#though painting around the letters was quite the task

[harenodrawsthings]

Working on some new art for Otakon and drew Miss Crane! I love her character design and the event she debuted in. I wanted to draw her like being on a fashion magazine cover and based it on the style of Vogue covers from the 1920s. The croissant was in my initial sketches, and I was originally going to change it but then it grew on me. It made me think of how in the event, Miss Crane was playing up her French and trying to hide her identity. So it ended up being a little bit of a humorous detail.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Last one I swear...What If 141...had an American girlfriend and they argued or had to teach them about some cultural differences? Football/soccer...currency...bathroom/loo, etc.

You said last one but we know that's not true. Don't blame you though. Keep them coming.

I love this idea. It's so cute! Translation mixup, confusion about slang, cultural differences, etc. Even though the Brits speak English, it's nothing like American English in a lot of respects, which is why I find this prompt so fun!

Wanted to make this quick and short. Presented in four drabbles. Enjoy!!

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

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings: brief swearing, brief mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 400

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

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Those are cookies, Kyle.”

“It’s a biscuit.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “A biscuit is savory. Cookies are sweet.”

“Your biscuit is a scone.”

“Oh my god,” you groan.

An old lady navigates around the two of you inside the grocery store. Her cart almost clips you.

Kyle glances down at the list in his hands. “What the fuck is an eggplant?”

“We need it for dinner on Tuesday.”

“But what is it?”

You point and Kyle follows. His arm drops to his side and he side-eyes you.

“That’s an aubergine.”

“That’s an aubergine,” you mimic as Kyle laughs.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The front of the pub is painted all black with intricate gold lettering. A nearby streetlamp casts the front window in a warm glow.

“Remember what I told you?” asks Simon.

You both stare at the pub, neither moving to the door just yet.

“Tell me again.”

Simon clears his throat. “If I’m buying a round, don’t offer money for your portion. Order at the bar but don’t linger. Know what you want. Respect closing time.”

He pauses and you see him turn in the reflection of the window.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it.”

“Let’s get bloody pissed then.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“You’ve got this. Don’t stress.” Johnny grasps your shoulders and squeezes. “It’ll be fine.”

“What if I mess up. Make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t,” he affirms.

“Johnny.”

He sighs and then cups the sides of your face. “You don’t have to say anything but three things.” You breathe deep, and Johnny goes in for a quick kiss. “What are they?”

“Aye,” you say. “Which means yes.”

“Naw,” and this is you emphasize with a terrible accent that makes Johnny wince, “is no.”

“What else?”

“It’s okay to use ‘fuck’ casually in a sentence.”

“That’s my girl,” laughs Johnny.

John Price

“If you’re coming to the game, you’re calling it by its proper name,” says John, pointing at you.

“What?” you ask with pretend aloofness. “Soccer?”

“Football,” he growls with annoyance.

It irritates John when you call the sport by its American name. But you do it anyway just to tease him.

John holds up a jersey. “This is important to me.”

“I know.”

“It’s a game with the boys.”

You pat his shoulder. “I know, John.”

He sighs. “What is it called?”

You remain quite and John arches an eyebrow.

“Soccer,” you answer, grinning.

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@taysarchive @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[yumenoberu]

She’s a Teaser

Kyoya Ootori x fem!reader

summary: It’s a regular Saturday afternoon in the Ootori estate. Y/n and Kyoya, the notorious Ouran Host Club’s very own managers, silently work on the club preparations. Worn out and fatigued after hours of endless calculations and composing, someone gets distracted by a curious scene from the corner of their eye…

word count: 700 words

warnings: none!!

published: 10/18/24

author’s note: my first published fic!! who cares if it’s assessment week its not like all my projects are due and i'm back tracking my tasks— hey! duty calls when ur mind decides to plague u with fluffy OHSHC brain rot yk!! and now, my doves, please enjoy ✨🥳

‘Sitting on the foot of his couch while crunching down an endless flow of numbers and letters till the sunset. Neither of us ever spoke a word, being simply content with the comfortable silence. This was our average weekend. ’

Such was the silent arrangement Y/n and Kyoya developed over time.

The click and clacking of computer buttons overrun the comfortable silence that rang through Kyoya’s living space. The two second-years alternate between buttons on their respective keyboards, typing up an almost rhythmic stream of characters for their shared digital accounting space. Although, for one of the teens in the room, Y/n couldn’t gauge what exactly she was writing—her mind was elsewhere.

The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the monochrome walls of the Ootori estate with contrasting radiant, warm hues. They’ve been working on a proposal for the next upcoming, unequivocally extravagant, Host Club event. Accounting for the lovable, yet ever-impulsive Host King’s whims always proved to be a task of considerable difficulty.

But nothing is impossible, no? Not for the Host Club! Why, their Shadow King irresistible charm is to blame!

Y/n’s grown quite accustomed to arranging for every outlandish fantasy the eternally flamboyant, capricious Ouran Host Club’s President desired to make a reality. But man could she never get used to how exhausting the process could be.

‘We’re gonna be here for another few hours aren’t we…’

She sighs out loud, rubbing a hand on her strained eyes as she looks up from the screen, straightening her back and stretching her arms up, but not without subconsciously stealing a glance at her ‘coworker’.

Kyoya was, as she anticipated, glued to his usual spot on the couch, posture impressively as straight as a knife even after hours of sitting in the same position, and was, similarly, typing away on his computer with tired eyes with an uncharacteristic brow arched, outwardly showing his irritation at whatever was on his screen.

‘The work’s starting to take a toll on him too huh,’ She almost chuckles to herself. There was something about the sight that was so amusing to her. Perhaps witnessing his usually unwavering prim and proper facade, peel off ever so slightly was, for the lack of a better word, endearing, to her.

‘What a look.’ She thought, a playful smirk inching its way up her lips. Opening her mouth to give a teasing remark on his state, she bites her tongue, rethinking her actions.

‘But then, it always seems like more trouble than it’s worth, annoying him.’

Her puckish gaze lingered even as she relaxed the rest of her body after her little stretch. She didn’t realize she was starting to stare—being much too preoccupied by the sudden train of thoughts that cascaded across her mind at the peculiar scene.

‘Nevertheless, he always seems like he’s in a bad mood around me, wonder what his deal is…’

‘Always so condescending and cynical, not a cute look Ootori, not a cute look.’ She teased. Though inwardly, of course, she wasn’t planning on dying just yet.

She internally contemplates for a while longer, exhaling aloud through her nose, exhausted from her own ramblings. Her work, completely abandoned.

‘He’d be annoyed if he sees I’m not working… Can’t the man relax for a bit, why's he always such a grouch. That's the Shadow King for you.’ At the notion, she unintentionally let her face contort into a playful scowl.

Her inner monologue continued on, her mind jumping through hoops of arbitrary thoughts, making all sorts of faces at her disses toward the boy.

To her knowledge, he was too focused on whatever he was doing to notice she was staring at him; however, ever so clueless to the reality of things, little did Y/n know that Kyoya had noticed since the beginning.

But he didn’t mind, not in the slightest. In fact, he finds it quite amusing, cute even. Because as he recalled, just moments before, while she still wasn’t looking at him, he was doing the same thing.

He almost smiles at the thought, nevertheless as stubborn as his nature is, he suppresses it.

Then, they simultaneously fondly think to themselves,

‘What goes on in that head of yours?’

masterlist

[brokenheartsrecords]

track three: voices in the wall words: 0.7K tw: none taglist: @lxvebelle , @that-daughter-of-hephaestus find track two here

YOUR MOTHER IS A BIT TOO glad about your almost-ruined reputation. As she runs around the sitting room, planning the engagement and wedding breakfast and oh, God, the wedding night, you feel compelled to make her stop.

“Mama, what if I have a secret lover I will elope with? What will come of your planning then?”

You, in fact, do not have a secret lover. It’s not because you aren’t beautiful, it’s just that people see you more as a friend rather than a potential bride.

And, yes, you’ve rejected quite the lot of suitors because you just didn’t like them.

You can’t be blamed.

“If you had a lover, I would’ve known by now. If it weren’t for this wedding, you’d be a spinster your whole life! This is a sign from God, darling. He orchestrated this because you and Lord Hawthorne were meant to be together! It’s His holy word.”

Good luck telling Lord Hawthorne that God orchestrated this, and not me.

You know that Grayson Hawthorne thinks that you somehow created this situation, when it really couldn’t be far from the truth. You could try to break it off, but that would dishonour not just his, but your family too.

It didn’t matter how you’d break it off if the result would always be the same.

And Grayson was too much of a gentleman to break the engagement off himself.

You tried to find faults in him on the carriage ride home. Like how he was too uptight, or if he gambled (how would he gamble if he never took a stroll in society, though?). Maybe he had a secret collection of horrid paintings, or he hoarded Marie Antoinnete’s fatal guillotine? 

But you couldn’t find a single fault in your memory, unless the fault was him being too gentlemanly. And what type of fault was that?

“Tulips or lilies? I would go with lilies, but I wonder what Skye will say about that.”

And just like that, you had an idea.

“Mama, if I marry Lord Hawthorne… wouldn’t Ms. Skye be part of the family?”

Your mother stilled, a light frown pulling at her lips. “She would. But that does not matter, because all household tasks will be shifted to the Lady Hawthorne. And Lady Hawthorne would be you. Skye would hold no responsibilities in that house, child.” She came over to you and patted your hair, which you had left loose down your back. 

Slowly, your mother gathered the strands and parted them into three, beginning the foundations of a braid. “I might be too happy for your wedding, but that is because I never really thought I’d be able to attend it.” She says, her voice but a whisper. “I’m truly overjoyed for you, and you secured such a great match, too! Trust me, your marriage will be nothing like mine.”

The house was too large. Too silent. The only sounds came from outside the sitting room, where the maids were running through the staircases to prepare baths. Your mother’s husband wasn’t to be seen.

