#rather than letting it paralyze me

[sunday-arch]

another semi-hiatus incoming ( 09/16 - 10/10 ) — my sister will be visiting again for three weeks and then for the last week, we’ll be heading out of state with the family to find me a place ! it is HAPPENING, guys! that being said, i’ve likely tried my best to get a running queue going. i’ll be most reachable by discord. disco handle for mutuals: kaizokuwife

also, there's a few mutuals i haven't had the chance to do a ton with or even really talk to about plotting and for that, i apologize! my DMs are always open to ideas, even if you want to just throw a random starter, send me memes to get stuff going, etc! i really do appreciate it all and will do my best to engage more whenever i am around. thank you for your patience !

[autopsytableromance]

I have a weird thing where when people see me eat dinner but I’m still hungry it feels. Wrong to eat another meal or something larger than a snack but also I’m. Incredibly bad at knowing how hungry I actually am so that leads to me eating something and then waiting until everyone else goes to sleep and trying to find something to eat at like 11 o’clock at night.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[mariasont]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

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pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[grison-in-space]

there is something so incredibly depressing, as a researcher who has spent my entire fucking adult life studying the complexities inherent in sex and gender in the biological world, about executive orders baldly insisting that they know what biological reality is and being incredibly goddamn wrong about it.

it's a special kind of grief I am trying very, very hard not to wallow in, not least because I'm technically not the target in mind for this crap — it's so obviously about hurting human scapegoats rather than describing the natural world — but also because focusing on it rather than letting it pass through me is potentially paralyzing and I can't actually afford that.

Sometimes the best way to survive in a hostile world is to grit your teeth and march forward anyway.

[jaehaeryshater]

The King Come Over and his bride Ygritte Firekissed

art by : @shripscapi

Edited to add: I was hoping that people that did not like this ship could still appreciate the art as I gave them two separate pieces, but people have been coming into my inbox on all platforms, so let me encourage you to block the Jongritte and Ygritte tags on tumblr or twt, as well as me so you will not have to see it if this is you. I also would encourage you to create your own AU as it is very fun. My AU is based on Jon becoming King before leaving the Freefolk, so following his psychology as a character, Ygritte is his only choice as consort as long as she’s alive. You can make your own with Val if you want, but I do not owe anyone to pay for commissions of their preferred characters.

Look at my King dawg we’re definitely getting through the Wall!!!

For the last month and a half, I have been working closely with Liesl to design concepts for Jon as King Beyond the Wall and Ygritte as his Queen. Personally, I’m not invested at all in Jon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms despite him being my favorite character. He’s not very connected with the South and I don’t feel that it’s his birth right or anything, even being the son of Rhaegar. I am significantly more interested in him becoming King in the North, but my interest in Freefolk culture has led me to be far more invested in the idea of him rejecting Southron society as a whole and becoming King Beyond the Wall (this isn’t necessarily mutually exclusive to being King in the North later on).

The motivation for Jon becoming King as opposed to Mance stems from a theory that has been around since AGOT has come out: that the Others will only treat with/negotiate with a Stark. In the prologue of AGOT, when the Others are speaking among themselves before killing the Watchmen, what if they were confirming with each other that Waymar Royce was not a Stark and that they could go ahead and kill him? All in all, it doesn’t really matter if this is true, but rather that this is a plausible rumor that could easily have been passed down among the Freefolk which could lead Mance to conclude that Jon as a leader would give the Freefolk the best chance of survival. It’s not very hard, at least in my opinion, to imagine an AU like this, since survival is the most important thing to the Freefolk during the events of ASOIAF. But is it plausible that under these circumstances that Jon would abandon his Night’s Watch vows? I think so if he can be led to believe that only Stark blood could defeat the Others, but that is not the only factor. Jon Snow is insecure about his bastard status, plain and simple. He’s always lived in the shadow of his Robb, though he loved him. He’s wanted Winterfell, though he didn’t want to nor had any intention to take it from Robb. But he’s known since he was a small boy that he could never Winterfell and that would never inherit anything because he was a bastard. Jon also has thoughts, at least in passing, that Ned loved Robb more than him. He perceives Ned as having been more proud of Robb, of looking at him differently than himself. He’s seemingly always believed this, but there is a sort of confirmation of Jon’s feelings when Ned allows him to join the Night’s Watch without much preparation on what the Watch is actually like. Fully me making assumptions here, not something Jon has explicitly thought, but it’s unlikely that Ned would have sent Bran off at 14 to the Watch without much warning of what it was like, had Bran not become paralyzed. While we never get this exact thought process from Jon, in my opinion it fits into his psychology and insecurity. All this to say, if Jon is offered to be a figurehead, King, a title equal to his brother, but without taking anything away from the Starks or from Robb, that would almost certainly scratch that itch in him. It would be of his own merit, and there would be people behind him that don’t care that he’s a bastard, don’t see him as less than, and are willing to accept him for who he is. Not to mention that it also lets him feel like a hero and as if he is saving something far more precious than himself. And it probably doesn’t hurt that he would be able to remain with Ygritte as well.

We know from the descriptions of Mance and Dalla, as well as from being told directly by the former, that the King and his wife dress like all the other Freefolk, in thick furs. While the Jon and Ygritte arts from above are not particularly ostentatious by Southron standards, they are in obvious contrast to how Mance and Dalla are dressed. My idea was that Jon, having lived South of the Wall in a Lord’s keep all of his life, brought his own ideas to the Freefolk and added a distinction between a King and all other men. Nothing like in King’s Landing, all changes are inspired by his experience at Winterfell. I tried to think of what was achievable by the Freefolk, that would be difficult enough that it can’t be easily replicated for everyone else, but also keeping in mind of what could be done relatively quickly seeing as the Freefolk are focused on migrating South and saving themselves from the Others. The cultures I took inspiration for the clothing from are the Byzantines, Russians, Incans, Aztecs, and Mongolians. I wanted more “open” and flowy clothing, as opposed to more closed off and excessively modest clothing of 1300-1500s Europe that most of Westeros is based off of. Ygritte is still wearing furs, but they are dyed and there is weirwood embroidery in symbolism of the Old Gods and flame embroidery to symbolize her being kissed by fire. Her jewelry are simply clay beads that have been powdered blue. I didn’t want to give her any jewels as I felt it would be too difficult for the Freefolk to cut them directly and just overall would be against the spirit of the Freefolk. However, getting the blue on the clay like that still would be expensive and take a lot of time. I tried to keep the main color scheme surrounding gray as obviously that’s House Stark’s color. Jon’s clothes are similarly nice, with my main concern being him looking intimidating. I want the furs around his shoulders to be black because I wanted to call back to his time in the Night’s Watch without him keeping his psychical cloak, because I’m sure the Freefolk would not want him to do that. The furs are massive and make his shoulders look far larger, in an effort to make him look more intimidating, especially on a battlefield or in negotiations. He also has weirwood embroidery and his sigil is on the front of his outfit (my original idea was for him to have a flag with his heraldry on it, in which case the sigil would have looked far different, with a full length direwolf). There’s a white wolf on one side and either a crow or eagle on the other side (up for interpretation, both are relevant to Jon and one is one of the animals that can be used a symbol of the Freefolk) and the flame in the middle to represent Ygritte, but also defeating the Others as fire is the way Jon originally tried combating them as a steward at the Wall. The sigil is more than about Jon, after all, as it’s for the entirety of House Whitewolf, the House he founds. I thought the name fit far more in to Freefolk culture than something like Whitestark or something along those lines. Ygritte was supposed to have sewn on the sigil herself, and was very adamant about it, and that is meant to be why the thread is uneven and more visible than it ought to be. She’s not very good at the craft!

As I indicated before, crowns are not something common to Freefolk. That would be something else Jon would implement. Ygritte’s crown is very much like a hat, very casual. The beads are nice but obtaining them wouldn’t be unheard of, and holly most likely would not be particularly hard to come by. The reason I gave her a crown with holly is that during Christmas in the Tudor period and even before during pagan celebrations, people would go out into the woods and find holly and ivy to decorate their houses with. Holly was a symbol of masculine energy and ivy feminine energy. If you found more holly, it was meant to indicate that the man would rule the household for the year, and if you found more ivy then the woman would rule the household in the coming year (this was a way to “tell the future” not a rule lol). I liked the holly better for Ygritte so I’m just saying the Freefolk had the opposite belief. Jon’s crown is made of weirwood, which was important to me as I feel like his connection the Old Gods is also important as it is something that him and Freefolk both use to guide them. It ties them together. That being said, a weirwood crown is often used for Bran so I did not want to use a design that was too similar to the one used for him. Bran’s weirwood crown usually is made of weirwood branches, however, and not weirwood bark or logs, so I feel like it’s different enough. The frozen weirwood sap, as far as I know, is also unique to this design. There’s also some ivy to parallel with Ygritte’s holly.

