#this is so bad i wrote this at 12 am

[mike-cher]

— Latibule ◌

︶ིྀᩧ a veritas ratio x GN!reader

author's note: this is like my first time writing in a WHILE please bear w me (　³﹏³ ).｡o (i said to myself id make my first post aa related but i fear ratio has come back to haunt me)

genre: trinkets and collectibles

tw: none !

Veritas Ratio was not a very emotional man to the crowd's eye. The average onlooker with no real ties to the scholar would dismiss him as a prideful man who views himself galaxies above others due to his intelligence.

Veritas Ratio was not a rash man by any means. He often turns to the more calm and logical manner of solving his problems, scoffing at the face of idiocy of his peers.

Veritas Ratio didn't know when he began to feel this way. Perhaps it was in the little ways they manage to wriggle themselves into his schedule. Or maybe it was the irrational moment of finding solace in his.. coworker. During a rather embrassing overstimulated breakdown of his.

Veritas Ratio noticed the way that he— almost instantaneously— relaxes in their presence. Be it simply them lounging around doing Nous knows what in his office as he grades papers; to them accompanying him on his scheduled lunches and early morning jogs.

It wasn't long until they, utterly and irreversibly, wormed their way into his daily routine; falling into subconscious tandem to one another as they go about their usual tasks. "Ah," one might think, "does this not contradict the image of the esteemed scholar"

Perhaps.

Which is exactly why the 'cruel' professor prefers to show his affections within his latibule, where the man can feel most at home with his dearest.

[astrum99]

Do you think bugs fall in love?

Their small bodies host even tinier brains. Built to crawl through soil and rocks bigger than itself. Running on a simple software bouncing between eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate.

V1 is smarter than a bug. It must be. It’s a war machine, so it must be. Its programming is complex enough to fry several motherboards; the internals are heated from constant, unrelenting processing needs. If it updates its optical data intake to any greater degree than these rough, messy polygons, it’d surely perish from the overwhelming information.

V1 is built to kill first, survive second. To be fair, survival would ensure more killing, so it’d be more effective. Moving through the battlefield, culling lives, drawing blood. Perfectly aligned with its programmed objectives, then.

Gabriel is smarter than a bug. He must be. He’s an angel, so he must be. He’s one of the best soldiers in the heavenly realm. Armour and swords glistened with pride and justice. He sees all. He judges all. His loyalty and perfect track record have earned him a high rank within the order. Leaving behind the creaturely "it". His light burns hot and bright within his constitution.

Gabriel is built as a messenger of the Father, then a judge of Hell. To be fair, the role of a judge was assigned to him by the council, so he supposes that his placement can be summed up as the bearer of the divine authority to bring right to all other creatures. Perfectly aligned, then.

Bugs… Well, they’re the same. I suppose. Small beings. Running pre-programmed orders derived from centuries of evolution: eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate. No role. No responsibilities.

Bugs are built naturally and fully, unlike humankind; but formed and ready to go within seconds from their births, like machines and angels.

So. Do they live?

When the machine and the angel escape their chains, do they see themselves in bugs?

Bugs are born to live, temporarily, fleetingly, yet live nonetheless. Do they, then, deserve to live, freeing and meaninglessly. No role. No responsibilities.

So. Do bugs love?

Do they learn that they can go beyond their basic structures? Do they see their own reflection in each other’s compound eyes? Do they recognize each other’s bodies, scents, heat? Do they feel the desire for closeness?

To flutter wings like a dance of waltz. To brush antennae like butterfly kisses. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.

To move through the sky in battle, in passion. To clash swords and fists and bullets. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.

The same cells in the same blood coursing beneath the same suit of exoskeletons.

Machine, angel, bug. Boiled down to the barest essence of existence; crisp simplicity.

To live, to love.

[crazyfandomluver]

Can we all please stop focusing SO MUCH on all the mistakes that police officers make and stop assuming all the cops are doing those horrible things, because not are cops are like that! I've seen so many videos of many cops being nice, and doing their job properly, but they're never as popular as the ones where bad cops are being caught. Even when cops are doing their job properly, people always criticize them for 'being violent' and 'using unnecessary force' even when it was most absolutely necessary because they're capturing people who are breaking the law and preventing more people from getting hurt.

Are there bad cops out there? ABSOLUTELY! Should some cops not be allowed to remain in the service? 100%!! Does that mean every cop is bad? NO! There are so many good cops out there, but no one focuses on them. Can we be grateful for all the good cops who protect your country?? When your house gets broken into while you're inside and the intruder is looking for you with a gun, who are you going to ask for when you call 911? The fire department?? No, you'll ask for police because they are trained to protect you! Is there a chance that there will be a corrupt officer? Yes, but that chance is much smaller than you think. Because you have to remember

Police Officers are people too. They aren't all monsters, the media just signal boosts all the bad stuff, rarely the good stuff.

Do i trust every single police officer right away? No, but I'd rather put my trust in an officer than in the person who just came into the store with a gun demanding money

Order food and call the cops who are both in the same location, see who reaches you first.

[kohakhearts]

cons of going to a “good schoolTM”: insane workload, unbearable classmates, next to no support when you have any kind of extenuating circumstances Including literal hospitalization, etc

pros of going to a “good schoolTM”: the 9-5 lifestyle is genuinely a major improvement

[aria0fgold]

Whumptober day 12 prompt: Insomnia

Characters: Ray, Alec Ages: 18, 20

Ray yawned for what felt like the hundredth time that night, swarmed with schoolwork he had been putting off for days and now he only has a couple of hours left until all of it is due. He yawned again, leaning back into his chair and wiping away tears he wasn't even sure was from all his yawning or not.

He let out a long sigh, stared at the ceiling for awhile before lightly slapping himself to get back to work. He brought the chair closer to the desk, propping up his chin on his hand as he looked at what he has left to finish. There were still some essays to be written, a couple of worksheets to be answered. Ray looked at the time on his laptop, 4 am, he looked to the side of the desk, littered with cans of energy drinks and two empty cups of that once had coffee with several shots of espresso inside.

Ray groaned as he carelessly dropped his head on the desk with a thud. Why couldn't he have gradually worked on these things like most of his classmates had done? They were given weeks! And yet here he is, doing weeks' worth of work in just hours, like a failure. Can't he even go a single month without being a disappointment to the people around him?

Ah, but he has. Every month. Ray gritted his teeth, grabbing his hair tightly. He thanks his parents for insisting on that acting class, it was all he has going for him now. Acting. A skill he uses every single day. No one knows how bad of a failure he truly is, no one knows how much of a disappointment he can be. Every day he puts on a mask that no one can see through, and every day he struggles to even do something as simple as waking up in the morning and sleeping at night.

He isn't as great as he presents himself to be.

Ray suddenly felt someone grab his hands, he flinched at the touch and quickly raised his head it made his vision spin a bit. Alec stood beside him with a small frown.

“You're gonna hurt yourself.” He spoke in a slightly monotone voice, something that had been the case for years now. Ray sometimes miss the voice Alec had before that incident, when it was so full of emotion.

“Ah, sorry.” Ray chuckled.

Alec looked at the papers cluttered all over the desk, he tilted his head, “Do you need help?”

“Ah… No, not really…” Ray was unsure how to answer that.

“You need rest.”

Ray let out a small laugh, “Not yet, I need to finish these today.”

There was a beat of silence, until a small voice broke it before it went on for long, “I'm worried about you.”

Ray looked at Alec, his childhood best friend, who had become empty and emotionless, yet there are times where he shows such rare genuine emotion, Ray couldn't possibly ignore it. In the end, he can't really win against those puppy eyes, can he?

Ray let out a sigh, with a mixture of emotion he couldn't recognize at that moment, “I guess… I do need help after all.”

