#this was suggested to me and I had to draw it

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

taglist:

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @z-wantstowrite @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

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@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[ctimenefic]

The Definitive* Waist Ranking of the 2025 Grid

*not definitive at all but this did take literal hours of my life

Back markers:

Gabriel Bortoleto

The rookies are at a disadvantage because of the lack of photos, but everything about what I could find suggests this man was drawn with right angles only. Also, highly cursed image ahead, this is your only warning.

Pierre Gasly

Shaped like a Lego brick. Too many abs, not enough waist. Note the presence of an actual waist chasing him down. Nil point.

Isack Hadjar

This is again more for lack of evidence - the racing suit definitely wants me to think there's a nipped in waist there, but other shots leave me thinking he's real solid.

George Russell

Another victim of abs for days. This hurts me as much as it hurts you. The flare of hips is not enough to save him.

Oliver Bearman

Probably my first controversial ranking, but not the last. I know, you picture him and there's a tiny grabbable waist, right? Miniscule. But it's a lie perpetuated by his ridiculous Superman-shaped shoulders. I fear as he bulks up for a full time drive, we're going to lose what little waist we have.

Midfield

Nico Hulkenberg

Could use a little more dad in the dad bod, you know? Not a lot of curve, but a smidge of something to hold onto, keeping him clear of the back markers

Liam Lawson

Go girl, give us nothing! I think maybe, maybe, you could squeeze past him and tuck your palm to the slight suggestion of a curve there, but why would you? To be fair, he's suffering from comparisons to teammates past and present.

Fernando Alonso

We remember what we once had, and are gladdened by it. But those days are lost, under the shadow of night, as if they never were. Exceptional evidence of what once was provided by @lights-out-away-we-go

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton is another case where the shoulders are doing a lot of work creating the illusion of a waist, and then slim hips are dispelling that. He does not have a very grabbable waist. This does not matter, because Lewis Hamilton could wear a sack and still draw the eye.

Lance Stroll

This one surprised me. I really thought the exceptional arse on this man would push him high up into the points. But... eh. It's fine? Probably better in the middle of the winter break when he softens up a bit.

Lando Norris

Initially a strong contender, but I actually think it's the grey panels of the fireproofs doing all the work here. Excellent illusion, but grabbable? Not particularly

Carlos Sainz

From the back, exceptional. From the front, almost nothing. This is baffling to me and scientists everywhere.

Alex Albon

I'm putting Alex in the points because even though I can't find good photographical evidence of the waist, I believe it is there. It's my Loch Ness Monster. Alex Albon has a grabbable waist and you won't convince me otherwise

Esteban Ocon

Now, this noodle does have a waist, but it's not the most grabbable. He's also getting an hourglass bonus from marginally wider hips and a decent bust (more on that advantage later). But that waist looks very solid, probably feels like pinching marble, no give. He is at least outscoring Pierre.

Kimi Antonelli

We unfortunately have strong evidence of Kimi's grababilty. This should be illegal. Until the FIA clarifies the regulations, though, he's high in the points.

[y0ur-lovrr]

aaa i love your fics. you don’t have to do this but what about reader who blushes every single time she locks eyes w/ chishiya? and he knows she likes him like the lil shitty goober he is…i just wanna see what you’d think he do in this situation :)

—watchful eyes

A/n; TYYY for the suggestion!!! I don’t know if this is good or not so if it’s bad i apologize lol <3

Pairing; Chishiya Shuntaro x reader <3

—you can’t help it, the way your eyes land on him when he isn’t looking, making sure to look at him when he isn’t looking at you so that he doesn’t know. (He knows.)

And right now is another one of those occasions, your eyes landing on him despite your spot at the edge of the pool, him leaning against one of the walls with kuina.

He isn’t looking at you-or atleast you don’t think he is-so it gives you the chance to look at him, your stare almost longing. In your eyes he is just perfect, looks and personality wise-except for the fact that he was a cunning bastard, it has its moments where it’s infuriating.

You don’t even realize how obvious your staring is, or that chishiya is starting to smirk to himself, obviously aware of your looking.

But then he turns to look at you, subtly raising an eyebrow at you, letting out a small hum of amusement as your eyes immediately widen as you look away, your face already starting to feel hot as your cheeks burn up. And in that moment, you know he knows.

Your mind is already starting to run a thousand miles per hour, and in that moment all you can do is just stare at the pool water as he gets off of the wall and makes his way towards you-his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his white jacket, his signature smirk on his face.

“You know…you stare a lot.” He huffs out with a teasing tone, taking it upon himself to sit next to you, and you feel your heart speed up at the fact he’s sitting so close to you, and the fact he’s also talking to you.

“No I don’t, I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumble with a shake of your head, trying to deny it-even though you know it’s true. It’s not your fault he always attracts your gaze.

“You say that,” he muses, pausing for a second to let the words simmer before he tacks on, “but everytime I look at you, you’re always looking at me. But when we meet eyes you look away, it’s almost disappointing.”

At his words he turns his head to look at you, his head tilting the side, his eyes digging into the side of your head, silently daring you to meet his gaze.

“It’s amusing really, that you can’t even meet eyes with me.” He teased in his usual casual tone, letting out a huff when you don’t say anything else, as if you had given up on denying it.

He reaches out and suddenly puts two fingers under your chin, gently tapping as a silent request for you to look at him.

“C’mon, look at me..I wanna see those eyes of yours.” He hums, his tone carrying undeniable amusement, hearing the way your breath softly hitches, but then you turn your head slightly to look at him, your cheeks immediately starting to redden as you guys lock eyes again. You have to put so much effort into not looking away, not that you want to, with the way his eyes are basically drawing you in.

“There you go…not so bad looking at me is it?” He questions, and you know better than to not know that he was teasing you like the little bastard he was, knowing he had the upper hand in this situation.

“It’s not so bad.” You huff out, finding yourself almost leaning into his touch. It’s then you realize the secret is out of the bag now.

“Who would’ve figured that you would like someone like me, hm? Im almost impress—“ you don’t let him finish because of the scoff you let out.

“How could I not? Do you not realize how great you are?” You huff out, your eyebrows slightly furrowing at him, gaining some of your confidence back. He lets out a low whistle at your sudden feistiness.

“And what is so great about me?” He asks as he raises an eyebrow at you, smirking as he waits for an answer, watching as you roll your eyes at his ignorance, turning your gaze back to the pool.

“I swear to god I am so close to shoving you in this pool.”

“Oh really?” He hums out in an amused tone, leaning closer to you, knowing you wouldn’t do that to him..or atleast he hopes you wouldn’t.

“One more word, chishiya, and I will—“

[hivemuthur]

Can I request childhood friends to lovers with Viktor where he takes reader to prom? I guess this is make up for the time I went to prom alone and just sat in the back uncomfortable cause I didn’t have friends and very socially anxious )):

Hi darling Anon! I went a bit overboard, but I hope you like it :x

Teenage Dirtbag

viktorxfemale!reader general audiences, Viktor asks Reader to prom and guess what, they go!

author’s note: I was hell-bent on making Viktor sound like a teenager here, when I finally decided that he was born with old speech curse. It's just my hc :v @rennethen beta read!

word count: 3,5K

—

You can hear around a fifth giggle this afternoon in the library, followed by an excited yes, and you huff under your nose, re-reading the sentence that got interrupted. Viktor throws you a glance.

“Everything alright?” he asks, whispering, and his breath fans your hand clutching the book. You wince at another distraction and mumble an annoyed yes, not looking up, but Viktor’s eyes are burning a hole in your forehead.

“Ugh, it’s noisy in here today, don’t you think?” you finally whisper back, and if your voice had a pitch, it would be high.

“Yes, well, the prom fever has begun, I believe,” Viktor muses, glancing over at yet another couple exchanging prom invitations and trying to suppress giggles and chatter. When you do only as much as grumble some incomprehensible curse, he presses further. “Are you against prom?”

“Are you not?” you whisper, louder, to the point where whispering actually stops making sense because probably everyone can hear you. “It’s a horrible patriarchal tradition meant to celebrate classic standards of beauty and popularity and alienate outsiders even further. And you have to pay for it.”

“So, am I understanding correctly that you do not intend to go?” Viktor asks, lifting his head to look at you. He studies you for a moment, then smiles—one of those smirks that suggests there will be a very clever follow-up question.

“Exactly.” You nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to physically shield yourself from what you expect to come next.

“Not even if someone has invited you?” His tone remains casual, but the way he tilts his head suggests something more calculated, and for a fleeting moment, it stings that Viktor would even hint at such a thing.

“Not even then, no.” You shake your head, trying to steady the slight waver in your voice, even though it’s still a whisper.

He hums and reaches into his bag. Before you can say anything, he’s waving two pieces of paper in front of your face, a merciless smirk tugging at his lips.

“I guess it’s very unfortunate that I have bought those tickets then?”

You blink, staring at him as your mind tries to process the words. “You what?” Your voice jumps in volume, drawing a couple of scolding glances and an exaggerated shh from a nearby table.

Viktor tilts his head, utterly unbothered. “I have acquired tickets. Two of them. One for me. One for you.”

“You—” Your mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Viktor, why—? What—” you stutter as your brain spirals into synaptic failure.

“Will you go to the prom with me?” he asks smoothly, flashing you an honest, doe-eyed smile. “I know you enjoy complaining about things before inevitably having a good time, so I thought we could give it a try, no? As friends?”

Your jaw drops. “That is not true.” That is so not true. If you say yes, you are absolutely going to complain all the way through and make sure not to have a good time, just to prove your point. But then again, the gesture is so sweet that two conflicting parts of you battle in an unwinnable war. “Viktor, are you sure?”

“What is there to be unsure about? We’ll dress up, make fun of whoever gets illegally drunk, complain about the food, music, and decorations, and then I will walk you home and bid you good night. No casualties,” he says in one breath, as if trying to convince himself now, too. Your resistance has gone on long enough that even he is beginning to doubt the genius of his own plan.

“I… I don’t have a dress,” you say weakly, taking the ticket from his hand. Your fingers brush, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

“Well, you had better organise yourself then, yes? Unless you intend to die on that hill and say no?” Viktor teases, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets testing his luck so boldly.

Fortunately, you sigh and shake your head. “No, I don’t intend to die on that hill,” you huff, but your face beams despite yourself. “Fine. Let’s go to prom.”

And while Viktor might have preferred to hear I would love to go with you or one of those choked, excited yes sounds that have been echoing through your entire study session, he will take your fine as a first step toward something bigger. Maybe. He will see.

And you, uh. You are going to the prom. To the conceptually horrible party that celebrates bland, generic stereotypes and leaves no space for individuality or oddity (if that’s how you’d describe yourself). With your best friend. And the lie you told through your fucking teeth about not having a dress makes you blush with shame, but at least that’s out of the way. Now all you have to do is just… go.

When Viktor shows up on your doorstep on the night of the event, you don’t expect anything, even though something inside you gets all giddy when your mom calls you downstairs for the goddamn prom picture. You don’t expect him to react, to do anything out of the ordinary—so when he arrives with a tie that matches your dress perfectly and a complimentary corsage, you’d probably drop whatever you were holding, had your hands been occupied.

And Viktor does almost drop the corsage at the sight of you, his grip wobbling on his cane. His eyes stay locked on you as you rush clumsily down the stairs, still tucking in the last few pins into your hair, the dress flowing around you. And it’s, uh. A really good dress. He almost can’t believe that you’ve managed to find it in such a short time. It hugs you perfectly, and the colour brings out the features Viktor knew were there, but now they look just… perfect. And he notices how your face is actually close to perfect. With little bits of imperfections that make you even more pretty. But he can’t make this too weird, so he swallows down all his awe and greets you with a stupid, “Hi.”