The remaining bits and bobs I wanted to explain are the blue rose and then the face paint. The blue rose is obviously something associated with Lyanna Stark, who is widely accepted to be the mother of Jon Snow. I originally wanted to give him a rose somewhere, whether he was holding it or it was in his embroidery, but I forgot to ask during sketching, and then it was too late. But Ygritte holding the blue rose isn’t just about Lyanna. It’s also about Bael the Bard, a most likely fictitious person (or at least, the tale is fictitious, though I personally choose to believe it’s real) that went South of the Wall posing as a bard. He impressed the Lord of Winterfell so much that he granted Bael anything he wished; all Bael asked for was the most beautiful flower in Winterfell. This was granted for him, but the next morning he had stolen the Lord of Winterfell’s only child, a girl, and had left the flower in her bed in her place. He hid in the crypt with her for a year and they had a son together. Bael eventually went back North of the Wall and eventually Winterfell, having no other heir, passed to Bael’s child. Under this story, Jon is descended from Ygritte’s idol (maybe idol is stretching it, but she really likes him), Bael the Bard. Not only him, but all the Freefolk including Ygritte, according to her story. Following the story’s premise, Jon also poses as Bael and Ygritte as Winterfell’s daughter, with Jon joining her home under false pretenses and “stealing her”, as she calls it. So the blue rose has significance regarding both the Starks and the Freefolk. The face paint is inspired by tattooing done by cultures indigenous to North America. Indigenous Americans are not the only groups to use facial tattooing, the Vikings were famous for it as well, but Viking facial tattooing had more patterns based on shapes rather than lines and dots. I didn’t like the shapes so much, but the chin tattoo was one was that observed in all sorts of different cultures. Usually the chin tattoos with the line were on women in indigenous America, but I found some on men in other outside cultures. The dots I didn’t see outside of Native American culture and the claw marks on Jon’s cheeks I found mainly among Vikings. Because these all are an amalgamation of different cultures, we did them as face paint instead of tattoos because it seemed disrespectful otherwise. Not enough research went into it to be a proper representation of any one culture so paint was a better bet than a permanent body modification that is sacred to a number of cultures. The only thing that was meant to be a tattoo was the chin tattoo, which like I said, actually is from an amalgamation of cultures. Among the Freefolk (in this AU), dots on the cheeks are widespread, one of cultural mainstays of their people, and are generally a sign of peace, whereas the claws are meant to look intimidating and is applied to look like blood (Ygritte applies it for Jon) and is specifically used for military leaders. I really wanted to drive home the point that the goal with Jon’s whole look is to look fearsome.

I have so much more to say about Jon as King Beyond the Wall, how he negotiates with the Wall, the different rules he sets in place, how he sets up being King as a hereditary title once his daughter Bael is born, etc etc, but then I’d be here all day and approximately one person total read through all this. Oops! Ask in my inbox if you have any questions because I would love love love to answer them. All in all, shripscapi (Liesl) is so talented and she worked incredibly hard for me. She was extremely accommodating and changed as much stuff as I wanted. She never complained about the million times I decided something was not quite right and she sent me so many updates. I would recommend working with her to just about anybody. It was very cool what she was able to achieve and I got it in time for the holidays so I can enjoy my winter themed pfp on twt. So thank you from the bottom of my heart Liesl, and I hope everyone showers her with compliments because she deserves it. I also hope that people that don’t enjoy Ygritte very much can still appreciate the art and the concept of Jon as King Beyond the Wall. Hopefully I’ve gotten across how much I love and care for these characters to a chronically online degree and nobody accuses me of mischaracterizing them because that would make me!!!! very sad!!!

Bonus Jon with weirwood leaves:

[seresinhangmanjake]

Do You Love?

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x wife!reader

Summary: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

Notes/Warnings: fluff and a little angst and very light smut (still 18+), softy-soft Feyd, probably could do with a wedding prequel if people were interested, im sure there are typos. I think that's it.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

He hates being away from you. Can't bear it. It takes less than two days for withdrawal from your lack of presence to settle in, and when it hits, it hits hard. The luminescence of your smile that threatens the darkness within him on his worst days; the delicate suppleness of your skin that introduced him to the softness and warmth of a human body; the specific quality and tone of your voice when you whisper and whimper and moan in his ear—he needs it. He needs you. He craves you until the second you’re in his arms again. He just wishes he could understand if you feel the same. He wishes he could know if you love him as much as he does you.

When you came into his life, you were a pawn for peace. A gift from one Great House to another. A reluctant bride who couldn’t choke back her tears on her wedding day. He’ll never forget the saltiness that lingered on his lips after the kiss that bound you to him forever. He can still feel the pang in his heart from seeing you finch when he guided the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder. 

It took ages for you to shed your fear; to allow him to hold you and kiss you and be inside of you, but those many months of ‘two steps forward, one step back’ have left him in a paralyzing state of identity crisis and uncertainty. You’ve turned him into a man who begs for scraps of reassurance that you care for him rather than a man who shows no mercy for love; a man so preoccupied with thoughts of his wife’s affection that not even his enemies are granted his full attention as he watches the light drain from their eyes. 

From the moment he leaves, he anticipates his return so you can quell his agitation, at least to some degree. The same words echo in his head each time he steps off a Harkonnen ship to search for you—hug me, hold me, kiss me, let my body inside of yours, tell me you love me—and in recent months you haven’t failed to do those things, with the exception of the last request. The day you tell him you love him will be the day he stops fearing you'll eventually grow bored with him. On that day, he’ll be happy, at peace. He’ll be unafraid of what his future with you will bring.

—

Reader POV

He often goes to Arrakis for a week or two, that’s not new. He must monitor things and fight Fremen when necessary. However, this time was different. There was something foreign in his eyes after he kissed your palm and boarded his ship to depart. Sadness? Pain? Worry? All three? You didn’t know, but it terrified you from how little he tried to disguise it. With each departure, it’s seemed his mood has worsened and you can't decipher its cause.

Now, ten days later, your fingernails are worn to nubs and dark circles have found home under your eyes from nightmares interrupting your sleep. They’re different every night but they always end with Feyd not coming home to you, and you don’t know how to cope. You tell yourself you’re crazy, that there’s no possibility of him being taken down with a Fremen knife or gobbled up by a sandworm or blown to bits from his ship getting shot out of the sky. He’s too smart, too quick, too trained for such things to claim his life. At the same time, however, the last person whose death you dreamt of was your mother’s, and while it’s rare your dreams are prophetic, that one came to fruition not five days later. Who is to say your dreams of your husband are not the same?

But you can’t lose Feyd, not when it feels like you just got him. When you married, your dread of navigating a new husband and life on Giedi Prime—both of which have a reputation for being cold and desolate and harsh—crippled your ability to see him for who he is. It’s only been the last few months that you’ve let yourself love and understand him, and you can’t imagine a reality in which you wake one morning knowing you will never have him again. You wouldn’t survive it. 

But you won't have to, because he's fine, perfectly safe—that's what you tell yourself. He told you he wouldn’t be away long and he wouldn’t say that unless he believed it, right?

Then again, believing he would be home soon doesn’t mean fate agrees. What if he's already gone? Wait, no. No, he wouldn't do that to you. He'll be home because he always makes it home. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave you. You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave.

--

Your body curls into the first touch of warmth you’ve had in a week and a half as a heavy weight rests in the dip of your waist and tugs you against a solid form. Plush lips ghost your temple. A heartbeat thrums in your ear and you feel the rise and fall of a chest. 

Oh, you like this dream. He’s so real in this dream. It’s the first dream where death is not at his heels.

“You don’t know how I miss you,” he mutters into your ear. Stands of your loose hair brush back from your face. “How unbearable it is.”

His voice is so clear, so beautiful and vivid that it’s almost like he’s really with you. Humming contently, you huddle further into him. “Then stop leaving me,” you mumble.

Breath catches in his chest, no longer moving at a steady rhythm. “You're awake?”

Your brows knit—that's not a very ‘dream-like’ question; it threatens your lovely illusion—and then your eyes snap open. 