There was always one person that sees through such an act.

[maraczeks]

+

[lanegritaalma]

If you ain’t never had a God/Universe ordained squirt, were you really manifesting ??? 🤔

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Gaiman. I have read all of your books.

This is not an ask, rather an answer.

I would like to say thank you for saving me. Knowing I will never meet you will not change the way I feel about you or myself.

Love your fiction work. I feel bad for the fact that it’s not fiction to me. It is my life story.

Very sad one. That I am still trying to make sense of today.

I was raised by the other mother. Not really, but I was raised by a bipolar narcissist who hated me and loved me but didn’t know how to do either. She sexually abused me for 12 years.

No one ever believed me. No one.

So I would pretend that I was Coraline and that I was brave. I was. But that was because I knew that the spell had to break at some point.

I am 24 now. She is old and frail but the hell she has made in my mind - I almost never escaped. Until I understood that I truly was stronger.

Because she tried to make me just like her, but I refused. I picked kindness.

If you can’t find a friend, be one. If you can’t find someone you look up to- become someone who others can look up to.

I did. I tried my best. I promise.

I want to tell you the ultimate secret that no one ever could. You probably figured it out a long time ago, but it still makes me feel better to write it here, even if I know that you might never reply or ask me if I am safe, or dismiss me like a crazed fan/abused child who desperately needs help and attention.

I don’t. I would like to be your friend. But I know it is not possible.

So I want you to know I know why they do it.

They do it for the same reason as you wrote books. To not feel alone.

But that is the problem with existing in this world. Evil is nothing but not understanding yourself and hating different people from you.

Ignorance brings hate. How do you justify yourself in a world like this?

Simple.

You change the world by breading more people who believe hate is love, and love is hate. Evil needs justification. Kindness needs non.

I sat alone for 24 years and told no one. The paragraph above was just the start and the ending.

My story is still unfolding. But I wanted to let you know you are no longer sitting alone at your birthday party.

Because the only present I ever got was knowing someone else like me existed.

Someone who could look evil in the eye and stare back.

And never stop talking about it.

Thank you Mr. Gaiman, for writing “View from the Cheap Seats”

When I read it I put it down as well as the razor that I wanted to end my life with.

Because you were my only friend. And you still are.

And I cannot take the injustice anymore. If they won’t read, I will read to them.

I will save them just like you saved me. Making reading cool and easy.

And I will do it for you and me. So that no one else can see the horrors anywhere but in books and movies.

And I will do it one act of kindness and love at a time.

So they will know that injustice is just a state of mind.

Thank you Mr.Gaiman. You gave me hope.

And now I will do the unthinkable. I will try until my dying breath to change their mind.

One step forward into a future where you are not sad and a story like mine is just a horror movie and not a reality.

Because you are my only friend, and I hate to see my friends sad.

Leto

I'm so proud of you, and this made me tear up.

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 & 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Messy, honey Trippin' on cracks in the concrete You're so clumsy Got me thinkin' maybe you like me

➸ you leave a bad review about Onigiri Miya on your food blog. Osamu is a little annoyed about it but mostly worried why you cried so much in your food across of him at the counter.

❉ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ongoing!

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 & 𝐂𝐖 (updated as the story progresses) meet ugly (my beloved!!), slow burn, enemies to lover vibes but not full on (they don’t hate each other, they are just a little messy and confused), SFW but will have some mention of alcohol and sex at some point, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks (chapters will have an additional warning at the beginning), a lot of food mention obviously, mention of various pairings (Yukie/Konoha, Matsuhana, Bokuaka)

❦ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐒 real housewives of Y/N ❁ boyish whimsy

❉ 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗 (✑ contains written parts)

… prologue: dog tags

… chapter 01: love bites (✑)

… chapter 02: malewife era

… chapter 03: croquettes

… chapter 04: rotten apple (✑)

… chapter 05: lovers quarrel

… chapter 06: Miya kisser club (✑)

… chapter 07: 2AM lychee soju (✑)

… chapter 08: you up?

… chapter 09: my side of the bed

… chapter 10: to be loved

… chapter 11: siren song (✑)

… chapter 12: pomegranates

… chapter 13: the beach episode

… chapter 14: the bathroom floor (✑)

… chapter 15: animals

… chapter 16: coming soon

✮ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

moodboard (Pinterest) bonus chapter: honeymoon suite bonus chapter: ask the cast! unlocked lore: oikawa & y/n friendship

❖ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 open - fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

a/n: this is my first SMAU ever and i'm not entirely sure what i am doing but when has this ever held me back? it's actually based on a drabble i wrote the other day and might also be the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written if you enjoyed this, i would LOVE hearing your thoughts as the story moves on! ♡

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜'

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters' . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 2.6k

⟢ warnings: abusive parents, blood, cuts, head injury

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: i wrote this for fun and never expected to be posting it so i hope it's not bad... i actually never expected to be posting ever again but here i am ;) anyway i’d like to give this a part two (or more!) but i’m not sure what should happen next

An eerie silence overtook 12 Grimmauld Place on what had so far been an unremarkable summer night. 

Not even the usual sounds of activity fell upon your ears. No creaks from the old floorboards in the hallway outside your door. No scratches against your window from the oak branch that desperately needed trimming. 

No cracks from your father smacking one of your brothers for ‘disappointing’ him. No shrills from your mother fussing about whatever she decided would upset her that night. 

Nothing. 

It was complete, utter silence—a silence that would send a shiver down most people’s spine in a house like this. 

As ancient as it is, the walls had witnessed countless tragic displays from the Black ancestors who came before you. These walls are soaked in dark memories, and any visitor would attest that they seep negative energy, drowning those that stay too long. As a resident, you’ve grown used to the sinking feeling in your stomach that comes with being in this house of horrors.

Silent nights like this were something to be grateful for. You could lie in bed, close your eyes, and imagine you were anywhere else. Tonight, it was Hogwarts that you longed for. 

Perhaps you were in your dormitory, about to drift off after a long day of classes. 

Or perhaps you were in the library, studying in the quiet lull of busy students focusing on their work. Perhaps you were even there on a study date with a certain brunette Quidditch captain. Your brother would certainly have a conniption if he knew this particular boy invaded your daydreams. 

You almost drifted off to sleep as this fantasy played like a film on the back of your eyelids. Were those hushed voices you could hear? Had your imagination become so powerful that you could hear students whispering about their assignments? 

Certainly not. The voices were real and coming from somewhere in the house. Your brows furrowed and you strained to listen. Not to eavesdrop, but rather to determine where exactly these voices were coming from. 

You held your breath to listen more closely. Had the voices stopped? Just as you were settling back down to lose yourself in your imagination again, a long, blood-curdling scream jolted you upright from where you lay in bed. 

If you learned anything at the hands of your parents, it was how to discern what was happening just by the sound of your brothers’ screams. You could tell that the scream belonged to a very much in pain Sirius. But the intensity of it was nothing like you’ve heard before. You itched to run to his aid. 

"Don’t do anything."

A memory of Sirius’ voice echoed in your mind. 

"No matter what you hear, you stay in your room and you wait for one of us to come to you."

You always did what you were told, no matter how much you ached to check on your brothers in moments like these. After all, as your brothers claimed, it would only hurt them more if they had to watch what happened to them happen to you, especially if it was just because you wanted to see if they were okay. 

You were the youngest, technically only by two minutes when it came to Regulus, but still, both of your older brothers were fiercely protective over you.

Another spell of silence settled over Grimmauld Place after your brother’s scream. The only noise you could hear now was your heart beating out of your chest. 

That’s what you listened to for twenty long minutes. Your heart rate maintained its rapid pace, as it always did until you saw one of your brothers in the aftermath of the assault. 