“Can I speak to Lord Hawthorne tomorrow?” You ask, trying to shift your mother’s attention.

You can hear her smile. “Of course. I’ll send a letter to Skye.”

In your room later that night, you can’t sleep. You blame it on nerves, but you know that that is not the case.

Outside, you see a light approach the stables, and it slowly disappears. 

It’s probably a stableboy walking back to the servant’s quarters, you assume.

Until you hear shuffling from the walls.

“Report.” A female voice says, and you jolt up in your bed. 

A deep breath. Not from you, but from someone else in the walls. 

“There is a wedding being arranged, madam. I know nothing more.”

The tinkling of coins, and the hard sound of them falling into someone’s hands. “Tell me more.”

The voice is soft, seductive. 

“The wedding is to the Miss. Lord Hawthorne and the Miss. They will be calling at the Hawthorne residence on the morrow. Please, that is all I know.”

“Shame.” The voice says, and you can hear the frown. “Matthias, you know what to do.”

Footsteps.

You don’t hear the second woman again.

[gingermintpepper]

Day 1: Apollo

Interpretation notes and trivia under the cut!

His interpretation for my work is based very much around the concept of his manifestation as the Radiant God of the String. Because of this, quite like Hecate, he’s triple-fold and occupies three major spaces; the string of Fate and therefore prophecy, the bowstring and therefore distance and destruction and the lyrestring and therefore music and order. He’s a somewhat melancholy figure all things considered - Fate and following Fate’s tennants is something that he struggled a lot with as a child and even now as a more mature deity, the only solution he’s truly found is to take things one day at a time. Very diligent and fastidious, he’s a hard worker and tends to put his everything into completing any task set before him which also tends to work to his disadvantage since he’s prone to becoming tunnel-visioned until he’s finished what he said he would finish. His family orchestrated his winter breaks because he had the nasty habit of working himself sick when he was still very young.

Apollo is generally represented by circles in my work - priests of Apollo will be marked with at least three circles on their face and usually wear triangular jewellry (typically earrings or necklace charms) to reflect the triple-nature of their god. His favoured colour is a rich, deep blue and while he typically wears elaborate eye paint, he rarely uses face powders. Wears gem-toned blues for his lips unless in mourning where he will leave himself unadorned and unpainted out of respect.

Some quick trivia: 

Was born identical to Artemis even though they were born (years) apart. Had brown hair, wolf’s ears and fangs and horns when he was a child but never manifested those features again after his penance for slaying Python. If he’s very stressed or angry, sometimes his fangs will show. The brown of his hair grew out to blond naturally as he developed and matured as a god.

Proficient in all instruments but has always especially preferred stringed instruments. Truly unmatched with a kithara but only uses it for special occasions and official meetings. Generally prefers his lyre for every day usage

Really good at sewing and braiding strings together due to the exercises he had to do while under the tutelage of the Moirai sisters. Can’t weave since Athena banned him from touching a loom but he does like watching her spin. The one time she caught him trying to replicate her patterns with a needle and thread, she complained to Zeus that he had broken his oath. He teases her about that even now.

Was the last of the Twelve to learn how to read and write because he hates letter systems and finds it too arbitrary. Prior to the collaboration that resulted in written letter systems, everyone was perfectly fine with remembering the important stuff and encoding the rest in artistic format such as tapestries, pottery, furniture and jewellry. Apollo himself has a truly formidable memory since he’s been composing and immortalising the events and histories of the world in song since he was very young. He finds written books very dull but Clio’s very insistent about written histories being important and convenient so reluctantly, he’s given permission for his songs and poems to be -gags- transcribed and written down.

Is only called Apollo by his parents, Artemis and Dionysus. Hermes rarely calls him by name in general and the others, including other siblings like Ares and Athena, have always called him Phoebus. Interestingly, Zeus usually calls him Phoebus but will call him Apollo when they are alone or when he’s being especially serious. Apollo is completely comfortable with either name but he does see Phoebus as a bit more formal than Apollo. (Despite his best efforts, both Calliope and Clio also still stubbornly call him Phoebus though he’s fairly sure it’s mostly because they know it bothers him.)

[twistedwonderlandwriting]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

.......................................

Wordcount:1,260 |readerx:Silver |Style:Oneshot

.......................................

I don't know why I find myself to be thinking about you. Quite often actually, it's strange that you came to mind with practically every action and every though. I've caught myself questioning even as I am doing something like cooking or reading what you would do, how you would react, if you would be there with me working together to complete such tasks, if you would be asking questions, If you would watch, or if you wond simply glance up at me from whatever you were doing and smile before looking back down at whatever occupied you attention.

I also think about how you would react to my stupid rambles if we were in person, I know it would be largely the same but for some reason the idea of being in your presence while doing so is different.

All of the things I've mentioned being my thoughts surrounding you that I've found my mind cirling more and more often.

In general I've always thought of love as something unattainable for me, much like that of a blue rose. Though whenever my thoughts lingered on the idea of love, not romance, love, my mind always saw love as a sort of commitment. Like a sense of devotion to another, but also a feeling. I had imagined that feeling to be a sense of longing, wishing just to be in their presence. Not necessarily just a crave for their though or their voice but a call deep within your soul that only ever wishes to stand beside them and feel their energy, their life beside your own.

I've thought that the summary of a relationship was not just the act of physical touch or the ability to confide in one another, but a active participant in your life, not on the side lines. Continuing to put in a effort to constantly learn more, maintain the relationship and support you, no matter how uninteresting the conversation listening because the subject makes you happy, completely disregarding the mind numbing conversation to her your genuine excitement, enthusiasm and passion. Taking the time to participate in your hobbies even if it's about as interesting as watching paint dry because it makes you happy and they love your joy

The idea of a relationship has always been in my mind the constant support of one another as you both learn and grow, making decisions together and tackling difficult situations together, building a life and a home together.

And now every time my mind wonders to these thoughts whether during writing, reading, watching a movie or listening to those soft songs that happened to worm my way into my Playlist when you came around they always drift to you. It's a path I neither realize I am walking along nor can stop till I reach my destination which is always you.

It's honestly quite pathetic how often even during the smallest of acts, tasks, and thoughs my mind lands on you. Even now Is I spontaneously write this sickeningly sweet adress of my thoughts they have all been clouded with your reaction once you read it if I ever work up the nerve to deliver this to you knowing that this stupid stupid letter is my attempt at genuinely pouring my heart out and the idea for you cringing as you read such cringing confessions making my heart squeeze a little and how I'm already prepared to make fun of my vulnerability just to keep you from being uncomfortable or having a negative thought about me.

I always told myself that high-school relationship were pointless, never going to last and honestly moronic, how foolish it was to allow someone who can barely choose what electives to hold something as precious and fragile as a heart, after all they are so easily shattered and do difficult to mend.

But honestly as I think about us, I no longer thing of a relationship bound to end in tragedy with me picking up the broken pieces and crushed fantasies due to promises that were never kept, but instead the possibility of a life we could build and the experiences we could share.

I've now found myself attached more and quicker than I ever could have anticipated and the idea terrifies me knowing that eventually you will have collected my entire heart and soul if you do not have it in your grasp already.

It keeps me awake, realizing just how genuinely comfortable I am with you, sharing information no one knows so effortlessly like second nature and how quickly I let my guard down to the point where I was able to fall asleep on call, action i have never done in front of anyone not just because I was exhausted, but your presence even through just a phone call makes me so comfortable that I sleep knowing you would never do anything to harm me.

It has become concerning to me since in the deepest crevasses of my mind I know logically the probability of us lasting long enough to do all we talk about is slim too none and the idea of it hurts. You have somehow given me hope that you actually intend on every wish you confess to me, my thoughts no longer resting on "as if that would happen" but instead on the feelings of the experience.

And here I sit as I write this, knowing fully well that if you asked me to write all this yet again on paper in my best cursive and mail it to you by a bird like a letter sent between a set of lovesick teens in the 1800's I would do so in a heart beat, if you ask for my time, for my heart or for me to stab myself I would do so in a heartbeat without question because of how devoted I have become.

Its gotten to the point where I sit around counting down the hours till I am able to speak with you once more and can identify around when you will get to school eagerly waiting by the door of your first class knowing tmyou walk you friends first before returning to your own and I wait longer for you.

Forever Yours,

Silver

[brostateexam]

I will be the first to admit I am something of a pack rat. My husband likes to throw around the word “hoarder,” but as we are not living among stacks of broken microwaves and families of raccoons, I feel the term “pack rat” is a better descriptor.

I have always been this way. Sentimental and a saver of things. Living in a shoebox-sized Brooklyn apartment (as I have for most of my adult life) can make this a troublesome habit. My husband and I have one of those bed frames that has huge storage drawers underneath, drawers that I am sure were intended for things like bed linens nestled in sachets of lavender, but into which I have crammed photos, my son’s artwork, old letters, my high school journals, and Playbills. We sleep, quite literally, on a bed of my memories, and it’s a wonder my husband’s dreams aren’t twisted visions of Oklahoma!, finger-paintings, and lovesick poems about Travis Cox, “the hottest senior boy ever.”

So recently, when my husband decided it was time we update our son’s room and replace his long, ornate baby dresser with a “big boy dresser,” I could feel myself resist. Even though I knew he was right. The old dresser had initially been selected so it could also double as an infant changing table. Considering our son is now 10 and five feet tall, he is in fact well beyond a “big boy.”

[thegreatbeargod]

smile for the camera flash / blinding / you see it all, all of creation / it stretches out just like a beautiful ballgown / a tuxedo perfectly tailored to every inch of you

Here’s a little (read: 20+ hour) painting of my (reluctant) aasimar creation bard, Peregrine Ashbridge! (Story summary under cut)

Perry spent his entire childhood in an orphanage, with no idea who his parents might have been. He proved to be quite brilliant, with a thirst for knowledge and a mind for music. He caught the attention of the orphanage’s noble patrons, the Montgomerys, when he was a teenager, and they sponsored his attendance to a bardic college, then later a medical university.