“Feyd?” His nose is an inch from yours. Your hand raises to cup his cheek, just to see if he is real, and you gasp at how warm his skin is under your palm. “You're here,” you cry, quickly pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him. 

You press your lips to his, hard. A whimper is pulled from your throat when he parts his mouth so you can get a taste of his tongue. Yes, he’s definitely real. 

Hands trail down your back to your ass, squeezing two handfuls of flesh and pushing your pelvis down onto his. He’s already hard and thick and pressing into you, the matching thin material of your nightgown and his sleep pants doing a pathetic job of maintaining any sort of barrier. 

Feyd slowly drags the ink-toned silk up the curves and dimples of your body until it pools at your waist. Fingers graze your skin as they move lower to slide through your slick bare folds, and at his touch, your brain goes absolutely fuzzy. You’re unashamedly desperate, refusing to take any longer to get what you need, but when you finally free him from his pants and he thrusts up into you, you both find yourselves stopping. The kiss breaks and you simply breathe in each other’s breaths as he stays nestled deep inside you. 

Your forehead falls to his. A fresh tear that you hadn’t noticed in your eye lands on his cheek. “You're ok,” you gently whimper, reassuring yourself of his safety. His nose nudges yours.

“When am I not?” he whispers as he catches the next tear with his thumb before it drops from your lower lashes. 

“In my nightmares.”

His brow pinches in curiosity, cock twitching within your walls. “You dream about me?” 

You lightly nod. “I thought this was a dream.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a sickening feeling you weren’t going to make it back this time. I know it was a routine trip, but I just couldn’t shake it,” you say. “And that would’ve killed me, Feyd. I love you.”

Feyd sucks in a short stream of air as his hips slightly buck up against yours. “You love me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you exhale, riding the little high of pleasure that came from the sharp involuntary shift of his hips. “I was so scared to be right.”

Feyd's arms tighten around you and he tilts his chin up to connect your lips. Kisses travel along the line of your jaw and down the length of your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat. 

“I love you,” he tells you.

Your stuffy chuckle settles into a grin. “I know you do.”

---

tag: @avidreader73

[tainbocuailnge]

this is a final fantasy fourteen dawntrail post. it speaks incredibly for the desperation of the people of alexandria in its decline that they both couldn't bear to remember the dead and couldn't bear the thought of the dead no longer being remembered, and thus created this contradictory system where the dead are only remembered by something other than those to whom that memory is meaningful. so crushed by collective trauma and grief that they directed every effort to eradicating awareness of mortality altogether and it's resulted in a paradise where everyone is incredibly blasé about dying because the dead live forever in the cloud until they run out of spare souls and are completely paralyzed with fear of their own mortality.

but even more than desperation it speaks of a naive sincerity that the scientists and officials behind the project just actually genuinely built and maintained this giant memory database to preserve the deceased at increasingly large cost, rather than just lie that they totally did that to a populace who won't remember those deceased anyway. they're not harvesting souls to power the war effort while using a recreation of the beloved princess as puppet figurehead, they completely sincerely recreate the dead from their memories and simulate them living happily ever after, started by a sincere desire to not lose their beloved princess. living memory is an eternal theme park that actively goes out of its way to facilitate letting people who remember each other fondly meet again. it's the manifestation of a childish wish for a world where there are no partings, only reunions. it's a theme park rather than an actual city with a dmv and shit like amaurot was precisely Because it's a childish dream. it's fundamentally an artificial experience, but one which sole motive is to bring joy and relief from everyday sadness.

and sphene is the first and most prominent victim of that naive sincerity. she's the mascot of this theme park, and because she's the mascot in charge of providing this artificial but kind experience she can't ever break character. the people of alexandria couldn't bear the thought of her being forgotten, so they created a memory of her that would last forever, but they also couldn't bear to actually remember sphene, so she's a mascot instead of a person. she loves her people, and they love her, but none of them can possibly understand the weight that love puts on her shoulders. the sphene we meet is fundamentally trapped by other people's deeply limited understanding of her.

it's so so so important to her character that she's a small dainty feminine woman that exists to take care of everyone emotionally and be loved by them for being so nice and sweet and loving, and when she tries to arrange some kind of secure future she ends up with an abusive husband who ignores her wants and needs for his own ambitions, and she is fundamentally unable to act outside this highly gendered framework. sphene reads like the commonplace tragedy of the straight woman to me to the point where making her in lesbians with wuk lamat is like. I can certainly understand wanting to grant sphene the sense of liberation and comfort that many lesbians themselves feel at the realisation that they don't have to marry men, so far be it from me to say anyone is wrong to do so. but it's kinda ignoring part of what her deal is for the sake of that comfort I think.

not that lesbians have never ended up in abusive marriages with men but sphene very explicitly does not have other options, part of the tragedy is that you fundamentally cannot actually grant her that liberation and comfort. cahciua explicitly says there's no way to know what the real living sphene would have done because this sphene is a recreated memory of the beloved princess whose job is to sustain living memory. their darling sphene who will always listen to all their troubles and is always nice to them and will always take care of them. she's literally trapped by the role society assigned her, and that role is essentially to be their tradwife mother. the living sphene may have been into women, but the people who recorded her to create the sphene we meet never even considered the option.

do you guys know that tweet thread where OP describes going to a funeral for a woman they didn't know who'd died young of a heart attack, and the husband spent most of the eulogy talking about himself instead of his recently deceased wife, and by the end of the ceremony OP had learned nothing at all about what this woman was like beyond being a wife and mother? everyone fondly remembers the princess and queen of alexandria, but nobody remembers sphene. and just like all OP could still do for this woman was go to her casket and acknowledge that she too had been a full person in her own right before the stress of swallowing everything about herself killed her, all wuk lamat can really still do for sphene is think of her as the full person she must have been.

we're not told anything about what sphene was like as a leader, what her policies were, how she actually did her work, her vision for the future of her country before she died and was reconstructed. they only tell us everyone loved her so dearly because she was so kind to them. we're shown her dying moments and it's her using her airship to shield a civilian, so we can assume her love for her people was indeed true. but none of sphene's history that we're shown and nothing of how otis (who knew the living sphene) talks about her tells us anything about what she was like outside her role as beloved princess. her memories from after her "revival" are dissonant and corrupted and possibly not even real, and her policy of preserving living memory no matter what is a wish implanted in her by the people who reconstructed her. we don't even get to see what she looked like when alive. the only sphene the people know is the theme park mascot of living memory.

cahciua was exactly as erenville knew her and was true enough to herself to be able to turn against the system, so we're not given reason to believe any of the endless were tampered with. but sphene was already dead by the time they even tried to figure out how to preserve her memory, her actual soul and memories definitely long gone by the time the technology worked. we're explicitly told that nobody in everkeep really cared who or what sphene was as long as she adequately fulfilled this role of loving them all so much. she can't even tell you her favourite food, none of the people who labored so intensely and sincerely to bring her back bothered to write down even her most basic personal preferences when they reconstructed her. she has to deflect the question with "when I think of the people who make the food I can't pick just one" because the only preference she's allowed is loving all her people equally. she's completely thrown off that wuk lamat would even ask.

and it's precisely because she is remembered only as this kind loving woman who gave everything for her people that she is weak and powerless to actually do whatever it takes to keep them safe. she does not have the freedom to assert herself, let alone to be cruel or violent or take extreme actions. society does not give her that freedom, because she is a small dainty woman and (therefore) the only role allowed to her is to be their tradwife mother. so while her desire to protect her people is as real and true as it can be part of her plan to lobotomise herself in order to become someone capable of violence and cruelty also reads to me as that specific female frustration of wanting to destroy the sweet babygirl image of yourself by doing something extreme. like britney spears shaving her head. but in sphene's case destroying the babygirl image amounts to destroying herself completely, because the babygirl image of her is all that comprises her. and so when all is said and done the only fragment of sphene that is restored and lingers just a bit longer after that image is destroyed is the sphene that wuk lamat sincerely wanted to get to know.

[formulawolff]

“my favorite driver!” - t.w.

pairing: fem driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, mostly fluffy content, jack being a little shit (unintentionally), some tension between an ex-wife and the new girlfriend, mentions of divorce, toto being clueless, yadayadayada

a/n: well, well, well. here we are. a busy day of karting complete with jack, toto, golden girl, & susie! lemme know if you guys enjoyed this one! <3

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

"are you ready?"

exhaling, you adjust your cap, praying that it will somehow keep your identity protected. after all, you wanted nothing more than to keep a low profile today.