Apart from your trembling hands, you sat completely still, waiting and waiting for one of them to come. The longer it took, the more fear built up in your stomach. 

Finally, the sound of booming footsteps landed on your ears as someone barreled up the staircase. Two steps at a time, heavy, and fast. This step pattern was easily distinguished as Sirius’, and you finally stood up from your bed, staring at your door impatiently. 

Sirius burst into your room like a bullet escaping the barrel of a gun. In one swift motion, your brother hauled your empty trunk out from under your bed and dropped it on top. 

He unlatched it and tossed it open, “We’re leaving. For good. Pack only the important stuff.”  

“What happened?” You reached for your brother's arm to force his attention toward you. He hadn’t looked you in the eye once since entering your room. 

His clothes were completely disheveled. As you scanned every thread that was out of place, you noticed that his body was twitching every now and then. His hands trembled, and there was blood on his fingertips. Looking up at his face, you saw the source of blood—a wound hidden behind his hair. He had smeared away what blood had trickled down his forehead with his hands. 

“You need to sit down.” You worried he could have a concussion. 

Sirius took you by the shoulders and thrust you in the direction of your wardrobe. “What I need to do is find out where our parents hide the bloody floo powder. Pack.” 

Sirius’ tone was authoritative and his grave expression made your mouth run dry. Before you could utter words of agreement, he was gone. 

With a wave of your wand, your school books and supplies packed themselves. Meanwhile, you tore through your wardrobe, grabbing the essentials. You moved on quickly to grab whatever else you couldn’t live without: photographs of you and your brothers, letters of love that were hidden behind mirrors, gifted trinkets that you’ve grown attached to, and an ancient bracelet adorned with emeralds. 

As you clicked your trunk shut, Sirius appeared once again with a crystal jar under his left arm, which also balanced his own trunk. His wand was held defensively in his other hand. 

“Let’s go,” Sirius said flatly.

You followed him closely down the stairs to the drawing room. 

Sirius placed the crystal jar on the mantle of the fireplace. You glanced back in the direction from which you came.

“And Regulus?” You asked, wondering where your twin brother was. He would be joining you, wouldn’t he?

Sirius had an unreadable look on his face as he paused to answer you. Before he could, the shrill voice of your mother interrupted, “What do you think you are doing!?”

Sirius grabbed you forcefully by the arms and shoved you into the fireplace. Your right elbow scraped across the brick like chalk as Sirius was acting too fast to be careful. 

“Don’t you dare!” your mother bellowed and began casting hexes straight at you and your brother, aiming to maim. Luckily, Sirius was quite skilled with protego after all these years. 

In between casting protection spells, Sirius shoved his hand into the crystal jar and collected a heap of floo powder. He thrust the soft, emerald powder into your palm. “Go to the Potters! I’ll be right behind you.”

As always, you did what your brother told you to. In a flash, you were stumbling into the cozy living room of the Potter's house in Godric’s Hollow. 

Your eyes and mouth were filled with soot, and you nearly tripped on the carpet as you stumbled blindly away from the fireplace. Instead of falling, you ran right into something solid. Calloused hands landed on your upper arms. You blinked soot from your eyes to meet the gaze of James Potter. 

“What’s happened?” His tone was laced with worry as he scanned your body for injuries. He gently picked up your right arm, inspecting the scuffed, bleeding skin. He winced as if the injury was his own. 

You didn't answer. Instead, you turned to watch the fireplace. Feelings of anxiety swirled in the pit of your stomach as you waited for your brother. You thanked Merlin when he arrived just a few moments later. 

He was coughing when he stepped in and fell to the ground almost immediately.

James regarded you briefly, holding his hands out to you as if to say “hold on” before leaving your side. He rushed to his best friend and yelled for his parents as he tried to determine the problem. Sirius’ skin began to swell and turn sickly shades of red. You recognized this as the effects of your mother’s stinging jinx. 

James’ parents rushed into the room with panic written across their faces. They were in their nightwear and had their wands at the ready to defend their boy from any trouble he might be in. As they took in the scene in front of them, they discarded their wands and quickly came to yours and your brother’s rescue. 

Fleamont Potter offered to take you to a guest room, insisting that you shouldn’t see your brother like this. You refused, wanting to stay with Sirius as Euphemia worked quickly to counteract the stinging jinx. Fleamont, like James, couldn’t hide the worry from his face as you settled in on the couch. 

Your eyes were trained on your brother, but you began to feel sick watching him in all that pain. You shifted your gaze to the empty fireplace and wondered if Regulus would be the next to come through. You tried to shut out your other brother’s groans and cries as you stared desperately into the fireplace. 

With a mix of Euphemia’s healing spells and the application of some herby poultice that was perviously prepared by Fleamont, Sirius’ swelling subsided and his groans turned into occasional whimpers. 

You were able to stomach looking at Sirius again, but your face still showed levels of worry and unease. 

Almost as soon as your eyes fluttered back to Sirius, James took notice of your worry. Confident in his mother's ability to tend to any other injuries Sirius may have, he to came you. 

He moved slowly, as if approaching a frightened cat. You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Y/N,” He called gently, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You tore your gaze away from your older brother to look into the young Potters’ eyes.

“I don’t know why Regulus isn’t here,” you told James. You just wanted someone else to share this concern with. 

James chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Well… when Sirius is better, we’ll find out what he knows about that. Okay?”

Your lower lip trembled as you choked out, “I’m scared for him.”

James offered a sad smile, “I know. We’ll find out as soon as we can, alright? But all we can do for now is make sure you and Sirius are okay. Let me take care of you, yeah?” 

You let your gaze drift away from James and back to your brother once again. He seemed to be in good hands with Euphemia and now Fleamont. 

You nodded, giving James the okay. He had a gentle hold on your upper arm as he led you up off the couch. You followed him through his house until he guided you into the bathroom and sat you down on the lid of the toilet. 

James sifted through the bathroom cabinets until he pulled out a yellowing pouch, stained with age, and a washcloth which he saturated with warm water. 

James held out a hand toward you. “Can I take care of that elbow, m’dear.”

You placed your forearm in James’ palm while his other hand got to work on cleaning your cut skin. As gentle as James was being, you winced anyway. Seeming fearful of causing you more pain, James managed to be even gentler.

Once satisfied, James lost the washcloth and dipped his hand into the pouch that he recovered from the cabinet. The contents he pulled out look considerably fresher than the bag itself, thankfully. 

First, he took out bandages, followed by a clear jar that contained a sticky looking yellow jelly. He scooped up a generous amount on his pointer finger and applied it to your skin. 

As he worked, he kept stealing glances at you, building up the courage to ask what all the Potter’s were surely wondering that night. He decided to bite the bullet, “Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

You explained all that you knew, detailing the events from the moment you heard your brother’s scream to the moment you fell into James’ arms. 

“Don’t know what they did to make him scream like that.” You shuddered at the possibilities. 

James was applying a bandage to you now. “‘S okay. He’s doing better now. My parents probably have him all tucked in bed and fast asleep.” 

James endearingly tapped your nose, “Let’s do the same for you, yeah?”

“I wanna talk to Sirius,” you protested. 

“Like I said, my parents probably have him in bed by now. Come on, I promise we’ll get all your questions answered first thing in the morning.”

You sighed but agreed. James led you through his house once again: up the stairs, down the hall, and through the third door on the left. It was a small room with just a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. 

“Just a moment,” James said and disappeared into the hall. Seconds later, he was back with a Gryffindor t-shirt and some sweats. “Here, you can wear these. I’ll bring your trunk up in the morning.” 

James dipped out of the room once again to give you privacy to change. As you removed your shirt, you noticed bloody fingerprints on the shoulder and sleeves where Sirius had held onto you. You threw the shirt into the bin under the desk. 