He went on to become the court physician in the Jewel, a position which ultimately led him to a romantic relationship with the crown prince, Derrick Saturn. Peregrine was mostly happy at court for some time, though gossip around his relationship with Derrick grew nearly unbearable at times and Perry’s celestial guide, Valica, had become incredibly vocal in his head, insisting he needed to follow his destiny, though she was never very clear about what that meant.

Ultimately, Peregrine lost his position in court, with no explanation as to why, though he was allowed to remain as a bard. Proud and passionate of his work as a doctor, Perry was devastated, but when he tried to seek comfort from Derrick, by then his long time partner, he was told that it wasn’t that big of a deal. This was the final straw for Perry, and he left the palace that night, leaving only a letter to Derrick behind. Unable to explain away the loss of his position and afraid it was because of faults he didn’t realize, he gave up his work as a doctor completely, instead traveling the continent of Jurannas as a wandering bard.

Now, two years later, Peregrine has been hired by the captain of the royal guard as part of a team of adventurers tasked with protecting the newly crowned King Derrick Saturn from a mysterious threat from the feywild. After successfully protecting the king from an attempt on his life and learning that Countess Rosamund Montgomery was killed by a fey assassin, things were already looking bleak for Peregrine.

Then he found out that Derrick was directly involved in removing him from his position two years ago, in preparation for a marriage proposal. Conflicted, but ultimately feeling even more betrayed than he had originally, while mourning the woman who was the closest thing he’s had to a mother, carefully navigating a quickly blossoming crush on a coworker, and trying to ignore Valica, Perry barely has a grip on his composure.

Of course, now his party has been sent into the feywild to further investigate the threat to the king. What could possibly go wrong?

[mooncaps]

Okay, freeing up time by skipping the opening title sequence. We love to see it.

Why delegate this task? Is he not capable of doing it himself or does he just want to test Lilith’s loyalty?

So we’re just gonna leave this as a dangling thread? Even after setting up that thing with “Luz’s” letters? Okay, I guess. I’m glad I already know there’s another season.

Welp. That complicates things. How are they gonna get around that?

I’m betting that’s gonna be important since they’re emphasizing it like this.

Okay, big cliffhangers all around, I guess. Bold choice for the first season of a show, especially one that just introduced a wlw romance on the Disney Channel. Obviously it worked out, but that seems like quite a gamble.

Definitely loving this show. It’s got a lot of charm, which I suppose is appropriate for a show about witches. The characters have been my primary focus, but they’ve been steadily building up enough lore details to pique my curiosity in that direction as well.

I think it’s narratively rich that the story starts with this concept of Luz being forced into conformity and then even though she ends up in a magical fantasy world, it’s still a world where the wildest outsiders are punished. It’s like this metaphor where the conformatorium is like the summer camp she doesn’t want to go to, just with a fantasy coat of paint over it. (I swear if they pull an “it was all in her mind” twist, I will be furious.) There are probably many more layers to it, but these are just my first thoughts on the topic.

Anyway, definitely looking forward to starting in on Season 2.

[zoeisabelladaily]

Drog Barrelbelly

Dear Diary,

Today brought a whirlwind of unexpected events and revelations, leaving me feeling both bewildered and intrigued by the mysteries that seem to unfold around me at every turn.

The morning started with a sense of curiosity as I made my way to the Great Hall for breakfast. However, my attention was quickly captured by the sight of Aric, accompanied by a new acquaintance — a girl named Mara Marlowe. I couldn’t help but wonder about their connection and what it might mean for our circle of friends.

My concern deepened when I realized that Albert was nowhere to be found. I searched the library, hoping to find him among the bookshelves, but he was conspicuously absent. As I perused the shelves, a strange sensation tugged at my senses, drawing me toward the back of the room. It was there that I stumbled upon a series of hidden doors, each leading deeper into the unknown recesses of the library.

Driven by a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, I ventured through the labyrinthine passages, my heart pounding with every step. Each door seemed to lead to another, until finally, I found myself standing in a dark and foreboding chamber filled with the anguished cries of unseen voices. The cacophony was deafening, and I felt a chill run down my spine as I hastily retreated back to the safety of the library.

Outside the gates, I encountered Mara Marlowe once again, who informed me that Headmistress Ravenscroft had summoned Albert and Lilith to her office. Aric’s presence only added to my sense of unease, as he hinted at tensions brewing beneath the surface of our seemingly tranquil school life. His words about Lilith belonging to a prisoner left me feeling unsettled, though I couldn’t quite grasp the full meaning behind his cryptic insinuations.

Later, Albert met me at the riverside and shared that the headmistress had tasked him and Lilith with representing the school at the upcoming Magus Meet. He explained that this gathering would allow them to gain valuable insights into the portal’s workings and potentially uncover any weaknesses. It sounded like an important opportunity, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension that lingered in the air.

Despite the events of the day, Albert and I discussed our plan to meet with Barrelbelly. Albert recounted how he had encountered Barrelbelly outside the headmistress’s office and had successfully convinced him to share his knowledge of hedgehogs and other creatures. It seemed like a promising development, and I felt a glimmer of hope that we might uncover some answers to the mysteries surrounding us.

Albert and I made our way to Barrelbelly’s hut, affectionately dubbed “Bellybowl,” where we were greeted with warm hospitality and a generous offering of brownwine. As Barrelbelly regaled us with tales of his beloved hedgehog companion, Thud, my eyes were drawn to a photograph on the wall — a snapshot of Barrelbelly and another figure, both looking much younger than they did now. It was then that Barrelbelly revealed the identity of his friend in the photo: Bumble Grumbletoe.

The revelation sent a shiver down my spine, as Barrelbelly recounted the grim tale of Grumbletoe’s alleged crime: the murder of Victoria Vanes. Shocked and speechless, Albert and I listened as Barrelbelly painted a picture of a man we had never met, yet whose presence seemed to loom over us like a shadow.

As the evening drew near, we bid Barrelbelly farewell and made our way back to our chambers, our minds buzzing with questions. How could Grumbletoe, if indeed he was in prison, continue to send letters? And where was he being held? I voiced my concerns to Albert, but his response was cryptic, urging me to meet him in the library tomorrow morning for further discussion.

Alone in my chamber, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me like a heavy cloak. Albert’s sudden reticence about the topic of Grumbletoe left me feeling unsettled, as if there were secrets lurking just beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic school life.

As I sit here now, penning these thoughts in the quiet solitude of my room, I can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. Will we uncover more truths about Grumbletoe and his connection to the dark forces that seem to haunt Ebonvale? Only time will tell.

Yours in curiosity and apprehension, Zoe

[uncertainwalls]

5

On the third evening since entering the town, I pushed open the door of that building. It was an unremarkable old stone structure, situated a short walk east along the river road, just beyond the central square facing the old bridge. No signs adorned the entrance; to those unfamiliar, it might not have appeared to be a library at all. A simple brass plate bore the engraved number "16" lacking any pomp or flourish. The plate had tarnished with time, and the letters were difficult to read.

The heavy wooden door creaked as it opened inward, revealing a dim square room. Not a soul in sight. The ceiling was high, the light from the wall-mounted lamp was feeble, and the air carried a faint scent akin to someone's dried sweat. Everything seemed to be veiled in a dimness ready to disintegrate into molecules and be absorbed into some unseen place. The worn cedar floorboards creaked sharply with each step, echoing throughout. Two tall windows adorned the walls, and not a single piece of furniture occupied the space.

At the far end of the room was a door. It was a simple wooden door with a frosted glass window at face level, bearing the same number "" in an old-fashioned decorative font. A faint light shone through the frosted glass. After lightly knocking on the door and receiving no response, I waited. No footsteps were audible. After steadying my breath and turning the discolored brass knob, I gently opened the door. The door creaked, almost as if warning the surroundings that someone had arrived.

Beyond the door was another square room, approximately five meters on each side. The ceiling wasn't as high as in the previous room. Again, no sign of anyone. There were no windows, only walls of plastered stucco. No paintings, photographs, posters, calendars, and certainly no clocks—just bare, flat walls. There was a modest wooden bench, two small chairs, a table, and a wooden coat rack. Coats weren't hanging on the rack. In the center of the room stood an old-fashioned wood-burning stove, rusted and emitting a fiery glow, upon which black pots and cans emitted steam. At the far end, what seemed like a lending counter was positioned, with an open ledger upon it, as if someone (likely a librarian) had left it halfway through some task. Perhaps this someone would return to this room before long.

Behind the counter, there was a dark door that seemed to lead to the archives. This, then, was indeed the "library." Even though not a single book was in sight, the unmistakable aura of a library remained. Whether large or small, old or new, it carried the distinct atmosphere that libraries all around the world possess.

I hung my heavy coat on the coat rack, sat on the hard wooden bench, and warmed my hands by the stove's heat as I waited for someone to appear. The room was filled with absolute silence, akin to the depths of a still pond. I coughed slightly, just to break the silence, but even that didn't sound like a cough here.

You opened the door that led to the archives and emerged about fifteen minutes later (at least, I think it was about that long; with no clock, I couldn't be precise). Seeing me seated on the bench, you momentarily stiffened, your body tensing, your eyes widening. Then, taking a slow breath, you spoke, "I apologize for keeping you waiting. I didn't know someone was here."

Words I should say escaped me, and I merely nodded a few times. Your voice wasn't quite your voice—it differed from the voice I remembered. Perhaps, in this room, all sounds and voices resonated differently from the norm.

The lid of a container suddenly clattered, as if awoken, and it shivered like a small startled creature.

"By the way, what brings you here?" you inquired.

I was here for the "Ancient Dream."

"The 'Ancient Dream,'" I replied, showing you a pair of deep green glasses. They were unmistakably the eyes of a Dream Reader. They couldn't withstand the harsh daylight.