"as ready as i'll ever be."

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

"be careful, schatzi," he rolls his eyes, "if you sound any more ecstatic you may burst like a little bubble."

"oh yeah," you scoff, lingering in the passenger seat. your hand hovers above the handle of the door, palms clammy as your fingers wrap around the cool surface, "i'm filled to the brim with excitement."

"hey," fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact, "it is not going as terrible as you think."

"it sounds like it's going to be an absolute shit show," you cringe internally as a whine escapes from lips, "i have to sit next to your ex-wife all weekend! we both know that i am the last person she wants be seen with."

toto tuts, shaking his head, "can you at least push through? for me? for jack? he's been chattering about this all week. you have no idea how much this means to him."

"i'll try my best," shame ripples within you, cheeks burning as toto nods, shooting you a wink.

"that's my girl. now, let's get going. he starts in about an hour."

the illustrious team principal slips out of the car, shutting the driver's side door. before you know it, he's on the other side of the coupe, a breeze rolling through as he opens the passenger door, prompting you to come on out. swallowing the lump in your throat, you oblige, ensuring that your bag and sunglasses aren't forgotten.

keeping your head low, your heart skips a beat as you feel his fingers find yours, intertwining them together. he squeezes tenderly, a signal that he was there for you, no matter what.

with that anxious sensation growing in the pit of your stomach, you couldn't be more grateful for his reassurance.

since there was a brief break in your schedule, you agreed to accompany toto to a weekend of karting. well, mostly because of jack. the little one was constantly buzzing about you, often inquiring when he was going to meet you. due to the nature of both of your bustling lives, toto conferred with susie on what a good time would be.

the two ended up settling on a weekend between singapore and austin, a couple of weeks before the united states grand prix.

it was a simple outing, really. hanging out with your boyfriend on a beautiful autumn day. you would be introducing yourself to his kid, a little one who absolutely adored you. yet, there was one factor that weighed heavy on your mind.

susie.

the f1 academy founder and racing mogul would be in attendance today in support of her son.

and god, did the thought of facing her for the first time since the news broke have you absolutely reeling.

what would she say? would she be kind? or rather, would it be a sickeningly sweet sort of niceness? would it all be a facade? would she even acknowledge you? would she let you meet jack?

no matter how much toto told you that she was over it, there was still that anxious feeling. it was ever-present, gnawing away at you.

and now, as you approach the garages, hand-in-hand with toto, that anxiety heightened, almost paralyzing you with fear. with every step, it felt as if you feet were concrete, barely moving at all.

"it's okay baby," a voice, his voice, floods your ear. it's barely a whisper, almost inaudible as you grow closer to the throng of parents and children, "i love you."

chewing on your lower lip, you manage to croak out a response, "i love you too."

you hadn't even spoken with susie yet and you were already bristling with fear. only five minutes had passed since you got out of the car and your palms were slick with sweat, armpits damp as well.

fuck, was this going to be torture.

you could manage to get behind the wheel of a vehicle that topped speeds of over two hundred miles an hour but meeting an ex-wife and former acquaintance was almost too much.

how fucked was that?

for a moment, you couldn't but admire toto's initiative to keep your nerves at bay. how he had pulled you closer, looping your arm through his. how his thumb traced soothing circles into your skin, his mercedes cap situated on your head.

he was doing everything in his power to keep you calm. and god, did you love him for that.

the team principal comes a halt, your heart thudding as scans the garage. he pauses, eyes forming slits as he searches for susie. after all, with her blonde bob and striking smile, she was pretty distinguishable.

you couldn't forget a stunning face like susie's.

"ah," toto sucks in a breath, "guten morgen!"

your head swivels in the direction of his voice, picking out a blonde. the woman turns, lips pulling into a grin as she recognizes toto.

"good morning!"

your hand trembles, knees almost buckling as she strolls towards you, little one in tow. for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping that maybe this was some sort of a dream. praying that you would simply wake up, wrapped up in your lover's arms.

yet, his hand breaking away from yours reminds you that is real. very real.

you remain still as toto's arm envelop susie's frame, bringing her in for a warm embrace. he pecks her cheeks, the words indistinguishable. you recognize them as german, cursing yourself slightly for not keeping up with your courses.

"and good morning to you," susie bears a bright smile as she turns to you, opening her arms up for a hug. you return the gesture, awkwardly placing two kisses on either cheek.

"it's nice to see you again."

"papa!" a voice squeals, bursting with joy, "she's here! my favorite driver is here!"

at that, you notice susie's right eye twitch. toto kneels, scooping jack up. he hoists the little one into the air so that he was at your level. at the interaction, you feel your lips curl, forming a quaint smile.

"guten morgen, jack! i can't believe i'm finally meeting my favorite kart racer. i think i'm a little starstruck."

jack's eyes widen, his cheeks tinged a rosy pink. his hands fly to his face, shielding his shyness. toto leans in, whispering something in his ear. in turn, jack peeks out, stars glistening in his gaze as he peers at you.

"did you come to watch me race today?"

"i did," you nod, "i figured i would give your dad some company today."

"mama says that you keep my dad company too much and-"

"let's not worry about what mommy thinks," susie cuts in, "let's just worry about racing today, okay?"

toto arches a brow, yet holds his composure, "let's go check out the kart and let the women gossip, yeah? what do you think about that?"

jack nods enthusiastically as toto sets him down. taking his father's hand, he leads him to the other end of the garage, buzzing about a mile a minute. for a moment, there's a beat of silence, susie inhaling a sharp breath.

"i am so sorry."

"about?" your brow furrows, "ms. wolff, you have nothing to be-"

"it's stoddart now," susie's lips form a tight line, her eyes squeezing shut, "did toto not inform you? the divorce was finalized."

"i-" you stammer, swaying slightly, "i-i had no idea."

the blonde rolls her eyes, bringing a hand to her temple, "he has a knack for forgetting important events like that. i apologize for putting you on the spot. i hope you know that i have no ill-will or grudge toward you. it's just... different, you know? he is so different now that he has you."

"what do you mean by that?"

susie motions her head, pointing in the direction of toto and jack, "just look at him. i have never seen him so loving or careful with anyone until you came into the picture. i have never seen him so proactive in jack's life. you have changed him. you truly are his golden girl."

in that moment, your heart swells, bliss rippling all throughout as you watch toto and jack. the little one's hand was wrapped around toto's finger, the child showcasing all of the new modifications to his kart. toto couldn't look any more proud, his gaze brimmed with affection, dimples apparent as jack toted him along.

"susie," you begin, attempting to form some sort of response that would truly express your gratitude, "thank you, for that. you really have no-"

"don't thank me," a chuckle bubbles up in her throat, the blonde resting a hand on your shoulder, "just stick around, yeah? i don't know if i can handle anymore drab and depressed toto. also, i wouldn't mind if you wanted to stop by the academy sometime. we miss you around there."

"i could probably fit that in sometime," you beam, "there isn't much more of the season left. i would love to come by and see how things are progressing."

"don't feel like you have to just because of me," susie sticks outs a hand, "i know you're fairly busy at brackley in your free time."

after her statement, she winks, heat billowing into your cheeks the moment you realize what she meant.

so she had heard the rumors.

"well," the blonde clears her throat, fishing her phone out of her pocket, "my partner is going to be here any minute now. i need to go meet up with her so she doesn't get lost. you think you can keep the boys out of trouble?"

"i sure can," a giggle flows from your lips, "i'll go see what they're up to. isn't the first lap going to start here soon?"

"yes," susie responds, spinning on her heel, "if i can't find you two around here, will you text me from toto's phone?"

"of course!" you chirp, flashing her a thumbs up, "we'll meet up with you soon!"

"great," susie flashes you a grin, waving at the boys one last time.

as she disappears among the growing crowd of parents, children, and family, you make your way towards toto and jack. the moment jack spots you, he waves you over, "i need help!"

"what is it?" you fold your arms across your chest.

"will you give me some tips?" the little one cocks his head as toto zips up his racing suit.

"what sort of tips?" there's a cozy sensation blooming in your chest as you kneel to the ground.

"racing tips, duh!"

"i'll tell you what," carefully, you place your hands on his shoulders, maintaining eye contact.

"the most important thing i can tell you to do is to believe in yourself. if you can do that, then you can do anything."