Once dressed in James’ loaner clothing, you sat on the bed. Light knocks peppered the door and you called for, presumably, James to come in. James entered with a glass of water in hand. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking a few sips from the glass before handing it back. He placed it on the desk for you. 

James then helped you settle into the flowery, purple sheets, “Comfy?” 

You nodded up at him. 

“I’m, uh, just across the hall, alright?” James turned to leave. He stopped by the light switch and looked back at you. 

He took notice of your expression, which brought a frown to his lips. Your eyebrows were drawn in as you stared straight ahead at the wall and the corners of your mouth were turned down slightly. You barely even blinked as James studied the far away look in your eyes. 

James wanted to be by your side. He wanted to kiss you and hug you and tell you everything would be alright. But something about kissing you while your brother, his best friend, lay injured and clueless down the hall made him feel guilty. 

James sighed and flicked off the light. The door was pushed into its frame, but James hadn’t left the room. Instead, he approached the bed and sat on the edge of it by your feet. You pushed yourself up on your elbows to look at him curiously. 

“Gonna keep you company till you fall asleep, that okay?” James whispered an explanation. 

You’re not sure if he could see your nod in the dark, but you were too tired to use your voice. 

You sank back into the pillow and allowed your eyes to shut. A light pressure could be felt on your calf. James had rested his hand there, over the blanket. He slowly dragged his hand up and down, and you let his stroke lull you to sleep. 

The last thing you heard before drifting off into a dream was a quiet whisper from James' lips, "'M gonna keep you safe here."

next part

[kiyoomi-levin]

Morning Routine pt.1 [nsfw]

(Wakatoshi Ushijima x F!Reader)

a/n this is something i wrote and edited today in a single run >.< I wanted to release a haikyuu fluff fic for my tumblr debut but i was just possessed by something this morning and rolled outta bed and just typed this up hehe.. reblogs and comments appreciated!! i have like 12 unfinished works rn and i am busting my ass off to get those finished and published! please be on the lookout for more from me!

summary:: wakatoshi has a bad habit-- his morning routine revolves around you. more specifically, cumming to the sounds of you. warnings:: wakatoshi is highkey a creep/stalker but this fic is fluffy i promise music rec!:: 2fast by superm <AKA the song i listened to when writing> word count:: 1.9k

6:33 AM, the blinking clock reads. 

He doesn’t even need an alarm now. 

Silently, Wakatoshi rolls over, reaches over to his nightstand and grasps the two items he needs most– lube and toilet paper. 

Sighing, he sits himself up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, and, as if awaiting instructions, goes very, very still. 

In a way, he is waiting for orders. You just aren’t aware that you’re the one giving them. 

6:34 AM. A mere minute before you’re up and he can get started with his day. It doesn’t feel right, yet he can’t stop. Shaking his head, Wakatoshi shifts his weight around, impatient. 

I should stop. 

There it is. That nagging voice of reason that scolds him every morning. But really, at this point, he can’t function normally without you. 

There’s a certain amount of stress that comes with carrying the title of ace. All the papers praising his skills, cheering fangirls, and words of encouragement from coach only added to the ever growing expectations that people had for him. 

Luckily, when he was a senior in high school, Wakatoshi had discovered what best alleviates this pressure– not meditation, not Tendo’s comics, but sexual relief. 

Every morning, a quick handjob does the job, gets him into prime condition. He even checked with his primary doctor to ensure it’s safe and healthy to release everyday– “you’ll be fine, Wakatoshi, as long as you don’t consume too much porn,” the old man had advised kindly. 

He took the doctor’s words to heart– since he had discovered this method of relief, Wakatoshi had never viewed porn. Some of his teammates laughed at him when they found out he almost religiously avoids it, but he doesn’t want to contaminate his brain with potentially intrusive or disturbing visions. His imagination has always been enough, after all. 

Until he met you.

In a way, you’re both a blessing and a curse– probably the latter, he admits to himself. Because since he’d met you months ago, the only thing that’s been able to get him up is you. 

He’s never slept so well, his skin has never looked so clear, and, most importantly, his condition on court has never been better. He’s considered the possibility of you being a goddess, or possibly his guardian angel and can only rule those out with the fact that you, like him, masturbate. 

More accurately, masturbate. Every. Single. Morning. 

Then he hears it. The first soft moan. Wakatoshi glances at the time– 6:37 AM. You’re getting a slightly late start today. 

No matter. He lifts his hips, gently rolls down his gray sweats to his lower thigh. He’s already hard. He doesn’t even have to touch himself now to get excited. Your quiet voice and the thoughts of you are enough.

Poor you. You’re unaware that despite residing in a luxurious, single-person room reserved for school athletes, the walls are criminally thin. 

Wakatoshi pops open the lid of the lube, squirting a glob into his warm hand. He throws aside the bottle, barely registering as it bounces off the bed, only intent on listening into the sounds of you and your body. 

When he first grasps his cock, he has to hold back a groan. Despite it being an everyday routine, he still feels the same surge of pleasure as when he first started this nasty habit months ago. 

You're breathing slightly more heavily now, and he hears the sounds of your fingers inserting and exiting your body at a familiar pace. He follows along, carefully stroking up and down. 

He wonders where you’ve learned this from, because you always go at the perfect pace. Somedays, you go slower, teasing yourself, pausing just before you orgasm, but it’s always. 

It’s always exactly what he needs.

God. He knows this is wrong, even as he pumps faster with his left hand to keep up with your quick fingers. It feels so good. 

Next door, you’re beginning to let out soft cries.

He presses his thumb against the tip, holding back a moan of his own as he envisions you jerking him off. 

He’s seen your hand before– extra soft from being in gloves for multiple hours daily as a fencer. 

Thinking about your sport has him thinking about his, and now he’s back to thinking about how wrong this is. But he can’t help it, he’s already tried to give it up once– yielding horrible results. 

The day he held back and skipped a morning fap session with you was also the hardest day of his life. He had found himself unable to focus in lecture, especially grumpy towards Tendo’s typically bearable antics, and worst of all, all his hits were off. 

“Your schedule must be off,” his captain had said, casually tossing a ball high into the air.

“Bad sleep? Rough morning?” 

Wakatoshi had blinked at him wordlessly, wondering how the tall setter had guessed accurately. 

“It’s fine,” the third-year had reassured him, “just get back on track tomorrow.”

With that, Wakatoshi had found himself ‘back on track,’ masturbating with– no, to you– every morning. 

You’re moaning out loud now, almost whimpering. His cock pulses in his hands, veins bulging, growing hotter and heavy. Fuck, he just wants to see you right now. Your cute face, your sexy neck, gorgeous arms... 

He can almost see it now– your smooth thighs shaking and twisting as your small hands would grasp your pillow. He’d make you feel so good, he just knows it. He’d lean against you, kiss your neck and ear before whispering how good you are, how you’re making him cum, how much he loves you! 

You’d cum, and he wouldn’t stop. He’d want to see your eyes roll back over and over again, and he’d memorize every inch of your face.

Wakatoshi holds back another groan. His fisted hand feels so good against his cock, especially as it imagines it’s your tight pussy. 

Contrary to what Tendo believes (the only one to know about this bad habit) it wasn’t just your soft moans and quiet gasps that had him clenching his sheets as he lifted his hips.

He had long fallen for you, since you had first locked eyes with him in the long hallway. 

There was something about you. The way you always smile up at him gently– not in the way that other girls smile at him, as if they want something (usually his number)– but a genuine smile, eyes crinkling slightly.  

This unexpected attraction was only exacerbated when you sat next to him at the first-years’ dinner party. You smelled so fucking good and listened to his words with actual interest, asking him about his family and laughing at his lame jokes.

Unfortunately, he was also scared. 

He had heard about the countless rejections you’d dished out since the first day of university. 