“H-hey,” you stutter, feeling oddly scrutinized. But you do take notice of how neatly Viktor’s hair is combed, how the tie suits his eyes. And then the corsage. And then the strange lump of awkwardness in your throat when your mum urges you both to stand closer for the picture. You try to mask your blush by sticking out your tongue and making a silly face, earning an unimpressed huff from her.

The besotted awkwardness lingers all the way from your doorstep to school. Through the hallway, as you gain a few compliments from people whose names you can’t remember. When Viktor gets an odd “nicely done” from a classmate who’s blatantly eyeing you both. You exchange a glance and chuckle—awkwardly, of course.

By the time you finally sit at the table, the weirdness is too much. Mustering whatever courage is left in your overly pampered self, you lean in and say playfully, “Alright. We are at the prom. Entertain me, please.”

“Entertain you? Are you not entertained enough by the lovely décor and impeccable music?” Viktor smiles incredulously, turning in his chair to face you, grateful for the silence to be broken.

“Thoroughly. But I am hungry for more.” You shoot him a grin and lean in closer.

“Well, turn around then,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Turn around?”

“Go on.” His tone is coaxing, teasing.

So you do. You turn in your chair, facing the room, and almost spit out your drink when Viktor’s arm snakes around your neck, his palm resting on your bare shoulder, his torso pressing lightly against your back. His chin nestles into the crook of your neck as he lifts a hand, finger pointing toward two teachers in the corner of the room.

“Do you think they came drunk or that they got drunk here?” he asks, his voice low with amusement.

You barely register the question at first—too focused on the way his breath fans over your skin, warm and feather-light. Goosebumps prickle across your neck and shoulders, a shiver rolling down your spine before you can stop it.

“I—” You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound normal. “I think—uh, I think they definitely pregamed.” You tilt your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s expression. He’s smirking. Of course he is.

“Mm. A strategic move,” he murmurs, not moving away. “Perhaps we should have considered it.”

You huff out a laugh, shifting under his arm in an attempt to ignore the way your pulse has suddenly decided to misbehave. “You do realise that if I came here drunk, I would be insufferable?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I find you insufferable even sober, so what difference would it make?”

You elbow him lightly in the ribs, earning a breathy chuckle. He still doesn’t move. And you don’t ask him to. His chin rests in the crook of your neck as he scans the room like a scientist observing an experiment in progress. His finger shifts, pointing toward the stage.

“The lead singer,” he murmurs, amusement curling in his voice. “Look closely.”

You squint, following his gaze. It takes a second, but then—oh. The guy isn’t singing. Not really. His mouth moves just a fraction too late, his lips barely forming the right shapes as the speakers blast out an overproduced ballad.

You gasp. “He’s—he’s lip-syncing?”

“Quite badly,” Viktor confirms, his tone as dry as ever.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, but Viktor’s shoulders shake with barely-contained mirth. He leans in a fraction more, his breath warming your ear. “Truly an artist at work,” he muses, eyes alight with mischief.

Your gaze drifts further across the room, taking in the scattered pockets of chaos—the swaying bodies on the dance floor, the clumps of students deep in scandalous conversation, and—

“The punch,” Viktor notes, and you follow his gesture toward a table where two students are very obviously spiking the communal bowl.

You snort. “Bold of them to think no one would notice.”

“Mm.” Viktor hums, tilting his head. “Seems like you can still change your mind about intoxication.”

You scoff, twisting just enough to give him a sceptical look. “Is there a particular reason you would like me to get drunk?” you challenge. “Am I truly this insufferable sober?”

Viktor exhales a sharp laugh, but then—he shifts just slightly closer, his voice dropping low as he leans in, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You asked me to entertain you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his accent thick and deliberate. “I am merely presenting you with the options.”

Heat flares in your cheeks so fast you’re convinced the entire room must see it. Your throat goes dry. Viktor is smug, you can feel it in the way his breath lingers, in the amused tilt of his head when he finally pulls back. And oh, you are not going to let him get away with that.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” you declare, lifting your chin in challenge.

Viktor barely hesitates. “Say no more.”

And that’s how you find yourself cradling a giant plastic cup of aggressively spiked punch, the harsh sting of cheap alcohol unmistakable beneath the artificial fruit flavour. Viktor, beside you, takes a sip and immediately winces.

“Whoever did this,” he coughs, shaking his head, “should be arrested.”

You laugh, swallowing past the burn. “And yet, here we are.”

“Deeply regretting our choices?”

You grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

But the regret fades fast as the night unfolds. You both keep up a steady stream of quiet, conspiratorial chatter, pointing out ridiculous dance moves, stolen kisses, and teachers who look like they’d rather be anywhere else. There’s warmth in it, a shared amusement that makes the room blur into the background.

And then—

A familiar melody hums through the speakers, soft and slow, cutting through the pop songs that came before. Without thinking, you blurt, “Dance with me.”

Viktor turns, eyebrows raised. “I don’t really dance,” he says, tapping his cane lightly against the floor.

Realisation sinks in, and your stomach twists. “Oh—I didn’t mean—”

But he’s already shaking his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Swaying,” he amends gently. “Swaying is a better word for what I’m capable of.”

You exhale, smiling. “I prefer swaying to dancing, anyway.”

So you stay close to your table, moving just enough to count as dancing but not enough to make a spectacle of yourselves. Your arms loop around Viktor’s shoulders, fingers brushing the hairline at the nape of his neck, while his hands find their place at the small of your back, fingers linking together.

At first, the awkwardness lingers. You make some quip about looking like a terrible prom cliché, and Viktor fires back that, statistically, you are. But then—his expression shifts, something softer taking over, something you’ve seen on his face before but never thought much of it.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You freeze for half a second, caught between surprise and outright joy. The scent of him lingers close, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, and when you absently tangle your fingers into his hair, Viktor trembles. A full-body reaction barely contained, followed by a quiet, unsteady huff against your shoulder.

Your heart thuds.

His grip tightens, one hand shifting higher, fingers pressing firmly into the space between your shoulder blades as he pulls you closer. For a long moment, neither of you speak. You simply sway, pressed together, moving with the rhythm of the song.

And then, as the last few notes echo out and the moment threatens to end, Viktor shifts. His lips brush the shell of your ear, voice low, careful, asking—

“Would you like to go somewhere quieter?”

“I… I thought you’d never ask,” you murmur, voice weaker than you’d like. You swallow hard as Viktor takes your hand without a word, his grip warm and steady. With an effortless sweep, he hooks his cane off the chair, and then you’re moving—out of the too-bright, too-loud gym, into the cool air of the school corridors.

He leads with quiet confidence, and you follow, heartbeat pressing insistently against your ribs. The path is familiar even in the dim light, and it doesn’t take long before you recognise where he’s heading.

“The library?” you whisper as he guides you toward the building. “When you said quieter, I didn’t think you meant completely silent.”

Viktor smirks, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “Would you prefer the janitor’s closet? It is considerably less spacious.”

You scoff. “Not what I meant. Also—isn’t the library locked?”

His smirk deepens. “I know a door that’s never closed.”

And true enough, he leads you around the side, where an unassuming back door sits in shadow. With a practiced motion, he presses the handle, and it gives way with the softest click.

“You’ve done this before,” you accuse in a whisper.

He tilts his head in faux thoughtfulness. “I could neither confirm nor deny.”

Suppressing a grin, you slip inside after him, the familiar scent of books and dust immediately wrapping around you. The hush of the library feels different at night—more intimate, more secret.

You wander between the shelves, fingers trailing along the spines, exchanging glances through the gaps in the books. The flickering light from the streetlamps outside casts shadows between the rows, stretching and shifting as you move.

“So,” Viktor’s voice breaks the quiet, “how is your prom experience so far?”

You hesitate, considering. Then, with a small smile, you answer honestly, “Unexpected.”

Viktor hums, appearing between the books for just a second before disappearing again into another row. “Is that a good thing?”

You step forward, peering through the shelves, catching the flicker of his gaze as he does the same. “Yeah,” you say softly. “It’s nice.”

You keep this quiet game going, stealing glimpses of each other through gaps in the books, smiles tugging at your lips. The anticipation coils in your chest as you round the final shelf, and—

You meet at the end.

Viktor is already there, standing just a step away, watching you. His head tilts slightly, amusement flickering in his expression as he takes a measured step forward.

“And,” he murmurs, voice lower now, smooth and teasing. “Are you entertained?”

Your lips part, a heartbeat passing before you manage to answer. “Immensely.”

Viktor steps closer, the space between you shrinking with every slow, careful movement. His hand finds your waist, warm and sure, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of your dress.

“And if I did this,” he murmurs, voice edged with amusement, “would you be more or less entertained?”

Your breath hitches at the closeness, heat blooming in your cheeks. But you refuse to falter, tilting your chin up just slightly. “More is… more likely.”

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. Then, with an unhurried grace, he lifts a hand and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

Your heart stumbles.

“And if, say, I did something like this?” he whispers, his mouth hovering achingly close to yours.

The warmth of him is dizzying, his breath fanning against your lips. Your mind struggles to keep up, to form words, to hold onto logic, but all you manage is a weak, “I think you have to be a little bit more specif—”

You don’t get to finish.

Because Viktor kisses you.

At first, it’s tentative—a soft press of lips, uncertain but intent, as if testing the waters of something fragile and new. His hand tightens at your waist, pulling you the barest bit closer, and you can’t help the soft, surprised sound that escapes you.

And then the hesitation melts.

The kiss deepens, slow but heady, and before you know it, your fingers are threading into his perfectly combed hair, tugging him closer. You feel him inhale sharply against your mouth, and then—

A low, barely-there noise escapes him as your fingers twist further, utterly ruining the neatness he’d so carefully maintained. His hand slides up your back, pressing against bare skin, and when you curl your fingers at the nape of his neck, Viktor shudders—actually shudders again—and lets out a soft, breathy huff against your lips.

Visibly flustered, Viktor pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, though the space between you remains minuscule. His breath is uneven, his carefully composed exterior slightly shaken, and the way his lips part—like he’s still chasing the remnants of the kiss—does nothing to help your own spiraling thoughts.

His fingers linger at your waist as if reluctant to let go, and then, in a quiet, almost sheepish voice, he asks, “So, um… Do you think I could keep entertaining you in a prom-unrelated environment in the near future?”

You blink, your mind catching up to his words, still dazed from the kiss, and then—

“Are you asking me out?”

The sheer wonder and hope in your voice nearly makes Viktor laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching. He exhales, shaking his head as if he can’t believe you can’t believe it.

“I—” He swallows, gaze flickering over your face, then exhales a soft chuckle. “Yes. Yes, I am asking you out.”

 “Yes, I would love for you to keep entertaining me then,” you say warmly.

A smile breaks across Viktor’s face, slow and triumphant, because in one fell swoop, he’s won both of what he wanted—an enthusiastic yes and a very eager I would love to.

And that’s all the permission he needs.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t second-guess it. He just leans in and kisses you again, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering question marks hanging between you—just warmth, want, and the giddy realisation that this is happening.

Your fingers tangle into his already-mussed hair, and Viktor makes a noise against your mouth that you swear you feel more than hear, something between a sigh and a laugh. His arms tighten around you as he deepens the kiss, as if anchoring himself to this moment, to you.