"I understand. Only Dream Readers are allowed to touch the 'Ancient Dream,'" you said, your gaze briefly dropping. Perhaps my eyes unsettled your composure. But there was no choice—I had to alter my eyes this way to enter this town.

"Are you starting work today?" you asked.

I nodded. "I still don't know if I can read them effectively, but I have to get used to it little by little."

The room remained as silent as before. Not even a single sound echoed. The container that had stirred had returned to its silence. You finished your incomplete task with the ledger and neatly stored it away on a shelf behind you. I watched you from the bench. Outwardly, you hadn't changed at all. You were the same as that summer evening. I recalled your bright red sandals and the locust that had suddenly taken flight from the nearby grass.

"I wonder if we've met somewhere before?" I involuntarily asked, even though I knew it was a futile question.

You raised your gaze from the ledger, holding a pencil in your left hand (yes, you were left-handed, both in this town and wherever you may be). You shook your head.

"I don't think we've met," you replied. Your respectful tone was likely because you remained sixteen while I was already seventeen. I had become an older man in your eyes. It couldn't be helped, but the passage of time stung my heart.

After finishing your incomplete task with the records, you closed the ledger, put it back on the shelf, and began brewing herbal tea for me. You took a container from the stove and carefully combined the hot water with crushed herbs, creating a rich green brew. You poured it into a large ceramic cup and placed it in front of me. This was a special beverage provided for Dream Readers, and it was one of your duties to prepare it.

I sipped the herbal tea slowly. It carried a distinct, slightly bitter taste that wasn't easy to drink. Yet its nutrients healed my still aching eyes and calmed my mind. It was a special drink for this purpose. You watched me from across the table, concerned about whether I liked the herbal tea you had prepared. I nodded slightly, assuring you that it was fine. You responded with a relieved smile, a familiar smile I hadn't seen in a long time.

The room was warm and quiet. Time moved silently, even without a clock, like a slender cat walking soundlessly atop a wall.

[amerrierworld]

Little Songbird (pt 2)

Part 1: x

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu becomes addicted to your voice and wants to hear you… sing some more.

Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,870

Warnings: The Smut Chapter~

Over the next few days, Lady Dimitrescu barely caught a glance of you. Either you were overworking yourself, or avoiding her. The thought made her bristle with annoyance, mostly aimed at herself. Had she scared you off?

Down below in the servants’ quarters, you tried your best not to pay attention to the rush of heat that went through your body every time you remembered Lady Dimitrescu’s lingering gaze on you. 

You hadn’t seen her, or frankly you had tried avoiding her. You kept to your duties, overworking yourself, distracting yourself, wondering if what you felt was unholy. Wondering if she felt the same.

“Lady Dimitrescu has asked you to clean her personal study,” the head housemaid said one day in the kitchens. You paled a little, nearly dropping the plate you were drying off.

“..Oh?”

“You’re to go there after dinner tonight.” She was absent-mindedly polishing some of the silverware at the counter, not noticing how you had reacted. “The Lady will run you through what’s needed.”

“She.. she’ll be there?” 

“Yes, of course," she replied, “she’d never let any of us in by ourselves. I would know.”

She definitely would. It was only her that would ever be allowed in Lady Dimitrescu’s study to clean. But she didn’t seem to mind it was you who was on that duty tonight... you dreaded the massive list of things you would probably have to do. Was this a punishment?

“Clean yourself up before you go.” She eyed your dirtied apron and ashy skirt. “No use if you're just going to mess up what you’ll be cleaning.”

And so, with fresh clothes and your face scrubbed clean of grease, you made your way up through the castle levels to get to the study. On the way, you heard faint buzzing down the hall. 

You turned to see dark robes disappearing around the corner, and suddenly the dimly-lit hallway was a lot more ominous and foreboding than before. Hurrying down the direction you needed to go, you tried not to drop any of your supplies as your heart-rate picked up.

Just around the corner, you kept thinking, just a little further and-

“Boo!” 

You shrieked, shock coursing through your body in a split second as Miss Daniela appeared right in your face when you turned the last corner. Her bloodied mouth split into a wide, cunning smile at your reaction, your face flushing red in embarrassment and sudden fear.

“Oh, now that was fun, wasn’t it?” she cackled, circling around you with the curiosity of a feline, far too close for comfort, “I haven't seen you up here before.”

The water in your bucket had managed to spill over the side in your jump, and you felt your stockings and shoes soaking through. You grimaced at the feeling and Miss Daniela could only giggle.

She tugged at your hair like a bratty younger sibling as she disappeared in a swarm of insects that buzzed around your head, calling after you,

“Have fun~” 

You felt the water squish in your shoes as you walked the last few steps towards the intimidating double-doors of Lady Dimitrescu’s personal study.

It wasn’t anything like the last study you had cleaned. It felt massive to you- everything must have been custom made for her. The chairs, the desk, the bookcase. You’d have to do some real climbing to clean all the nooks and crannies in here.

But it was the piano in the centre of the room that really caught your eye. It was dark- but not quite black. There was a rich, deep red sheen to it, and just like everything else in the room, it seemed to tower above you.

And her- 

Lady Dimitrescu was already in her nightly attire- a long-sleeved nightgown. It was a cream colour, as always, and you wondered if the light was a little stronger, how sheer the fabric would be..

“Ah, there you are.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you straightened up a little. “Come closer, little songbird. Into the light.”

The nickname made you blush furiously, though you did as she asked. So she hadn’t forgotten you. Was that supposed to be a relief? The squish of your shoes made you grimace, and from the way her eyes trailed down, she heard it as well.

“Did it rain on the way here?” she asked, dryly. You looked down at the carpet, clutching your supplies. You were leaving footprints behind. You’d definitely have to clean that thoroughly.

“I- I spilled some water on the way here. I.. tripped,” you said. You didn’t think ratting out her daughter would put the Lady in a good mood. 

Her expression didn’t prove to you that she believed you, but she let it be. She picked up a small sheet of paper with listed chores and handed it to you without much thought.

You expected an explosive list of unending duties, but you were quite surprised with the sparse instructions. Dust the bookshelves, sweep under the piano, scrub the floors...

This was one of the few rooms in the entire castle that looked, quite frankly, immaculate. Everything seemed to have a place already, so you really didn’t need to do much at all.

You quietly set to work without any further commentary, and didn’t catch the way Lady Dimitrescu watched you from her desk when you came into her peripheral vision. The letters from Mother Miranda didn’t register in her mind as she listened to you work, hoping for the sound of your voice. Then she heard you hum, lightly, only for you to catch yourself mid-dusting, and stop altogether.

When you got to the piano, you needed to move the bench to get under and sweep, but when you pushed against the heavy piece of furniture, it screeched against the floor, startling both of you.

“Sorry,” you squeaked, barely audible. You looked up and caught her deep yellow eyes staring at you intently, and something stirred deep inside you.

“I didn’t know you played,” you commented once you realized Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t going to say anything to break the awkward silence. In fact, she adored seeing you so flustered and shy, and didn’t want it to end.

“I don’t often,” she eventually replied. She stood up from her desk, and you nearly snapped your neck keeping your eyes on hers as she rose above you.

You hurried out of the way as she came to sit on the bench. Lady Dimitrescu lifted the fallboard and a soft, light chord rung out as she pressed down on the keys. 

“Can you match pitch?” She was testing some of the sound in various chords, simple but effective. You watched her fingers dance, only to realize you had not seen her without gloves before now. The nails were painted in a dark, deep red. Her fingers were long and pale, and the skin on the backs of her hands were marred with little silvery scars. You wondered what they tasted like.

She gestured for you to come sit next to her, and you clambered up on the bench to kneel on the cushion. Lady Dimitrescu played a little more as you hummed along with the chords. 

“Sing a song for me, pet,” she said, without glancing towards you. Her hands stilled to give you a moment to think, but your brain was only short-circuiting. It was like all of a sudden, every known song had disappeared from your memory.

Then a finger tapped your chin and lifted your head up to gaze into her eyes, and you sighed in contentment at the physical touch. 

Her eyebrow quirked a little, as if barely registering the sound you made. 

“No? No ideas?” she asked. Her perfume was that much denser when close to you, and it overwhelmed you. You could only weakly shake your head, nerves churning in your stomach.

“Well, we can’t have that,” she hummed. “I still want to hear you, little one.”

“I’m sorry...” you began, but she tutted. She’d make you sing in a.. different way. She wasn’t going to let you go after all those agonizing days without getting to hear you properly.

The hand that was holding your chin dropped down to your thigh. Your eyes were still adoringly glued to her face as she dropped the fallboard back over the keys. It nearly made her blush.

The world surged around you as you were suddenly lifted up from your seat. You were put on top of the piano, facing Lady Dimitrescu, and she nudged your legs apart so she could lean forward a little more. Your eyes were level with hers now, and you caught a flash of her white teeth as she smiled, lovingly, but devilishly. 

“Do you think you can sing well?” she asked, one hand wrapping around the entirety of one of your ankles. You immediately shook your head. The dampness of your feet and legs caught her attention, and she tutted again.

“Off,” she ordered, leaning away, before wiping her hand on her dress. You hurriedly did as she asked, tugging down your still-wet stockings, ripping a little bit of the fabric, but you couldn’t mind with the way Lady Dimitrescu was eyeing you.

“Good girl.”

You clamped your thighs together, and she definitely didn’t miss that. Her hand went back to wrap around your ankle, now fabric-free. The other reached out to cup the side of your jaw, trailing down and wrapping around your neck, squeezing lightly for less than a second. Then it lowered even more and undid the top button of your dress.

“Still want to stay and sing for me, little songbird?” she asked, her hand lingering, but not moving from its spot. “Your tasks are long done.”

That was not true, you hadn’t even swept yet. But you slowly began to realize maybe the chores had nothing to do with you coming up here tonight.

The question burned deep inside you, and Lady Dimitrescu looked like she wasn’t going to move until you gave your consent. Though you loved the tension that was building, you began to feel restless.

“Yes, please.” You inched your legs a little wider, and her smile grew. 