Despite his perceived sexual ignorance, Wakatoshi knew everything there was to know– he was popular, too, in his own right. Tall and lean, there were girls throwing themselves on him left and right. 

But he only wanted you. 

Today, he must be extra stressed (especially with that upcoming psychology exam that he hasn’t studied for yet) because he’s so, so close, yet can’t seem to finish. 

Fine then. 

He leans over, grabs his cell phone. He only does this in emergency cases, which occurs about once or twice a month. 

Swiping up, he’s greeted by his photo gallery, opened the night prior for this cause. 

In his locked gallery awaits dozens of photos of you. 

Obviously none were taken by him! 

Wakatoshi’s a creep, but one with manners and boundaries. 

This gallery is cluttered with headshots of you from the school’s official website, silly photos of you that were sent into the college athlete’s group chat, and his favorite– photos of you from your close friend who sells them to him at fair prices, starting at $10 minimum. 

None are suggestive. But they still rile him up, maybe because the only connection he has with you is through your early morning activities. 

Wakatoshi desperately taps on the newest picture he bought for $40, quadruple the usual price– he can hear your breath hitching, and he knows you’re almost done. 

He wants to finish with you so bad. 

He was going to save this picture for next week, when he knows you’ll be gone for the fencing nationals and he’ll have to cum without you for an entire miserable, dreadful, god-forsaken week–

but he doesn’t care now. Nothing matters. 

It’s a glorious photo– when he heard your friend had it, he had grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded a price. 

You. On the beach. Under an umbrella. Lying on a purple towel.

He had paid an extra ten dollars for the motion picture– so he could watch you go from ass up onto your back, breasts jiggling and cheeky smirk in full action.

That’s enough. 

He holds his fist tight–one more pump and he’s finished, but he wants to make sure you’re cumming first– and he hears it– to his relief, you’re moaning and whispering– “‘m cumming!” 

Yeah, he’s cumming too. His hips lift again, and he drags his closed fist downwards against his wet cock. His vision blurs. 

“Fuck!” 

He can’t help it, today’s orgasm is especially strong, taking control of his full body. He’s shaking, mind barely in control as he continues to slowly pump to ride out the whole orgasm. After all, that’s what you’d do, right? You’d keep riding him, even as he finished and begged you to stop. 

Thank God we came together.

Sometimes, you bait him. More often than he likes, you switch it up, holding yourself back and not allowing yourself to cum before masturbating all over again for an even more powerful orgasm. Those days suck– when he’s already softening, cum all over his large hands, and you’re still going. 

He hears your bed squeak, and he sighs– as soon as it starts, it’s already over.

6:45 AM, his phone reads. Wakatoshi tosses it aside.

Thankfully, he had pulled his phone away in time, avoiding tainting the device with his release. A few times a month, he gets careless and cums onto an open picture of you, causing him to have to run through his shower extra fast so he can leave time to wipe down the device.

Rolling off the bed, he heads towards the shower leisurely. It’s also become a part of his routine to time his shower. It makes him feel even more intimately connected to you. 

Wakatoshi’s grateful you take long showers– you’ve never taken less than 24 minutes to shower, typically, they last about 34 minutes on average. That gives him the time to jump out first and wait to exit his room at the same time you depart from yours. 

Under the heat of warm water, he’s usually consumed with thoughts of you, impossible thoughts, like maybe you know. 

The wall between you and him is equally thin, and your hearing may be as equally good as his…

Maybe you know, and you like masturbating with him. 

And then, just as a precaution, he douses himself with cold water at the end of his shower, and those thoughts dissipate with the steam escaping towards the vent. 

Like everyday, Wakatoshi laces his shoes, sprays on his favorite cologne (that your friend claims you like) and inhales, bracing himself to see you. 

As he hears your feet shuffle, he pushes his door open first, stepping out into the warm hallway.

“Good morning, Wakatoshi!” You greet, eyes brightening. He nods, gulping. That’s an acceptable form of greeting, right?

As the two of you walk towards the elevator in silence, Wakatoshi can’t help but hope that this morning routine won’t be coming to a stop anytime soon. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n and that's a wrap :,) i really hope you liked and sorry the ending is highkey shit LOL as i kept editing i kept adding and removing more and more and honestly that's kind of my biggest weakness:: i'm never satisfied with my work and i'm scared ppl won't like it ... but i'm trying to overcome that!

[almalvo]

About An Official Spiderverse Artist...

Please do not just scroll past this post; read it.

If you guys follow me on twitter, you probably already know.

But if you dont or still want to read this anyway - here you go:

I aint big, but I got a growing platform that I see as important for me to use as a force for things that matter.

So here I am.

And I got something to say about a certain "artist".

There are so many fucked up people who call themselves artists who are so heavily worshipped by us who both get and or dont get outed in the world for things they do and for their general piss-poor behaviours and persons.

Im here to talk about one in particular (and certainly wont be the last).

There is an artist that basically EVERYONE here has seen art from before, printed in the official Sony artbooks too.

If you have seen this:

Then you have seen this artist before.

His name is Alberto Mielgo. He goes by @/pinkman_himself on twitter.

He is a HUGE part of the art direction and stylisation of the spiderverse movies, if that isnt already obvious. Because he was the former original art director of Into The Spiderverse.

Yes. Former.

Cuz he got "mYsTeRiOuSlY fiReD" from Sony 2 years into pre-production and completely removed from the project.

You may have also seen this character before:

Yes. THAT asian character from Netflix's Love Death + Robots, from the episode "The Witness".

Familiar? Yeah. Because this episode was also made by the same guy, Mielgo.

I aint going to talk about what happens in that episode and hesitate to encourage anyone to watch it - cuz all it basically is is a megalo-misogynistic, assault "glorified for the sake of aRtT", racially fetishised showcase of this crazy makeup/haired bdsm stereotyped asian girl sex worker who essentially gets murdered over and over and over after running for her life completely naked through the city for all of us to see for some fucking reason.

BUt yeah anyways, you can see it in the first pic, but Ill put it here to show more clearly - this here is NOT the character from LDR. But I can understand why you might think so:

Yeah. You read that name in the bottom right corner correctly. This is Peni Parker. His concept art of Peni Parker. A 13 YEAR OLD CHILD. Lookin suspiciously like and dressed as the adult person from LDR with ALSO the crazy hair, make up - WITH AN O-RING CHOKER AND BALL-GAG LIPSTICK (BDSM).

13. year. old. child.

This man only sees east asian women this way.

He likes them crazy, sexy, broken--

and young.

Cuz this man also wrote this on a now-deleted post on his website:

Yeah. He, this whole ass middle-aged white cishet male spaniard thirstin for kids since he was 18 for 12 year old girls.

Cuz 12 year old girls are a fuckin "KNOCK OUT" when they grow up, when they ripen up into adulthood, to this man Alberto Mielgo, aka @/pinkman_himself, this creature.

And if auctioning NFTs isnt bad enough (cuz yes, ofc he does that too - its literally the first option on his website) -

His entire fucking portfolio is of drawing women he had sex with.

His fucking PROFESSIONAL PORTFOLIO is all of painting and drawing women in very compromising, questionable ways of the VERY SAME WOMEN HE HAD SLEPT WITH THROUGH HIS LIFE.

They look as creepy as they are.

But the scariest part?

While I myself had only just found out about this some days ago as of writing this, some of us have known about this man and his antics for years.

And he keeps getting greenlit by the industry, over and over and over; winning awards, getting respected, praised, admired, even by fellow at-home artists like many of you out there if you dont already do so.

And nothing will happen to him cuz he is a white cishet male artist who has money and a following and connections and influence and power.

So yeah.