Somewhere between kisses, between the rustle of clothes and the muffled sound of your shared, breathless laughter, a book teeters off the shelf and lands with a soft thud on the floor beside you. You barely notice. Prom may have been the reason you ended up here, but right now, the only thing that matters is Viktor, his lips on yours, the feeling of his fingers pressing into the small of your back, and the quiet, thrilling promise of whatever comes next.

[carlosainzgf]

Daeho x foreignerfem!reader and he teaches her a bit of Korean

I want this man to teach me everything he knowsss omg he's so beautiful

teach me

kang dae ho x foreigner!reader (fluff)

the first morning in the dorms was a cacophony of confusion and dread. rows of beds lined the stark room, and contestants murmured in hushed voices, trying to make sense of the situation. dae ho sat on his bed, his hands fidgeting nervously as his eyes darted around the room, assessing the other players. his gaze landed on you- a girl sitting alone, your eyes scanning the chaos. a foreigner, probably.

you were clearly out of place, not just because of your appearance but because of how lost you seemed. when a guard told them instructions earlier, you didn’t reacted like the others. instead, your face twisted in confusion.

dae ho hesitated, chewing his bottom lip, before finally working up the courage to approach you. standing in front of yout bed, he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "uh… 안녕하세요?" he tried, his voice soft but shaky.

you blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. "sorry, what?"

his heart sank. "ah… uh…" he searched his brain desperately for the right words. english wasn’t his strength, but he had to try. "you… okay?" he stammered, his accent thick.

your face lit up slightly with understanding. "oh- yeah. do you know what’s going on? where are we?"

he only understood "know" and "where," but the rest was too fast for him to catch. dae ho panicked for a moment, running a hand through his hair before trying to answer. "uh… we sleep. now wake…game?" his hands flailing to fill in what words couldn’t.

she squinted, trying to understand him. "game? what kind of game?"

"uh…" the words slipping through his mental grasp. "fun… maybe?" he winced at his own answer, knowing how unconvincing it sounded. “i no know," he admitted.

you gave a short laugh, her tension easing slightly. "you’re not very helpful, are you?"

he caught her tone and smiled nervously. "sorry… bad english," he said, tapping his chest. he straightens up, determined. he pointed at himself. "dae ho. you?"

you told him your name, he repeated, trying to commit your name to memory. it sounded nice to him. foreign to him but nice, making his lips twitched upward in a small smile.

"nice name. 예쁜(yeppeun)," he said.

you tried to repeat what he said but failed miserably. with a smile still lingering on his face, dae ho noticed your struggle with the pronunciation. "예쁜," he says slowly, his words clear and distinct.

your attempt was adorable to him, her efforts drawing a softer, more genuine smile from him. he gently corrected her, his voice patient, "예쁜. try.”

you repeated the word slowly, your tongue stumbling but improving with each try.

dae ho raised a brow, surprised at her quick learning. "good job," he praised, a hint of laughter in his voice. his smile grew as he held up a thumbs up.

“maybe you can teach me some korean?” you tried to speak slowly and clearly for him to understand. his eyes lit up at your suggestion. he nodded enthusiastically. "korean. yes, yes," he said, his voice excited. he thought for a moment, trying to find the simplest word to start with. “hello," he said with a confident grin. "안녕하세요.(annyeonghaseyo)”

your accent was thick, pronunciation shaky, but you had the essence right. he smiled. “good!" he praised, genuinely happy.

with a gentle smile, dae ho considered what simple phrase to teach you next. "ah!" he exclaimed, a thought occurring to him. he pointed at you. "어떻게 지내세요(eotteohge jinaeseyo). it mean ‘how are you’.”

he taught you enough korean to at least somewhat fit in throughout the games. he introduced you to his group and tried to translate what they were talking about if you didn’t understand it.

after the games had ended, your little bond didn’t. it grew into something else. something that led you both to rent an apartment together and build a life with the money you won. you helped each other to learn one another language to communicate easier. and dae ho had found an amazing way of teaching you.

you were sat on his lap as he asked you to translate the korean sentences to english and every true answer you gave, earned you a kiss. “what about…사랑해요(salanghaeyo)?”

“it means ‘i love you’.” you were quick to get pulled into a kiss. his soft lips meeting yours, kissing you slowly.

“you’re asking easy ones just to kiss me, aren’t you?” you asked teasingly. “maybe…and you love it.” and you really did love it.

[adoresia]

꣑ৎ contains ★ Fluff ,, Crack ,, suggestive (if you squint) ,, might be ooc cause i havent met him yet.. gulp.

ft Michael Kaiser :: ★ Getting a matching tattoo with your boyfriend was one thing, trusting him with a needle was definitely another. ★ W/C 0.8k

˙🧷 ̟ Sia here ! :: I haven’t even met kaiser yet but i saw this illustration and i started barking out loud, i saw it on pinterest but the artist is bunnyluvrrr on instagram her drawings are so good you guys should go check them out 😚😚

˙🏷️ ̟ Kaiser’s masterlist | BLLK masterlist | Main masterlist

Looking back, you weren’t sure why you agreed to let him tattoo you. Actually scratch that, you knew exactly why — because of his inability to take no for an answer.

A week ago, when he first proposed the idea of getting matching tattoos you almost choked on your drink. “You? Want to Tattoo me? Yeah, no.” you laughed off this sudden joke of his, but knowing him he wasn’t going yo give up so easily. “You didn’t even think about it,” he whined dramatically. Flopping onto the couch beside you with the same infuriating grin. “I’ve got great hands. You trust me on the field don’t you?”

“Hey so, a football and a needle are actually two different things.”

“Don’t you think I’d be good at it? I’ve got an eye for detail.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” you muttered, but he ignored it completely.

“I think it would be cool,” he insisted, leaning closer. “Our tattoos will connect like we do. That’s Romantic, no?” You squinted at him. “That sounds like a really bad pickup line”

“Well, did it work?” He smirked smugly. “I literally just said bad.” you deadpanned him. Why is he trying to gaslight you?” Admit you’re thinking about it.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about why I’m still talking to you.”

But of course, a week later here you were. Perched on the extra cushioned chair of a makeshift tattoo station he set up especially for you, your leg extended across his lap while he prepped the machine with a confident flick of his wrist.

“You nervous?” His voice was honeyed with amusement as his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “No.” you lied through your teeth. “Just wondering how and why I ended up trusting you with a needle.”

“Because you realised you have nothing to worry about, I am the best. You know that right?” He chuckled. “At football, maybe.” You answered rolling your eyes.His grin only grew as he gently took hold of your thigh, his fingers brushed against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. He was steady and confident, yet surprisingly tender.“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. Athough the teasing tone in his voice made you doubt it. “Yeah okay, just hurry up.”

The humming sound of the machine filled the room, and the first prick of the needle made you tense. His hand tightened ever so slightly around your leg grounding you. “Relax,” he reassured. “It’ll hurt less if you stop being so stiff.”

Easy for him to say.

Okay you were nervous, but not just about the tattoo. There was something about the way his fingers rested on your skin, firm yet oddly intimate, that had your heart racing. And of course he noticed.

“Aw, what’s this?” he teased, glancing up with a grin. “You sure it’s the needle making you so nervous?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Is that why you keep looking away from me? I see those paintings on the wall everyday. There isn’t anything all that interesting about them.” he teased. You hadn’t even realised you were staring so hard at the paintings behind him, trying to divert your attention from what was going on in front of you.

“Focus on the tattoo.” was the inly thing you could muster up. It made him laugh. The sound was warm and far too smug. “Whatever you say.”

As the needle traced along your leg, following the intricate design that wrapped from his arm to your leg, you couldn’t help but notice how focused he was. Despite all the teasing, he was meticulous with the way he traced the ink into your skin. The thorned stem mirrored the one on his arm — it was sharp and elegant. The vines curled gracefully around your thigh, wrapping down your leg in a way that made it look seamless, as if your tattoos were always meant to be connected.

Every one of his movements was precise and his concentration showed in the way he furrowed his eyebrow. His usual arrogance was still there, but it was tempered by precision and care. His teasing words contrasted with the steady determination and gentleness in his eyes.

“Are you still with me?” he asked, his voice somewhat softer now.

“mhm,” you managed to utter. Although your heart raced for reasons that had very little to do with the sting of the tattoo at this point.

“Your a tough girl.”

The teasing never stopped but neither did the gentleness. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin which soothed the burn of the needle. You wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

“You’re doing great baby,” he praised. His eyes flickered up again. “I told you I was good with my hands.”

“Do you ever stop flirting?”

“Not when it’s working.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. The tension eased from your body and he grinned as if that was the real victory here. And when he finally finished, he leaned back to admire his work. The thorned stem wrapped elegantly around your leg, seamlessly continuing from his own tattoo. It was beautiful; raw and intimate in a way you could’ve never expected.

“Perfect.” he said proudly, wiping down the fresh ink. “Just like us.”

“You’re so annoying.” you muttered. Although your lips curled into a smile.

“And yet here you are,” he grinned as he wiped the last bit of ink residue from your skin.

You ignored him though, turning your leg slightly to get a better look at the intricate design etched into the entirety of your leg. It was so beautifully detailed. Each curve wrapped so elegantly around your skin, tracing a sinuous path from just above your knee to the side of your thigh, and the way it so seamlessly connected to Kaiser’s own tattoo felt… intimate. Like your tattoos were meant to intertwine, bound together, just as he had promised.

“Wow,” you breathed, fingers hovering near the fresh ink but really careful not to touch. “You outdid yourself.”

He said nothing at first, unusually silent and less taunting. His eyes fixed on your reaction instead of the tattoo. You could feel his gaze, it was warm and unwavering. Tracking every subtle shift of your expression while you admired his work. His usual teasing demeanor softened as it was replaced by something quieter and more genuine.

“You like it?” he finally asked, you glanced up at him and when you met his gaze your heart did that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he dropped the cocky act for just a second. “Yeah,” you admitted, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I love it.” His lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I know you do.” You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingered.

He leaned closer, thumb brushing gently along your thigh just below the fresh ink. “I told you I was good with my hands,” he murmured , the teasing glint returned to his eyes. “And your ego is still insufferable.”

“But you love that too,” he said confidently. You shook your head with a laugh. “Debatable.”

“Not at all” His fingers lingered on your skin for a bit longer than necessary. “It is romantic, right?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though you didn’t pull away from his touch.

“And yet you’re still here,” he whispered smugly, “matching tattoo and all.” He pressed a kiss just above the tattoo, his breath was warm and gentle against your freshly inked skin. “But you do love it, right?” He asked, eyes gleaming as he looked up at you.

“I guess I do.”

[asnowperson]

Takemiya Keiko interview about Kazeki OVA (1987)

Here's another short interview from platypus's stack of old magazines with cool interviews: Takemiya Keiko talks about Kaze to Ki no Uta Sanctus: Sei Naru Kana in the 1987 December issue of Puff.

Translation is under the cut, and please let me know if you spot my mistakes.

Kaze to Ki no Uta – OVA is finally on sale!

Takemiya Keiko Interview

“It will not ruin your image of the work, so please watch it!”

Let us first hear your thoughts on finishing this project.

Mr. Yoshikazu was sitting at the director’s chair. That alone assured me that everything would go smoothly, and I left everything to him. He read the manga thoroughly and gave the work his own interpretation. I had nothing to worry about. I didn’t have to ask him not to do a certain part in a certain way, or to avoid including too many “risqué” scenes. I can feel that he gave the work the treatment it deserves. Even the animation style was not too flashy and anime-like. The movements were more orthodox. Everything worked out perfectly, so I have nothing to say.

The background art was amazing. Did you ask them to draw them that way?