"anything?" jack's lip purse, toto hovering with his helmet in his grasp.

dipping your head, you take the helmet, placing it on the child's head, "anything. no go kick ass out there. i know you'll do great!"

at your words, you can't help but notice the way jack brightens. his mouth forms a radiant smile. for a minute, he's a spitting-image of his father, the sight tugging at your heart.

"okay! i'll go kick some ass! only cause you said i can!"

as toto helps him into the kart, you rise to your feet, a singular thought buzzing in your mind.

maybe one day a little toto wouldn't be so bad.

just maybe.

[marvolos]

Hold Me While You Wait

PAIRING: Cho Hyun Ju x gender neutral reader

SYNOPSIS: Cho Hyun-ju has known loss, but nothing compares to holding the lifeless body of the only person who ever truly believed in her. As they die in her arms, their final plea for comfort shatters her. Consumed by guilt over her choices in the deadly games, she is left alone in the silence of her grief, forced to confront the price of survival in a world that offers no mercy.

GENRE: angst

WARNINGS: blood, death, grief, guilt and self-blame

NOTES: i have literally been obsessed with hyunju since i finished watching s2 and the lack of fics made me want to attempt my own hand at writing (thank u to the people who requested this!!). please keep in mind that this is my absolute first time indulging into fanfic writing rather than relying on reading others' works so i would love some constructive criticism!! english is not my first language so i apologise if there are errors, this is not proof read.

Cho Hyun-ju was no stranger to the cruel intimacy of loss. It clung to her like a shadow, its touch cold and unrelenting. She had lost so many she had once dared to love, the echoes of their departures a constant ache in her chest. Friends, companions, confidants—each had slipped through her grasp the moment she chose to trust them, her vulnerability rewarded with betrayal as sharp and merciless as any blade. Yet, as she knelt there now, cradling the almost lifeless body of the only soul who had never faltered in their belief in her, she realized she had never truly understood pain. Not like this.

“Hyun-ju...” Their voice was weak, little more than a whisper. She leaned closer, her tears falling onto their face as she brushed a strand of hair from their blood-streaked forehead.

“I’m here,” she choked out, her voice cracking. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. Just...stay with me.”

A faint smile tugged at their lips, so familiar yet so fragile it made her chest ache. “Liar,” they murmured, their words tinged with bittersweet amusement. “We both know...I’m not making it out of this.”

“Don’t say that!” Hyun-ju snapped, her hands pressing desperately against the wound in their chest. “You’re not leaving me. You promised! You said we’d survive this together!”

Their hand, slick with blood, reached up to cup her cheek. The gesture was weak, trembling, but the tenderness in their touch was unmistakable. “Hyun-ju,” they said, their gaze locking onto hers with a heartbreaking intensity. “Just...hold me.”

Her breath hitched. “No, I can stop the bleeding, I—”

“Please,” they interrupted, their voice so soft it broke her. “There’s no time. I don’t want to die alone... Just...let me feel safe. One last time.”

Hyun-ju’s vision blurred with tears, but she obeyed, gathering them closer against her chest. She buried her face in their hair, her sobs muffled as she clung to them like a lifeline. “You’re not alone,” she whispered, her words trembling with the weight of her grief. “I’m here. I’ll stay with you. Always.”

“Thank you,” they murmured, their voice barely audible now. “You...made it all worth it. Even this.”

“No,” Hyun-ju cried, her tears falling faster. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t leave me. Please...”

But their breathing slowed, each ragged inhale weaker than the last. Their hand fell from her cheek, limp at their side.

“I love you,” they whispered, the words so faint she barely caught them. And then, silence.

Hyun-ju’s world shattered.

Her beloved’s blood soaked through her fingers, warm and sticky, as if it carried the remnants of the life now slipping away. Hyun-ju's arms tightened around them as if she could hold their spirit in place, refusing to let death take what was hers. But their chest no longer rose with breath, and their once-bright eyes had dulled, staring blankly at a sky that offered no solace.

Hyun-ju's mind screamed at her to do something—anything—but her body was paralyzed, shackled by despair. The memory of a promise whispered in the tender quiet of midnight played cruelly in her head: We’ll face this together. Forever. That word mocked her now, hanging heavy with unfulfilled dreams, as eternity dissolved into a fleeting, fragile moment that ended too soon.

This was her fault.

The realization hit like a tidal wave, threatening to drag her under. Every choice she had made, every desperate gamble to survive, had led to this. She had believed she was fighting for their future—for their chance to escape the grasp of the brutal games that reduced human lives to fodder for the amusement of the elite. But instead, her choices had forged the very blade that now severed their shared hopes and dreams.

Her thoughts spiraled back to the first moment she saw them, standing on the shoreline, now just the pieces of a faint memory. The sea had stretched endlessly behind them, a restless expanse of possibility. Their smile had been like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, offering her something she had almost forgotten—hope. For the first time in years, she had felt seen, understood, as if their very presence whispered, you belong.

In the games, that hope had been her anchor. They had stood by her through every blood-streaked challenge, every moment of terror when the line between life and death blurred. They had trusted her when no one else would, had defended her when she didn’t deserve it.

And now they were gone.

That fleeting sense of belonging had been torn from her, ripped apart by the blood-soaked machinery of the games. She wanted to blame them—the faceless architects of this hell—but deep down, she knew it was her own hand that had led them here. Stay for one more game, she had told herself, clinging to the illusion that they could endure just a little longer, that she could outwit the odds. And now...now, that decision had cost her everything.

The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest, suffocating. Her vision blurred with tears, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. What did it matter now? The world was a cruel, hollow place, and mourning was all she had left.

Her hands shook as she pressed them to the wound in their chest, futilely trying to stem the flow of blood. But it was pointless. The games didn’t allow for miracles.

The loudspeaker crackled to life above her, the voice cutting through her despair like a blade.

“Contestant 024 eliminated. Remaining contestants, return to the starting line for the next round.”

Hyun-ju’s breath hitched. The next round. It never ended. The games didn’t stop for grief, didn’t pause for the dead. They demanded obedience, demanded survival at any cost.

But what was the point of surviving now?

Her gaze shifted to the others still standing at the edge of the arena, their faces pale, their eyes averted. They had seen what happened, knew it could just as easily have been them. The games had robbed them all of their humanity, turning them into hollow shells, desperate only to live another day. Sympathy was a luxury the games didn’t allow.

“What was the point?” she choked out, her voice raw and broken. The words fell into the stillness around her, unanswered, as if the universe itself had turned its back on her suffering.

She looked down at her beloved’s face, tracing every line and feature with trembling fingers. How often had those lips spoken words of reassurance, promises that they’d make it through together? How often had those eyes met hers with unwavering faith, even when the world seemed intent on breaking them both?

Now, they were gone. And she remained. A cruel joke, an empty punishment for sins she could never atone for.

Hyun-ju pressed her forehead to theirs, her tears mingling with the blood between them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies. “I’m so, so sorry.”

But the silence that greeted her was deafening, a reminder that forgiveness would never come.

The night stretched on, oppressive and eternal, as she sat there in the crimson pool of her regret, mourning not just the love she had lost but the pieces of herself that had died with them.

hold me while you wait — © marvolos, 2025.

[yvannile]

I wonder how Sukuna would be once he got married...💭

⊹　 ︶︶　 𖹭᪲　 ︶︶　 ⊹

Sukuna! Who was bound by duty rather than desire, found himself in an arranged marriage designed to strengthen the ties between your families. From the very beginning, he saw you as a mere pawn in a game of power, an obligation to endure rather than a partner to cherish. He was already sick of you, he couldn’t wait for the day to toss you aside. Maybe he would spare your life if he felt generous.

Sukuna! Who turned away from your attempts to connect, met each effort with frigid indifference. When you tried to share a meal or engage in conversation, his sharp words cut through the air, leaving you feeling small and unwanted. Each dismissal stung deeply, yet you clung to the hope that warmth lay hidden beneath his bitter exterior. But he couldn’t help but be a bit amused by your behaviour, trying to get along with the king of curse? What a joke you were.

Sukuna! Who lived within the same walls yet created an insurmountable distance between you. As you wandered through the empty halls, loneliness consumed you, the ache for connection growing more profound. You yearned for his presence, longing for intimacy, but he remained an enigma, a fortress of solitude. But deep down, he started to feel something, a tingly warm feeling when he was around you.