I just wanted to talk about a certain official Spiderverse artist to just let yall know there are freaks everywhere, and that no matter how small it is, it's people like me and you who need to do what we can to keep up awareness and warn our communities and protect our most vulnerable.

My suggestion is to take heed of what I said, ask questions about everything you will ever see again from anyone around you, no less the industry, THINK for once, and actually give a fuck.

Keep away.

Do not support this man.

But the decision is ultimately yours.

Stay awake, yall.

-------

(His face, publicly available as his imdb profile):

scary.

[veren-cos]

Bachelors (sdv) x reader on their period

Gender neutral, but purely because of the prompt, afab reader. I'd say everything I write is gender neutral besides the very rare Trans masc reader ☆

Not proofread and I wrote this in like 25 min- I'll update this when I'm less tired.

Harvey

• A literal doctor.

• Is not weirded out like at all. He is all like, "Oh okay! Do you need anything at all?" And moved on with life

• Maybe has a little blush when you first talk about it? It's a completely normal thing at work (and in life), but it's just because it's you that he wants to make sure he handles it well.

• Would probably get you chocolate. And a heating pad. And blankets. And all the things.

• Aka would just spoil you a bit more than normal, periods suck and he knows-

• If you had any like disorder involving you Period he would be extra on top of stuff.

• Will make sure you are well stocked on and properly take pain meds!

Elliott

• Would just absolutely spoil you!

• Runs a bath, gets chocolate, threw your pajamas in the dryer to get them extra warm, heating pad.

• Might give you a massage if they are super painful? Probably would do it regardless but he would definitely offer if he knew that got bad.

• Idk why he knows so much, maybe it's because of Leah? I don't really write about the bachelotettes, but I feel like she would be super open about it so that's why Elliott knows a lot.

• But yeah he'd be super good to you! Would make you food just because. He is great at spoiling people, but not actually great at knowing what to do physically haha. (I think I mentioned in a previous fic where he just makes you soup if your in pain, he would do that here too)

Shane

• So if I just take Shane as a standalone character I don't think he'd know a lot / want to know/ care.

• But!

• Jas. I'm not sure what age she is supposed to be (literally anywhere from 7-12 imo) but I feel like Shane would have read up on Period stuff in preparation.

• So he would actually be more informed than Elliott!

• Now onto the actual stuff lol-

• He wouldn't be super pamper-y like Elliott and Harvey, but he would definitely help around the house more.

• Animals are all taken care of, crops are all watered, took care of some weeds, etc.

• He would also probably be a bit more physically affectionate purely because he knows you like it.

• Might be a bit embarrassed about it at first but after the first one he gets the gist of what to do.

Alex

• Would be relatively informed just because he is a health nut, but also doesn't know what to do because the most important woman in his life is postmenopausal-

• Probably would just give you chocolate and hugs because he knows like. Emotional and cravings.

• If they were super bad he would ask his grandma for help!

• Wouldn't be embarrassed about it! Once again. Health nut. Gets you pain meds!

Sebastian

• Okay. So. Sebastian.

• Literally lives with 2 ladies. Both very strong confident women. He wouldn't be uninformed by any means, but he probably is still awkward around the topic lmao

• Like if you were complaining he would be like "...." "am I supposed to do something about that?"

• AND HE DIDNT MEAN IT IN A RUDE WAY he was genuinely asking. But he just doesn't know and also is an awkward guy?

• Would do the least out of all the Bachelor's. Maybe just be more emotionally available because Period mood swings be rough. Makes more time to talk about things with you.

• Grabs you ibuprofen or Tylenol, whatever you have in the house.

Sam

• So Sam lives with a kind of coddling mom, does not have sisters, so like. His mom wouldn't talk to him about it. He has no 'personal' experience with it.

• Would be the most clueless-

• But he would definitely be like, "oh babe that sucks let me know what I can do"

• Gives you more cuddles, helps on the farm.

• Super enthusiastic about making you comfortable! He makes it into a way bigger deal than it is but he is genuinely curious about stuff so you think it's cute.

• After your first one when your together he is much better prepared / informed so he isn't all over the place.

• Just very cute and well meaning.

An* I hope this was at least a little cute / silly / comforting / whateveryouwantedoutofthis! I base everything off of personal experience because, like, it's all I got- but more people should be comfortable talking about this! It's completely normal and just a basic human function. So if yours is different than what others describe, that's okay! If yours is exactly the same, also okay! Idk where I'm going with this, but there is no shame in having a period, and that's on that!

This also came off way more dramatic than I meant it to be, but I live for the drama so it's okay (this applies to both the fic and the author's note-)

Masterlist

[rieamena]

don't you dare—!

day 30 of inotober'24

a drabble (i think thats what its called) of takuma ino giving you the silent treatment

fem aligned reader

riea's comments: i need him carnally. like i need him so bad you don't even know. where was i in life before i knew him??? wrote and edited this in an hour and a half btw back in SEPTEMBER (clap for me). it was so hard, i mean SO hard, waiting for this to drop. hope yall enjoy it tho

i'm not here to lie. there's no way on earth that takuma would willingly give you the silent treatment. you??? his lovely girlfriend who he would do absolutely anything for?? yeah no way. he'd rather get kicked in the balls ten million times than ever ignore you. buuutttt then satoru cheekily says to "just try it! do it as a prank!" so here you were

the day started with you two waking up side by side in your shared bed. the plush fabric and soft warmth of the blanket wrapped around your bodies as takuma clung tightly to you. your eyes fluttered open, meeting takuma's instantly. "good morning," you mumble, feeling the light circles your boyfriend was rubbing into your back. he stares at you for a few seconds and then leaves the bed. that's when you realized the majority of the warmth wasn't coming from the blanket, it was coming from takuma

and now you're cold.

and alone.

in the bed you share.

with your boyfriend.

the mornings usually went like this: wake up, gaze into each other's eyes deeply, take a shower together while talking about the latest drama at work, brush teeth, do each other's skincare while trying so hard not to laugh so that the masks wouldn't slip off, make breakfast intimately, eat breakfast just as intimately, etcetera etcetera etcetera. you get it. i might've exaggerated some parts but that doesn't matter

but now… instead of that routine being done together like two people in love, it was done apart like a married couple on the edge of divorce. separate showers, even though he waited for you to start brushing his teeth, he turned around and did his own skincare. like?!!? but truth be told, you knew something was up once he got all rigid instead of melting in your arms like he usually did when you both woke up

breakfast was harder on him than it was on you. yes, it was sad that your boyfriend was playing a prank on you but really the joke is more on him. i mean you could see how his nails dug into his palms when he almost talked to you. you're starting to think he's a masochist. like that time when takuma tried no nut november last year. he waited up just to see the clock hit midnight and he made you promise not to tempt or tease him. short story even shorter, 12:01 am on november 1st, he was bridal style carrying you to the bedroom and you didn't even have to do anything

once you both finished eating your breakfast, takuma stood up to go to his office. he may call it his office, but in reality all he did was fool around and play games and during these times you would be sitting all pretty on his lap. you made eye contact with him and never broke it when he was going into the room. you heard the creak of his rolling chair as he sat down on it. seemingly unbothered, you turned your attention back onto your phone. your boyfriend was stealing not so secret glances at you, trying to telepathically tell you that he should be peppering kisses to your nape as he teaches you how to play the next section of the game he's on. in his mind, takuma had hoped that you would remember this part of your morning routine and follow him to his office, but since he's giving you the silent treatment, you decided not to do anything about it. and once you felt takuma's eyes land on your figure for the nth time, you decided to move perfectly out of sight onto the couch. and just like clockwork,

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE."

a shout bounces off the apartment walls, reaching your ears with ease. next to reach your ears were heavy stomps, getting louder and louder as they reached closer and closer. a heavy weight envelopes your body as you suck in air in surprise. light, feathered kisses consume your neck and face as your boyfriend mumbles apologies. "'m sorry baby... it was so hard... please believe me..."

you pull his head from the crevice of your neck and squish his face, "i missed you." mimicking your motions, takuma brought his lips to yours, "i missed you too. so bad. you don't even know."