Both Mr. Yoshikazu and I thought that she’d be a  good fit, and suggested having the same person who was the art director for “Natsu e no Tobira”, but we couldn’t get a hold of her. We found out the reason later: The producer thought she was too slow, and we should give up on working with her (laughs). But when we said that she was the only person who could draw the backgrounds, she was hired to work in the project. However, she was too late to turn in the drafts. We really were in a tight spot. She might have been slow, but she really is an artist. When she can’t draw something, she just can’t. She gave it her all… Even though it was something that’d only be on screen for two seconds… If we couldn’t ask them to do something, I said I should go ahead and do it myself.

So, I gather that you drew some key animation yourself. Are manga and anime too different to draw for?

Both mediums are used basically to capture “movement,” so I think they are the same. You go with the flow, trying to capture “movement”… You think about how original you can express it. That’s a really fun undertaking. For example, even if it’s just a scene of a character turning to look back, if you strive to give it a little touch, you can really bring out an erotic feeling. That’s the stuff I’m talking about. If I had a lot of money, I would dabble more in in-between animation. I now understand why Otomo Katsuhiro-san was so obsessed with it (laughs).

I’ve seen the OVA. It felt like reading one of your works.

Do you think so? I didn’t ask him to do it, but to keep close to the atmosphere of the original work, Mr. Yoshikazu outlined the key points. He put the same things as my drawings in those scenes. But if you looked closely, you could tell that they were different. When I saw the whole thing, I thought “wow, it’s the same!” However, upon closer inspection, I found out that such scenes did not exist in the original. I even thought maybe something was wrong with me. The same also goes for the lines. “Did he ever say that? He might have said that…” But when I re-read, I see that no such line was uttered. I had so many moments like that.

What was the fans’ reaction to this OVA adaptation?

When I said it was happening, I received an equal amount of positive and negative reactions. Well, that’s only to be expected. So, like I thought, only when I said that Mr. Yoshikazu was the one directing it, I saw the real opposition. The animation director was decided on, but the VAs weren’t cast yet. When news of the production got out, I received letters saying “it’s too late, I give up!” (laughs) They said stuff like, “Here we are, so against this idea, but you still say that you’ll do it! I don’t care anymore!” I can say that there are people who definitely won’t watch it. It makes me happy to see the work being loved that much, but when people are that obsessed with it… It’s kind of scary. I sometimes go as far not seeing it as something I myself created. But well, there are still a lot of people who say “I might cry and whine, but I’ll still watch it.”

Can we have Ms.Takemiya, the creator herself, do some advertisement for the OVA?

The OVA didn’t embarrass me, so I’ll keep promoting it. I don’t think it’ll ruin your image of the work. But I know that there are people who are too nitpicky and say stuff like the lines of a character’s profile is kind of off and they hate it, or that their legs are too thin  or that their feet look weird (laughs). In that sense, we paid extra attention to the movement itself and tried to animate the characters in a natural manner. “The Poem of the Wind and the Trees” makes you think of subtle movements, right? We can’t have them move too briskly, and even the fight scene is nothing too serious. Because Mr. Yoshikazu didn’t want to create too vivid of a scene. Rather, he didn’t want it to stink of “masculinity” that much. And people who’ve only seen the character designs might think that they look nothing like the manga, but when they are in motion, they do look like their manga counterparts. As for the voice of the characters, I don’t know the actress of Gilbert, but we have Nobita-kun for Serge (laughs)! People who are into anime will recognize her voice, so they might be a little bit of put off by that, but she doesn’t sound like Nobita-kun here. Not at all! The more you listen to her acting, the more you enjoy it! There are parts that reflect Serge’s character, so I’m really content with the result.

Can we consider this as “episode 1” of a series? Do you have plans for a continuation?

If this OVA sells, it might happen. If this one gets a positive reaction, I think we can make another one. The producer said that’s what he thought would happen. If you ask Mr. Yoshikazu, he says it’ll be at least 6 episodes long, but I doubt that. I can’t bring myself to believe that we can make that many episodes. Anyway, to think that we won’t be working with the staff who brought it to life with such resemblance feels so sad. But I also think that if we ask them to do it again, they’ll simply run away (laughs). We’ve already done Yoshikazu-san’s favorite part right off the bat, so what remains is the hard part. He says he can’t decipher a character like Augu (laughs). Maybe another director might do better.

And what about the future of the story in manga?

There’s the stuff about marriage and children problems, how to reach enlightenment, and everything in-between until Serge’s death. But even if I drew that, that would have no meaning for people who are only here for what Gilbert and Serge had (laughs). I don’t have any plans to draw any continuation for the moment, but one day, if I ever get the chance… If the are conditions right, I think I’d like to draw it.

Can we have your final message for Puff readers?

Watch the OVA. Please do it. I believe that if you watch it once, all of your worries will be washed away.

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ IRRESISTIBLE ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 심재윤 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: distracted by the charm of your darling boyfriend, you find yourself unable to resist his need for attention, but in all seriousness, who’d be able to resist jake?

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jake x non-idol!reader, est. relationship, ft. mentions of huh yunjin and layla

warnings: attempts at humour, swearing/cursing, pet names, slightly suggestive bcs jake’s a simp and doesn’t bother hiding it, mentioned the book ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ . ya know, in case you don’t like that book ..

[archive]

“Stop.”

His giggles were glittery. Just hearing them would set off a flutter in your chest. “What? I’m just appreciating nature and its beauty.” You could practically hear the smile from his voice.

It took a lot of strength to not look up, to keep your gaze firmly situation on the letters that ran along the page in front of you. Your fingers tightened around the soft copy covers of the novel in your hands, thumb rubbing against the paper as you tried to read the next sentence.

It was an impossible task, you quickly realised, your senses distracted by the ticklish sensation of grass against your ankles. The culprit, however, wasn’t the innocent grass field of the park, but actually your attention whore of a boyfriend, laying on his stomach by your feet, drawing little invisible doodles on your bare calf with the tip of the grass blade.

more under cut !!

You knew what he was doing, the unsubtly in the teasing glances that he’d sneak your way, observing your reaction, seeing how long it would take for you to break. It was one of his more annoying qualities that you couldn’t help but find endearing… eventually.

At that moment though, you resolved to simply tap your finger against the corner of the book, your eyes unfocused, not a single word on the page registering as you pursed your lips, squashing whatever tiny smile wanted to make itself known. You were gonna last this time.

See, previous times it had happened — and yes, it happened a lot — Jake would usually win. Whether it was his inconspicuous back hugs which eventually had him pulling you away from whatever you were doing previously, or the more blatantly obvious way he’d smile, quirk his head to the side, and pull you along with him.

Jake was simply irresistible. And he knew it, which is always a problem.

That afternoon, however, you‘d decided the best way to defeat him, is to divert him, distract him, and so you set your plan into motion;

“Jakey, what does this word mean?”

“Hm?”

Immediately the grass blade was abandoned, the pursuit to tease was thrown aside and your puppy dog of a boyfriend had pulled himself up and shuffled closer, leaning his back against the large tree trunk, just like you.

He pouted his lips, following your finger as you pointed out the word. “Iota? I thought you were reading a romance book…”

You scoffed, “I am.” Slipping your bookmark into the spine you closed the book to show him the cover. ‘To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before’ was printed in pretty ribbon-like loops of text, glossy and black against the light baby pink background.

Jake smirked, opening the book once more to read out the sentence before he started explaining the origins of ‘iota’ (ancient greek text), and the significance of that letter (it’s the smallest in the alphabet), and how it applies in a modern context (“Basically, babe, it means you couldn’t give less of a fuck”).

You bit your lip, suppressing your laughter as you carefully pulled out your bookmark and continued reading. Your head rested against Jake‘s shoulder, his voice slowly helping you relax as he continued to explain random yet somewhat applicable definitions to the word ‘iota’.

You couldn’t really understand, mostly because you were only paying like 40% of your attention on what he was saying. Zoning in and out every now and then, catching a few anecdotes about his senior year maths class and imaginary numbers, whatever those mean.

Just as you reached the next chapter, you felt Jake tap your forehead. “Are you sleeping?”

“What? No!” You shuffled back a bit, looking at him incredulously.

Jake’s eyes darted down to the novel in your hands, noticing the next chapters number on the page. “You’re reading? I thought you were listening to me,” he whined, an embarrassed little smile on his lips.

You shut the book in an instant, completely forgetting about your bookmark. “I am!” You insisted, choosing to summaries his explanation as proof. “You said it was ancient greek alphabet, the smallest of them all, means I couldn’t give less of a flying fu—”

“Fine, what was the last thing I said?”

You stilled, “Uh…” Mind going blank, you figured a blind shot in the dark wouldn’t hurt, safest option, honestly. “…That I’m the love of your life?”

Jake‘s expression fell flat. “No, I didn’t—”

“I’m not the love of your life?!”

“That’s not what I— …Well played.” Quirking his lip a little, Jake sighed, holding out his fist as a peace offering.

“Thank you.” Smirking, you fist bumped him, before looking back down to open your book. But you paused, eyes glancing back to your unused bookmark. You flicked your head towards Jake, “I don’t—”

“Chapter twenty,” he said smoothly, before turning around and using your fumbling to rest his head on your lap.

“Enjoy the flattering angle,” you mutter, dryly.

Jake stayed silent, his gaze fixated on you, on the way your hair fell in front of your eyes and you constantly brushed it away and yet refused to pin it back. Or the way you very, very softly mouthed the words you were reading, ever so faintly, it’s barely a whisper. Or how you’d smile at the stories events before quickly controlling your expression so you don’t look like a fool, grinning at a book.

Jake sighed, brushing his hair back. “I guess the story’s interesting?”

You hummed. “Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” He sat up. “Then pay attention to me.”

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, before settling back against the tree. “I would, baby, but I need to beat Yunjin at this month’s goodreads challenge. And I would have beaten her last week but—”

“But I dragged you to the couch for movie night—”

“Which I loved. Among other things that night.” You suppressed your smile.

Nudging your knee with his, Jake let out a breathy chuckle. “Shh, there’s kids running around”

You shook your head, amused. “What I’m saying is, I love spending time with you. So much so that I want you around even if I’m just doing something by myself. But you make it so damn hard for me to concentrate.”

Your eyes had completely left the page yet again, finding your focus purely captured by the comfort that Jake gave you whenever he was present, the kind of relaxation where you simply get to exist, side by side, and that’s enough. It truly was his fault that you were this distracted.

Though, he obviously didn’t think so.

“That’s on you,” his eyes shone with that cheeky charm that he seemed to never run out of. His fingers rested on your knee, tapping away as he spoke. “I can’t exactly just stay put like some loser when I have the most irresistible person for a girlfriend.”

You scoffed, “I thought you were the irresistible one.”

Your mind replayed memories of past instances where Jake would send you a smug grin, throwing his arms wide open, surmising that he was simply irresistible and you should just give in (translation: he just wants hugs).

Jake shrugged. “Well, I am. But it’s not like I’ve got monopoly over it.”

“Mhm.”

He watched as you, yet again, tried to concentrate on the novel at hand, to get some progress in your reading. But your competitiveness was faltering and he could see it.

On the one hand, he wanted you to win, for your own happiness.

On the other hand… “C’mere.”

“Hm?”

Jake leaned closer, cupping your jaw as he went in to kiss you. You knew there was no hope of finishing another chapter anymore. Let alone the book. Jake had this way of capturing your entire soul, of holding it in his warm hands, keeping it safe. The same way it felt to have his hands holding your face, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek, his tiny giggles unable to be contained between your kisses.