Sukuna! Who occasionally let his guard down, revealing brief glimpses of the vulnerability hidden beneath his icy façade. A lingering gaze or a soft sigh hinted at a humanity yearning to break free. In those fleeting moments, you dared to hope that he was capable of love, but just as quickly, they vanished, leaving you with an aching desire for connection and a haunting sense of isolation.

Sukuna! Who rarely showed vulnerability suddenly sprang into action when danger approached, fiercely defending you against outside threats. You witnessed a side of him that contrasted sharply with his usual demeanor, igniting confusion within you. Why did he only reveal this fierce passion when your safety was at stake? Did he care about you or was he just trying to protect his image of the ruthless king?

Sukuna! Who after another heated confrontation, the dam finally breaks. “Am I that embarrassing to you?” you ask, voice trembling with emotion. “Is that why you treat me as I’m invisible? I thought we were meant to be married, but all I feel is your shame.” Tears well in your eyes as you lay bare your feelings, revealing how deeply you crave a connection with him. For a fleeting moment, you see a shift in his expression, the weight of your words striking a chord. “I’m trying to be a good partner to you, but you make it feel like a punishment,” you add softly, your heart aching with each word. But he quickly masks his vulnerability, unable to confront the truth of his own emotions, leaving you feeling more shattered than before.

Sukuna! Who watches as night falls, you quietly pack your belongings, each item a painful reminder of the love you yearned to build. You don’t notice Sukuna standing in the shadows, his heart heavy with regret as he watches you. “Maybe I was wrong to think we could be more than this,” you whisper to yourself, tears spilling down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the hope that faded away. The air is thick with unspoken words, and though he longs to reach out, he remains paralyzed by his own fears. You finish packing, blissfully unaware of the heartache etched across his face. As you walk away, he feels the weight of an irreversible loss settle in, understanding too late that he has let the best thing slip through his fingers, left alone in the suffocating silence of what might have been.

[nimbus-notes]

The first anxiety attack you experience over the upcoming performance occurs mid-February. It’s a rose-hued concoction of sentiments. The early morning winter sky unfolds in shades of pearl and violet, cirrus swirling over the curve of the rising sun. You press your temples against the wall-sized window in the otherwise empty studio.

Cold.

There is a stitch in your side; your feet planted firmly on their soles, feeling incapable of lifting you an inch further.

It’s the state Sae finds you in. You hadn’t anticipated his arrival until 9 a.m. When you turn at the sound of footsteps, it’s away rather than toward him, burying your wet face in your wrist, wiping your eyes.

“Let me see,” he says from somewhere behind you, clinically detached in tone. It blisters something greater than your heel.

You presume he means your step work. The instruction conflicting with the fact that you feel obvious with your break down. Transparent. But taking the illusion for granted, you draw your face away from your wrist, thinking you’d been reprieved, thinking you’d been covert, only to catch yourself hardly a breath away from his face.

Cool eyes evaluate you. You can see yourself viscerally in their aventurine reflection, nacre lost under the quartz. Tender and soft, bruised. Unequivocally a failure of a principal dancer, in the eyes of your executioner.

But he does not strip you of your title and status. Close. So close.

The soft mint of his breath brushes over your lips as he observes you, and you become sharply aware of the thin space separating his mouth from yours.

You can only stare, stricken mute, as cold hands cup the sides of your face, firm thumbs wiping damp remnants of tears off your cheeks. Pressing into their apples, coercing dimples into the tender flesh. You nearly wince; you might’ve if you weren’t paralyzed staring.

“It’s fine,” he says calmly, and there’s a thousand things you think he could be referring to. “You’re fine.”

You don’t ask which applies here. You only nod, an uncertain, emotive sound strangling in your throat. He hums, something alike interest, warmer in the pale morning light, enveloping the moment.

[zriasstuff]

You need me—Tom Riddle x reader

A very late happy kinktober from me, even with nonexistent motivation, I felt like I owed it to this blog to write something, so without further ado

Warnings: 18+, toxic relationship, rough sex, slight (verbal) humiliation, don’t read if you don’t like

Lately you didn’t know what Tom was up to at all, but that wasn’t even the thing that bothered you. All his secret missions meant less time for you, meaning you had gone a very, very long month without his touch.

Today was one of those days, where you had to have someone still your needs. What was a boyfriend good for, if he couldn’t even make you happy? But the thing is, Tom wasn’t like any other guy. You weren’t even sure how to approach the subject.

And thinking of the devil, suddenly hear someone enter your dorm. Before you could even initiate small talk, he asked you whether you still had the book he left here a while ago. Right, the book he gave you as a gift. Now he needed it back.

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere”, you say. He looked slightly annoyed, but started to search for it himself.

“Hey listen, I thought maybe we could do something tonight, you and I, you know?”

Without even averting his gaze upward, he simply replied that he was busy. You persisted, telling him that you would appreciate him and you doing something for you once in a while, like all the other couples.

No reply

“Listen, if you can’t even do the smallest things for me, why am I with you?”

Finally, he looked up. “You don’t think I do things for you?”, he asked, but somehow it didn’t sound like a question, more like an accusation. His tone wasn’t angry though, rather challenging.

“Well, look at you- you come here without even saying hello, start rumbling through my belongings for some stupid book, you don’t even notice that I’m wearing a new dress—”

To capture his attention, you had put on a new mini dress that perfectly hugged your body and showed all the right curves in the right places.

“Is that so?”, he comes nearer as he says that. “Ye-yes, it is”, your heart stammered and you kept swallowing, at this point you weren’t so sure whether you should keep going with your confrontation or not. The closer he got to you, the less sure you became.

“You know what I’m noticing right now”, he stopped for a second to eye you top to bottom, “is how you keep clenching your legs”

“That has nothing to do with—”, but before you could finish he’d already slipped a cold hand under your dress. The tingles went up your spine, leaving you somewhat paralyzed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye because of how wet you were.

“Looks like somebody may need their good for nothing boyfriend”, he taunted, while ever so slightly brushing his fingertips against your aching clit, making you squeeze around nothing.

After all those claims of yours, you weren’t going to just let him put you on the spot like that, so instead you said the most stupid thing you could’ve,

“who says I need you to help me with this”

You did though. You did so bad. Already this morning you’d tried to make yourself cum around your fingers, to now avail, only leaving you more frustrated than ever.

“Alright, then show me, because I think you’re full of shit”, and with that he removed his fingers, his body away from you. He kept his eyes on your legs, which started to slightly shiver under his stare. “This is so stupid”, you mumble under your breath, but he catches it anyway.

“What was that?”, he cocked his head as he asked, pretending he didn’t.

“Nothing, I said if you want to, I will show you”, you hope to god he didn’t mean that, but something told you he wasn’t kidding, not even in the slightest.

“I meant it when I said it”

“Good” You couldn’t let him win now.

Fingers shaking, you start to slide them up your thighs, squeezing them and releasing soft gasps while doing so. So far Tom didn’t seem impressed. You had to put on more of a show. So, you go towards the bed and take one of your bedside pillows. His eyes widened a bit. Good. Without breaking off eye contact, you place that particular thick, cylinder shaped pillow between your legs, slowly lowering your soaking pussy onto the harsh fabric. At the moment of contact, you flutter your eyes, as if Tom had just entered you.

And as if it was his cock inside you, you start to move your hips in a back and forth motion, as if you were riding him. But nothing was hitting your sweet spot, so you sloppily hold onto the pillow with one hand, the fingers of the other entering your leaking pussy, curling, desperately trying to scratch that itch. Closing your eyes, you pretended those were his long and skilled fingers.

Pretending, it was his cock that thrusted into you, in and out, in and out, filling up your cunt to the brim every single time. Pretending you were about to chase your climax.

“I’m about to—“, you moan, “aghh fuck, ‘m gonna—”

“Quit it darling, you can’t do it”, Tom interrupts, after having stayed uncomfortably silent this whole time. “You need me”

You squeezed around your fingers as hard as you could, didn’t slow down your tempo, but something was missing.

“You’re making it worse”, you spat at him.

“I can’t stand my girl being so delusional yet so desperate at the same time”, he said as he took a few more steps toward you and shook his head.

“Want some help?”

“N-No”, you half moaned, half whined.

“Oh I think you do”, he whispered. His hand reached for your chin and tilted it upwards, almost squeezing your face too hard.

“Just say the word”

Just that one word and he would give you exactly what you needed. Just one word and everything would be alright. But then he’d win.

“Any time now, or my offer goes away”

You bit your lip so hard it started getting all blood red and puffy, because if you didn’t you were gonna give in.