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

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@stillnotherapy @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes @cupcaketeddybehr @tomikixd

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@baekhyunsbestie @vorfreudevortex @leuriss @xaithings @jtoddlover

@corvid007 @babysoo-meu @nickxz444 @strawbzies @idkidk32

@meowforluv @walllflowerrrsss

[choccorin]

rin x gn!reader | note: wrote this during my 10 minute study break :3 also haven't written in a while, pls be nice!

“do you know that you can know a tree's age just by counting the rings inside them? isn't that so cool!?”

“and you called me at ..”,

rin trails off as he looks at the time, “... 2 am just to say that?”, he says, voice muffled as he buries his face into the pillow.

“oh? it's only 12 am here though. timezones really suck, huh.. ”

“uh huh. so, was that the only reason you called me?”

“uhh, well .. oh!”

“hm?”

“when you get home, maybe we can go on a hike trail and find tree stumps and count their rings... ” you say hesitantly,

“you mean that hiking trail you kept talking about 3 months ago?”

you hum in response, feeling soft about him remembering something you talked about so long ago. “yeah, that.”

he smiles behind the phone, he also wanted to go there with you ever since you mentioned it one random night. he searched for pictures of the trail and was mesmerized by some of the views, too bad he couldn't go there with you because of his hectic schedule.

“sure, i'd love that.”

“yay!”, you giggle from the other line, “i'll order us some hiking outfits now so that when you get back we're ready! gasp what if i get a matching set? wouldn't that be so cute?!”

you ramble your ideas like a child excited for his gift from santa at christmas, it makes rin's heart full of joy because it reminds him of when he was still a child, when life was all sunshine and rainbows.

“don't go overboard and spend too much again.”

“mhm, i won't!”

he highly doubts that.

silence occurs, and the only thing you two hear are the soft shuffling of sheets, occasional faint beeping of cars, and the soft exhales of the other person.

“.. hey, rin.”, you break the silence.

he hums in response, trying to keep his eyes open.

“i miss you, a lot.”, you whisper, holding the phone closer to your face.

he opens his eyes and stares at your phone id before he replies,“... i miss you too.”

“promise me that we'll go on that hiking date, okay?”

he chuckles, “yes, i promise.”

silence again.

“hey, rinnie.”

he huffs, “what?”

“i love you ..”

...

“i love you too.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Collision Course

14/12: Blizzard and Blowjob - Ettore Word Count: 2.7k~ | Warnings: dub-con, face fucking, Ettore is a dick yada yada, facial

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: I was on something nasty when I wrote this FYI

“Dibs says there’s gonna be a solar storm soon. With any luck it’ll take us with it”, Mink mutters distastefully between bites of lumpy, cold rations.

“Hm..” 

“What’s that old cunt gonna do when it hits? Not like we have any escape pods.”

“Yeah…” she murmurs half-heartedly in response, only partially listening. Lost in the repetitive motion of pushing her food around her plate with a fork. It doesn’t even look edible, she thinks with displeasure. They’re all dying on this stupid ship, and somehow the rations look worse off.

Mink flicks her hand against her arm, prompting a sharp look, “Ow! What the fuck—”

“You’re not listening to me.”

She scoffs, rubbing her arm in more of a theatrical way than to show it actually hurt. “So?”

“The hell’s wrong with you? You’ve been weird a few days now.”

It’s been longer than that, is all she thinks with bitterness. About a week now she’d wager. 

Longer than that, really, she thinks with a familiar bitterness. About a week, she figures, maybe a little more. She’d known getting involved would be a bad idea. She knew better than to get involved with him, to anyone on this miserable tin can. But there had been that inescapable pull, that sharp ache that was part loneliness, part hormones maybe, stupid as it seemed now. And now, she was paying for it.

Mink’s voice pulls her back. “Is this about… Ettore?”

The name hangs in the air like smoke. She freezes, doesn’t answer, just stares hard at her plate. Mink leans closer, her brows drawn.

“Oh, come on. You think I didn’t notice?”

She wants to lie, but somehow, she doesn’t have the energy to. So, she shrugs, and that’s enough to make Mink snort.

“Thought you were smarter than that,” Mink says, and it’s not unkind, exactly, just blunt in the way only Mink can be. “You know what kind of guy he is.”

She sighs, finally pushing her tray aside. There’s no point pretending the food’s worth eating. "I’m not exactly winning any prizes for smart decisions lately, am I?"

Mink snorts. Glad she’s finding this amusing, she thinks bitterly, but really holding no resentment. 

“We have enough on our plate without getting tangled up with wanting dick. Not to mention it’s against the rules.”

“I’m aware,” she states bleakly, feeling that familiar flicker of irritation at the reminder. As if she needed another living soul to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She’d done the worst things imaginable to end up here, as had everyone else, and yet that slimy, smirking doctor was gonna tell her she couldn’t fuck whoever she wanted? 

That was the reasoning initially anyway.

Now, she knew there’d be consequences if Dibs did find out. Punishment in the form of what metal instrument she could shove into their bodies next. 

As much as she enjoyed the release. It wasn’t worth that. Besides, she knew there was never any future in it. Never anything more than a few stolen moments in the middle of the night. A bit of relief in the endless monotony of living in the hollow, metal hell of this ship.

“I’m done, anyway,” she says, almost to herself, “should have stopped it before it started really.”

“Should’ve, but you didn’t. But you’ve given him a taste now. Who says he’ll want to stop?”

She sighs, eyes closed. Yeah, I’d considered that.

Ettore wasn’t the type to let go of his toys easily. Especially when he’d been given something he wants, something forbidden that he knows could be taken away. It seemed that the thrill wasn’t even in the sex, it was breaking the rules that had half the appeal. 

“If he pushes, he’ll get the message I give him.”

“Sure, but he’s not exactly the type to take ‘no’ for an answer, is he?”

“No,” she admits, looking off. As usual, Mink was right there. 

She had seen that look in Ettore’s eyes, the one that says he’s already decided what he wants, and nothing will stand in his way to get it. The thought had been exhilarating at first, that singular, dangerous focus. Now, it feels like a liability, a choice she wishes she could rewrite. 

“As much as I hate to give you ammunition, you are right,” she adds, “I gave him an inch, and he’ll think he’s got the whole mile. But I’ll handle it. Somehow.” She doesn’t know exactly how yet, but one thing was clear.

She could not keep going down this path, not with the risk getting sharper and closer by the day.

When she’s alone again, the silence presses in, heavier now, weighted with the knowledge of what comes next. She takes a breath, bracing herself for the inevitable fallout. Ettore may come looking, but this time, she’s ready to hold her ground.

Maybe, she thinks, the clean break will be worth it, if she can manage it before he pulls her back in again.

The worst part of trying to keep her distance from Ettore was the way it left her awake at night, her body a knot of unresolved tension that refused to let her sleep. She lay there, wide-eyed in her bunk, staring up at the dull, metallic ceiling and then over at the other bed, where Mink was already sound asleep, breathing evenly.

Bitch, she thought with a pang of envy. 

Mink never had trouble sleeping in this place, not like she did, tossing and turning every night, gnawed at by this frustrating, white-hot need she couldn’t shake.

She shifted, but no matter how much she tried to will it away, her mind continued to drift back to the last time she’d been with Ettore. How it had felt to give in, to let that need unravel. She could still feel the press of his hands on her hips, the roughness of his touch as if he needed it as much as she did, the intense look he had given her that made her forget the rules and her situation. The risk. Everything but him. She’d wanted to stop it, she really had.