“You’re a jerk,” you whisper, smiling so wide that the implication of such a sentence made no sense in comparison.

“Right,” Jake leaned forward and gave you a quick peck. “But you know, if you’d really wanted to read today, you wouldn’t have brought me along.”

You nudged your forehead against his. “Fair point.”

The novel slid from hands, flat on your lap as you moved your fingers along nape of his neck. You’d just started pulling him closer by his chain necklace when—

“Hey mister!”

Jake flinched and looked to the side at the tiny irritated mass in light up sketchers standing a meter away.

“Your dog has my ball!”

“Oh shit…” You shifted back as you watched your boyfriend scramble to get up, cursing his clicking joints as he ran. “Layla!!”

“Guess you win this month, Yunjinnie.” Hurriedly putting the book back in your bag, you got up and ran after Jake.

a.n: third instalment of the kiss me, don’t say no series !! even if it’s officially feb 9th i’m holding off until i get up again in the actual morning to publish jungwon’s — skipping sunsun for now! sorry :( i just really wanna get jungwon’s out on his birthday !!!! anyway, i hope you liked this one <3

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Your Hands Are Tough, But They Are Where Mine Belong

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader 2.2k words Warnings: Language, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, extremely protective and angry father, angst, violence (👀), Reader is hot for violent Roy (understandable)

“Go home.”

“Dad-”

“You’re banned from the club. Go home.”

Even though you’d expected an icy welcome, some part of you still figured you’d be allowed to work. After all, it was almost time for you to head back to school; surely your dad could handle a couple weeks of you fetching coffee and organizing files so his kid could collect a paycheck and buy a pint at the campus pub now and then.

Apparently not though, based on how red his face was when he saw you stroll as casually as possible into his office. His greeting to you was a two-word demand to leave and no eye contact whatsoever. There was definitely a part of you that wanted to listen, to head home with your tail between your legs and stay in your room until it was time to head back to Southampton. But your mother’s words about not raising a daughter who hides rang in your head over and over- and then you caught sight of those familiar brown eyes in the changing room. They bore into yours with that mix of adoration and concern, maybe even with a hint of sympathy, giving you the ability to stand up a bit straighter.

“I’ve got a job to do,” you reminded your father pointedly. “An actual ‘I-have-a-badge-and-get-paid’ job. If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I’m here, and I’m going to work.”

Instead of the shouting you were fully prepared for, your father simply stared at you and let out the gruffest sigh you’d ever heard. “I don’t want to see you even look at him,” he hissed. “Not a glance. You understand?”

Progress. Miniscule progress, but progress nonetheless. “Yes, sir,” you murmured.

Without another word to you, your father stormed into the changing room, where all noise silenced immediately. You watched, with utter humiliation in your tight chest, as he stood nose to nose with Roy, whose wide eyes were clearly straining not to lock with yours. He gave a few frantic nods and managed to say a couple of words before your dad turned and fumed out. After a few moments, those brown eyes found yours again. You offered Roy a half-hearted wave, which he returned with a firm nod, clearly intent on not drawing your father’s ire with winks and smirks. 

You slumped into your father’s chair so you could turn your attention to some emails he needed to answer. As you opened one and began to type out a response, you pondered your mothers’ appeal to give your dad some time and wondered: how long would it take?

~

A full day of training wasn’t long enough, you discovered. Not that you expected your father to thaw so quickly. Unsure if you were sparing yourself or your dad the tension, you’d avoided the pitch as much as possible, opting to spend your day in his office instead. The ache in your chest that missed Roy tempted you to sneak out for just a glimpse of the midfielder, but a wry voice in your head suggested that perhaps you’d had enough sneaking around for one summer.

But the fear of your father’s reaction wasn’t enough to stop you from fixing your gaze on the footballer when he returned to the changing room at the end of practice, all sweaty and out of breath, his clothes clinging to him enticingly.  When Roy peeled off his drenched shirt, all thoughts of playing it cool left your mind; you leaned your elbows on the desk and let your face fall onto your hands, practically drooling at the now-familiar sight. Surely Roy would be up for a sleepover, you reasoned as your eyes raked over that furry chest. Especially if you asked nicely enough.

“Aww, look! Princess is staring at Kent again.”

Oh, fuck, you thought, immediately sitting up and turning your attention to the blank computer screen. Drew, one of Chelsea’s newer signs, was smirking at Roy, who wore his usual scowl in return. Roy did not like Drew; the guy was chatty and tried too hard to be ‘one of the guys’. And, Roy had admitted in bed late one night, he really didn’t like the way the young striker looked at you. (“It’s the way I fucking looked at you when I first came to Chelsea,” Roy had grumbled.)

Now, Roy frowned and approached his snickering teammate. “Fuck did you say?”

That smirk remained as Drew shrugged at Roy. “Say, Kent,” he started, faux friendliness dripping from his voice as the rest of the guys began to perk up at their conversation. “Just curious, how did Coach react when he found out his little princess calls you ‘daddy’ too?”

Roy’s face went bright red as he pressed his chest to Drew’s. “You keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” he growled.

“And what does she have in her mouth?” Drew taunted.

If you had blinked, you would have missed the sight of Roy’s fist colliding with Drew’s smug face. It was pure instinct and without warning. The striker wobbled, but quickly recovered to return Roy’s punch with one of his own. The two footballers began to scuffle, with punches flying and loud swears filling the air in the changing room. At the first sight of blood dripping down Roy’s nose, you got the feeling back in your body and leapt from your seat and bolted into the changing room.

“Kent!” you gasped. Before you could take a step towards the brawl that several of the guys were attempting to break up, a pair of arms wrapped around you and tugged you back. When you looked up, you saw Jules, his eyes on his scrapping teammates.

“Don’t,” he grunted, still not looking at you. “You’ll just make it worse.”

If you had thought you’d felt helpless watching the press conference where you and Roy were exposed, it was nothing compared to how powerless you felt now, watching punches and slaps land on Roy’s snarling face. His eyes were wild as he tried to continue throwing punches while his teammates attempted to restrain him and shouted at him to calm the fuck down, Kent. 

“What the absolute fuck is going on in here?”

Your father's face was even redder than Kent's as he looked in the doorway. His gaze jumped between Kent- and Drew- and Jules- and finally you. Jules quickly let you go and stepped back; even the very married striker was scared to be spotted so close to you, apparently. Your father narrowed his eyes at you before turning back to the footballers, who were finally pulled apart by exasperated teammates.

Roy spoke up. “Coach-”

“Suspended,” your dad interrupted, staring icily at his midfielder. “Next match, you're both on the bench.” He sneered at Roy. “Neither of you deserves to wear a Chelsea kit.”

“Coach,” Jules tried, stepping further away from you. “Kent was just-”

Your father’s eyes blazed at his player. “Next man who says anything is out for the season.” Without another glance at anyone, he stormed out, leaving behind him silence among his team.

While the players awkwardly began to gather their things and left the changing room, heading home or to pubs or wherever they went after training, you slunk back into the office, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do. Some hopeful part of you had assumed your dad would offer you a silent ride home, but that seemed completely out of the question now; he was probably halfway home anyways. Maybe you should call your mother? But then she’d know your dad had left you, and that would probably lead to another argument between the two of them, and you couldn’t bear to be the reason for a fight two nights in a row. Maybe you could still catch Jules, he probably wouldn’t mind-

“Oi.” Roy’s eyes were dark as he gazed down at you, mouth in a straight line. He’d washed off the blood and changed, but you could see some cuts and noted where the bruising was already starting. “Need a ride?”

~

For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, you sat silently in Roy Kent’s car. Normally, the two of you would chatter away, or you’d turn up the radio and sing along while Roy rolled his eyes when you went off-key just to make him laugh. But now, a heaviness filled the car, a feeling you were desperate to rid yourself of.

“Could I come over?” you finally whispered as Roy came to a stop light.

When he turned to look at you, the conflict in his eyes was clear as day; your name came out of his mouth as a sigh. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmured, reaching out to touch your knee gently. “Your dad-”

“Left me there,” you reminded him pointedly. “For all he knows, I’m walking home.” You laid your hand on top of Roy’s, cherishing how warm he felt at your fingertips. “So can I come over? Please?”

Despite himself, the corner of Roy’s mouth ticked upwards as he shook his head. “How the fuck can I ever say no to you, princess?”

That small smirk stayed on Roy’s bruised face as he settled on his couch, watching you make your way to the kitchen. When you returned with a pack of frozen peas, he raised a thick eyebrow at you.

“You making me dinner or something?” he teased.

Rather than answer, you shushed the footballer and sat beside him. With your free hand, you urged him to lie down with his head in your lap. Once he was settled and comfortable, you gently pressed the bag of peas to his purpling eye, your heart melting when you saw him wince at the cold contact. That wince quickly gave way to a soft smile as he reached up and touched your cheek, his version of a thank you.

“You’re too fucking good to me,” he chuckled. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Fighting for my honor seems like a good start,” you grumbled as you let your free hand stroke his curls. “I swear, I should kick Drew’s arse for hurting your pretty face.”

Roy chuckled, the joyful rumble vibrating under your touch. “The princess fighting for her knight. Now there’s a fairytale I’d fucking read.” He sighed and shifted slightly. “I’m sorry about today, babe. I’d love to say it’ll never happen again, but-”

You quickly shook your head. “You better not get into any more fights, Kent,” you playfully scolded. “I want to see my boyfriend start in a match, after all,” you added with a pout.

The B-word brought a full smile to that gorgeous face. “Fine,” he said, unable to hide his pleased blush under the bag of peas. “No more fighting.” Something sparkled in the brown eye that wasn’t hidden under the improvised ice pack. “But you did think it was hot, didn’t you?”

A blush crawled up your neck at the low tone he spoke with. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kent,” you scoffed. “My boyfriend beating some prick to a pulp and getting himself benched? In what universe would I find that hot?”

The small hum that rumbled in Roy's chest told you he didn’t believe a word of your protest. “This universe, princess.” His grin turned smug. “Don’t pretend seeing me all bruised and bloodied up isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

Dammit. Roy Kent really did know you well at this point. Without thinking, you bit your lip as you gazed down at him, remembering the sight of his fists flying and blood dripping down his face. It was sexy, you admitted to yourself. And not just because it made your heart flutter to see Roy so protective of you. No, it was because he looked so wild and rough, and, fuck, his muscles had been flexing deliciously, and-

“Princess,” he drawled, bringing you out of your imagination. He took the frozen peas from your hand and placed the bag on the coffee table as he sat up. “Alright there?”

Embarrassed to have been so obviously indulging in a fantasy, you could do nothing but smile bashfully at the man who was still ridiculously beautiful, even with the black eye that he’d surely be sporting for a while. Hell, if anything, it managed to make him look even more gorgeous than he already was.

Not bothering to answer his question, you pulled yourself onto his lap, straddling him and nudging his cheek with your nose. “Maybe it was a little attractive,” you murmured as you pressed a slow kiss to his neck. “But only a little.”

“Sure.” His hands found your waist, tugging you closer until your chest was pressed to his. “Only a little.”

His mouth met yours with ease, the way it had all summer, sweet and soft and familiar. You melted against him and gave the softest grind over him, still rational enough to want to be careful with your injured boyfriend. But that rationality didn’t stick around for long, not when his tongue flicked against your lip. Your lips parted for him, letting out a little groan when his tongue began to brush against yours. When his hands began to slide lower, lower, until they gripped your ass tightly, you knew you had lost the battle to see who would keep their cool the longest.