“One last chance” Having said that he tilted your chin downwards, you his clearly visible hard dick in his pants. You gulp at the sight, knowing what it could do to your body. If you didn’t say it now…

“Please Tom”

“What was that?”, he cooed smugly. As he said that he was already removing his belt from and pulling down his pants that grew tighter around his area.

“I said please”, you choked out, still being barely able to move your jaw that he had a death grip on.

“Since you had a little preparation already, I think you owe me one too”

Before you realized what that meant, he shoved your head toward his thick, leaking tip. With no regard, Tom forced his tip into your hungry mouth, groaning at the feeling of the wet warmth. “Suck on it, like a good girl”. You did as you were told, until he shoved his entire length down your throat, holding your mouth at his base. You could barely breathe properly, only inhaling his scent through your nose.

“Nothing to complain about now, no?” Throat growing even tighter, Tom kept lazily thrusting into your mouth, until tears started to form in your eyes. As soon as he was done, he forcefully shoved you onto the bed and flipped you onto your stomach. Before doing anything, he took that soaked pillow, put it under your face, and shoved your face onto the wet patch. You would’ve been disgusted, if it weren’t for the anticipation for him to finally fill you up.

“Look at what you’ve done”, he mouthed, “so stupid to think that that was enough for you”

As he entered in one go from behind, you shrieked and the built up tears finally spilled. “So stupid to think that anything could make you feel like I do”, he groaned into your ear, while repeatedly hitting your spot. Obscene sounds left your mouth at the feeling of being roughly split open again and again.

You couldn’t hold it in much longer, your touch starved cunt finally getting the handling it needed. By crying out loud, gradually whimpering louder as he shoved himself into your hole, he felt you were getting close.

“Say you need me”, he demanded, slowing his pace, letting you know you weren’t gonna cum if you didn’t. He put more weight onto you and grabbed your neck from the behind, forcing your stained face to look at him.

“I need you Tom”, you whimpered, and he planted a hungry kiss on your lips.

A few more deep plunges, and you felt him shoot his load deep inside you, his liquid mixing with yours.

Before you even processed that he had flipped you onto your back again, your underwear was back on, more soaked and filthy than ever now.

“To remind you who you belong to for the rest of the day”

[itadores]

summary: sakura likes the way you smell. he thinks it makes him a freak.

note: i like him terribly so. this may be so incredibly niche but it’s for me :p

pairing: sakura haruka x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, minor angst but it gets resolved, sakura-centric

sakura hasn't put much thought into the products he buys for himself for much of his life. unlike like some of his friends, he doesn’t have an elaborate multi-step self-care routine. he’s content with his generic shampoo and conditioner and his cheap laundry detergent that he buys from the corner store on his block. he’s satisfied until he’s not, until he's dating you and subconsciously begins to seek out your scent. sakura is blissfully unaware of this fact until one day it hits him like a punch in the gut. the realization that he likes the way you smell. a lot.

a sense of shame takes root in his chest. he feels like some sort of creep, feeling this way. it’s weird. he’s weird, he’s convinced. and yet, sakura can’t help but start to take note of the products you use when he’s over at your place. it’s not snooping if it’s on display right? sakura knows it’s just a flimsy argument that he's using to reassure himself, but he has to know what sort of products you’re using. he makes a mental list of the brands and scents of your shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and laundry detergent amongst other things. and when he’s at the store, he’s skittish as ever, feeling as if he’s doing something intimately wrong as he buys the same products you use for himself.

sakura thinks you won’t ever discover his shameful secret. if only.

you're at his place instead of yours for a change of pace. sakura's lounging on his dingy couch that he bought second-hand when he first moved into his apartment. he's waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom, so he can hit play on the movie you've been meaning to watch together. his head’s resting on the back of the sofa and he turns his cheek towards the hallway when he hears the bathroom door unlock, expecting you to enter his view soon enough.

you do, and sakura's stomach drops when he sees what's in your hand. it's a shampoo bottle. identical to the one you own.

"what's this?"

sakura's at a loss for words, unable to come up with a good excuse on the fly.

“it’s the same one i have.”

he feels himself teetering on that tightrope, at the verge of falling down into the abyss of loneliness once more. are you mad? are you going to leave him?

“how come you bought it?”

sakura takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself out of his spiraling thoughts. no, he shouldn’t assume the worst. all you did was ask him a question. your tone isn’t accusatory, merely inquisitive.

“i-i like the way you smell.” he says small and quiet, entirely unlike how he usually is. he chooses to let his head hang low, staring at the couch cushions rather than you. he’s afraid of what he may see if he looks your way. even if he doesn’t want to think the worst, he’s sure you’re put off by what he’s said. who wouldn’t be?

“haruka, can you look at me?” sakura stubbornly keeps his head down. tendrils of fear have taken ahold of his heart, paralyzing him. he stiffens when you gently sigh. “please?”

slowly, sakura lifts his head, bracing himself for your reaction. sakura expects disgust or distaste to be plastered across your face, but he's shocked when he's greeted with a smile, bleeding with a fondness that's so familiar to sakura it makes him ache a little.

"i'm not mad," you say as if you can read sakura's thoughts. or maybe you can just read his expression. "i'm flattered that you think i smell nice, and i honestly think it's really cute that you want to smell like me."

"really?" sakura's brows furrow, disbelieving. "you don't think it's weird? or gross?" sakura doesn't know why he's saying these things, things that could push you further from him, but he doesn't get why you don't think what he's done is strange or unusual.

sakura startles when you take a seat beside him on the couch. he didn't even notice you moving across the room.

“why would i think that?” a confused lilt to your voice. you reach out towards sakura, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before caressing his cheek. the tips of your fingers rub against the ends of his hair. “i think it’s sweet. honestly, i really like the idea of us using the same products." your expression goes thoughtful. "it's like even when i'm not around, a part of me is still with you." a rosy hue colors sakura's cheeks. he didn't expect you to say something so embarrassing. you continue on, a growing grin on your lips. "and now whenever i sleep over, i don't have to worry about packing toiletries, i can just use what you have here!”

your laughter fills the air when sakura pulls back from you, rolling his eyes at your attempt of lightening the mood. it works though. sakura is admittedly feeling considerably better than he did just moments ago. he doesn't know how you do it. you somehow always know what to say, what he needs to hear. sakura no longer finds himself performing a balancing act on that tightrope as often as he once did in his adolescence, but from time to time, he's there again, teetering from side to side, afraid of falling. but now he realizes that fear is unfounded.

you're a safe place for him to land.

[scrambledsun]

Mouthwashing au! So I enjoyed playing the game, and I'm enjoying the Fandom very much. Recently, I had an idea for a au. In this au Jimmy's like "fuck it is deserve to live more than anyone else" and takes the cryogenic pod for himself after he kills curly considering it his "mercy" and he gets rescued after 10 years later. He gives the investigators the story he wants and walks free.

And this is where it becomes apparent that jimmy, though he won't admit it, was severely reliant on curly. For one, Jimmy is naturally rather unlikable and without curly to defend him more often than not he gets his as kicked. He can't find a good job because once again, there's no curly to vouch for him.

And its not like he can use the money he got as compensation from pony express can help him. For one it wasn't very much to begin with. The already bankrupt company having paid the grieving families five years prior to Jimmy's unexpected return. They didn't account for his return. So when he did arrive it had came out of the founder's nearly empty pocket. And he'd already used a good chunk on medical bills as, surprise surprise, the cryo pods were shit, so he had to have one of his feet removed. And no disability for him isn't shit so more often than not he's living pay check to pay check.

And believe it or not, that's not the worst thing for him. No it would be the sins of his past haunting the fuck out of him at night. And no amount of drugs or alcohol help. For example: imagine him lying in bed, eyelids heavy with exhausten from his shitty job, drifting to dreamland, only to hear abrupt gunshots so loud they cause him to toss himself out of bed on to his dirty floor and leave his ears ringing for hours after. Or maybe he is trying to sleep again, feeling hopeful that now he'll get some desperately needed shut eye. Only to hear loud disgusting choking sounds that can't be blocked out no matter what he uses to cover his ears. It leaves he paralyzed in bed out of fear because last time when he rolled over to try and find where the sound came from, he was face to face and eyes to eye with the face of curly. He stopped sleeping in his bed for a while after that

Other times, he'll hear Swansea screaming his name out of anger, rapid heavy footsteps coming his way. Other times, he'll see anya in any type of reflective surfaces bleeding from he mouth and nose with her eyes rolled back. And sometimes he'll catch a glistening eye staring down on him from his dusty vents with blood dripping down and cries of pain coming from it.