“Such a pleasant sound, your voice,” she said, as her hand from your ankle trailed up your leg. “I was enraptured many weeks ago, when I heard you for the first time.”

“You.. you’ve heard me before?” you gasped a little, because her cool fingers pressed against the sensitive inside of your thighs. You thought you were always alone when you sang during work.

“Oh yes,” she grinned, “now sing for me, little pet. Make all the noise you want.”

Her mouth was on yours in an instant, filling your lungs with perfume and warm breath. The buttons on your dress came apart as her hands pulled at them one by one. Your skirt was pushed up, and then she pressed down on your torso to get you to lie on your back. The piano was smooth and cold beneath, and there was a brief moment you regretted that it was definitely going to be dirtied by what was to come. But then Lady Dimitrescu’s mouth latched onto your neck and all thoughts evaporated from your brain. 

There was a pinch as she nipped at the soft skin between neck and shoulder, making your back arch and your body lift off the piano.

“Hmm.. delightful,” she growled. Her large hands slid up your dress and your entire lower half was exposed.

“Oh, I can smell you,” she sighed. She pulled back only a moment to tug the dress off your whole body. Your fingers scrabbled against the piano’s slick surface as you felt your nipples harden at her touch.

She sat back on the bench and scooted forward, leaning down to inhale your alluring smell as you lay there, gasping for air. 

“Now.” She pulled your legs apart, eyes zoning in on your cunt. “I want to hear you sing.”

Her mouth pressed against your folds and a warm, wet tongue slipped up to catch your clit. A squeal escaped you and she kissed it a little more in reward.

“That’s it. More.”

Her fingers dug into your thighs before she began sucking and licking almost aggressively. Your body was trembling with every swipe of her tongue, every delicate nibble on your folds.

Your gasps rose in volume, your voice breaking in small squeaks and whimpers. Though she adored it when you carried a tune, this was much more satisfying. 

Her tongue pressed inside without any hesitation. You felt it curl and push inside you, catching your wetness and scent. A low growl in the back of her throat made you cry out, and her grip tightened even more.

It wasn’t going to take long, you realized. The despair in her relentless tongue, her piercing eyes watching your body rise and drip with sweat made the coil tighten with every passing moment. 

Her pupils were blown, and every time you let out another sound, she pressed on a little harder, a little faster.

“Oh!” Her tongue had slipped out and were replaced by two thick fingers. Your cry of delight earned you her warm lips wrapping around your clit, and you couldn’t help but grab at her head of thick, smooth hair. 

The curls slipped delightfully through your fingers and you were watching the ceiling, trying to make out the shapes in the darkness, until she pulled away and said,

“Eyes on me, dear. Nowhere else.”

You had to hoist yourself up with one hand to watch her, and she got back to work immediately. Eyes locked, one hand in her hair, and hers wrapped around you so tightly you couldn’t move away. 

“Fuck..” you hissed out as her fingers curled. Her eyes flashed; she seemed to like it, so you kept going.

“Please..” you begged, hips trying to buck in her hold, “oh, please please.. it feels..s-so good.”

Your thighs had been completely smeared by her lipstick, or those were bruises forming from her grip. Either way, the marks made your head spin with arousal. 

“Please don’t stop... Please, don’t ever stop.” You were gasping, trying hard to focus on your words, but then her mouth sucked hard on your clit, and you were lost in meaningless sounds and little cries of pleasure as you came.

She didn’t stop, revelling in your gasps and broken whimpers, music to her ears. When your body began pulling away and you felt a tingling sensitivity every time she tried to touch your clit again, that was when she knew to let you go. 

Lady Dimitrescu sat back a moment, basking in the sight of you, wet and spent, spread out over her piano and with cum dripping down your thighs. She lifted her hand and wiped her mouth with the back of it to catch any further stray lipstick, but she didn’t quite catch all of it. 

When you could finally breathe normally, you sat up slowly and trembled again under her piercing gaze. 

Your small hands reached out to cup her cheeks, startling her. She thought you’d dash off with your bucket and leave immediately. You inched closer and used your thumbs to wipe the last bits of lipstick, and then kissed her. Soft, sweet, just like your singing. 

You peppered her lips and chin with kisses for a few minutes. She allowed all of it, held you close as you breathed her in. You shifted, feeling your body unstick from the piano with an unsavoury sound and you pulled a face, making her laugh. It made you giddy inside.

You stayed like that for a long while, and you relished in how warm and soft she was. 

“Perhaps you can sing again for me sometime,” she suggested, “an actual song.”

You buried your head into the crook of her neck, making a whiny noise in the back of your throat. She said she liked your singing, yes, but it still intimidated you. Whether it was nerves, or the fact it was her that was listening.. but you did want to please her. Always.

“You realize you sing beautifully, little one?” she eventually asked. “Even when I’m not inside you?”

You let out a burst of giggles and she lovingly kissed your shoulder. The glee of her enjoying your voice and the aftermath of your orgasm soared like butterflies inside you.

“You best get back to your duties,” she hummed, though her hand curved around your waist and held you close, like she wasn’t going to let you go. “The shelves in this castle aren’t going to dust themselves.”

You laughed again, feeling adoration swell up inside you as you ran your fingers through her loosened locks of hair. 

“...can I come back tomorrow night?” you asked feebly.

She chuckled, low and sultry, and tipped your head up to look at her, “you can come whenever you want.”

Your face went beet-red in a matter of second and she grinned widely.

“But tomorrow night.. come to my chambers. And don’t bother with your supplies. Won’t want you getting wet again... at least not like that.”

A/N: thank you all for the love on part 1 ☺️ I hope this meets your expectations <3

[sgcairo]

My Dearest Darling (Irnes X Fatui! Reader Part Three)

Somehow, we made it to 200+ followers! Here's the third part of the series, and I believe I'll probably need a masterpost soon for what I have planned... This part is mostly letters, for those wondering. There's a little bit at the end that isn't letters, but here's all of Irnes' major writings to you! Still SFW, Irnes is a smitten man and the mortifying ordeal of having to explain why there's a nude painting of him in the mail would probably give him a heart attack. So here you go, some letters from Irnes during your time apart!

Seventh of Winter

My darling,

I used to write all the time, when I was much younger. But since my body doesn't work as well as it used to, I've found that writing my observations and letters is much harder than it was. Regardless, I will do my best for you, as you're all alone and I can't bear to leave you that way.

Today is the seventh day of winter. You left yesterday, yet I can't stop thinking about you. It's around this time that my pain starts to act up from the cold, so I've been sequestered in my chair by Sergei so I don't hurt myself. But there's so much to do! The projects for the Doctor will not finish themselves, and I have several reports to finish! Alas, Sergei is vehemently keeping me confined, I'm only allowed to walk with his assistance (though I'm quite sure I don't need it). However, that is not of any importance, as my thoughts have been only on your lovely voice.

There's no greater force in this world than passion and love. I know this well, subjects put under extreme duress in impossible situations are invigorated by the sight of their true desire, whether it be relation or object. In this case, I am the subject, so dearly in love with you that I would do anything, survive a bludgeoning that would kill a man. Oh how I love you, my dear, it pains me to know that you're so far away, across the sea and serving Her Majesty in the name of progress.

I cannot confess it to your face, but clones do not... dream, at least, not often. It's not that we're incaptable, no, it's that we have nothing to dream about, other than our beloved creator's goal, which is rather boring to think, let alone dream about. But I've found that my dreams have been solely occupied by you, to the point that Prime would have written it off as an illness. It is not an illness, I know that much, but it really is peculiar. I've never dreamed like this before... Can you believe that?

But enough about me, how has your trip been? By the time you read this letter, I predict you will be in Sumeru, so I must ask how it went. I don't know if you get seasick or not, but I hope not, otherwise I would have made a little something to make you feel better. Do let me know, I'll send a package for next time! I forgot to inform you, but I have given Omega express orders to make sure you're well, a favor that he's been dying to pay off. If he is unkind to you, tell me and I will ensure that his return will be anything but pleasant. I will also tell Prime, because I am physically incapable of smacking him upside the head with sufficient force to get through that thick skull of his.

Anyhow, I know you don't have much time to read an essay worth of words, so I will stop here. Do take care of yourself, my love. I wait for your reply.

With love, Irnes

Eleventh of Winter

My dear,

It has been a few days since I have written last, but only because I seem to have fallen ill again. Even now, Sergei is writing this for me, as I am not allowed to leave my bed or do any strenuous tasks. Though I'm fairly sure that writing isn't a strenuous task when you have nothing to do... Do not worry about me, however, my sickness is nothing serious, just a small cold. Sergei is merely overreacting, I am perfectly fine, I believe that I am being forced to rest as a precaution, nothing more.

I miss you so much. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again, I do believe that the saying "in absence does the heart grow fonder". I've found myself somewhat distracted from my work by thoughts of you, and Sergei is giving me a look as I say this. I should apologize to Prime, now that I think about it. No matter, I will get to it eventually. Eventually.

I've been thinking about our future recently. Being sick gives me too much time alone with my thoughts, it seems! When you return, I will speak more of it, but I think that perhaps- if you weren't opposed- we could make it somewhat official? I quite like the idea of you being mine. Perhaps it's my brain's response to theoretical death that's saying this... but I also like the idea of being yours. I like that idea better, actually. Being yours would make me truly happy.

But do tell me about your adventures in Sumeru! There are these particular creatures called Aranara that you may run across during your adventures, do send any pictures if you find them! They have little hats and usually dance around near trees. You may need a child to find them, but they are positively adorable! I have also sent some pressed flowers from my collection, one of them being a wild glaze lily. Fully intact, preserved for a few years, though the exact number of years escapes me. Consider it a bribe! Just kidding, but Sumeru really is a fascinating place. I think you will enjoy it immensely.

Anyways, my throat hurts and Sergei is glaring at me. Do take care of yourself, my love. I promise that I'll be alright, don't worry about me. Enjoy your time away, I will be here waiting for you.