But spending your evening in Roy Kent’s bed was a hell of a consolation prize.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent@itswhateveripromise@slaymybreathaway@darkmagazineblaze@larascorneroftheworld@infinetlyforgotten@caught-the-feels@rae4725@sisinever@cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782@dd122004dd@veryprairieberry@spacecluster@dark-academia-slut@her-fandom-sanctum@wosokirby@mmmgl29@aadu2173 @her-fandom-sanctum @wosokirby @mmmgl29 @honey-dew-woo @harpsichord93 @samstopsecrets @wosokirby @kitcat599 @emma-is-a-nerd @amieinghigh @sisinever @jeffswh0re @radiantactions @esw1012 

[balrogballs]

elf speed-portraits part 1

nerdanel - 25 minutes.

graphite, i went over her hair with a red marker

rendered relatively swiftly, i even had five minutes left over to do a little pattern around her. convenient queen.

took me barely any time to find her little smile. she really said “i will not make your life difficult, balls my beloved”

leave your lover, leave him for me

fëanor – 32 minutes.

the man is one of my top five blorbos but he has displayed classic fëanorian behaviour and proved IMPOSSIBLE to pin down proportions in a timely manner to the point i had to take two extra minutes or else i’d leave him entirely bald at the top and he’d idk come eat me in my sleep or some shit. spider ass mf.

i was so annoyed with this i had to slap down a bunch of cute headcanons or else i would have taken this and just eaten the paper like a cow.

attempted fëanorian inventiveness by using charcoal, a medium still very new to me that i take forever to render anything with. much like the time fëanor tried to invent anal beads, the experiment in speed failed completely.

i want to kick his ass.

i am trying to get better at rendering faces fast because i take 2-3 hours for every decent portrait, so have decided to practice by drawing elves in 30 minutes (or, if you’re like fucking fëanor, 32 minutes). feel free to suggest your blorbo and i will add them to the list ✨ these were suggested by @erendur @astral-aromance @sallysavestheday

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

“Something cute” won the poll for what I should do for my 100 followers special, so I tried to come up with something pretty dang cute~

Various jjba characters x reader in: Artsy Date

Drawing each other sounded like a great date idea at the time.

Content: nothing really beyond a bit suggestive

Characters: Joseph Joestar (Part 2), Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli, DIO, Rohan Kishibe, Jotaro Kujo (part 4), Yoshikage Kira, Guido Mista, Bruno Bucciarati, Leone Abbacchio, Diavolo, Jolyne Cujoh, Johnny Joestar, Gyro Zeppeli, Diego Brando

Joseph Joestar: Oh he was QUITE confident in his ability to capture your essence on paper. And no matter how you insisted this was only for fun, not a competition, he was determined to be better at this than you. And he even tries to sabotage you, just a bit, by doing a hard pose to draw when it’s your turn to sketch him.

He IS fun to model for though, flirting with you while he directed you on how to pose for him. For a moment you almost feel like an actual professional model with the way he plays it up. He even makes a camera click noise with his mouth when he’s finally happy with your pose.

He works pretty quickly, talking out loud to himself as he goes, occasionally holding up his handiwork so he can compare it to you.

“Tell me how much you love it.”

He says it SO confidently given how…unimpressive his art skills are…

I mean…you can definitely tell it’s you. Because the character he drew has your outfit. But it’s a bit exaggerated proportion wise and he REALLY cannot draw faces to save his life wow-

“Is that my…nose?”

He’s a bit offended. “NO, that’s your mouth. This is your nose.”

You squint when he points to a spot on the drawing but you don’t really know what he’s pointing to.

But you’ll treasure it forever, you had so much fun being his model and doodling each other. And he quite enjoyed modeling for you, too, very happy to have a sketch of himself drawn by you. You drew him winking with a smug smirk on his face while in that stupidly complicated pose he decided to do despite your protests.

It’s unmistakably Joseph Joestar.

Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli: He loves this idea, but takes it SUPER seriously. He has you very carefully posed, and really takes his time illustrating you to the best of his ability. He even uses watercolors to add to your “inherent elegance” as he calls it.

When you finally get to see it…

It’s a bit amateurish, but still quite impressive, though he totally exaggerated your grace and poise. Your clothes flow in the wind as you pose delicately by a fountain…he definitely took some artistic liberties because there wasn’t any wind when you posed for him, and your outfit wasn’t THAT pristine, but it’s a lovely portrait, and you can’t help but smile learning Caesar really sees you as such a graceful and lovely person.

You feel yours isn’t nearly as grand in comparison, as you drew him much more casually, resting with his chin on his hand, looking quiet and contemplative. He adores every gift you give him, but something this personal is especially wonderful to him.

But you’re a bit embarrassed to see he went through the trouble of framing your drawing of him…sheesh Caesar…he’s so extra sometimes…

DIO: He could maybe make some free time for you in his evenings to indulge in the fine arts. You’re not sure if you’re surprised or unsurprised he actually takes a bit of interest in such things. You want to draw him? He’s happy to indulge you.

You’re off to a strong start because you have to hastily tell him he doesn’t have to take off all his clothes, you’re not making THAT kind of drawing-this was supposed to be cute!! Just pose nicely!

He can’t help himself and goes with something pretty provocative, but whatever. At least your drawing is gonna reflect his personality well.

He’s not opposed to drawing you in turn but he’s bossy just for the sake of it. He wants you to pose a certain way and if you move at all he swore he was going to stop immediately. And he was a man of empty promises, but not empty threats, so you held as still as you could manage, a bit embarrassed at the pose he demanded of you. He chides you a bit for acting surprised that his sketch of you actually looks really good.

You, posed with your arm on your own shoulder, and your head tilted so your neck is very exposed and you are surrounded by darkness. It’s a beautiful sketch, done quickly, and he has signed his name in big letters right on the drawing of you. Such a Dio thing to do. You understand even clearer how he feels about you.

He thinks you should consider it a generous gift that he deigned to waste his time illustrating you, so you’d better treasure that half-hearted sketch he’s made for you.

He has no interest in taking great care of your sketch of him though. It will be tucked away in a book somewhere and promptly forgotten about, but if you were to suggest another drawing session while he was in a pleasant mood he might not refuse.

Rohan Kishibe: Only AFTER suggesting it did you realize perhaps it was not such a good idea.

Rohan was a Very Fast artist. As soon as you suggested it he had an amazing illustration of you done in five seconds flat. You tried to explain it completely defeated the point to go so fast, and that you were supposed to pose for him at least while he drew you!

Well…he doesn’t really see the point in that. But it’s not like he’s swamped with work so…he will try to indulge you if it would make you happy.

You ask him what pose you should do and he says you can do whatever you want because he could replicate it accurately.

Once again defeating the point but whatever.

You try to do a cute pose in the hopes you can convey your romantic intent with this activity. All he does is quirk an eyebrow at you and mutter that your pose looks a bit uncomfortable to hold, but that he’ll be quick so it’ll be fine.

You sigh. He was so unromantic. You were posing SO cutely and he STILL wasn’t getting it.

His illustration of you is professional, even inked and colored with markers, and it only took him a few seconds. You’re posed draped across the couch, with your arms spread and your legs bent to give the appearance of stretching charmingly.

He narrows his eyes in confusion when you proclaim it is his turn now. Apparently he wasn’t listening very closely to how this was supposed to work.

He doesn’t want to pose so you can draw him! That’s boring. He could be doing something else. This really isn’t supposed to be an argument, so you suggest he reads a book or something so he’s not entirely “wasting his time” while you draw him.

He’s grumpy about it, but relents. As long as you promise to be quick.

He just quietly reads in his chair while you doodle him. It’s awkward and not nearly as romantic as you were hoping for, but you’re pretty happy with how your sketch of him turned out.

He doesn’t have much to say on your drawing, quick to excuse himself so he can finally go back to doing whatever he was doing before you interrupted him with this date idea of yours.

But he loves it very much, and keeps it safe in his studio, but he’ll be a bit of a brat about it if you ask because he’s embarrassed to admit it makes him feel good.

Jotaro Kujo: He’s decent at drawing, but only animals, not so much people. But if you’re both not busy one evening then fine, might as well.

He tells you to keep your expectations low, but you’re just glad to finally be spending some quality time with him. He’s not the easiest man to schedule time with, always busy with something.

His drawing of you is simplistic but recognizable, since he knew he’d struggle with detail and it’d just end up bad if he tried.

You love it! It’s rare for him to do anything like this for you, so the drawing is very dear for you, regardless of how he insists it’s not anything to be so excited about. He doesn’t really say anything, but he’s glad it makes you happy, even though he doesn’t feel like he did much.

You accidentally draw his hat too big when it’s your turn to draw him, but otherwise you think it looks pretty cool. You tried to capture the coolness of his white jacket blowing in the wind. You can’t really tell if he likes it, but he ends up folding your sketch nicely and keeping it safe somewhere, so you like to think he enjoyed this little bonding activity.

Yoshikage Kira: UGH, you’re not sure what you were expecting. The drawing he makes of you is…interesting. You’re recognizable, slightly above stick figure status…but he put a Very noticeable emphasis on your hands, putting much more effort into them than anything else in the drawing. The more you look at it the more you realize it’s just a really low-quality imitation of the Mona Lisa. Now you understand the purpose of the pose he suggested. But he seemed to moderately enjoy himself, so…Success, you suppose.

He’ll cooperate and pose for you as long as it doesn’t take too long.

You go for something casual, his pointer finger against his cheek, his other fingers against his chin. Relaxed, but stylish.

He thanks you for the drawing and tucks it away somewhere. It’s safe, but out of mind.

He doesn’t really care if you keep ahold of his drawing of you though. You’re free to do whatever you want with it, he’s not an artist so he understands if you don’t want to keep it, it didn’t take that much effort to draw anyways.

You keep it for a bit but eventually lose track of it. It’s pretty funny when you accidentally stumble across it after it disappeared for a long time. Oh yeah. That weird drawing Yoshikage did of you where he only tried when he was sketching your hands. You had forgotten about that. For good reason.

Guido Mista: He’s definitely not an artist but if you don’t care about how it turns out and just wanna spend time with him through this activity then he’s totally down.

The bullets end up wanting to draw you too so…you end up with a lot of poorly drawn portraits of yourself. Honestly you couldn’t pick out Mista’s drawing from the bullets’. How do they all draw the same way…

All the drawings of you are pretty much just stick figures with very large heads. He said he wanted to capture your facial features accurately so he had to make your head bigger. More room for the eyes. Yeah he’s definitely not taking this too seriously but you expected as much from him. So to counter him, you draw him poorly as well, and then all of the bullets large and in as much detail as you can manage.

He pretends to be offended by it. “Why’d you draw my eyes so big?!” he asks. Because beyond his sense of fashion his deep dark eyes are his most notable feature! Duh.

He ends up losing the drawing on accident within a week but! The important part was how fun it was! The finished products weren’t that important-

Please don’t be mad at him-

Bruno Bucciarati: He thinks it’s a lovely way to spend some time together, so he does what he can to clear his afternoon so he can spend it with you. He starts by saying he’s not an artist so don’t expect too much from him, but his brow furrows in concentration once you’ve assumed a pose you thought he’d like. You go for something cute but

stylish, sitting with one leg up and your other outstretched along the couch elegantly.

His drawing of you is cute. Soft lines and very simple, mostly just capturing your pose than any other details, with dots for eyes because he claims he cannot draw eyes for the life of him. It’s sweet, surprisingly adorable for the serious capo. He tells you not to show his gang though, or he’ll never hear the end of it.