He is being haunted at night and at his apartment. There's no one he can talk about this to for fear of incriminating himself. it's been the reason he's lost several jobs already. He's the mental case everyone avoids and pitys from a distance. He is alone with his thoughts and loyal crew. It's like a haunted au, but with a twist, I'll reveal later. Let me hear if there's anything thing you'd add to it!

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Paralyzed

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warnings: Cussing, Mattheo being an idiot

I know this is off of my normal schedule, but I finally got to my pc, so have this fic I wrote a few days ago.

You, you walked into the room

On a Friday afternoon

That's when I saw you for the first time

And I was paralyzed

Mattheo was in the library with a few of his friends, not even studying anymore. They were messing around, talking and laughing, drawing on their parchment, throwing things at each other. But they were in a rather secluded corner of the library, so they weren't bothering everyone.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught Mattheo's attention. He turned his head to see you looking through one of the aisles of books. He had never seen you before. You were gorgeous and it had Mattheo sitting up straight, fixing his hair and tuning out the other boys.

The other boys didn't take much notice, Mattheo would tune out and stare off into space sometimes, so they didn't give it much thought.

He watched as you tried to grab a book off a shelf a bit higher than you could reach. His first thought was to go over and help you, but his body wouldn't move. Like he was…nervous?

You felt your pockets, presumably for your wand, but you forgot it and sighed, pouting slightly for a second before turning to their table. Mattheo quickly looked away as you walked over.

“Can one of you guys help me? I can't reach a book I need and I forgot my wand.” You asked the table sweetly and it had Mattheo's stomach fluttering with how sweet your voice was to him.

I had a million things to say

But none of them came out that day

'Cause I was never one of those guys

That always had the best lines

Mattheo wanted to say ‘yes’ and help you, but the words died in his throat as he opened his mouth, and now his mouth felt suddenly dry.

“Of course, (Y/N).” Enzo said as he stood up with that stupid charming smile of his.

That prick led you back to the book with a hand on your back.

Mattheo slumped back in his seat as he watched you smile back at Lorenzo, thanking him for grabbing the book for you before walking away from him. Enzo came back to the table, sitting back down.

Time stopped ticking

My hands keep shaking

And you don't even know that

“Who is that?” Mattheo asked him after you disappeared out of view.

Enzo smiled, catching on immediately. “That's (Y/N). They're in one of my classes. They're very sweet.”

“I've never seen them before.” Mattheo said, looking back to where you disappeared for a moment before looking back down to his drawing on his parchment, pretending to be interested in drawing again.

I try to speak, but girl you got me tongue-tied

I try to breathe but I'm f-f-f-frozen inside

I try to move but I'm stuck in my shoes

You got me paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed

I see you walking, but all you do is pass me by

Can't even talk, 'cause words don't come into my mind

I'd make a move if I had the guts to

But I'm paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed

Enzo and Theo took the initiative to introduce you two. They invited you to one of their parties, where the boys were all at now.

Theo was the first one to spot you when you arrived. He left the group to talk to you, smiling, trying to charm you to follow him over to the group. You gladly followed him and Mattheo spotted the two of you coming over and quickly sat up straight in the chair he was lounging in, putting out the cigarette he was smoking on the table in front of him.

Theodore quickly introduced you to everyone who didn't know you, saving Mattheo for last.

You smiled at him. “Hi, Mattheo.” You said and damn, if your voice wasn't the sweetest thing he ever heard, especially the way you said his name.

He opened his mouth to say ‘hi’ back but it came out super quiet.

“Are you alright?” You asked him when you couldn't hear him over the music.

His mouth felt all dry again, so he just nodded.

Now I learned a lot from my mistake

Never let a good thing slip away

I've had a lot of time to look back

And my only regret is

Not telling you what I was going through

But you didn't even know that

I try to speak but girl you got me tongue-tied

I try to breathe but I'm f-f-f-frozen inside

I try to move but I'm stuck in my shoes

You got me paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed

You talked with the group, smiling and laughing at what they said. Mattheo was quiet, looking over at you whenever you laughed and spoke up. He wanted to make you laugh so bad, but he was finding it difficult to talk with you there.

How was everyone else talking to you so calmly?

He was going to have to look for a spell or potion to help him with this weird feeling around you.

As soon as you walked away to go talk to some of your friends, Theo hit him in the back of the head.

“Ow, what the fuck was that for?” Mattheo said, rubbing the spot Theo hit.

“Why didn’t you talk to them?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you were ogling them in the library a few days ago. We thought you liked them!” Enzo spoke up, throwing his hands in the air.

Mattheo scoffed. “I said ‘hi’.”

“Fucking idiot.” The two boys rolled their eyes.

I see you walking, but all you do is pass me by

Can't even talk, 'cause words don't come into my mind

I'd make a move if I had the guts to

But I'm paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed

The party didn't help at all and now you probably thought he was weird for how quiet he was. He was so stupid, just looking at you and smiling, sometimes laughing at what you said. And fuck, you were so funny and smart to him, it made it all worse. He felt like an idiot next to you.

He saw you around the castle more. Maybe he did see you in passing sometimes, but now he actually noticed you. He saw you walking with your friends between classes and he wanted to say ‘hi’, let you know he acknowledges you, at least.

But you'd see him first and give him a bright smile and all the thoughts in his head disappeared. It was like he forgot how to speak around you. So he would give a small nod before hurrying away to wherever he was going.

Merlin, why was he such an idiot?

As the years go by I think about you all the time, whoa

If I get the chance I hope I won't be paralyzed, paralyzed by you

You walked into the room

On a Friday afternoon

It had been a few months of this dynamic. You being your sweet self, hanging out with him and his friends more, and him barely speaking but smiling and laughing.

The other boys caught on and would question him, but he'd always refuse to answer, even though the boys already knew the problem.

You made him flustered. You made him shy.

And the boys ate it up every time, enjoying seeing their normally loud, obnoxious, and confident friend turn into a shy, stuttering mess around you.

I try to speak but girl you got me tongue-tied

Only problem was, you took it the opposite way.

I try to breathe but I'm f-f-f-frozen inside

I try to move but I'm stuck in my shoes

You got me paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed (you got me paralyzed)

I see you walking, but all you do is pass me by

Can't even talk, 'cause words don't come into my mind

I'd make a move if I had the guts to

But I'm paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed (you got me paralyzed)

Mattheo was smoking in the courtyard with Theo while Enzo was sitting by them, all three talking and messing around.

You noticed them. You always noticed how Mattheo was a lot louder and more playful when you weren't around. It made you feel like he didn't like you.

If only you knew it was quite the opposite.

You finally walked over to them, your shoes clicking on the pavement as you approached, making them all look over to you, but your eyes were only on Mattheo.

His eyes went wide when he realized that, watching you walk up to him until you were a few feet away from him.

“Do you hate me?” You asked him, ignoring the other two boys.

He let out a nervous laugh. “Wh-what?”

“Do you hate me? You, like, never talk to me. It's always short answers. You won't even say ‘hi’ to me when we pass each other in the halls. Why?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

He tried getting some words out, stumbling over the syllables before clearing his throat. “I-I don't-I don't hate you. I just-I mean, um…” Shit, his mouth went dry again.

“Mattheo. Can you just answer me for once?” You said.

Paralyzed, paralyzed, you got me tongue-tied

Paralyzed, paralyzed, now I'm frozen inside

Paralyzed, paralyzed

You got me paralyzed, paralyzed, p-p-p-paralyzed

His head dropped and you could hear a small ‘fuck’ under his breath before he sighed, looking back up at you again. “I…I don't hate you. I just…” He looked around, sighing out his nose again. “I…like you.” The way he said it seemed like he was having a hard time saying it.

“You like me?” You repeated.

“I just mean, I don't hate you. I-I think you're sweet.” He said, finally looking back at you.

“You think I'm sweet?” You asked, smiling ever so slightly.

That small smile had him blushing and looking back down.

“Yeah.” His eyes flickered up to you briefly before looking back at the cigarette burning in his hand.

“That's all I wanted to know.” You said before smiling a little more. “Have fun, boys.” You said before practically skipping away.

Mattheo watched you walk away, opening his mouth to stop you before shutting it with a groan.

The two other boys laughed at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.” He said before taking another puff of his cigarette.