Yours, Irnes

Sir, Irnes is delirious and will not be writing to you for some time. I apologize for the inconvenience, but he needs rest. He is also trying to escape, so please do write to tell him to stop running out in the cold with minimal clothing. By that I mean almost nothing. Thank you.

Sergei

Twentieth of Winter

My dearest darling,

I think it will please you to know that I have fully recovered since your last letter, in which you expressed much concern over my health. I can assure you that I am back on my feet! Prime is working me to near death, but it is the busiest season, as the deep cold keeps specimens from falling apart as easily. We also have new segments that have to be taken care of... Having naked ones running around is amusing, to say the least. They have no concept of morality or language yet, which has made for a few fires.

Anastasiy also has been discovering the concept of cookies lately, he has been hoarding them in his room. I have been pressed to make more, though Lord Pantalone is threatening to have me disbanded for getting him addicted to sugar. I can't help it though, his eyes have that little twinkle when he sees them! Oh well. I'll be sure to make you some once you return, as they are best warm.

Omega has notified me that you've been working quite hard under his jurisdiction. Don't let him pressure you into working more, my dear! He may be your superior, but I will come to Sumeru myself and knock him upside the head, just you wait. The warmth would keep my joints nice and loose, just for his ass kicking.

Do make sure that you're getting enough water and food! Sumeru can dehydrate you, especially in the humid areas! I would hate for you to get hurt or pass out because of it! Sleep is also important, especially in a land with no dreams. Without dreams as an indication of deep sleep, do try to get the advised eight hours a night (though I am fully aware that your schedule may not allow it). I have sent some herbal teas with this letter to help you sleep well, should you require them. They are a blend I procured and mixed personally, do tell me if it is not to your liking.

It's good to hear that you're doing well in Sumeru. Your stories are quite amusing, that Maksim of yours really is a mischievous man. I am glad that your comrades are taking care of you, despite getting goo all over your uniform. And do not worry about the uniform, dear. I happen to know how to get stains out of any fabric, and we can even get you a new one, should it be unsalvageable.

I wish I could hold you through a letter, but I'm afraid the universe has concrete limits. I send all my love to you, and I hope to hear from you again soon. Take care, my dear.

Yours, Irnes

Second of Spring

My star,

Snezhnaya does not have much of a spring season. It doesn't exactly have seasons, either. Though I look forward to summer, at least the cold relents ever so slightly. It's nice, on the old aches.

I have been invested in a project recently. It may be a bit forward of me, but I suppose I will simply have to show you in person. It will take some time to complete, however. Oh dear, it definitely

In your previous letter, you mentioned your family. I would very much like to meet them, that is, if you would like to be seen with someone like me. I don't know what's come over me lately, but things feel... wrong. It's nothing to do with you or any of the others, I simply feel strange in my own skin. An ache has started in my chest, the mirrors feel awfully oppressive as of late. I apologize, I know I shouldn't burden you with my thoughts like this.

I should write at another time, I suppose.

Third of Spring

My dearest,

I do not know how long you'll be gone, but it's almost been a season since you've left. I'm almost tempted to come visit you, though Sergei says it's a bad idea. Travelling in my condition... It would certainly be painful, but I would do it just to see you again. It would be worth it, every small pain. Though I know you wouldn't approve, so I will stay here and wait.

I do have some funny tidbits from my days taking care of the new clones. It's only been a few weeks, but they still insist on causing chaos, fairly standard of their base instincts. Though one of them in particular is very interested in vandalizing the holding room with... phallic objects. I've caught him in the act not once, not twice, but THREE times. I audibly sigh just thinking about it, is this what raising children is like?

Speaking of which, what are your opinions on children? Merely out of curiosity, as you seemed to have an aversion when I introduced you to Danya. Though I did see children in that family picture of yours... I must ask if you have siblings! Perhaps cousins, if not... It puzzles me, the children do look remarkably similar to you... blood relations, I'm sure. Please help me, my dear! I'm dying of curiosity!

I have inquired further with Prime about Sumeru out of my own curiosity. How wondrous! I wish I could be there with you, I hear that Sumeru City truly is a beautiful place. I also received those pictures of the Aranaras that you sent! They are quite adorable, and they have been taken from me by those ungrateful and greedy little creatures that Prime calls his image. They are currently begging me to ask you to send more, though I know you are quite busy and have little time to yourself, so do not feel pressured to comply.

In exchange for those marvelous pictures, I have included one of a rather disappointed segment in the bath and a few setting fires. I do hope you will be amused by them, it is quite embarrassing for them, but deserved after they stole my pictures. I am a man of spite, my dear, and I will not hesitate.

I love you, my dear. I hope that soon you will return to me.

Yours, Irnes

Fifteenth of Spring

My dear,

I should tell you the story of how I got these burns, hm? I have little to talk about nowadays, my time is rather mundane while serving Prime, so I suppose this may be the best way to tell you. While I would much rather say it to your face... Part of me knows that I would lose my courage in that situation, and for that I am sorry. You deserve nothing but my best, but I should tell you that I can be quite a cowardly man when it serves me. Or perhaps when it matters most.

It was many years ago. So many that it's only a vague recollection. I was in charge of a ruin guard factory, a short distance outside of Liyue Harbor. In fact, I believe it is still there, albeit abandoned. I was working in Prime's place, during one of his obsessions. I was quite proud of being promoted to a manager of such an important project, so much so that it seems foolish now, looking back on it. I was young, fresh out of the pod and eager for responsibility. It was stupid, in hindsight.

The accident itself involved that very hubris I held. At first, it was just my coat getting stuck in one of the open gears of a nearby incinerator. The next, it was my glove, then my hand. It hurt, it hurt so much. The gears crushed my skin, my bones. The fire burned through muscle, it felt like I was being torn apart. The open flame spread, until I was fully ablaze. I cried for help, but it was too late. The severe burns on my right side are what remains of that accident, as well as the crookedness of my arm. I don't remember much after catching fire. Just voices and flashes of light. I thought I was going to die.

Somehow, though, I did not. When I opened my eyes next, I was back in the cold of the motherland, the sky full of stars. That was the first time I'd ever seen the stars above my home. It was beautiful, like something out of a dream. The next time I woke up, it was with Prime holding a bone saw in front of my face. I almost wet myself, I'll tell you that much. It was terrifying. He planned to use it to cut through the skin as well! Blasphemy!

I couldn't walk and barely spoke for a few months after that. It took me a year, perhaps a bit more, to fully be able to walk again. Even then, it was embarrassingly haphazard. Still is, if I'm being honest.

I don't know what has come over me, writing this. I apologize, my dear. But know that I care for you, and that I wait for you to return.

Please keep safe.

Yours, Irnes

Forty Third of Spring

My dear,

I have not heard of you for some time. I do hope you're alright. Perhaps it is because you're busy, but I hope it's not because you're wounded. That would hurt more than you not having time...

Please take care of yourself.

Yours, Irnes

Eighth of Summer

Tsaritsa have mercy, it can't be true. Please, don't let it be true. Please. It's a lie, a clever prank by Omega.

Please.

It's summer. It's the warmest that this horrid place will ever get. I planned... I had so much planned.

Don't leave me alone. Please. My heart can't take it. It's selfish, I know. But please don't leave me.

I love you, my dear.

[darkmulti]

Hello I love your work so much, you are my fav writer I love your style and the way you paint your ideas! <3

I know you must have a lot of requests but could you please do a hard dom CEO jungkook, with innocent reader. Would be nice if you can add corruption kink, degrading and non con. Thank you!

⚠️: NON CON, DEGRADATION, CORRUPTION KINK, INNOCENT!READER, VIRGIN!READER, slapping, choking

-> I’m glad you like my work!! Sorry for the wait tho😭

-> I didn’t “add” too much corruption kink because it’s kinda hard to incorporate corruption kink and non con

-> sorry for any mistakes

“Y/N! In my office now!”

The moment you sat down on your chair, your boss called you again

You quickly stood up and hustled into his office

“Yes, Mr. Jeon. Is something wrong?”

You politely asked

“What the hell did you put in my coffee?”

“Regular, sir. Two milks and one sugar.”

“Did you check the expiration date on the milk?”

“Uh… no”

“God damnit! Are you trying to poison me, Y/N?! You can’t do the simplest tasks right! Get out of my sight.”

“Sir, I can make you another-”

“I said get out!”

You immediately left his office and sped off into your own

You closed the door gently before covering your mouth and bursting out into tears

The constant yelling and degrading was slowly breaking you down

He never appreciated any of your hard work, instead he focused on the small flaws you made

You knew you deserved better so that night you went home and wrote a resignation letter

The next day you went to work and gave it to Mr. Jeon

“Mr. Jeon, this is my resignation letter. I can’t work here anymore. It’s not good for my mental health.”

He poked his inner cheek with his tongue and crumbled the letter

“You have to give me a two weeks notice. That way I can start looking for your replacement. However, I have a business trip next week and you have to come with me.”

“What if I find someone that can take my place?”

“No, I want you to go with me and that’s final.”

Next week

You were at the airport with your carry on bag in hand and your passport in the other

Jungkook was in front of you, leading the way to the private jet

Once you both were seated, he poured himself and you a drink

“So, tell me why you want to quit.” He said, taking a sip of his Blue Label whiskey

You didn’t want to tell him the real reason, which was because of him

You thought it’d make the trip more awkward if he knew that you were quitting because of him and you also didn’t want to sound mean

So the best excuse you could come up with was that you found a more suitable job

You told him lies after lies, thinking that he was believing you

Little did you know, Jungkook could see right through you

He knew the real reason you were quitting was because of him

He was purposely cruel to you and you’ve finally reached your breaking point

It was amusing to him

Did you really think that you could trick him?

How cute

Jungkook knew that whole suitable job excuse was a lie because he keeps his eyes on you all day and night

While you were asleep, Jungkook broke into your apartment and installed tiny cameras all around

So he could keep an eye on you

He also hacked into your phone and installed a tracking app, just in case

He got access to all your emails, social media, phone calls, photos, text messages — ect.