You embarrass yourself a bit when it’s your turn, because you spent a very long time concentrated on his chest trying to get his tattoo accurate. And he’s not helping with his flirty little remark where he suggests you could probably see a little better if you sat closer to him. And then pat his own lap.

It totally breaks your concentration, so you decide your drawing of him is now finished, handing it over to him before he can fluster you any further.

He thinks it’s lovely, and he promises to take care of it, and make even more of an effort to carve out some free time to spend with you, even if it’s just half an hour or so.

He’s already planning a date he can surprise you with next time.

Leone Abbacchio: He’s not one for sweet romantic gestures, so he pushes back a bit, but if you nag him he’ll give in pretty quickly. It’s not like you’re asking him to do something he really hates doing, and he has a particular weakness for you…so fine. But just this once.

He’ll hold still so you can sketch him, but only for ten minutes, and he gets to choose the pose.

At least the pose he chooses looks nice. Despite his jaded personality, he’s a pretty and elegant looking man. You draw a side profile of him, his expression that usual impassive frown, but his features have a sort of rugged grace.

When you slide your masterpiece over to him, he exhales through his nose so he can maintain that grouchy persona, but he’s gentle when he actually takes the drawing from you.

When it’s his turn to draw you, he works quickly and silently, not even looking at you, which leads you to think he’s still unhappy about being asked to do this.

He won’t admit it but he didn’t look at you because he didn’t have to. He’s replayed memories of you through Moody Blues enough times to have your face memorized.

You weren’t expecting much when he casually slid the piece of paper over to you.

But when you look, you can’t help the way your jaw drops. A side profile of you that mirrors the one you drew of him. Drawn amazingly well. It’s accurate, elegant, surprisingly soft…he’s even sketched a few flowers alongside you to make the piece more aesthetically pleasing.

The way you stare makes him embarrassed, and he ends up biting out that if you didn’t like it you should just throw it away.

You respond by clutching it protectively against your chest. It just makes him more embarrassed to know you’re going to be clinging to that thing for a while. There’s really no winning with him-

WHATEVER.

You can do whatever you want with it, but do NOT show that off to Mista, Narancia and ESPECIALLY NOT Giorno (not that Giorno would tease him, but the mortifying idea of that blond knowing ANYTHING about him makes Leone feel ill).

Once enough time has passed, you can start convincing him to make a few quick sketches for you, since they make you happy for whatever reason, and unfortunately for him he loves making you happy even if that means dropping the apathetic gangster disposition for a moment.

Ghiaccio: You thought that you had finally found something that was relaxing for both of you and wouldn’t completely frustrate him and result in him losing his temper. Again.

Turns out you were incorrect. Again.

Firstly he’s not a fan of sitting still. He’ll sit in one spot for you, but he’s tapping his foot the whole time and fiddling with his phone. So you try to go as fast as you can before he gets too impatient with just sitting there waiting for his turn to draw you.

It turns out a little bit rushed, but you feel like you captured his look pretty well, even adding some red to his glasses and shoes for a splash of color.

But when it’s his turn to draw you…he starts getting frustrated fast. He keeps erasing and starting over, the poor paper getting smudged and wrinkled into oblivion, and eventually he gets mad enough to stop when he accidentally rips through the paper with his pencil.

He shouts a slew of Italian curse words before saying he’s done with this stupid date, slamming the sketchbook onto the table in front of you and storming off in a huff of embarrassment at how poorly the drawing turned out.

Well that went great.

His drawing is honestly pretty cute, the condition of the paper and the eraser smudges and rips tell quite a story…

Because of how crumpled the paper turned out it kinda looks like the hastily drawn version of you got hit by a frying pan or electrocuted by a lightning bolt, but you still like it. It was nice of him to at least entertain your idea, even though it ended up frustrating him.

Diavolo: Draw him? NO.

Not a CHANCE in HELL.

Remove that idea from your mind immediately and never bring it up again. He will not allow even one vague sketch of him to be made, and if you do it anyways he will not forgive you.

Really you should’ve expected that reaction. What were you thinking with that one…?

But if you irritate him enough about it, he’ll Eventually get fed up and tell you to sit down and hold still. If all he has to do to get you to stop whining was sketch you, then FINE. He’ll sketch you.

Stop squirming in your seat and squealing with excitement…you’re giving him a headache.

You try to hold still for him.

He radiates irritation at having to do this, his gaze intense and the strokes of his pencil harsh and deliberate.

“There.”

He tosses the sketchbook over to you and promptly gets up and leaves before he has to hear your feedback.

It’s pretty good actually. A little rough since he drew it while in a particularly foul mood, but if he actually tried he could really make something nice.

If you tell him you love what he drew for you he’ll dismiss your compliment immediately. He doesn’t care about his art skills, he has much bigger things to concern himself with than sitting around sketching his partner whenever they begged him for that kind of attention.

Jolyne Cujoh: At first she thinks it’s a super cute and romantic date idea, so she’s eager to try it with you.

She does a cool pose for you, elegant but powerful, and she tries to hold it for you but it ended up not being the easiest pose to hold so you have to work fast. She ends up having to stretch after that painful pose, and even though you feel a bit bad listening to her complain about how she pulled a muscle doing that, it’s hard not to enjoy how she rolls her shoulders to loosen them.

She says it was totally worth it because she loves your sketch of her. You better believe she’s going to take good care of it, even if you say it’s not good because you had to rush it. Too late. She’s not giving it back. You’ll have to fight her for it, and you know from experience you’re not winning if you try playfully roughhousing with her.

When it’s her turn to draw you, she pretends to be highly concentrated and serious, but she ends up feeling a bit embarrassed when she actually finishes her sketch of you.

It’s not bad at all, very cute, and she gave you sparkly anime eyes since they’re the only type of eye she knows how to draw. The proportions aren’t perfect, your head looks kinda big compared to your body, and it’s pretty simple, but in a way where you could claim it was a stylistic choice and not on accident.

If you really insist you love it she’ll be slightly less embarrassed, but don’t go showing that around to everyone! It’s for your eyes only!

She signs it for you with a playful green lipstick stain.

But seriously. Don’t show it around.

Johnny Joestar: Usually you’re both too tired by the time you’re setting up camp when it starts getting dark during the SBR to think about doing anything cute with each other.

But one evening you have an extra burst of energy, and there’s juuust enough light by the fire to do a sketch of Johnny.

Well, if you want to. He’s not ready to fall asleep yet so you might as well.

You really wanna capture his intense eyes. So you don’t make him do anything in particular except look at you on occasion so you can make sure you’re getting his face right.

It turns out okay. At least you got the eyes right. He doesn’t really know how to react beyond just thanking you and tucking the drawing away. The two of you can only hope nothing happens to it, but it can’t be helped with all the action during this race if your drawing ended up destroyed.

When it’s his turn to draw you, he’s quiet and concentrated, occasionally glancing up at you for accuracy’s sake but otherwise he seems to know what he’s doing, to your surprise.

“I think it turned out alright,” he comments, handing it over to you after signing it with a little star with two J’s in it.

It’s a bit of an understatement, even in the darkness with only the light of the fire to see, he captured an amazing amount of detail. You, sitting contemplatively by the fire, shadows dancing across your face with the flickering of the flames…and he got the scenery really accurate.

“Do you like drawing landscapes, Johnny?”

His sketch of your surroundings was done remarkably skillfully.

He shrugs, but then thinks about it for a moment before saying yeah, landscapes were more enjoyable to draw for him. You have to slow down a bit to capture the details of your surroundings accurately in a drawing so…perhaps he likes the change of pace every once in a while.

Gyro Zeppeli: He acts sooo confident despite knowing full well that he cannot draw people. And he’s a bit of a menace to you, since you said this was only for fun and nothing to take too seriously, then surely you don’t mind him constantly moving around and striking different poses and making weird jokes. If he was going to be ridiculous then FINE, you would draw him ridiculous.

You confidently declare your drawing is quite flattering and then spin your paper around to show him a half-hearted attempt at a sketch of him lying on his side with a rose between his teeth, surrounded by hearts. You’ve purposefully given him a tiny head so it looks silly.

He takes it as a personal challenge, declaring it was his turn so you’d better be ready. While he’s drawing you, you pretend to fall asleep like he was boring you.

You were expecting his drawing to be unprofessional but at least recognizable. When he confidently hands you back what he’s drawn you genuinely aren’t sure what you’re looking at.

“This is me?”

“YES, see this is your hair, and these are your arms…” he explains the drawing to you but can’t help the occasional laugh that escapes. So he WAS messing with you with this incomprehensible scribble he presented you with.

“You really captured my essence,” you say, holding the picture up next to your face to compare them.

“Like you have a twin,” he declares, accompanied by his signature laugh.

He’s such a TEASE sometimes-

Diego Brando: He’s really struggling to grasp the idea that this is just for fun and isn’t supposed to be super serious, because as soon as he’s done posing for you he’s hovering over your shoulder while you draw and backseat sketching for you. He’s like ‘oh my hair should be a little longer, you got my nose shape wrong, that’s not how my eyes look, etc.’

Ok Diego why don’t you draw yourself if you know so much about art, sheesh-

Even if you say that as a joke he might actually end up plucking the sketchbook and pencil from you and finishing it himself so it’s to his likeness. You find it a bit irritating that he’s actually pretty good at art and his additions to your drawing of him really make the piece come together. So annoying. How dare he be innately talented at drawing?

AND just to show off he makes you do a complex pose when it’s his turn to draw you. He ends up capturing it and your appearance on paper wonderfully.

You look great sketched by him, due to the pose he chose it almost looks like you’re in the middle of a dance, a sense of movement that made you look graceful and powerful. Just the type of thing Diego liked in his partners.

You’ve been a bit idealized in his drawing, not to your surprise, but you’re quite fond of it anyways. You make a point of not laying on the praise too thick though. Otherwise it would go to his head, and the last thing he needs is an even bigger ego.

-

Which Jojo character would you want to draw you? Personally I’d love a Rohan original but. I actually think DIO’s art style would be aesthetically pleasing to me-

[cripplecharacters]

Hey your recent post about not using sign names and no longer answering those asks reminded me of something!

I have a story where robots who aren't wanted by the company that made them, for whatever reason, 'scraps' them by just ditching them in an underground warehouse

The robots are fully sentient and sapient, and are still active after being sent to this warehouse

They have no outside support or healthcare, with limited ability to self-repair

This basically means as time goes on, disabilities become more and more common and are usually very well accepted

I've had them develop a sort of culture of their own down there

All robots have pre-programmed sign language capabilities (I try to describe or draw specifically BSL to the best of my abilities for this)

Signing would first be used by a robot with speech problems, and then tinnitus/moderate deafness in one ear

Other robots would also naturally develop hearing loss and speech issues too

Being isolated from the outside world, their culture and language would develop independently from it

So that would most likely include new sign words for things they didn't have words for, or didn't know before

Do you have any advice on how I could represent this difference in writing?

I have ideas for this, but as I'm not deaf/Deaf or hard of hearing, this isn't something I have experience with

I was thinking the character could just ask what the word meant and repeat the sign, and the other person fingerspelling the word for them

I would love some advice on it!

And also any ideas or suggestions for things to include in the Deaf culture of this place? Or any disability culture aspects that might be cool to have?

(Not all the disabled characters are in this warehouse, it just happens to be where a lot of them are given the whole thing where they have very little access to repairs)

Thank you for any time you give this in advance!!!

~@monty-glasses-roxy (I can't send asks from a sideblog :()

Hi!