But when she had him once, that familiar fire burned in his eyes, and it was hopeless to resist.

Now she was paying for it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the memory. But the tightening in her stomach, the craving, was near unbearable. 

Must be ovulating or something, she thought bitterly back to her last appointment with Dibs.

She was sick of lying here, wallowing in horny self pity. Glancing over at Mink, she saw she hadn’t moved an inch. The cold air hit her bare legs as she swung out of bed, not even having the effort to pull anything else on as she made the mercifully short journey to the Box. She hated using it. But any relief at this point was welcomed. 

Making her way down the steel ladder, she groaned and wanted to smash her head against the nearest wall when she found it occupied. 

At least the washers are on. Whoever’s in there better be out in ten seconds flat or else–

The door slid open with a hiss. Ettore stared right back. Surprise at first perhaps. But the shadows darkened over his eyes, looking her up and down.

Fuck.

And if that wasn’t bad enough.

The alarms blared to life, shrieking through the narrow corridors as the ship jolted under the force, lights flickering wildly. A shiver shot through her, but before she could shove past him, he reached out, his fingers closing firmly around her arm.

“Ettore, let go,” she hissed, trying to pull back, but his grip only tightened, and there was a glint in his eyes that made her pulse jump.

“Not a chance,” he murmured, a dark edge to his voice.

He moved quickly, pulling her into the Box with him as the door slid shut behind them with a heavy clang. The sound of the emergency lock echoed around them, trapping them in the confined, dimly lit room. She tried to turn, to make for the door controls, but it was useless, the ship’s emergency protocol had sealed them in tight. 

Emergency. Solar Storm. Automatic shutdown is in effect.

She was locked in with him, and judging by the way he was watching her, Ettore had no intentions of keeping his hands to himself.

With an annoyed huff, she slammed her palms against the door, the low light in the Box now charged with thrumming red glints of warning lights. Steadying her breath, she turned to him, schooling her expression to something calm in the face of his low, dangerous one.

He was not happy.

“You've been avoiding me.”

It wasn’t a question. He stood tall, blocking her like some predator in a cage, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with accusation.

“Maybe I have,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, trying to appear calm even though her pulse was racing. “Take the hint.”

Ettore’s lips curled into a humourless smirk. “That’s not how this works.”

“And here I thought this wasn’t supposed to be anything,” she scoffed right back.

“It wasn’t.” He stepped closer, and she pressed her back to the wall, her defiance faltering. “But then you decided to ignore me, and now it is.”

She swallowed, trying to do the same to the rising discomfort as he caged her in, trying to cover how she felt with her voice.

“You're all talk,” she says low, firm. “Trying to intimidate me. What you gonna do, hm? I bet you can't even get it up.”

The flash of anger in his eyes made her breath hitch. And yet, there was something about it that made her want to push him more.

He moved then, so fast she barely had time to react. One hand slammed against the wall beside her head, his body crowding hers. She should’ve been scared, should’ve shoved him away, but the sheer heat rolling off him pinned her in place.

His other came to her neck, fingers curling around her flesh, slow, deliberate, as if daring her to stop. But her lips parted slightly, exhaling so soft it was near imperceptible. She watched the pulsing red light on the side of his face, casting sharp shadows on his skin where his features were carved out.

And found she didn't want him to stop.

She swallowed hard, her bravado crumbling as his touch ignited something low and insistent in her belly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d come here to forget him, to regain control, but now, locked in this room with him, her control was slipping fast.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t.”

Ettore’s hands were on her, firm and unyielding as he grabbed and pulled her toward the bench that stood in the middle of the dim room. She stumbled, jerking against his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Ettore, what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising as she struggled against him.

“Stop fighting,” he muttered, the edge in his voice sharpening as he manoeuvred her onto the bench.

She tried to push herself up, her palms bracing against the hard surface, but he was already lowering her down, his strength undeniable as he guided her head to the edge of the bench. Her neck arched uncomfortably as she twisted, glaring up at him.

“Ettore, I mean it, what the fuck are you doing?”

His hand gripped her chin, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look up at him. The dark hunger in his eyes sent a jolt through her, half fear, half something else entirely. Stood tall over her, head level with his strained crotch.

“I’m gonna feel your throat around me.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears, watching as he pulled his erection free of his sweatpants. Her mouth went dry, a mixture of anticipation and panic rising in her gut.

“And you're gonna take every fucking inch.”

She barely had a moment to even speak, before his cock head was prying her lips apart, his length sliding mercilessly into her mouth without care of comfort. Just the idea that he was looking down, watching, as she took him, her throat trying to close around him.

Her hands instinctively rose to push at his hips, her palms flat against the hard muscles beneath his sweatpants, but he didn’t stop. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place as he drove himself deeper, filling her mouth until she could feel the head of him brushing against the back of her throat.

Her eyes watered, her nails digging into his hips, but he didn’t relent, his other hand gripping the edge of the bench for leverage as he rocked his hips, sliding deeper with each thrust.

Just the idea that he was looking down, watching her struggle to take him, sent a strange thrill coursing through her, a mix of frustration, humiliation, and something far darker.

He groaned, his grip on her hair tightening as he angled her head just the way he wanted. “That's it,” he breathed darkly.

Her throat clenched around him as he pushed deeper, his hips rocking with steady, deliberate thrusts that left no room for her to adjust. The stretch was intense, her lips aching as they strained around his girth. Her gag reflex fluttered again, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to suppress the instinct, but Ettore wasn't about to let her hide.

"Don't close your eyes," he said sharply, following with a light smack to her cheek.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The smug satisfaction on his face only made her breath hotter, stuck in her chest.

"God, you're such a mess," he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he watched her struggle to accommodate him. "Look at you. Choking on me like it's the first time you've ever done this.”

Her lungs burned for air. He was relentless, thrusting into her mouth as if it were just another hole for him to claim. Each slide into her throat was deeper than the last, and the vibration of her whimpering around him made him groan out loudly.

His hand slid to her neck, as if to feel himself in her throat, squeezing experimentally, stimulating himself through her flesh in some lewd, completely wrong but erotic way.

"You feel that?" he said, his voice low and strained, using the grip he had on throat as leverage to pull her onto him harshly. “Bet you can't even breathe.”

His pace grew erratic, his grip tightening painfully as he chased his release. "Fuck," he growled, his voice breaking as his head tipped back for a moment.

Suddenly, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a slick gasp of air that left her coughing, her chest heaving. Before she could gather her bearings or even protest, his hand was still firm in her hair, holding her in place as he stroked himself roughly.

Her stomach twisted, shame and anger warring with the simmering heat in her belly. "Ettore, don't-"

"Shut up," he cut her off, his tone sharp as his thumb angled her face up toward him. "You wanted to push me? Then take it."

She barely had time to process the words before his release hit her skin, hot and thick. He groaned deeply, his body jerking with each pulse, the sound low and guttural as he painted her face with his cum.

The humiliation burned hotter than her anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as he finished, the sticky warmth dripping down her cheeks, her lips. She wanted to wipe it away, to shove him off, but the way he looked at her, satisfied, smug, and utterly in control, froze her in place.

"Look at you," he muttered, his thumb smearing the mess across her cheek almost mockingly. "So fucking pretty like this.”

She glared up at him, her voice hoarse as she spat, "You're disgusting."

Ettore only laughed, the sound dark and unapologetic as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants. "You're the one who came crawling to me."

The door hissed open as the emergency protocols finally deactivated, the solar storm subsiding and red lights receding to normality. Ettore stepped back, the smirk never leaving his face as he looked her over one last time, his eyes lingering on the mess he'd made.

"Clean yourself up," he said lazily, turning toward the door. "Wouldn't want anyone to see you like that, would we?"

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