadn't had to stay at home she would have had his head by now. Clara protected you until the end of the world, you were like sisters, always having each other's back.

The TARDIS made a noise that resembled something a mother would say to berate her son for not behaving well.

The Doctor muttered something under his breath before walking towards the door hurrying to you. Because deep down, he was worried.

"What's wrong?", a blunt question caught you off guard. He was behind you, but you didn't have the courage to face him.

"Everything is fine", you told him, voice raw from the small crying session you had. Carefully you got off the swing and walked forward to pick up a strand of hay.

"Li-ar ", the Doctor said, his voice held a bit of impatience.

"I don't know what you want me to say! Because if I understood correctly, you don't want to listen to me", you shouted, but the Doctor could easily detect the sadness and hurt behind your anger.

"Y/N ", The Doctor said his tone a bit more gentle now.

"I- I just... When I was in the store I saw a poster that had a hay field in it and thought about this place, our place. Before that mission I wanted to ask you if we could come here, like- like before", you explained ending your story. Your voice was breaking, along with the two hearts the man in front of you held in his chest.

The Doctor had carefully taken a few steps towards you, he really was at a loss. Not knowing what to say, and that was quite something for the Doctor.

"I don't know what I am doing here, with you. Because it seems you don't even want me around you. I feel that you hate me!"

Finally you had said it, the thought that had been consuming you from inside since his last regeneration.

"I would never hate you! You daft girl", the Doctor scoffed making a sob escape from you.

"What I mean is-", the Doctor sighed walking to you and putting his hands on your shoulders and searching for your eyes with his own.

Finally he got you to look directly at him. The frown on the man's face deepened when he noticed your visibly red eyes and dark circles under your eyes. How had he missed this? The past him would have never missed seeing that you weren't okay.

"Y/N, my dear lovely Y/N", he firmly stated wanting to get his point across without anymore misunderstandings.

"I couldn't imagine travelling without you, not speaking even about how I could live in this world without you. This body doesn't like hugs, or affection that much, it barely tolerates it"

You knew that. You had seen how he looked terrified when Clara had hugged him, you didn't want to force him to hug you.

"It doesn't help much that this body also has a sharp tongue and covers everything in sarcasm. Maybe I could be a tad less sarcastic-"

"I do not want you to change for me Doctor", you said trying to smile bravely making the Doctor feel something in his heart, you always had been so brave, even though you shouldn't have to be.

It was okay to not be brave, he would always protect you.

"Yes, yes. But the point is that I would do everything for you. I will always accept a hug from you, just, please for the love of god, ask. I have also gotten much worse in reading people", he muttered the last bit with clear annoyance as if someone was listening to them who was responsible for his lack of understanding.

"Y/N, dear, I need you to know. Everything in me could change, I know that, however me, the core will never change. My feelings for you, will never ever change", Doctor said squeezing your shoulders while you awkwardly smiled trying not to cry.

The Doctor pulled you into a hug, it was rather a... stiff one at first. However you felt how the Doctor melted when you wrapped your arms around him, gripping to his jacket like your life depended on it.

Finally you had realised that he really hadn't changed. Yes, he might have few new quirks, and a new face, but he still was your Doctor. He had always been your Doctor.

"I think this is enough emotions for today?", you mumbled against his chest letting a small chuckle through the tears that had escaped.

The Doctor chuckled softly while resting his chin on your head.

"Oh that's a pity, I was hoping there would be space for happiness and few others?", the Doctor teased you softly making you look at him.

"I do there is always space for that and for some timey-wimey stuff", you replied cheekily and earning a small grin from the Doctor.

"That's my brilliant and clever girl, welcome back"

"It's good to be back Doctor"

ー