This sounds like how sign languages naturally develop. Sign languages have regional variation, so it's possible your non-robot signing characters will regard the robots' unfamiliar signs as regional variations they haven't seen before.

The robots may also start inventing new methods of sign language or communication if other disabilities that may impact signing ability (e.g., limb loss, loss of dexterity/hand function, etc.) are also common.

In terms of representing the difference, I'm not a huge fan of describing or drawing signs since they're often wrong. I think it's easiest for your BSL users to simply note that the robots use an unfamiliar sign and then ask them what it means.

Mod Rock

[signanothername]

UT/UTMV silly asks Masterpost (part 2)

All Masterposts

This will only include silly asks

*tip! Those in red text will contain an explicit discussion/visual display of some sort of trigger/content warning, these could be blood, emotional or physical abuse, emotional manipulation, death, self destructive behaviors, implied or discussed suicidal ideation, suggestive content or other sensitive topics

*tip! Those in orange text will contain an implied or mentioned trigger/content warning but no explicit discussion/visual display

*tip! Asks with 💬 are without art, only text

Let me know if I missed color coding anything :)

Nightmare gives me the vide he would drop kick a child 💬

Offerings notes 💬

I just want to pick up Nightmare like a scared kitten, even if he's going to claw my face off

On the topic of Nightmare being picked up by the scruff like a cat, may I present the hilarious idea of Error doing so?

If someone had found baby corrupted nightmare and taken him in, raised him, like, say for example, blue, how differently do you think everything would have ended up?

Dream being terrified of crowds. 💬

i glanced at the caption of your most recent post and thought it said family guy

Killer can speak French

I was wondering if you'd ever made your own UT au? Or if you were ever planning to :>

yk I've always hear people thinking horror wouldn't be apart of the bad sanses and I just have to say; HE 100% WOULD?? 💬

Killer's SOUL being able to hypnotize

Nightmare when his henchman suddenly collapses next to him

What's your opinion on the headcannon that dream smokes?💬

That fic you dropped was devastatingly bittersweet💬

I saw you reblogged a Killer art where he had an ectobody and it made me realise I don't think i ever saw you mention those? Like, do you headcanon they exist ? Or nah.💬

The Throne 💬

Favorite AUs?💬

Aliza

Opinions on passive nightmare?

How do you feel about lust sans? 💬

Just seeing the way you draw cross makes me feel taller than him for some reason💬

I love BPD Killer personally💬

BPD Killer💬

Wait is killer not wearing pants in the latest drawing or am I looking at it wrong

[doubledeadstudio]

Hey! Hope you’re having a great day

My question is that for any/ all of your games, do you have any cut content? As in like, events, concepts, characters, backgrounds, dialogue, etc etc that were originally meant to be in the game but for one reason or another was cut out from the final product? If so, why were they cut?

This question is deeply exciting to me, and the answer is: Tons and tons. (I won't mention the ones that could be spoilery about future plot developments.)

Reanimated Heart

Cut content:

I think the most memorable one is Black's HATE tattoo around his collarbones. As I developed the game, I started disliking the design, so I switched to seraph wings. A lot of people wanted it back, so I moved it to his abs.

Got a lot of complaints about the usage of "guy/dude" in a gender neutral way from women, lol. I just scrubbed most of those instances from the script now.

Florentin was supposed to be the 4th LI in Reanimated Heart. He was supposed to be the doctor that had the potion to reanimate Black. I still wanted to do something with him, so you got Pygmalion's Folly. (This was so early on that there isn't even concept art.)

Another early concept thing... You were supposed to be able to choose from three different backgrounds for the MC, like you were a former criminal, etc. I thought it was restrictive, so I cut it early.

Crux had a rotating last name for a while, hence why he didn't have a last name on the Itch page, lol. He's the kid of two OCs, but I didn't like the last name Knight for him? I didn't think it was fitting. I like the current one.

Vin's second romance scene was already pre-written. MC was supposed to have nightmares about him. I thought it was pretty unexciting, so I re-did it to the current one, which I'm extremely proud of.

Crux's third romance scene was supposed to be the "date", and he takes MC to an abandoned theme park. I then realized I didn't want to draw an abandoned theme park for one romance scene.

Crux's "date" scene was supposed to be him taking MC at a cafe and interrogating them and remembering all their answers in a really dynamic sort of way? I didn't think it was worth it to code, so I scrapped it.

I was going to do a point and click feature where random scenes would have something "hidden" in the background, and they'd be part of an easter egg hunt that your chosen LI will give you. That was too weird to code, so I scrapped it.

I got suggested an animal sidekick that gives you hints and stuff... I played with the idea for a bit, but decided it didn't fit the tone.

Content I might cut in the future:

Redoing the prologue. "Might" is an understatement. I'll be redoing it in a more simplified manner, which is easier to read.

I'm really thinking of cutting the MC character creator. Most of the complaints I get are from people demanding different, really specific skin tones. One of them even hatebombed my other games. Not great.

It's hard to get in contact with my programmer, so I'm thinking of lessening the item shop's presence in the future or redoing it entirely. It's sad to lose the beautiful current iteration, but I just don't know how to code it myself.

Might change the Chapter 1 title and art...

Another Rose in His Garden

Cut Content:

There was going to be a "Cheating" route with Abel and Calvin where you end up with Calvin, and he traps Abel in his office and start removing his body parts and replacing them with mechanical parts. That was a wild one, lmao.

Pygmalion's Folly

Cut Content:

Originally, I was going to have Emily specifically be a third ghoul... but I couldn't really justify that, honestly.

There was supposed to be a part where MC could call his police station by stealing his/Flor's phone, but I thought it was a boring ending.

There was supposed to be a vivisection sex scene but I couldn't justify it with the short time frame. Maybe the DLC?

[ditsycafe]

the devils temptation | k.s

pairings : kim sunoo x fem!reader

genre : suggestive

warnings : mafia boss’s daughter!au, detective!sunoo, mention of jake sim, drugs,

summary : Agent Kim Sunoo, a dedicated investigator, finally gets a break in his case against infamous mafia boss jake sim when his daughter, Y/N sim, is arrested at the scene of a drug trade. Confident that he can use her to bring down her father’s empire, Sunoo interrogates her—only to find himself caught in a dangerous game of seduction and deception.

word count : 541 (small scenario)

a/n : do not in any way plagiarise, translate my work to another language or claim my work as your own.

Kim Sunoo had seen his fair share of criminals—men who killed without blinking, women who ran scams that could bankrupt a nation. But nothing had prepared him for her.

Y/N Sim.

Daughter of Jake Sims, the most feared mafia boss in the city. The kind of man whose name sent shivers down the spines of politicians, police chiefs, and rival gangs alike. A man who had evaded justice for years, slipping through the cracks like smoke.

But today, his precious daughter was in Sunoo’s custody.

She sat across from him in the dimly lit interrogation room, her hands cuffed to the metal table, her long nails tapping rhythmically against the surface. She wasn’t panicked. She wasn’t angry. If anything, she looked amused.

“Agent Kim Sunoo,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sunoo folded his arms, keeping his expression neutral. “That’s funny. You weren’t exactly on my radar.”

She smirked. “Well, you should have been. I’m very… persuasive.”

He ignored the way her voice sent a shiver down his spine. He had a job to do.

“We found you at the scene of the drug trade. You were there. You saw what happened. That makes you an accomplice.”

Y/N tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming. “You say accomplice, I say innocent bystander.” She leaned forward, her chained wrists barely allowing her movement. “Do I look like I’d be handling drugs, Sunoo?

Sunoo forced himself to keep his gaze steady. She did look out of place in that world—dressed in an elegant black dress, her perfume expensive, her posture poised. But that made her even more dangerous. She wasn’t just Jake Sims’ daughter; she was his secret weapon.

“You were in the middle of a crime scene,” Sunoo stated. “I can hold you here for 48 hours while I dig through your past. And trust me, I will find something.”

Y/N exhaled dramatically. “So serious.” She leaned back, letting the tension simmer between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, she smiled.

“I can help you,” she murmured.

Sunoo frowned. “Help me?”

She nodded. “You want my father, don’t you? You want to put an end to his empire.” Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I can give you what you need.”

Sunoo studied her carefully. It was a tempting offer, but one he couldn’t trust. “Why would you betray your father?”

Y/N chuckled. “Who said anything about betrayal? I just don’t like being locked up.” She shifted in her seat, the movement drawing attention to the curve of her body. “And I think you don’t like seeing me here either.”

Sunoo clenched his jaw. He wasn’t stupid. He had seen criminals use seduction as a weapon before, but this—this was different. Y/N wasn’t just trying to get inside his head. She was already there.

“I could make this easy for both of us,” she whispered, her voice dripping with promise. “Let me go, and I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Sunoo exhaled sharply. “And how do I know you won’t run straight back to your father?”

She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Because, Agent Kim, I like playing games. And you? You’re the most interesting piece on the board.”

For the first time in his career, Sunoo hesitated.

And Y/N Sim knew she had won.

all rights to this work belongs to me @ditsycafe.

[bucketofbugz]

just like how I react to the tpot episodes, I'm gonna live react to the new subscriber special. for funsies

under the cut, for spoilers

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT LEAVE THEM ALONE?????

LOOK AT THEM????

"it's the literal apocalypse!" WHAT IS GOING ON??????

also implications that the other Algebraliens do have powers that we just haven't seen yet... interesting interesting also glad to see Ten's recovered from Fourteen eating their skin

oh hello Fourteen!!!! my silly!!!!!! my creature!!!!!! .. don't eat Ten's skin again. please.

funky guy honestly kinda loving this Zero they're funny I know I got mad at them for being mean to the other Zero but it's okay we can forgive them.

"I love not going to Zero's bunker" "come to Zero's bunker!!" "I'm highly suggestible!" .. me too Seven me too

I love Fourteen so much look at them

Oh no they're just gonna be a bunch of tapes embarrassing the Zero with a hat, aren't they? also look at their face that's adorable.

"The floor is lava now" "wow."

such great reactions you two. so engaging. anyway I am SO excited to see Two interact with the other numbers some more. We really only got their interactions with Fourteen (and Four, of course) so it'll be fun to see them talk to other numbers this time.

Zro how did you spell your own name wrong I'm gonna spell it like that for the entire rest of this reaction. No more e for you. also why is Twenty Four so silly. we are literally NEVER gonna see them again and I know that for a fact. I love them though. They're pink

Why would you do this to them

"lava's never burnt me before :((((" poor Two. ouchie.

"Eight I've always loved you" "what?" "like, platonically."

okay I know a lot of people are gonna immediately jump to shipping but even like. GENUINELY platonically. that's adorable. like "damn I'm gonna die. gotta tell my friend I love them". y'know?

SOMSONE GET NINE OFF THE DROP TOWER WHY IS SHE STILL UP THERE??? HELP THEM????

yeah I think they get it, Two.

ZRO. ZRO WATCH OUT. ZRO.

I don't think I wanna know what's on that tape. I don't. I really don't. Don't make me watch it. I don't wanna know what it is.

THERE'S A FIFTEEN DRAWING ON THE FRIDGE?? I feel like that's a very weird number to be there??? normally the fridge drawings are of like. four and two.

I'm not. screenshotting the tape. because I don't want Zro kissing a pillow on my computer. But. the Fifteen drawing makes sense now. Okay Zro I see you.

Seven I swear if you had the ONE tape that they were looking for.

.Seven...

I.. don't think this is gonna work.

WHAT ARE YOU???

oh look at them

ohohohoho freaky little guy. I love it.

"It.. missed me?"

"No, I just don't have any use for you. You're nothing"

hey so that's. stop it.