Anyways, back to the private jet

You were in the back of the jet sleeping since it was a long flight and you get air sick

You felt something around your waist so you looked down and see a tattooed arm

You immediately recognized who it was and got up, waking up Jungkook in the process

“I- I’m sorry, sir. You should’ve woke me up and I would’ve given you the bed.”

“It’s fine, we’re about to land anyways.”

After you guys landed, you both headed towards the car in the hangar

The driver took you both to a luxury hotel

The building itself was super unique

The transparent, rooftop pool was definitely something you were looking forward to

Jungkook had paid for your hotel room

You guys had rooms right next to each other so it’s more convenient for him

It was still 10 in the morning, so Jungkook allowed you to sleep for a little while but by 12pm, you guys had to leave for an important meeting

The afternoon was packed with meetings, presentations & preparations for a small business party

You were exhausted because Jungkook kept you running back and forth while he was sitting on his ass

By the end of the day you were tired as hell, but luckily everything went smoothly

Jungkook seemed to be okay with how everything turned out

You were relieved to say the least

He’d usually find something to complain about

It was 10pm when you both arrived at the hotel

Jungkook said he was going to go shower and sleep so you bid goodnight and went into your room

Even though you were physically and mentally exhausted, your mind couldn’t fall asleep

You figured it was because of the amount of coffee you consumed

Since you couldn’t fall asleep, you decided to put on your swimming suit and go upstairs to try out the pool

Once the elevator doors opened, you were surprised to see so many people on the rooftop dancing and drinking

You still went to the pool even though it was loud and packed

On your way to the pool, you accidentally bumped into a group of guys

They notice your somewhat revealing swimming suit and offered a drink

You were going to reject but all of them were pressuring you to have at least one drink with them, so you stupidly agree

One drink turned into two and so on

You started dancing with the guys and they were all cheering you on

This was it

This was the attention you were craving for

You were a little wasted but still had your senses

You held one of the boy’s hand and took him to the swimming pool

“You said you were good at swimming… so make sure I don’t drown.” You drunkly said before jumping in

The man chuckled at your behaviour and jumped in afterward to make sure you don’t do anything dumb

After swimming, you had more drinks and danced more with everyone

The night was going so well until someone pulled you away from all the chaos

“Heyyyy, what’re you doing man? The party’s over there.” You said, pointing back to the crowd

He wasn’t responding so you tried to look at his face but the lights were burning your eyes

You looked down at his arm and recognize his tattoos

Once you realized who he was, it was too late

“M- Mr. Jeon, why’re you up so late?”

He brought you back to his room and shoved you in

Jungkook pushed you against the door and slapped you hard

It brought you back to reality real fast

“Are you dumb, Y/N?! Going upstairs without telling me anything, drinking and dancing with men you don’t know— do you know how dangerous that is?! Is your head hollow?!” He yelled in your face and hit the side of your head a couple of times, checking if it was hollow

“Do you know what they would’ve done to you if I didn’t come?! Let me fucking show you.”

He pushed you towards the bed and you slipped because of your wet feet

You started backing away from him, but you knew you were doomed when your back hit the side of the bed

“Mr. Jeon, please. I was just trying to have fun-” another hard slap landed on your cheek and this one was enough to make you tear up

“Fun? You want to have fun? Okay then, let’s have some fun.”

He pulled you up by your wrist and pushed you down on the bed

“Mr. Jeon, please! I’m so sorry! I don’t know how it all happened!”

You were sobbing at this point because Jungkook looked terrifying

He was beyond pissed and his eyes were showing it all

“You think a “sorry” can fix what you did?! You’re so fucking stupid! This is why I yell at you all the time because your dumb, little head knows nothing. Without me, you wouldn’t be living so comfortably. I give you a good pay, so you can pay rent, buy food and clothes without worrying about money. But, what do I get in return? A resignation letter…” he scoffs before continuing “… You’re just a dumb, naive, whore that would be homeless right now if I didn’t take care of you. Maybe this is why your parents abandoned you.”

Your bottom lip started to wobble and before you knew it, you were bawling your eyes out in front of him

His words were so harsh, you weren’t ready for it at all

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

You apologized over and over and over but he still wasn’t satisfied

“H- how can I make it up? Please, give me a chance.”

His hand went towards your private area and you started shaking your head profusely

“No, no, no… anything but that please…”

“Well, there’s nothing else that you have that I want.”

“I’m n- not comfortable though.”

Jungkook grabbed your face and stared deep into your eyes

“Does it look like I care?”

Jungkook continued on

He ripped your swim suit off and pulled down his pants

“Please be gent-”

You screamed when you felt him push into you

You grabbed his arms and tried to push him away but he easily dominated you

He pinned your hands above your head and spat down on his cock for some lube

Without any warning, he pushed his full length in, causing you to squirm around and cry

Your purity blood dripped down onto the bed sheets while you kept pleading for him to stop

“Mr. Jeon, please! I- I was sa- saving till marriage.” You sobbed

“That’s even better. Now we can get married.”

“No! No! I don’t want that.”

Jungkook pushed your legs apart and started going at a fast pace

“You don’t want to get married to me? Well, that’s too bad because I don’t care about what you want.”

Each of his thrust were powerful and rough

He wrapped his hand around your neck so anytime you rejected him in a way, he’d squeeze until you’d shut up

Your face was hot and red from all the slapping and choking

He covered your neck in hickeys

All night, he was fucking you

The headboard was banging against the wall so hard, it left dents in the wall

There was cum overflowing out of you, but Jungkook still didn’t stop

He pounded you until your body gave up on you

You couldn’t fight anymore

You weren’t talking, crying or moving

All you could do was whimper softly when it really hurt

Jungkook noticed you were on the verge of passing out, so he quickened up his pace and came into you before collapsing on top of you

“You would’ve been in so much more pain if I didn’t save you from those guys. So what do you say to me?”

You weakly open your eyes and look into his

“T- Thank you.” You whisper softly before falling unconscious

Decided to end it here bc I don’t have the brain power to continue writing. Sorry for any mistakes. It’s 2am

[into-crazy]

little something

Just some headcanons where J gifts you Louboutins

Ledger!Joker x Reader

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of criminal activity, brief nsfw points, ages 18+

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any rights to the products that are mentioned in this post. Copyrights of the mentioned products belong to Christian Louboutin.

This is probably the most random set of headcanons I've done so far. I don't know exactly how this came to me, but it did and I just kinda rolled with it. To be honest, I'm not sure if anyone will like this or not. But if you do, then hey thanks!!

J never criticized your style or choice of clothing. The man found you gorgeous in everything or nothing at all. It wasn't the clothes which made you attractive. No. The fact that you're so unapologetically you, now that he found attractive. You were fearless in expressing yourself in and out of your clothing.

Sure J didn't care much, but he did pay attention. His attentiveness had him noticing when one of your articles was new. Every so often would he even give his attempt at a compliment on them.

"I like that shirt. It's new, right?" // "Those jeans are lookin' real good on ya, doll." // "Oh is that a new little bra ya got there, bunny? Hm, I want nothing more than to tear that off of you right now. But I won't since ya just got it.. although, ya could get another.."

To others, these might have come off as creepy. But you found them pretty endearing.

With a unique taste for various styles, you appreciated going to thrift shops. Those places usually have the cutest clothes which you could mend to your liking. Cheap articles to style and wear as your own. Department stores with moderately priced clothing were a go-to, too.

Without bragging, you had a great talent for wearing cheap clothes and making them look expensive. You knew how to style and accessorize. Put together a $15 pair of jeans, $4 top, a $40 pair of shoes and you've got an amazing outfit to work with.

You avoided high end departments. Even though you had the money to indulge and shop in them, you simply chose not to. You didn't see the appeal for overpriced clothing.

Hundreds, sometimes even thousands, of dollars for something that you'd just wear. Simple attire that was priced as such because they're popular and high end. No way you're going to cough up $150 for a simple brand top with a tiny logo. That should be a crime all in its own for robbery! Plus, often times the department clerks and other shoppers in those shops were snobby, rude, and rather nosey.

Though there was one luxury brand item that struck your fancy- Louboutin red bottoms. The high-end stiletto footwear that incorporates shiny, red-lacquered soles. Now those are a sexy pair of heels. Very elegant and stylish. Also in the hundred/thousand dollar range, but ohh are they so worth it. Although you thought it would be nice to own a pair or two, you wouldn't buy them.

You casually brought it up to J one time as you skimmed through a magazine. On one of the pages, there was an advertisement for the stilettos. You'd shown him the picture. "Now, I'm not one for material things. But these, I'd definitely wear these."

J listened in curiosity, he knew you so well. You didn't buy expensive things for yourself, and you never asked him for them. However, he seen it in your eyes how much you wanted them. If you saved up, you could buy them for yourself. Plus J had a large amount of stolen money to give to you- which you never asked him for any of, either. He could steal them for you. But then again, you never asked. So he engaged. "If ya like 'em so much, why don't you have any?"

"Hell no!" You retort. "Could you imagine if I were to walk around Gotham in those expensive heels? I'd be a walking target!" You remind him that your goal is NOT to draw unwanted attention while you go about your daytime life.

I mean, you both know that you can take care of yourself. You had knowledge of basic self-defense combat and how to handle a various array of weapons. Special thanks to J for helping you spruce up on your tactics and even teaching you new techniques. Also, you always carry a concealed handgun when going out. So to the best of your abilities, you can hold your own. It's just better not to opt for any more problems.

J doesn't say anything after that, he simply hummed. But the thought had started bouncing around in his already busy mind. A new task. He figured since he wore custom high-cost clothing, the best of the best, then why shouldn't you own a nice pair of shoes? After all you're his, and he wanted to give it to you.

A few days later, you came home to a sight that genuinely surprised you- Set up nicely around your living space, there were 8 large Louboutin gift bags arranged on the floor. No question, you already knew they were from J.

You chuckled and shook your head in disbelief. You hadn't thought that J had actually taken that brief comment you made about liking these shoes into consideration.

Each bag contained a brand new pair of the signature stilettos in various colors and styles. Two of them being boots for when the weather's colder.

You were surprised that he'd gotten them in the correct size. He really does pay attention. Or perhaps he rummaged through your closet to find out for himself. Whatever the case was, you didn't care. Since J rarely ever got you any gifts, and never anything as pricey as these. So you savored the precious moment.

He left the receipt in the gift bag containing the classic black pair of stilettos. He'd actually bought them rather than just steal them, which would've been a more ideal and convenient thing for him to do. Come on, he's The Joker. When's the last time he ever paid for something?

He'd even left a note for you to find in one of the boxes. Written in his own scraggly handwriting- No one's gonna mess with you, I will make sure of that xoxo -J

Tears formed beneath your eyes, how much you wanted to thank him. Hug him, squeeze him tight. Kiss his painted lips and face repeatedly while his face scrunched in mock annoyance to your affections. It deeply frustrated you that you couldn't right then. But alas, he had a city to terrorize and a caped crusader to antagonize. So you had to hold on to that energy for a later time.

You don't know what you've done to deserve such a bitterly sweet(but will never fucking own up to it) man as your J.

Pairing the red bottoms along with the articles in your wardrobe was a tricky task. But with your natural talents and a bit of shopping, you've managed to put together some classy and elegant outfits.

You'd even purchased a tasteful, sparkly anklet with a letter J on it. Which undeniably, J surely liked to see on you- THEN coupled with a pair of heels he'd gotten you? Now that's a sight he's very pleased to see.

It was something which J was quite fond of- you expressing your appreciation for his gifts. Just don't expect him to admit that.

It's also no surprise that you'd wear the stilettos with lingerie(or nothing at all) and it leads to some pretty steamy sex sessions.

J especially savors the pleasant sting as they dig into his lower back when he's on top of you. So don't be shy to dig those heels in there!

When you just so happen to wear out your red bottoms, J might consider getting you a new pair or two. Again, as receiving gifts from him are rare occurrences. But at the times which he does surprise you with a gift, no matter what it is, it never fails to take your breath away.

[ryosmne]

You're gonna fry your brain.

Hello everyone, since it's finals season and we're all probably really dead inside, I decided to self indulge in some tattoo artist! Sukuna writing, so here's this brainrot that won't let me focus on studying. You can read more of this au in the au masterlist.

I've been trying so hard to finish up a bartender! Dabi fic I have in the works for too long, hopefully I can get around to it too. After finals are done I'll be writing a lot more that's for sure.

Tattoo artist! Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings: language, suggestive tones, that's it.

Finals are by far the worst thing about college, y/n knows that the hard way. She's been stressing herself out for the past few days, maybe weeks, going over the same material again and again. She'd constantly argue that she really needs to pass with an high grade that's why she's so obsessive over it.

Sukuna had tried multiple times to help her ease her nerves, he's been there, although he was the type who never really stuck his nose in a book for too long, regardless, his best girl needed a break, no matter how hard she denied it.

Y/n had declined his invitations of going out, she dropped by the shop a few times, bringing Sukuna some food, but he could tell she was slowly burning herself up.

Today was no different, y/n had been writing everything down all day to help memorize it better. So many hours has passed since she started her study session but she didn't even notice that her clock read 8 pm already.

Sukuna did notice, y/n had been barely responding back to his texts and it was time he took matters into his own hands.

The earpiercing doorbell pulled y/n out of her trance like state, she quickly got up from her desk to go and get rid of whoever just rung it.

"Dollface, I was beginning to think you had died in there."

There was Sukuna, leaning in her doorframe, looking as good as he always did, in a plan white t shirt and a gray pair of sweatpants, holding a few bags and a huge basket.

"not quite, what's all this?"

Y/n motioned to the bags he had.

"Nothing much, just some things I picked up for you, will you let me in? this basket is fucking heavy."

No, the basket wasn't that heavy, Sukuna could carry it just fine, he just wanted to make sure that y/n didn't have a chance to deny him.

Y/n stepped aside to let Sukuna in, and he went straight to her kitchen, dropping his bags on the table.

"Thanks for dropping by babe, but I really need to finish the last three chapters I have left."

"Y/n, you're going to fry your brain at this rate, no more studying for today."

"But-"

"No buts, you won't read another sentence today. We're destressing together."

Turns out, Sukuna had brought over many different things. He's not the type of guy to shy away from anything, so the first thing he did was to grab y/n and drag her into her bathroom.

Sukuna had taken mental notes the first time he looked through y/n's skincare products, he was able to determine her skin type and he went a bit crazy, buying her different things to try out.

"You are insane, that's drunk elephant, why did you get this many things?"

"Because you have the really terrible cheap stuff, now shut up you're going to eat the soap if you keep talking with cleanser all over your face."

Now, y/n's skincare wasn't bad, Sukuna had expensive taste and he's a bit of a brand snob

Sukuna gently poked her cheek with a smile as y/n's face distorted because she had in fact tasted the cleanser and Sukuna could only laugh at her before she flicked some into his mouth too.

"Don't kiss me with a face mask on you brat"

Y/n let out a soft laugh, Sukuna was doing his best to concentrate at the task at hand. Matching y/n's nail polish to his. Y/n had just finished painting his, matte black like he requested but y/n gave him some white polish on his ring finger. Sukuna had argued for a bit, saying it didn't look good and that he didn't like it, but gave in after y/n gave him a puppy face, can you blame him?

"But you look so cute like that."

Y/n complained, knowing that this little comment was going to feed Sukuna's ego more.

"I know doll, but artificial orange doesn't taste as good as it smells."

Y/n once again wasn't wrong, his cocky attitude always creeped in at times, not that she minded.

Time passed fast with watching trash reality shows on y/n's couch, after their very own self care day, Sukuna made sure to fix something they could both eat. Now they were engolved in each others arms, y/n's sleepy eyes staring up at him.

"How are you feeling, doll?"

Sukuna's hand found her hair, gently resting on top of her head.

"Much better, you're the best you know that?"

"I've heard it once or twice, I'll give you reasons to say it more often"

He gave her a gentle smile, leaning closer to steal a kiss, a little more intimate than the ones they shared earlier.

" 'Kuna, I'm sorry I was so stressed and distant this week, I probably worried you-"

"Don't be stupid, it's ok, I just want you to know I'm here for you, and it's just finals. You're a smart cookie, I'm sure you'll do great."

Y/n found his words reassuring and nuzzled closer to him, letting her lungs burn with his scent that never got less intoxicating.

"Thank you 'kuna, what would I do without you?"

The last few words came out slurred, but Sukuna understood everything, y/n's breathing got steadier against him.

"I don't know doll I'm just glad to have you here, I promised to take good care of you."

And just like that, y/n was fast asleep next to him, he didn't mind her uncomfortable couch one bit all he cared about was how at peace she looked. Maybe he would move her to her bed later, he couldn't bring himself to do it now.

The next morning, y/n found herself on her bed, Sukuna had almost woken her up getting ready before he left to go to work, but he managed to put her right back to sleep with a kiss on the forehead and a light "don't wake up yet doll".

Y/n made her way to the kitchen, Sukuna usually left a little letter for her on the nightstand by the bed, he must've been in a rush today.

Not quite the case.

Sukuna not only made her, her favourite breakfast, he also left post it notes in some places.

You suck at food shopping, thank me later.

Was written on her fridge.

So that's what all the bags were for, y/n didn't find out last night because of how tired she was, and how much fun she had being around sukuna.

He had filled up her fridge with everything she ever needed to make a meal for herself or have a snack. Let's be honest Sukuna just wanted to cook for her again.

Another post it was found in her bathroom cabinet.

You're probably gonna get mad at me for this but I'm not sorry, you deserve it.

The poor cabinet was stuffed to the brim with brand name skincare that made anyone's wallet scream in anguish and a lot of bathbombs. Upon closer look y/n almost cried at how attentive Sukuna was, he took extra care to look out for her skins needs.

Y/n found the last post it on her desk while she did her revision.

Don't overwork yourself doll, you've got me for that.

Y/n brought Sukuna cupcakes from seven different bakeries to try that day.

Bonus Domain shenanigans: "Sukuna left early again?"

Megumi asked, the day had been going pretty slow he wasn't surprised his friend dipped.

"Yeah, he left this behind though."

Geto held up a very nice looking white shop bag, a slight glimmer in his eye let the rest of his friends know he planned something.

"So? What's in it anyways?"

Gojo was resting his chin on his hand, blank expression on his face, completely unamused by Geto's discovery.

"Give me that"

Nanami swiftly snatched the bag, curious to see what was inside of it. He reached in and retrieved several wrapped round objects.

"Bathbombs?"

He questioned puzzled, but then his lips tugged upward.

Megumi, Nanami, Gojo and Geto, each got two bathbombs, and even though they would outright say it, they were pretty damn exited to drop them in their bathtubs. That's what Sukuna gets for avoiding clean up.

Sukuna entered the shop barely greeting anyone and begun looking around. Fuck he was looking for something, everyone tried to keep their composure.

"Have you seen a white bag?"

He finally looked at the group of men before him.

"like a backpack? No "

Megumi spoke, Sukuna begun thinking he was remembering everything wrong, that's untill he saw something sticking out of Geto's pocket. That's for sure a bathbomb he bought for y/n

"You motherfuckers, how low can you stoop to steal my girls bathbombs?"

Hey it's me again, though I'd add that here, if you have specific skin demands I tried to cover that in here so everyone can enjoy it, I have lots of allergies and skin concerns so I'm kinda sensitive to that stuff. Hope you had fun reading, remember to take it easy, untill next time :>

Tag list: (comment or message me and I’ll gladly add you)

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